“The demons you sent after me…”
“Were to capture, not kill you,” Areyn Sehduk remarked. “I’m more honest about my intentions, even if they aren’t particularly honorable.”
“Why do you tell me this?” she said. “Why now—now that Rhyn’athel is…” She couldn’t finish her statement. The thought of Rhyn being gone for good was unbearable. Still, if the warrior god had tricked her as Areyn had said…
“Because there is a slight problem,” Areyn said. “Even though I have won, I don’t have full victory yet, Lachlei. Only you can give that to me.”
“How?” Lachlei asked.
“You carry Rhyn’athel’s sons already,” Areyn said darkly. “They should be my sons, not his.”
“I see,” Lachlei said, frowning. “If you’re so powerful, why don’t you simply change it?”
“It’s not that easy,” Areyn Sehduk admitted. “You’re a twice first-blood with blood from both that cur and from Rhyn’athel. I can kill you or even take you by force, but I can’t control you fully. Your power blocks my abilities.”
“My power?” Lachlei mused. What power? she wondered. As far as she knew, she had no great power—certainly none that she could use against Areyn. Unless…
Unless Rhyn’athel had left her some type of protection.
Her gaze strayed to Lochvaur, and saw he was conscious once more. His face was bloody and swollen, but Lochvaur held her with his own steady gaze, so reminiscent of Rhyn’athel. She glanced away, hoping that Areyn did not notice.
“Your power,” Areyn continued. “Lachlei, Rhyn’athel is gone now. I can restore this world to what it was and return the Lochvaur to you, if you wish. You can be the greatest Eleion queen in history.”
“Really?” she asked.
“I could bring back Fialan,” Areyn said slyly. “You know I could do it. Rhyn’athel granted me the souls of the dead when we first divided the Nine Worlds. I could return your beloved husband to you. And all I ask in return is for you to be my consort. To let me destroy Rhyn’athel’s sons and make you my queen.”
Lachlei’s gaze had shifted to the wolf-god’s steady gaze. He could not speak or even communicate to her in mindspeak, but his brass eyes spoke plainly. We are all lost if you give in to him.
Lachlei recalled Rhyn’athel’s earlier embrace. Had she fooled herself into thinking that the warrior god could actually love her? Areyn had said the Athel’cen could not love the way mortals did and Ni’yah could not deny Rhyn had used her. Yet, the wolf-god thought there was more, much more, than Areyn had said.
If Rhyn’athel had only wanted to make her pregnant, he could have done so any time without her permission or love. Instead, Rhyn’athel had taken a mortal body—for her?
Not entirely for her. He had hoped to change the balance of power between himself and Areyn—to take back something that belonged to him. And now, Rhyn was dead.
But was he? Rhyn had told her the greater gods such as Ni’yah, Areyn, and he could not be destroyed. None of the Athel’cen could be destroyed because they were part of the Wyrd. And part of the Fyr.
Free me, Lochvaur’s voice rasped in her head. Free me, and I can return Rhyn’athel…
Lachlei hesitated. Lochvaur could mindspeak when even Ni’yah could not. She remembered what Rhyn’athel had said about Lochvaur—how he had been a special type of Wyrd-blood. What are you? she asked Lochvaur.
I am Athel’cen.
Lachlei almost looked at Lochvaur, but forced herself to stare into Areyn’s eyes. Could it be true? Could Lochvaur have been the only Athel’cen who had not been Wyrd-born? Her mind whirled with the knowledge. Rhyn’athel had said Lochvaur had no mother, but she had not understood it until now. Lochvaur was more than a godling—but could he be enough?
“Lachlei?” Areyn asked. He moved closer to her, and she slid instinctively towards Lochvaur and Ni’yah.
“Areyn, I…” Lachlei said, hesitation creeping into her voice. She had one place left to look—the Wyrd, itself. She used her Sight, hoping it would give her a glimpse of the future.
“Lachlei, I can be anything you desire,” he said. He met her gaze. “You know that.”
A vision from the Wyrd flashed before her eyes. She forced herself to look where only Lochvaur had seen. She smiled. Of course.
Lachlei’s gaze narrowed on Areyn. “You’re a clever liar, Areyn,” she said grimly. “I won’t whelp any of your spawn. I am a Chi’lan warrior. I serve Rhyn’athel.”
Areyn’s face twisted in rage. “Then, you will die.”
“So be it.”
With a yell, Lachlei charged. Areyn brought his sword up to parry, but Lachlei spun around and slammed Fyren’s blade into Ni’yah’s shackles and sliced through Lochvaur’s chains in two cuts.
“No!” Areyn bellowed.
Blinding pain ripped through her as she felt the full force of the god’s wrath. She could feel the organs within her burst and the burning coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She collapsed to the ground, writhing. It would not be long before she entered Tarentor with the other Lochvaur dead.
Was this what Fialan felt when he died? she wondered. And yet she clung to life. She was certain she could not see, but Lachlei watched the battle unfold before her.
Lochvaur leapt up, eyes blazing. Gone were his wounds, and he now wore glowing armor. He drew a Sword of Power and plunged it into Areyn. At the same time, the wolf-god transformed into his Eleion shape. He swung his sword and it cut into Areyn, sharp and quick.
The death god bellowed in pain and rage. Lochvaur pulled back his sword and thrust into the ground, point first. The earth shook, and a gateway opened. A single glowing warrior astride a black dragon flew through the gateway and bore down on Areyn Sehduk. Lachlei’s gaze met Rhyn’athel’s, and for a moment he smiled at her before turning on Areyn.
Areyn recoiled, and his blade parried Teiwaz. Thunder shook the ground as Teiwaz cleaved through the death god’s blade and into his chest. Areyn writhed in terrible pain, and the screams from the god echoed across the plain. Then, they were gone in a flash of light.
Lachlei let the darkness take her and knew no more.
85
Areyn fled across the Wyrd as Rhyn’athel pursued him. The god of warriors brandished his sword as the black dragon flew into the Wyrd through the Fyr. They were now between the worlds where the Fyr and the Wyrd met. The violet flames of the Fyr licked all around them, but Rhyn’athel felt nothing, protected by Haegl’s magic. The flames’ roar was nearly deafening, and it swirled about him in a maelstrom of color and light.
This has to be hurting Areyn, Rhyn’athel shouted over the din.
Haegl grinned, showing all of his very sharp teeth. He fears you more that the pain of the Fyr. Too bad no dragons will bear him. He might have had allies if he had not tried to control us so readily.
Rhyn’athel could barely see Areyn’s form ahead of him. He would try to flee to Tarentor, but even there, there would be no hiding.
Areyn halted in dismay. He stood at the base of the World Tree and turned around. The World Tree was a huge, silver-barked ash. Its branches spread across the roof of the universe, itself. From it, the Web of Wyrd and the flames of the Fyr swirled about its branches and spread across the Nine Worlds.