The pain from the Fyr was intense. Areyn, however, would gladly suffer the pain if only to avoid Rhyn’athel’s rage. The agony that the Fyr wrought was inconsequential in comparison. Areyn knew what his brother could do. He fled towards Issa, not Tarentor, hoping perhaps to trick the warrior god.
You may fool Rhyn’athel, but not for long, came a hated voice. Areyn Sehduk halted and stared into the flames. A Chi’lan warrior emerged with his Sword of Power drawn.
Lochvaur? But how? Areyn began, but saw another Athel’cen emerge from the flames.
Areyn turned and fled as Lochvaur charged, swinging his Sword. Ni’yah, now in wolf form, leapt after the death god. Areyn turned and drew on his power. Dark flames from the Fyr wrapped around both. With a cry, the fire consumed Lochvaur. Areyn laughed. So, the godling sought to destroy him? Areyn Sehduk now turned his full fury on Ni’yah.
You, too, will die… Areyn thrust his dark Sword of Power into the wolf-god, pinning Ni’yah against the trunk of the World Tree. The wolf-god snapped and writhed as the sword twisted in his chest. Ni’yah changed into Eleion form and tried to pull the blade from his chest, but Areyn was too powerful.
A blast threw Areyn backwards and Lochvaur was there. Areyn blinked. The godling was more powerful than Areyn realized. He pulled the blade from Ni’yah’s chest, letting the wolf-god fall to his knees at the base of the World Tree.
Now, Areyn, Lochvaur said coldly. It is time we truly fought.
Fear held the death god as he saw that there was none in the godling’s eyes. Could Lochvaur destroy him?
A shriek and a rush of wings came overhead. Areyn looked up in time to see Rhyn’athel and the dragon bear down on him. Rhyn’athel swung Teiwaz, and it bit deep into Areyn. Areyn screamed and sent wave upon wave of fire at the warrior god. He hit the dragon square on, but the dragon did not halt his charge. Haegl’s teeth closed around Areyn’s form before disappearing into the flames.
Rhyn’athel bellowed and again thrust Teiwaz deep into Areyn’s chest, spearing the god against the World Tree. Blinding pain shook Areyn. He was trapped; he could not escape.
Yield!
No!
The pain became excruciating. Rhyn’athel twisted the blade. Areyn met the warrior god’s gaze as they stood inches apart. Rhyn’athel smiled coldly. Yield, Areyn, or you will find yourself in chains.
No!
You’ve broken the Truce, brother.
Ni’yah broke the Truce.
The Truce was between you and me, Rhyn’athel said. Can you deny it?
Areyn remained silent, the pain slowly pummeling him into submission. No, I swear by the Wyrd Strands, I will keep the Truce.
Not good enough, Rhyn’athel said. My warriors—the Chi’lan belong to me.
And the Laddel, Ni’yah added. Those who serve Rhyn’athel and me belong to us.
Areyn’s eyes focused on Lochvaur, who stood beside his father with arms crossed. Take them! Take those vile creatures!
He heard Lochvaur’s mocking laugher.
And Elren? Ni’yah demanded.
Areyn bared his teeth. The Truce. No more.
Not good enough, the wolf-god said, standing next to Rhyn’athel, opposite of Lochvaur.
Areyn Sehduk met Rhyn’athel’s gaze. And if I were to agree?
The warrior god smiled grimly. Areyn knew what Rhyn’athel was thinking. If you were to agree, then I would have you.
As you do now. It changes naught. If you wish an empty promise, I will give one now. But Elren is still mine if I choose it.
Rhyn’athel pulled Teiwaz from Areyn’s chest. Go, he said. The next time you return to Elren, it will be your last. My sons will see to that.
Areyn fell to his knees. He looked up to see the black dragon looming over him.
Go back to your worlds, Rhyn’athel said in disgust. Areyn, weakened and in pain, fled. The black dragon pursued him to the border of Tarentor.
Ni’yah looked at his brother. You should’ve gotten his word.
Rhyn’athel shook his head. It matters little. He will still fight over Elren until the end of time. His word means naught. He turned to see Lochvaur gazing at him. We have work to do.
Lochvaur nodded and vanished.
Ni’yah eyed his brother. Elren is too tempting for Areyn Sehduk.
Indeed, said Rhyn’athel. But he now knows I am not afraid to enter the fray. This alone may keep him away from the Fifth World.
Until he thinks he has an advantage.
Until then.
86
Lachlei awoke in terrible pain. She lay in a pool of her own blood. Fyren lay beneath her, broken in two, but her hand was still on its hilt. It must have broken when she cut the adamantine chains that held the gods. Now she lay dying, caked with mud. Not quite dead, but nearly so, she could feel her body tense and then relax in a slow and weird convulsive spasm. She was rapidly fading from consciousness, but instinctively fought as death threatened to close her eyes.
Once or twice, Lachlei opened her silver eyes to stare into the dead face of a Silren warrior. His ice-blue eyes stared vacantly ahead, glazed over in death. His white mane was stained crimson now since his helm was cleaved in two. As far as she knew, he could have been one of many Silren she had killed. Lachlei gazed in pity at her dead adversary.
So, we embrace each other in death, Lachlei thought grimly. For we could not do so in life.
Lachlei’s thoughts turned to Rhyn’athel, Ni’yah, and Lochvaur. They were gone. Perhaps it was just as well, she thought. She had given everything for Rhyn’athel—even at the sacrifice of her own life and the lives of her sons. She hoped that the warrior god had vanquished Areyn Sehduk—perhaps she had given Rhyn enough time.
Where were the healers looking for the wounded? she wondered. Lachlei knew she had led a successful attack, but maybe the Lochvaur kindred had lost. If that were so, then there would be no healers—only carrion and scavengers. It was said that the Silren and Eltar did not bother with their own wounded, let alone the enemy’s.
The Silren warrior could have easily been a Redel, Elesil, or even Lochel, she reflected. If we’re not defending ourselves against the Silren, we’re fighting the Redel, Eltar, Elesil, or any other of the Nine Kindreds. We can’t keep killing each other; there must be a peace.
Lachlei closed her eyes. How ironic that in death, she could see something she had never seen while alive. Her thoughts drifted to her son, Haellsil, and she wondered who would care for him now. Haellsil, who would never know his father, now would lose Lachlei.
Something made her open her eyes again. A dark shape fluttered into view. It took her dying mind a few moments to recognize the shape: a raven. It would be followed by other scavengers: magpies, foxes, crows, wolves, and other opportunists. The raven hopped towards her boldly, cocking its head to one side as if studying her to determine how much of a challenge she would be.