“But now he’s gotten bold,” Ni’yah remarked. “Bold enough to taunt me.”
“Arrogance,” Rhyn’athel replied. “The blood-feeding does that to him. Areyn will regret it in a few days when his power levels out.”
“What do we do?”
Rhyn’athel made no response. Instead, he gazed below into the bailey. Ni’yah followed his gaze until it rested on Lachlei who had entered the inner courtyards. Ni’yah grinned. “She is very beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Damn you for bringing me here,” Rhyn’athel said. “You knew all the time she would be my weakness.”
Ni’yah shrugged. “I knew you wouldn’t let her die—especially now that the Wyrd is weaving a different pattern.”
Rhyn’athel took a deep breath, his eyes becoming glassy as he concentrated his powers on the Sight. It was harder to do, now that he had a mortal body, but not impossible. The silver threads of the future shimmered in his vision, and he stared as he saw the path they would take. His eyes snapped back into focus. “I’ve changed the Wyrd with my presence.”
“Can’t be helped,” Ni’yah said dismissively. “Whenever any of the gods of the Wyrd enter this world, it forever changes the Wyrd’s pattern.”
“You knew this and yet you continue to meddle,” Rhyn’athel accused.
Ni’yah shrugged. “I hate knowing everything that happens—it makes for a very boring life as a god. Besides, it’s not just me, now—it’s you and Areyn. You have the strongest link to the Wyrd, which is why it is so interesting to see it change around Lachlei…”
“Lachlei,” Rhyn’athel repeated distractedly. There were two paths now—both would shift the balance of power. Both hinged on Lachlei.
“You know that not everything is set and the Wyrd doesn’t reveal the full future. But Lachlei will…”
Rhyn’athel’s face became stern. “Speak of this to no one.”
“Areyn may learn of this,” Ni’yah said. “Areyn will seek Lachlei out, himself.”
Rhyn’athel could feel his face flush with rage, but he held it back. “Not while I am still the warrior god.”
Ni’yah nodded. “So, what will you do?”
“Lachlei wants me to teach her how to kill a demon.”
“She knows?” Ni’yah gazed at his brother. “Did you…?”
The warrior god shook his head. “Lachlei sensed Areyn, herself. The slaughter woke her.”
“I only thought godlings like Lochvaur and Laddel could recognize demons.”
“Lachlei can.” Rhyn’athel’s gaze drifted back to her. “The Silren are under Areyn’s power. If the Lochvaur fall, so will the other kindreds.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Stop Areyn here and now,” Rhyn’athel said. “Lachlei will be my champion.”
Ni’yah grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t stand by idly.”
Rhyn’athel nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it, you were right.” He paused. “We will need more than the Lochvaur , though. Your son, Laddel is still alive?”
“He is,” Ni’yah said. “And the Laddel are a strong kindred—one of the few who use longbows. I will speak with Laddel , if you wish.”
Rhyn’athel nodded. “Do that. And speak to Elisila about her Silren …”
Ni’yah smirked. “You wouldn’t wish to talk with her yourself?”
The warrior god glared.
Ni’yah chuckled. “I thought not,” he said and vanished.
Eshe led Fialan towards the cliffs. She had agreed to take him to Lochvaur and for the first time, seemed actually cheered by his presence. “Lochvaur has a fortification within the cliffs, themselves,” she said as they walked.
“Fortification? Is there are need for a fortress here?” Fialan asked, looking around at the bleak landscape.
Eshe laughed; her voice almost musical in that dismal place. Fialan smiled. “By the gods, no!” she said. “If the demons want you, no tiny fortress would keep them at bay.” “Are there any animals here?”
Eshe shook her head. “No—no need to feed us. These shells Areyn has given us don’t require food or water.”
“Or sleep?”
Eshe shook her head. “Except when Areyn…” She shuddered.
“Why would Lochvaur build a fortress?” Fialan asked, changing the subject back to avoid the topic.
“Most of the dead thought it was foolish,” said Eshe. “But, perhaps it’s a way to show defiance against Areyn. Or maybe it was simply something to take up time. Regardless, it has had an effect of sorts. Areyn won’t come near Lochvaur.”
Fialan laughed. “He won’t? I wonder why?”
“Lochvaur is part Rhyn’athel,” she said. “Areyn won’t touch Lochvaur’s power or he’ll poison himself.”
“I thought you said that first-bloods no longer have their powers.”
“They don’t,” she said. “But a godling is different, and even though Lochvaur has no power here, Areyn fears him.”
The swollen red sun made its way slowly across the sky. Despite the shock of discovering he was dead, Fialan was glad he didn’t need food or rest. He guessed by the sun’s movement that Tarentor ’s day was much longer than the Elren ’s day. The barren plains became rolling hills and still, they walked. He could see the mountains loom ahead like sharp, jagged teeth.
“There isn’t much to build with around here,” Fialan remarked.
Eshe chuckled. “Just twisted ironwood and rock—and the damn saw grass. I hate the stuff! It’ll cut through everything except armor.”
Fialan laughed with her. “Are all Areyn’s worlds this dismal?”
Eshe grinned. “They say he made this world especially for Rhyn’athel’s warriors,” she said. “He’s not fond of the Chi’lan .”
“But he has other worlds.”
“Oh yes—that’s no lie,” she said. “I hear Jotnar is similar enough to our Elren , but it is colder. And of course, it’s the land of the Jotunn , the frost giants.”
“You were killed by a Jotunn ,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Nasty creatures—I supposed you’ve never seen one.”
Fialan shook his head.
“Well, that’s one good thing that came from the Truce, I suppose. They used to inhabit our world.”
“I hear they were tough to kill,” Fialan said.
Eshe chuckled. “You’re talkative for a dead man,” she said. “This has probably been the most I’ve said since I’ve been here.”
“Why?”
“Well, you’re different. Most when they realize they’re dead are resigned to it. They want to see their parents or dead loved ones or whatever…” “I’ve made my peace with the dead long ago,” he said. “And if what you say is true, I have a long time to see my dead loved ones. My concern, Eshe, is with the living.”
Eshe paused and considered him thoughtfully. “You are different, Fialan. Perhaps I was hasty to think otherwise.”
The swollen red sun was slipping below the horizon when Eshe led Fialan into a red canyon. The canyon led along the ruddy desert cliffs where a fortress cut from stone sat hewn from the sandstone walls. Fialan stared at the structure in awe. A keep, fortified by a large curtain wall, complete with defensible towers, sat in the high cliffs. It was as large as Caer Lochvaren.
“How long did it take to build that?” he asked.
Eshe shrugged. “When you have all the time in the Nine Worlds, what does it matter?”
“But how did they get the tools?”
Eshe shook her head. “I don’t know, but the sandstone is soft. It wouldn’t survive a siege.”
“Still, wouldn’t it give people hope?”
“I suppose it gives hope to some,” Eshe said slowly. “But most feel it is folly.”
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