Margaret Bonham - Lachlei

Rhyn frowned. “No, it’s not,” he agreed. He knew that the Laddel were Ni’yah’s to command, but how many would remain to be seen. Laddel , Ni’yah’s son, would be obliged to his father, but even Laddel would have his limits. Without the full force of the Lochvaur , the Laddel would not be willing to give their entire army to stop Areyn. It would be too late by the time the Lochvaur entered the fight. “What if the Silren obtain the Elesil ’s aid?”

Lachlei shook her head. “The Elesil are traditionally allied with the Silren . If they enter the fray, we’ll be overwhelmed without aid from our allies. But the Laddel are some distance away and the Haell allegiance is tenuous at best.”

Then, let us hope Ni’yah does his work , Rhyn’athel thought darkly. If I have to intervene, this could escalate …

Lachlei studied Rhyn’s face curiously. “What of the Lochvaur surrounding North Marches?”

Rhyn hesitated. “There are maybe a few thousand. Of those, a few hundred warriors.”

“That’s a few hundred we don’t have now.” She fell silent, her face pensive. “Something is wrong.” Lachlei shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s something,” Rhyn paused. He brushed her thoughts and frowned. “Laewynd threatened your crown?”

“It’s nothing,” Lachlei said.

“No,” he replied, feeling his anger rise. “Laewynd threatened you with a challenger, didn’t he?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Rhyn frowned. His link with the Web of Wyrd was tenuous in his new form. Even so, he could see that it was changing because of his very presence. “I don’t know what’s exactly ahead,” he said. “But I can promise you none of your Chi’lan will challenge you. Nor will I.”

“That is some comfort, I suppose.” Lachlei’s smile was forced. “What will you do now that you have no home to return to?” “The land is burnt, the people dead, and there is nothing for me. I must seek the demon that killed them.”

“Then, our paths still cross,” she murmured. “I was hoping that perhaps you would consider joining my Chi’lan ,” she said. “We need warriors, Rhyn.” She met his gaze. “I need warriors. You’re first-blood, and that’s a rare commodity nowadays.”

Rhyn stared for a long moment, amazed at his luck. “I would be honored,” he said.

“Then, stand beside me tonight at coronation,” she said. “If I fail, I would have you challenge the victor. I don’t know who Laewynd may put up to challenge me, but he will be nothing more than a puppet.”

Rhyn shook his head. “No, Lachlei, you won’t fail.”

“Laewynd reminded me that I haven’t seen battle in years—against a battle-hardened warrior, I may fall. You are the only Chi’lan I’ve seen who is worthy enough for the throne.”

“I can’t accept.”

She took his hands and once again, Rhyn felt the charge run through him. “Please, Rhyn, I know you’re a first-blood and I know you have a Sword of Power. Cahal told me how you’ve defeated Tamar.”

Rhyn looked into her eyes and felt his resolve slip away. How could a woman weaken the determination of the most powerful god in the Nine Worlds? “I accept, Lachlei,” he heard himself say. “But you will not fail.”

Imdyr rode her black horse towards the Silren encampment. It was late afternoon and the sun was already sinking behind the Lochvaren Mountains. Before her lay the tents and watch fires of the Silren army, nestled deep within the forest surrounding the King’s Highway.

Her horse’s hooves made no noise, and Imdyr traveled like a shadow in the oncoming darkness. Imdyr’s dark hair and black cloak flowed behind her. She was now dressed in dark adamantine mail and a short sword hung at her side.

The Silren guards did not see Imdyr as she rode by, cloaked in her own powers of invisibility. Even with Areyn’s shields, Imdyr could sense the death god nearby; his power seemed to draw her in. Imdyr dismounted and entered Areyn’s tent.

Incense greeted her as she entered the dark tent. Another odor that she couldn’t place—a sweet musky smell—seemed to permeate her senses. As her eyes became used to the dark, Imdyr saw that the tent was empty. Empty, and yet, not. Imdyr could feel Areyn’s power everywhere—it was as tangible as the incense that wafted through the tent. She took a step forward.

Suddenly, she felt a strong hand grasp her neck from behind and pull her backwards. Another hand clamped around her mouth so she could not scream. Imdyr turned to see ice-blue eyes glitter with a red light in the darkness.

Who are you?

Imdyr smiled inwardly, despite her fear. I have come for you, Areyn Sehduk .

A hesitation. I am Akwel .

Is that what the god of destruction calls himself?

Areyn released her, his eyes glowing menacingly. “What are you?” he growled.

“I am Imdyr, High Priestess of Fala,” she said.

“An Eltar ,” Areyn said. He gazed at her, trying to read her mind and found it was shut to him. “A daughter of the winged goddess. Why do you seek a Silren ? We consider you a little more than animals.”

“Which is why it surprises me that you took a Silren body,” Imdyr remarked, appraisingly. She approached him and put her arms around his neck. “It is said that Fala was once your lover…” Imdyr kissed him passionately.

Areyn pulled away. “Who sent you?” he demanded. It bothered him that he couldn’t read her mind. “How did you get past the guards?”

“All in due time,” she said, kissing him again. “If you please me, I might grant you what you most desire.”

“There is nothing that you would have that I would want.”

“Really?” Imdyr said, pulling away and feigning surprise. “Then, I suppose I could offer Rhyn’athel the same. Maybe a god of light would be more appreciative of my gifts…”

Areyn curbed his temper as his curiosity took hold. “What gifts?”

“The Nine Worlds, of course.”

Areyn licked his lips; hunger glittering in his eyes. “Perhaps I was being hasty,” he said. “I will listen.”

“Later,” she said, sliding out of her clothes. “You must please me first.”

Lachlei stood on the hill overlooking Caer Lochvaren. The stars shone brightly overhead as the three moons, Tomah, Iamar, and Mani, crested the horizon. As it had been in ancient times, the Chi’lan now met to choose their ruler and champion. Her personal guard, Chi’lan warriors all, stood beside her. Over five hundred warriors, torches blazing, stood around Lachlei as she faced Laewynd. She was ready for combat.

“Does anyone challenge the Lochvaur champion?” Laewynd spoke. He held a small circlet in both hands, awaiting a response.

Silence ensued. Lachlei glanced at her Chi’lan . Rhyn stood beside her, as promised. One by one, she met the gazes of the warriors she thought capable of challenging her. Rhyn, Cahal, Tamar, Kellachan… One by one, the warriors shook their heads. Lachlei smiled. If none challenged her right, she would be Rhyn’athel’s champion and queen of the Lochvaur . She recalled how Fialan had taken the throne without a single challenge. None dared challenge what was Fialan’s right…

“I challenge.”

A voice broke her from her reverie, and she focused on the speaker. Murmurs ran through the Chi’lan —there had not been a challenger in over five hundred years. Lachlei turned to see Kieran from the High Council step forward.