Cahal smiled. “Maybe you should not try to be like Fialan,” he said. “Fialan was a great warrior, but you are not Fialan. Maybe Rhyn’athel has different plans for you.”
Lachlei halted her horse and stared up at the hill overlooking Caer Lochvaren. They were at the base of the hill now. “Perhaps he does,” she said. She dismounted and handed him the reins. “I want to be alone for a while.”
“I’ll wait,” he said knowingly. Lachlei nodded and walked up the hill.
Rhyn’athel stared into the twin suns of Athelren; their golden glow bathed the world in warmth. It was springtime now in the high mountains where the warrior god’s shimmering white-walled fortress stood. Even on the fortress parapets, the drowsy smell of pine reached Rhyn’athel’s nostrils as he looked over his world.
The mountains, covered with spruce, pine, and other coniferous trees stretched for miles in all directions. To the west, the rivers poured into the great sea. To the east and south, vast tracts of fields and fertile ground stretched endlessly. Rhyn’athel knew he had created the perfect world when he had created Athelren.
And yet, his mind strayed to Elren—the fifth world—and to the Chi’lan woman who inhabited it. For weeks, Rhyn’athel tried to put Lachlei’s vision from his mind, but each time his thoughts returned to her. She was beautiful and strong—a warrior among warriors—and he felt himself drawn to her, despite logic or reason.
Now, a month later, Rhyn’athel decided to return to Elren. Athelren held no pleasure for him, and he longed to see Lachlei again. It violated the Truce, but he reminded himself that if he did not show himself to Lachlei, Areyn Sehduk was unlikely to know he had entered the Middle World.
Rhyn’athel appeared within the forest on the hilltop overlooking Caer Lochvaren where he last saw Lachlei. It was dusk in Elren, and he glanced at the sky as the first stars became visible. He was going to look for Lachlei when he saw her walk along the stone path to the hill’s summit where he had seen her make her blood oath.
Lachlei was as beautiful as he remembered her, and he caught his breath as she turned and looked his direction. She was smaller than he remembered—her height due to her Laddel inheritance—but she was as beautiful. She wore her mail as she had the night he had seen her. She looked at him. Rhyn’athel knew she could not see him, despite her first-blood powers, but felt a shiver as their gazes met. Seeing her beneath the stars, he was entranced. “Rhyn’athel,” she whispered. “Rhyn’athel—do you even hear your Chi’lan’s prayer? Something terrible killed Fialan; the Council sits and does nothing. The Chi’lan are leaderless. Help us.”
Rhyn’athel stood close to her—so close that he could have touched her and taken her in his arms. But he would then give himself away and violate the Truce. But hadn’t his presence already violated the Truce? To hold her this once…
“I was wondering where you were.”
Rhyn’athel turned and saw Ni’yah leaning against a tree. “Ni’yah…” Rhyn’athel growled and the wolf-god smiled wryly. “You troublemaker!”
Ni’yah grinned. “This isn’t keeping with the Truce, is it?”
“You knew I’d fall in love with her!”
Ni’yah retreated, his hands open in a helpless gesture. “I didn’t exactly know,” he said. “More like suspected you might.” He grinned at Rhyn’athel’s scowl.
“You would have a war started for the sake of a woman!”
“For the sake of the Nine Worlds,” Ni’yah replied. “Lachlei was just the bait. You know this was due for some time.”
“Indeed,” Rhyn’athel admitted reluctantly, his gaze drifting back to Lachlei. “Are you certain that Areyn is here?”
“What do you think?”
Rhyn’athel nodded. “Very well,” he said at last.
Much to Rhyn’athel’s annoyance, triumph gleamed in Ni’yah’s eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t let the Eleion down.”
“But I can’t remain here—not without Areyn detecting me,” Rhyn’athel said. “What can I do?”
“We can beat Areyn at his own game,” Ni’yah said. “We know he is in mortal form now, but he wouldn’t expect you to take mortal form.”
“I’ll become an Eleion—a Chi’lan.” He grinned. “Brilliant, my brother.”
“They don’t call me a trickster god for naught.”
“But, won’t Areyn recognize me?”
“He shouldn’t—not if you keep your power and your defenses up,” Ni’yah said. “You should garner no more attention than a powerful first-blood. Unless he presses your defenses, Areyn will never know.”
Rhyn’athel nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Ni’yah stared at his brother. “Now?”
Rhyn’athel turned to gaze on Lachlei. She had sat cross-legged on the ground, looking up into the sky. Now, she stood up slowly, rubbing the stiffness from her limbs. She turned for a moment to look towards the two gods. Even though Rhyn’athel knew she couldn’t see or hear them, he nearly held his breath as she looked at the place where he stood. Again, he desired her. Perhaps he could have her if he were Eleion… “Rhyn’athel?” Ni’yah’s voice brought him back. “Are you sure you wish to do this?”
Rhyn’athel grinned. “Never more certain,” he said.
9
Cara stood in the hall of the Silren king. The sun had set and the torches and firepits were lit. Already the mead benches and trestle tables were out; servants brought prepared cooked meats and wine. Silvain, her father, sat at the head of the noble’s table as he and Akwel spoke.
Cara studied the expression on her father’s face. Silvain looked tired, but was still the great warrior and first-blood. Pale blue eyes, pale skin with a slight silver sheen, and white mane flecked with silver, Silvain was the embodiment of the Silren. As cold as the evening star, Cara thought. And as forgiving…
This would be a difficult conversation—the Silren and Lochvaur were traditionally enemies. A son of the goddess Elisila, Silvain resented the power Rhyn’athel and his kindred wielded. Silvain would disown her if he knew she was one of the few warriors of Rhyn’athel within the Silren.
Akwel turned and met her gaze and she shivered involuntarily. Something terrible within his gaze that told her Akwel was not quite Eleion. Cara took a deep breath and stepped forward.
“Father,” she said, interrupting the two men. Silvain looked up. “I wish a word with you in private.”
“Certainly, my daughter,” said Silvain.
Akwel considered her thoughtfully. And what do you plan to tell him, Chi’lan?
Cara started and stared at Akwel. “Did you say something?”
“What is it, my daughter?” Silvain asked. He glanced at Akwel, who held Cara’s gaze.
Akwel leaned back. It would be a pity if Silvain learned of the little meeting you and your pathetic traitors called at Silwar.
Cara swallowed once. Akwel knew—somehow, he knew of Cara’s allegiance to Rhyn’athel. Cara forced a smile. “Nothing, my father. Nothing.” She turned and left.
Lachlei left the glade. Cahal was waiting for her below, and she knew she had tarried longer than she should have. As she walked towards the rough-hewn stairs, she saw Cahal and Kellachan walking towards her. “Lachlei!” Kellachan waved. “Where have you been?”
“Riding,” she said, looking at Cahal, who nodded. “What brings you here?”