Conlan gazed at her, his silver eyes filled with sympathy. “You do, Cara, but right now, you feel lost. Your kindred is nearly destroyed because of what Areyn did.”
“Why didn’t Rhyn’athel stop this?”
“Why does the Wyrd weave the web it does?” Conlan shrugged. “Who can say? And if the god would answer to you, would he give you an answer that would satisfy you?”
Cara smiled grimly. “I suppose not.”
Conlan gripped her shoulder. “You have much work to do, Chi’lan, to rebuild your kindred. Your father is still among the living.”
“Silvain is still alive?” she said. “He won’t speak to me.”
“Perhaps not now, but he’ll need you.” Conlan looked at the other renegade Silren. “He’ll need all of you to rebuild what is left.” He hugged her. “Go—find Silvain, Chi’lan.”
Cara nodded. She mounted a horse and led the Silren towards the enemy’s wounded.
“Fialan?” Lachlei whispered. Before her stood her former husband as she had remembered him. Fialan stood next to Lochvaur and a Chi’lan woman.
Lachlei ran to him and they embraced. Rhyn’athel watched stoically as Fialan held her and kissed her.
Brother? Ni’yah’s voice spoke in Rhyn’athel’s mind.
Not now, Ni’yah, Rhyn’athel said heavily. I don’t want to discuss this. I knew it could happen…
Lachlei pulled away and glanced back at Rhyn’athel. “It is good to see you, Fialan.”
Fialan smiled at her. “Indeed, Lachlei,” he said, glancing at Eshe. “It looks as though things have changed.” He paused. “Walk with me.”
How could she explain her love for the warrior god? Dread filled her heart. “Fialan, I…”
“Listen to me, Lachlei,” Fialan said. “I know already about Rhyn’athel…”
“You do? How?”
“Lochvaur—he told me.”
“How does he know?”
“Lochvaur is, well, he’s more than a godling, even though he won’t admit it,” Fialan said. “Lochvaur told me that death had a way of changing things. He was right.”
“Fialan,” she raised her hand, causing him to fall silent. “I believed you were dead. I was your wife, and I will respect that vow if you hold me to it, but many things have changed since we parted. I could not love you as before. I am Rhyn’athel’s now.”
“I know,” Fialan said. “I understand now that I was never intended for you—you were intended for Rhyn’athel. I didn’t believe it until I saw you at Caer Lochvaren. I love you and I always will, but I know that you and I were not meant to be.” He paused. “Do you love him?”
“Deeply, Fialan. I have never loved anyone more.”
“I know this. I could never be here with you, and you would have to come with me to Athelren. But, it is not your time.” Fialan shook his head. “What of Haellsil? And what of your unborn sons?”
“You know of them already?” Lachlei asked, frowning. “Does the entire army know?”
Fialan chuckled. “They may. Lachlei, our son, Haellsil, will be a great warrior in his own right, but the sons you will carry will be greater still. They’ll be sons of Rhyn’athel, same as Lochvaur.”
Lachlei glanced at Eshe, noticing her for the first time. She could see the fear in Eshe’s eyes. Fialan? Could Fialan have fallen in love with her? “You love her, don’t you?”
“Eshe?” Fialan smiled. “Yes, I do. One doesn’t go through Tarentor and battles without feeling something for those who fight beside you. Somewhere in this war, I fell in love with her.”
“Then, you release me?” Lachlei held her breath. Could Fialan have found his soul-mate as she had?
“There is nothing to release, Lachlei, my death broke our bond. We have no mind-link, and even Rhyn’athel would recognize that,” Fialan said. “I owe Rhyn’athel this, if naught else.” Lachlei held him, tears streaming down her face. She laughed. “Fialan, I will always love you.”
“And I, you.” Fialan paused. “Go to him, Lachlei.” He kissed her on her forehead and smiled.
Lachlei turned and strode back to Rhyn’athel. Rhyn’athel straightened, wonder on his face. “Lachlei?”
Lachlei smiled and took Rhyn’athel in her arms. “Rhyn, I couldn’t leave you,” she whispered as they embraced.
88
Lochvaur turned to Fialan. “It’s time for you to go,” he said. “And it is time for me to say good-bye.”
Fialan stared. “You’re not coming to Athelren?”
Lochvaur shook his head. “Areyn Sehduk still exists, my friend. Athelren, for all its grandeur and beauty, bores me greatly. I’m a warrior first, Fialan. Why do you think I accepted my fate in Tarentor?”
“You could’ve left at any time,” Fialan said in wonder. “Areyn wasn’t keeping you there—you allowed yourself to be his slave. Why?”
“The way to defeat one’s enemy is to know him,” Lochvaur said with a wry grin. “Neither Rhyn’athel nor Ni’yah could enter Areyn’s realms or learn Areyn’s secrets—but I could.”
“You were a spy.” Fialan shook his head. “Areyn Sehduk misjudged you.”
“Indeed, he did.”
“But, where will you go?” Fialan asked. “You will have no body in this world.”
Lochvaur glanced at Lachlei. Ah, but I will, he replied in mindspeak.
Fialan stared at him. You can be reborn?
I like the name ‘Lachlan.’ It means ‘champion’—did you know that? Lochvaur said casually, an evil glint in his eyes. With each incarnation, I do change. I become stronger, but I do forget much. Farewell, Fialan. Perhaps in another life, we will meet again.
With that, Lochvaur disappeared. Fialan felt swept up and the world spun around him. Then, Fialan and the other Chi’lan found themselves staring at a great walled fortress, gleaming white, at the base of mountains so tall they touched the sky. Twin golden suns shone in the sapphire sky.
Eshe laughed. “We’re here, Fialan! We’re in Athelren!” She hugged Fialan.
“Lachlan,” Fialan said, thoughtfully. “It has a ring to it.”
Cara and Haukel rode among the Silren wounded. The battlefield was burnt and bloody, filled with the dead, the dying, and scavengers. Thousands of Eltar and Silren bodies lay in the sun. She looked from side to side at the carnage. Those Silren still alive looked on her with hatred—she wore the red and gold colors of the warrior god, not the colors of the Silren. Both she and Haukel dismounted.
“What are you doing here?” demanded a lower-ranked Silren noble named Essil. “Isn’t it enough that you’ve served the enemy?”
Haukel gripped Cara’s shoulder, but the daughter of Silvain was not dissuaded. She smiled grimly. “I was not the one who fought for the death god,” she said. She looked around. “Where’s my father?”
Essil shook his head. “He won’t see you.”
“I think he should be the one to decide that,” she said. She looked over and saw her father’s standard. As she walked towards the standard, she saw the carnage of what had been the top Silren nobles. Nearby lay her father, Silvain. Not dead, but wounded. He looked up at her with pale eyes.
“You,” he whispered. “My daughter…” He stared into the sky. “You’ve come to gloat—to watch an old man die.”
“No,” Cara said softly. “I’ve come to take you home.”
“You’re Chi’lan,” he spat.