Margaret Bonham - Lachlei

Lachlei looked up, her eyes bright with tears. “You will avenge Fialan’s death?”

“Fialan was blood kin, albeit distantly,” Rhyn said. “I have slain demons before.”

Lachlei paused. “How can this be? The duty falls on me, since I was his consort.”

“But you don’t have …” Rhyn paused.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Rhyn replied.

“You were going to say that I don’t have the power to kill a demon,” Lachlei said.

Rhyn’athel stared at her again. Were his defenses down? Could she read his mind? A quick check told him they were in place. “Yes,” he admitted. “You don’t. Fialan didn’t.”

“Teach me.”

Rhyn paused. “You want me to teach you how to fight a demon?”

“We will have to go to North Marches,” she said. “We must avenge their murders and take back our lands.”

Rhyn’athel nodded, considering her thoughtfully. Could he possibly teach the Eleion to kill demons? His son, Lochvaur, had fought demons fifteen hundred years before—but Lochvaur had been a godling, not just a first-blood. Still, the prospect intrigued Rhyn’athel. “Yes, we do.”

“I have a score to settle with this demon,” she said.

So do I , Rhyn’athel thought.

Dawn came cold and blood-red over North Marches. Ravens and other scavengers slunk around the bodies of the slain. The acrid smell of smoke wafted through the battlefield. All that was left of North Marches was a smoldering ruin. The Silren had torched the village, setting many occupied buildings alight and shooting those who dared try to escape the merciless flames.

Areyn stood among the bodies, reveling in the death while the Silren searched for survivors. There would be none—Areyn had made certain of it. Thousands of Lochvaur had perished in a few short hours, either at the hand of the Silren or through Areyn Sehduk, himself.

Areyn’s demon mount was nowhere to be found. Areyn suspected the demon was looking for more dying souls. It had been a good feeding, and the demon was seeking the remnants of the slaughter. It would return once it was sated.

Galen strode towards Areyn. “There are no survivors.”

“Good,” Areyn replied. “This will help clean the Lochvaur plague from Silren lands.”

“Indeed,” the general said. “But we could’ve used the women and children for the slave trade.”

“Maybe next time,” Areyn replied, but he doubted it. Areyn Sehduk enjoyed the slave trade immensely, but he needed deaths now. It took power to hold this guise. Unlike the gods of light, Areyn needed the life force of the dying. Their lives made him Rhyn’athel’s equal. Without their deaths, Areyn would be little more than a demon, himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, Areyn saw a silver wolf slink away. He turned towards it and grinned. Spying for your brother again, Ni’yah?

The wolf made no reply, but paused and glared at Areyn balefully with his brass eyes. The wolf turned and fled into the dark forest with Areyn’s mocking laughter ringing in his ears.

Imdyr lay naked against the cold, stone altar of Fala and closed her eyes. For nearly a month, Imdyr had lain against the winged goddess’s altar, searching for some sign. Imdyr had been the goddess’s high priestess for five years; Fala had chosen her when she was twelve after the old priestess had died.

Long raven-black hair framed an angular face. Her eyes were obsidian black, contrasting sharply with sallow skin. Her thin body showed her ribs below her small, firm breasts, and her hip bones protruded. She was like all those born of the Eltar kindred, tall, lithe, and fair skinned. She had been beautiful at one time, but the darkness in the temple had made her pale and emaciated. Even so, the power still remained.

Imdyr was first-blood. She came from the line of Fala when the goddess had walked among mortals before the wars between the gods. The Eltar and the Falarel had been her kindreds, and yet, they could not gain any greatness over the others.

Where was the promise of Fala? Imdyr demanded. To her demands came no reply.

Imdyr had waited—in vain. Fala no longer held power in the Fifth World. She was a dark goddess who hated both the gods of light and gods of darkness, favoring her own magic. For this, Fala was an outcast—eschewed by both sides. Her kindreds weak and forgotten.

A surge of power ran through her, and Imdyr sat up. Reaching out with her Sight, she saw a dark figure on a horse—but it was no horse. Within her mind’s eye, Imdyr saw the slaughter unfold. Entranced, she felt horrified at first, but she could not tear herself away from the vision. The dark rider came forward, wielding his blade.

She saw a village in her vision and watched as it burst into flames. Pale warriors— Silren , by their looks—attacked with a blood-frenzy. Some of their victims ran, but a few stood and fought. The warriors had red-gold manes— Lochvaur . But, there were too many Silren and the Lochvaur were soon overwhelmed.

Imdyr found herself standing on the battlefield, the cold wind whipping across her body. She shivered, but not because she was cold. The carnage excited her—she could taste the blood in her mouth. Then the dark warrior rode towards her. Imdyr could see his face clearly as he turned his demon-mount aside. He was a Silren with ice-blue eyes. Silren , and yet, not Silren .

Imdyr smiled. She looked into his pale eyes. “I know who you are,” she whispered. “Areyn Sehduk.”

“It was Areyn,” Ni’yah said, his brass eyes hard. “He mocks me and he mocks you.” He stood on the parapets of Caer Lochvaren next to Rhyn’athel as the warrior god gazed over the forests in the dawn’s light. The warming sun’s rays brought little comfort to either of them. To the casual observer, they looked like two Eleion soldiers conversing—not two of the most powerful gods in the Nine Worlds.

“I know,” Rhyn’athel said, his voice heavy. “I should’ve seen it—in fact, I felt Areyn’s shield earlier before the attack, only I was too preoccupied. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“What indeed? The Truce is in shambles.”

“No thanks to Areyn.”

“And no thanks to you—or me,” Rhyn’athel said. “We’ve all violated it, despite our intentions.”

“Areyn has slaughtered an entire village, and you’re worried about your violation?”

Rhyn’athel shook his head grimly. “I had hoped to avoid this war, and yet, it seems inevitable. Total, utter destruction—as it was in the last war.”

“But we won.”

Rhyn’athel chuckled ruefully. “Did we? Yes, I suppose in a way, you could call it a victory. But what did we accomplish?”

“The Jotunn and demons no longer walk this world or any of our worlds,” Ni’yah replied. “The Eleion live here instead of Areyn’s spawn.”

“But as long as Areyn Sehduk exists, there will be no peace,” Rhyn’athel replied. “And he is an Athel’cen , a god from the Wyrd—as you and I are. We can’t be destroyed. You know as well as I do that the Truce was the only way to preserve what little we’ve created. And now, that’s gone.” Silence ensued.

“He has a demon with him,” Ni’yah ventured.

Rhyn’athel smiled grimly. “That news does not surprise me.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the parapet. “Areyn is a coward—he will not confront me directly because he knows he will lose. So, he takes the guise of a warrior to destroy my kindred and my power in this world, hoping to catch me unawares.”