Margaret Bonham - Lachlei

“I think Rhyn’athel spoke to me.”

“The warrior god?”

She grinned foolishly. “Sounds idiotic, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Rhyn said quickly. “What did he say?”

“He reminded me I was first-blood,” she said. She fell silent and stared for a while at the mark. “I don’t know why Rhyn’athel chose me,” she said. “I never thought I would’ve made a champion. There are other warriors with far more experience—who are better fighters than I.”

“But none with first-blood powers,” Rhyn reminded her.

“No, none. Save you,” she said. “Rhyn, my inexperience nearly killed me, but my first-blood powers saved my life.” She shook her head.

“Lachlei, there have been greater Eleion born of godling blood, who have shown less strength and determination than you,” he said, taking her hands in his own. “And there are heroes within Eleion history who had not a drop of gods’ blood in their veins. The Wyrd hands us the fate we must deal with. It is our choices and our resolve that decide whether or not we are great.” He pulled her hands to his lips and kissed them before releasing her. He met her gaze. “Go to sleep, my queen. You are Rhyn’athel’s champion.”

Lachlei stood up slowly, touching the hand where Rhyn had kissed her. “Thank you,” she murmured as she slipped quietly towards the door that led to her chambers. She paused, still feeling his gaze before leaving the room.

The glow from the fireplace was the only light in her chambers. Lachlei had thought the quarters were too small when Fialan was there; now it seemed extraordinarily huge. In the dim light, Fialan’s weapons and extra armor cast shadows across the room. Sparsely furnished, there was not much more than a table and chairs sitting on a thick carpet of rushes. Beside the fire, Wynne sat, holding Lachlei’s son wrapped in a warm blanket.

Wynne’s brass eyes reflected the flames as she looked up at the queen. Wynne was from the Laddel kindred, the clan of Lachlei’s mother. Wynne had come with Ladara many years before when the Laddel princess agreed to become the consort of a Lochvaur prince. Even after Ladara’s death in battle, Wynne had chosen to stay with Lachlei. Now, she cared for Lachlei’s son and she had cared for Lachlei.

“Wynne…” Lachlei began.

Wynne put a finger to her lips. “He just fell asleep,” she said, beaming at the infant. She stood up slowly and walked over to Lachlei, who beamed at her son. The baby held a braided tress from Wynne’s wolf-gray hair. Lachlei gently removed the lock and gazed into the child’s face.

“He looks like his father,” Lachlei remarked, taking Haellsil from Wynne’s arms. The baby yawned and nestled deeper into the warmth of the blanket. “That he does,” Wynne replied.

Lachlei closed her eyes and turned away. “He’ll never know his father.”

Wynne shook her head. “You knew the risk, being Chi’lan ,” she replied. “Ladara did when she chose your father.”

“A lecture, Wynne?”

“A reality, Lachlei. Those born to the warrior god’s kindred are short lived because of the life they choose.”

“The Laddel are no better.”

“No, we’re not, and that makes you doubly cursed, perhaps,” she said. “I worry that Haellsil may not know his mother, either.”

“That is a risk,” Lachlei replied. She walked over to the baby’s crib and gently laid him down. She was greeted with a soft whine and a tail thump from Strang, Fialan’s warhound. She knelt down and ran her hands through the warhound’s coarse red fur. “Strang,” she whispered as the big war dog licked her. “Do you miss your master?” The dog looked up at her with soulful eyes. “I do, too,” she admitted.

“I heard about the fight between you and Kieran.” Wynne leaned in the doorway.

Lachlei shrugged. “He challenged my right.”

“I thought you didn’t want the throne.”

Lachlei shook her head but said nothing.

“It’s that new Chi’lan , isn’t it?”

“What makes you say that?” Lachlei said a little too sharply.

“I know you better than you think,” Wynne said. “He’s a handsome one.”

Lachlei stared at Wynne. “I can’t believe you,” she whispered. “Fialan is barely dead…”

“And you are alone,” Wynne remarked.

“I can take care of myself.”

“No one is denying that, Chi’lan Lachlei,” Wynne replied. “But you are taking on more than anyone expects you to. What is his name? Rhyn, is it?”

“Wynne…”

The Laddel woman met Lachlei’s gaze. “What happened?”

Lachlei bared her right arm. “Wynne—I’ve been chosen.”

Wynne stared at the dragon mark. “By the wolf ’s fur,” she whispered. “Rhyn’athel has chosen you?”

Lachlei nodded. “I’m now his champion.”

Wynne hugged her gently. “May the warrior god protect you,” she said with a smile. “Then, I believe that Rhyn was sent.”

“Sent?” Lachlei asked, looking at the nurse in puzzlement.

“A Guardian, perhaps, or a spirit guide,” Wynne said.

Lachlei laughed. “He seems Eleion enough to me.”

“Perhaps.” She smiled. “If you won’t be needing me?”

Lachlei nodded. “Good night, Wynne.” Wynne nodded and left Lachlei’s private chambers. Lachlei walked to the door and for a moment thought about opening the door to see if Rhyn was still awake. Instead, she locked the door and walked to her bedroom; Strang following her faithfully. She lay down, letting the warhound lay beside her and ran her fingers through its coarse hair. As she fell asleep, her last thoughts were of Rhyn.

Lachlei strode towards the hall of the Lochvaur High Council. As queen and Rhyn’athel’s champion, none could dispute she had the right to demand the army. The night before burned in her mind just as the mark of the warrior god burned in her skin. All who saw her now met her gaze in deference. She was Rhyn’athel’s champion.

Movement beside her stirred her from her thoughts. Lachlei turned to see Rhyn walking silently next to her. She smiled, despite herself. The North Marches Chi’lan shadowed her almost as much as Cahal did now. She welcomed his presence.

“Rhyn,” she chided lightly. “I was unaware I was in need of a bodyguard.”

“The queen shouldn’t go anywhere without one of the Chi’lan ,” Rhyn replied.

Lachlei scowled. “Cahal sent you.” “And if he did, would you send me away?”

She smiled coyly. “Perhaps I should.”

“I don’t think Cahal would like that.”

Now, Lachlei scowled. “Go back to Cahal and tell him that I don’t need protection.” She turned and walked away. Rhyn followed, much to her irritation. She turned and glowered at him, seeing a slight smile on his lips. “Are you going to ignore a direct order?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I should…” She fell silent, trying to think of something.

Rhyn’s smile grew wider. “You’ll what? Fight me?”

Lachlei laughed. “Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Fight you.”

“You’d lose.”

Lachlei sobered and eyed him. “I would, would I?”

She considered him for the first time as a potential opponent. He was tall and muscular, but not so tall that his height would be a handicap in a fight. She had seen no apparent weakness in his stride or either side. Cahal told her that he handled a sword in both hands with ease. At another time, before Fialan, Lachlei would have found him desirable. “How did you best Tamar?”

Rhyn shrugged. “Tamar was drunk and sloppy—I was not.”

She paused as her gaze fell on the Sword of Power that hung at his side. “I never properly thanked you for your help through this,” she said, drawing closer to him. “You have been invaluable to me, Rhyn. If there is anything…”