“The Council has finally decided on the next champion,” Kellachan said.
“Good,” she said. “We can stop this nonsense once and for all. Who’d they choose—you? Kieran?”
Kellachan and Cahal exchanged glances. Lachlei stared at Kellachan, a lump growing in her throat. “Kel? Who is it?”
“You,” Kellachan said.
Lachlei opened her mouth to speak, but found she could not. She exhaled in frustration and shook her head.
“Listen—Laewynd, Moira, and the others in the Council felt you were most qualified. None of us have the powers you…”
Lachlei did not hear his explanation. She turned around and ran up the hill as fast as she could.
“Lachlei!” Cahal shouted, sprinting after her.
Rhyn’athel watched as Lachlei left the quiet glade. She had been oblivious of the two gods who spoke. He turned and met Ni’yah’s gaze appraisingly. “If it is true that Areyn is here, then I have no choice but to act.” He shook his head. “It has been too long since I have been in this world.”
With those words, Rhyn’athel turned his power inward. All at once, he felt smaller and vulnerable. At the same time, he became more aware of everything physical around him, while simultaneously, his other senses dimmed. The cold wind blew against him. The acrid smell of fires from Caer Lochvaren reached his nostrils as he breathed in the air. He shivered in the cold, wrapping himself with his cloak.
Rhyn’athel turned to see that he was still not completely alone. Ni’yah still stood there, though his form was nearly invisible to him.
You’re using your mortal senses, Ni’yah remarked in mindspeak. It takes a bit of getting used to.
Rhyn’athel concentrated and found that Ni’yah’s form sharpened. “That’s better,” Rhyn’athel remarked and then stopped. His voice sounded strange to his ears.
Ni’yah was chuckling. Not quite the resonance, is there?
“No,” Rhyn’athel admitted. He looked at his hand in amazement as he flexed his fingers, relishing in the sensation. “Are their senses always so inundated?”
I’m afraid so—it’s one of many distractions they suffer.
“Really?” Rhyn’athel grinned. “How do you deal with it when you’re in their forms?”
In time, you get used to it, Ni’yah said, grinning back. Wait until you’re hungry—or worse yet, have to relieve yourself…
Rhyn’athel chuckled. “Part of being mortal.”
Ni’yah’s gaze drifted behind him. So is she…
Rhyn’athel turned and this time, did catch his breath. Lachlei entered into view again, now, with another Chi’lan warrior. Rhyn’athel searched his memory. Cahal, he recalled. A young warrior recently appointed to her guard.
Lachlei strode right towards Rhyn’athel as he stood in the darkness and at the same time glanced behind at the Chi’lan following her. “Leave me alone, Cahal! I won’t accept the throne!” She ran right into the warrior god.
Rhyn’athel caught her and held her for a moment in surprise. The power he had sensed in Lachlei in his immortal form ran through him now like a shock. Amusement played across his face as she gasped and pulled back. “You should watch where you’re going,” he said.
Her sword was out and so was Cahal’s. Lachlei backed up. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“I am Rhyn…” and Rhyn’athel’s voice trailed off. He heard Ni’yah chuckling in his ear and shot an angry glance towards his brother. In the heady excitement of becoming mortal, Rhyn’athel hadn’t thought this through.
“Rhyn?” Lachlei repeated.
Rhyn’athel smiled in amusement. “I am Chi’lan Rhyn from the North Marches,” he said. “We heard of Fialan’s death.” He was pleased to have thought of this so quickly.
“News travels fast,” said Cahal, eyeing Rhyn’athel suspiciously. “It takes nearly a fortnight to travel from the North Marches to Caer Lochvaren. Assuming we sent messengers…”
Ni’yah’s chuckle turned to a roar of laughter in his ears. Rhyn’athel reminded himself to make the wolf-god pay for his mirth when Rhyn’athel returned to his god form. Of course, travel was slow here, he reminded himself ruefully. “I was on the King’s Highway—a week’s travel north of here. When I heard the news, I came quickly.” He paused, hoping perhaps that would make sense. “I’m looking for Queen Lachlei—the Lochvaur guards in the city said she would be here.”
Nice touch, Ni’yah remarked.
Rhyn’athel made no reply.
Lachlei glared at Cahal. “Does everyone know other than me?” she demanded.
Cahal gave Rhyn’athel a helpless look. “I—I’m not sure…”
“Know what?” the god asked and was rewarded with a relieved look from Cahal.
“That I was voted queen by the Council.”
“I had not heard,” he said truthfully. “But it would make sense. Your reputation is well-known throughout the Lochvaur lands.” He smiled, meeting her angry gaze. “Even in the North Marches.”
Lachlei met his gaze. The anger within her disappeared, and she found herself grinning foolishly back. Cahal relaxed in relief and they both sheathed their swords. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This has been a very trying time.”
“Indeed.”
Lachlei paused, gazing at the god. “I didn’t expect someone to be here,” she said awkwardly. She paused. “Where’s your horse?”
Ni’yah’s laughter echoed once more in Rhyn’athel’s ears, but the warrior god shook his head. “He’s in one of the stables—after such a long ride, I didn’t want to risk an injury on this mountain.”
Lachlei nodded, obviously mollified with his explanation. “You must be tired and hungry from your journey.”
Say ‘yes,’ Ni’yah’s voice echoed in his head.
“Indeed, I am,” Rhyn’athel said.
Lachlei glanced at the Chi’lan beside her. “Come on, Cahal, let’s find Kellachan. After I apologize, we’ll show our guest our hospitality.”
10
After a brief introduction, Lachlei led Rhyn’athel, Cahal, and Kellachan down the mountain towards Caer Lochvaren. It was dark now and the stars shone overhead. The cold wind bit through them as they walked along the rough-hewn steps leading down to the fortress-city. They retrieved the horses Cahal had tied to a tree, choosing to walk back since Rhyn and Kellachan had no horses with them.
As Lachlei walked beside the new Chi’lan, she had a chance to study him. Rhyn was tall even for a Lochvaur, being nearly six and a half feet, with a muscular frame that spoke of power. He was handsome too, with a strong, chiseled jaw and silver eyes. His red-gold mane was long for a warrior, and he had no visible scars.
Odd, she thought. She had never known a seasoned Chi’lan to not bear a scar or two. Even a first-blood had scars he or she couldn’t completely heal. Lachlei guessed by his demeanor and build, he might be a few hundred years old—young for an Eleion, but a veteran for a Chi’lan. Most Chi’lan met their deaths within their first hundred years.
The name, Rhyn, was odd too. It meant “warrior” in the Eleion tongue, but the word was often paired with another to form a name: Rhyn’el, warrior Eleion, Rhyn’ar, warrior spear, Rhyn’athel, warrior god-king. Perhaps it was normal for those Lochvaur of the North Marches to use shortened names. Or perhaps Rhyn was not really his name.
Lachlei carefully probed his mind and met such a strong mental defense, it sent her mind reeling backwards. First-blood, she thought immediately. A powerful one. The only one who she had known this powerful was Fialan. The sidelong glance from Rhyn told Lachlei that her clumsy attempts at reading his mind did not go unnoticed. The slight smile that parted his lips told her he was not offended.