Margaret Bonham - Lachlei

She felt edgy—as though something was about to happen. The Sight did that to her frequently, but gave her only hints and clues as to the future. A random image here or there or a fleeting thought would come to her. It didn’t come when bidden, but sometimes Lachlei could summon the visions without controlling what she was summoning. The Wyrd—the fabric of the past, present, and future—was like that. Only the gods had the ability to see the entire Wyrd, but even they could not control it. Very few first-bloods had been able to summon visions and those had been primarily godlings.

Lachlei let herself drift, allowing the Sight to permeate her senses. Fialan had better control over the Sight than she had, but he too found it difficult to interpret. The Sight certainly didn’t save Fialan’s life—if Fialan had seen the demon, he would have avoided it. Lachlei saw nothing save darkness. It would be dawn in a few hours and she knew she would need her rest for the work ahead. Exhausted, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

Fialan followed Eshe across the plains as the “sun” rose into the dark sky. Unlike Sowelu, the sun of Elren , this sun was swollen and red, but cast little heat and almost no light. It provided little warmth in this barren place. Fialan wrapped his cloak around himself, but the cold wind cut through it.

Fialan marveled that he was still dressed much the same as he had when he died—assuming he had died. He didn’t quite believe the Chi’lan named Eshe. She didn’t talk or look back as she walked across the barren landscape towards what appeared to be cliffs in the distance. And yet, the world was as alien as anything Fialan had ever dreamed of. It was bleak and red, obviously due to a play of the sun’s light on the land. As his eyes began to adjust to the dimness, he could see other Eleion wandering the vast plains. Some huddled in groups; some alone. Occasionally, a few considered him with interest, but most ignored his presence and none spoke to him.

Fialan caught up with Eshe and grasped her arm. She had drawn her cowl over her head and wrapped the cloak tightly around herself against the cold. “Will you talk to me?”

Eshe paused. “Why?”

“You spoke to me earlier.”

“That’s because I had to,” she said, pulling her arm from his grasp.

“Why?” Fialan asked.

“Because I had to,” she said and turned to leave. He caught her arm again. “Leave me alone, Fialan.”

“No,” Fialan said. “How long have you been here?”

“Time doesn’t mean anything here.”

“It must,” Fialan mused. “You said you served Lochvaur in the Battle of the Nine Worlds?”

Eshe glared at him. Fialan held her arm. “Yes,” she said at last. “Let me go.”

“No. I won’t unless you answer my questions.”

“I could use my polearm.”

“And I could use my sword,” Fialan said. “But if what you say is true, and I am dead, then you can’t kill me again.”

“You’ll feel pain,” Eshe replied.

A smile played across Fialan’s lips. “Really?”

“What’s so amusing?” She stared at him.

“You and I could fight each other and not die,” he said.

“You’ll regenerate your body.”

“Courtesy of Areyn Sehduk?”

Her eyes hardened—steel points within the darkness of the cowl. “Yes.”

“But I am Rhyn’athel’s champion,” he said.

“ Were Rhyn’athel’s champion,” she said. “Rhyn’athel has no power here.”

“Why do you say that?” he said. “You’re Chi’lan —you’re Rhyn’athel’s warrior.”

Eshe shook her head. “I was Rhyn’athel’s warrior,” she said. “Rhyn’athel abandoned us to Areyn after the war. Areyn took the dead, Fialan. We are beholden to the death god.”

“I don’t believe that,” Fialan said.

“You’ve just died, you don’t know…”

“Don’t know what?”

Again, the hatred glowed in her eyes. “You’ll learn…”

“Learn what?”

Eshe took a breath. “You have no will save Areyn’s. You will do as he commands.” She looked on him in pity. “Fialan, Rhyn’athel has abandoned us to our fate with the death god. Rhyn’athel has abandoned his own son, Lochvaur, to Areyn for the sake of the Nine Worlds. No one, save perhaps Lochvaur and a few of his followers believe that Rhyn’athel will return for us. It has been so long, Fialan.”

“So, you believe you should just give up?” Fialan asked.

Eshe shook her head. “Fialan, I used to believe as you do. But Areyn uses us; he drains us of our life force like a leech until we can barely survive. But, we are creations of Rhyn’athel and we grow strong again—only to feed Areyn.” She shuddered and pulled herself away. “It’s awful—and we don’t speak of it ever. You’ll learn.”

Fialan let her go and she shuffled away from him. The thought of having his life force drained filled him with horror, but he pushed it from his mind.

“Lochvaur hasn’t given up—why?” Fialan asked.

Eshe stopped and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Eshe—wait!” Fialan called to her. At first, he thought she would continue forward, but she stopped and turned around. “I’ll leave you alone after this—I promise.”

Eshe’s eyes glinted under her dark cowl. “What is it?”

“I have been the strongest Chi’lan champion since Lochvaur. No mortal creature slew me, Eshe.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. It matters not just to me, but to the Nine Worlds. I was Rhyn’athel’s champion and the creature that killed me should have died when I thrust my blade into it.”

Eshe lowered her hood. “You killed it?”

“It was supposedly a Silren , Eshe, but it killed my Chi’lan warriors with a glance. I struck it in the chest. It would’ve killed a first-blood, Eshe. My sword was a magical weapon.”

Eshe paused. “Your sword was adamantine?”

“From Athelren . Nothing could’ve survived Fyren ’s blow.”

“ Fyren ?” she whispered. “ Fyren ?”

“You know the blade, then?”

“ Fyren is a legendary demon slayer,” Eshe said. “It was Lochvaur’s blade before he forged his own Sword of Power. No demon could withstand that sword.”

“Whatever killed me did,” Fialan said. “I buried Fyren into its chest. It prevented me from using my powers.”

A glint of hope shone in Eshe’s eyes. “There are very few that could withstand that blade. That who could withstand Fyren , would violate the Truce…”

Fialan grinned. “My thoughts exactly.”

“What do you want of me?”

“Take me to Lochvaur,” he said.

Something wasn’t right.

Ronan walked along the stockade fencing of North Marches, his senses at peak awareness. As commanding Chi’lan , Ronan was in charge of North Marches defenses, such as they were. Although he was not first-blood, Ronan came from ancient lines, and his instincts were sharply aware of both magical and non-magical dangers. His instincts told him something was about to happen.

Ronan nodded to one of the sentries he passed along the earthen ramparts. It was quiet tonight, and the soldiers were making their rounds as they always had. It was routine, and yet…

Ronan gazed into the darkness. The forest that surrounded the village of North Marches crested a hill to the north—the beginnings of the Lochvaren Mountains lay to the north and west. To the east lay the Silren lands. Ronan had never been fond of the Silren —what he had seen of them. Most avoided the village of North Marches, but a few did make their way here. Despite the Lochvaur attempt in friendship, most Silren preferred to avoid the Lochvaur .