Margaret Bonham - Lachlei

Tamar glared. “I wouldn’t want anything that a Shara’kai , half-breed from the North Marches touched.”

Cahal glanced at Rhyn. The new Chi’lan seemed relaxed and unoffended. “Rhyn, he just called you a half-breed.”

The god looked bored. “I’ve seen better Ansgar warriors than him.”

Tamar lunged, slashing with his dagger. Rhyn stepped to the right and used the big man’s momentum to toss Tamar aside. A moment later, Rhyn stood over the Chi’lan , his sword drawn. Tamar scrambled to stand, but was met with the tip of Rhyn’s blade inches from his face. The sword glowed blue-white in the dim light.

A murmur rippled through the Chi’lan and the entire mead hall became silent. Everyone stared at the Sword of Power and at the man who wielded it.

“I would be very careful whom you choose as your enemy,” Rhyn said, an edge to his voice. “Especially one who would be your friend.”

Tamar blinked. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow as he met the god’s gaze. Rhyn smiled and lowered his blade. He offered Tamar his hand.

Tamar hesitated and then took the god’s hand. Rhyn pulled the big man up and they stared at each other for a moment. Tamar smiled and Rhyn sheathed his sword. Laughter erupted throughout the Chi’lan . Several clapped Rhyn on the back before going back to their mead. Many went back to their business.

Tamar chuckled but he gave Rhyn an appraising look. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asked. “I’ve never had anyone move so quickly that they could take me down.”

“ Chi’lan training,” Rhyn replied grinning.

Cahal stood beside them and chuckled. “Perhaps, but I’ve never seen anyone move so fast.” He nodded at the sword that hung at Rhyn’s side. “Nor have I seen a Sword of Power. I thought they were all destroyed before the Truce—where did you get that?”

Rhyn shrugged. “From my father.”

A lie? Ni’yah’s voice echoed in his head. My, are we taking this mortal thing a little too seriously?

A necessity , Rhyn’athel replied. He met Tamar’s gaze and saw that the Chi’lan was studying him curiously.

“You’re more than first-blood,” Tamar said at last. He turned and took another flagon of mead before returning to the knife game.

Lachlei left the council’s chambers. The cold air bit into her face as she strode back to the great hall. Laewynd was a fool, she decided. His faith and trust in her were misplaced. She couldn’t lead the Lochvaur against their enemies, let alone to the greatness Fialan envisioned. And yet, there was no one else. There was no other first-blood capable of doing what she could.

But, even as she thought this, Lachlei knew she was wrong. There was Rhyn. Lachlei could sense that Rhyn was as powerful as Fialan had been. Maybe even more so. But Rhyn was a stranger and was not of Caer Lochvaren. Indeed, he was not of any Lochvaur line known to exist. How could the Lochvaur of Caer Lochvaren have missed such a bloodline? Lachlei couldn’t imagine it. Even the North Marches were not so remote when it came to blood kin.

“I told you Laewynd would make you queen,” said Kellachan as he strode beside her.

Lachlei glared at him. “Damn it, Kel, I’m not fit to lead the army.”

Kellachan grinned. “Yes, you are—only you won’t admit it.”

Lachlei shook her head. “Kel, my husband is dead and I must find his murderers. They have used dark magic against him.”

Kellachan nodded. “I know,” he said. He met her gaze earnestly. “Lachlei—have you thought that those who killed Fialan were not looking merely to slay him?”

Lachlei stared. She thought of the demon. “You think it was an attack against the Lochvaur ?”

“What do you think?”

Lachlei gazed into the starry sky. She had thought the demon killed Fialan because he was a powerful Lochvaur . She had not thought about the consequences of his death. Of course, now that Fialan was gone, there was no one to protect the kindred. She shook her head, lost in her own muddled thoughts. “I think I am very tired,” she said at last. She reached the door to the great hall and pulled it open.

The noise of the hall poured into the darkness. Lachlei smiled as she saw that the warriors were still drinking. Of course, they would still be drinking. Lachlei would have crept to her private chambers unnoticed if she had a choice. But Cahal spied her as she slid through the door with Kellachan beside her. Cahal stood at attention and other Chi’lan followed, including Rhyn. His silver eyes seemed to cut right through her. The hall fell silent.

Lachlei frowned. She knew they were expecting her to say something. The weariness of the month filled her. She simply wanted to sleep.

“It appears that both Laewynd and the High Council have overridden my personal desires,” she said without preamble. She glanced at Kellachan who smiled at her. “The High Council has chosen me as your queen.”

A deafening roar drowned out her words. The Chi’lan cheered and pulled their daggers from their belts. “Lachlei! Lachlei!” they chanted and pounded their pommels against the tables to their words.

Lachlei raised her hands for silence, but they only shouted louder. Mead flowed from the barrels into flagons and someone handed her a cup. Lachlei grinned and took a gulp of the spiced honey-wine as the chanting grew louder. Almost immediately, she felt the heady rush from the drink.

“Lachlei!” Cahal said.

Lachlei turned and smiled at the younger Chi’lan . “What is it, Cahal?”

Cahal paused, noting her eyes were bright from the mead. “Perhaps we should talk later.” “Perhaps we should talk now,” she said with a smile. “What is it?”

“The new Chi’lan , Rhyn…” he began.

“What about him?”

“He bested Tamar.”

Lachlei turned to see Rhyn gazing at her from across the room. He had been talking to Tamar and looked up, somehow sensing that she was looking at him. He was handsome, she decided, and a sly smile crept across her face. “Is that so? He bested Tamar?”

“He has a Sword of Power,” Cahal added.

Lachlei stared. “Really? Are you sure?” Even in her inebriated state, Lachlei knew the implications.

“Quite,” Cahal said. “The sword glowed.”

Lachlei considered Rhyn thoughtfully. “A Sword of Power. This is very interesting, Cahal. Who knows about this?”

Cahal shrugged. “Everyone. Rhyn took Tamar on right here in the hall.”

“There are no Swords of Power left.”

“Rhyn said he inherited the blade from his father.”

Lachlei shook her head. “No, Cahal. Swords of Power disintegrate when the forger dies. Only godlings have strong enough magic to forge a Sword of Power. Are you sure what you saw?”

“Ask anyone here if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you,” she said, glancing at Rhyn. “I just find it extraordinary.”

Cahal glanced at Rhyn and then back at Lachlei. “Do you think he’s lying?”

Lachlei shrugged. “Not necessarily, but I think Rhyn isn’t telling us everything.” She glanced at Rhyn, and his steady silver eyes met hers. For a moment, she felt as though he had knocked down her mental defenses with ease. She shivered and broke eye contact, glancing into the empty mead cup. She turned to Cahal. “See that I’m not disturbed,” she said. She strode to the door to her private chambers and left the hall.

Lachlei found that she couldn’t sleep at first, despite the mead. She had checked on her sleeping son and Wynne, his nanny, before collapsing in exhaustion. She had wept for weeks since Fialan’s death. Now, she could weep no more—instead, she began to think about the demon that killed Fialan.