Margaret Bonham - Lachlei

Lachlei breathed a sigh of relief. The runes were of another age—a time before the Truce that somehow survived the Fyr . The power was of that age, ancient and terrible. Back then, Eleion fought Jotunn and demons; the ward glyphs held a magic lost to all, save the gods and the Braesan . Legends said those runes were wards against demons. Perhaps Ni’yah had heard her prayers.

Lachlei turned and walked to the nearest thicket of spruce trees. The bows on most were springy, but she found one with dead branches, snapped them off and carried them back into the ruins. She walked in and dropped her small bundle of wood. The shrine had been small, maybe ten feet by six at the most. The roof was long gone—probably thatch or some other material—as was the altar where offerings were left to the gods. Snow filled the little chamber, and Lachlei was forced to kick and scrape the snow back to the stone floor beneath. She was surprised to see the floor intact and the runes still marked as though carved recently.

She ran her fingers along the runes, feeling their power. These too were ward glyphs. Before the Truce, Guardians had roamed the world, many settling in the shrines of the gods they served. Lachlei recalled ruefully how she believed Rhyn had been a Guardian. The Guardian of this shrine could have imbued the runes with its own magic to prevent demons or other evil creatures from entering or destroying this shrine.

Another howl, this time farther away. Lachlei paused and listened. Wolf cries had never been a cause for concern, yet now, something within her memory told her that these were. Lachlei shivered, her fingers stiff as she laid the wood on the floor. She touched the branches. “ Solu! ” The wood caught fire, and she stripped her gauntlets from her hands.

“By Rhyn’athel’s mane,” she exclaimed. The flesh of her fingertips was white, signaling frostbite. She pulled her boots off and looked at her feet, finding them mottled white as well.

The howl came again, this time joined by another and another. Lachlei shivered and gazed into the darkness beyond the shrine’s threshold.

Something was wrong. Lachlei’s senses told her that this was no ordinary wolf pack. If Rhyn had been here, he would have known exactly what she was hearing. But, she reminded herself, Rhyn was gone and she was alone. Instead, she touched the ward glyphs that guarded the threshold, hoping to activate their magic. She tried to recall the old stories of howling—of demon wolves that searched for their prey.

Demon wolves—that sounded familiar, but why? Lachlei closed her eyes, trying to concentrate, despite her cold. The arming shirt was becoming stiff and heavy with ice, but she did not dare remove her armor. She pulled her cloak off, laid it by the fire, and sat on it. She was hungry and hypothermic, but had nothing to maintain her energy.

The howling brought her around. Demon wolves—what were they? Wolves of Areyn. Dire Wolves. She threw another branch on the fire and tried to think. She was so cold.

Rhyn, I’m sorry .

With her cold, came exhaustion. Despite herself, she felt her eyes slowly close. She did not see the glowing eyes in the forest beyond.

“Now, what do we do?” Cara asked. She sat in a tent with Conlan and the Lochvaur and Laddel lords. After the Chi’lan and Laddel troops materialized on Darkling Plain before the Elesil , all agreed to parley and plan their next strategy. “The Undead will surely come back and Areyn Sehduk has control of my kindred.”

“We don’t know if the Braesan will return,” Conlan said. “With the show of force that we’ve seen, I would think it would cause the death god to pause and rethink his strategy.”

“Rhyn isn’t here,” Telek said. “He’s gone after Lachlei.”

Kieran frowned. “Can he rescue her?”

“If anyone can, it’d be Rhyn,” Cahal stated. “The problem is, how long could it take and why does Areyn want Lachlei?”

Telek smiled ruefully. “Rhyn is up against Areyn’s strongest magic—he’ll have difficulty finding her.”

“Assuming she’s alive,” Conlan said. “Your Rhyn could be riding into a trap.”

“Lachlei is alive,” Telek said before the Lochvaur could object. “Areyn will only kill her if presented with no other options. Lachlei is the focal point in this war.”

Laddel stared at his sire. “You never told me that.”

“You didn’t ask, and I wasn’t in the mood to tell you,” Ni’yah remarked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cahal spoke up. “What matters is that we’re forced to fight the Braesan . They wait; they bide their time. They will attack us again with greater numbers.”

“I saw Fialan,” Kieran remarked. “He told me that he was dead.”

Laddel nodded grimly. “They use our own dead against us.”

Cara stared at them. “How can we win when we fight our own warriors?”

All eyes turned to Telek. The god took in a deep breath. “I am not as powerful as Rhyn. Areyn planned that assault carefully and managed to hold back Rhyn’s powers.” He paused and met Laddel ’s gaze. “It wasn’t our intent to show our powers this soon.”

“And why not?” Cahal said. “Let’s end this charade. We all know who is here.”

Ni’yah smiled wryly. “Is that so, my young Lochvaur ?” He looked around and saw confirmation on the Eleion ’s faces. “I would be careful voicing your thoughts so openly. You don’t want the war Rhyn and I would give you. It would mean a total unmasking of all power. The Eleion have not seen such horror in nearly two thousand years.”

Silence ensued.

“Then, what do we do?” Laddel asked. “Fight until each of us are slaughtered and turned to Braesan ? I, for one, have no desire for that fate.”

Ni’yah stood up and gripped his son’s shoulder. “No, I wouldn’t ask you to do that. We need to hold on for a little longer. Rhyn and I have a plan.”

“How much longer?” Cara asked. “They’re twenty miles away. Our scouts already have seen Areyn’s demon wolves and other more foul creatures…” She stared as Ni’yah suddenly stood up.

“What is it?” Laddel asked as he saw the wolf-god’s lip lift in a snarl. “Demons?”

“May the Fyr take him!” Ni’yah snarled. “Damn Athel’cen and that stubborn creature whom I call brother!”

“What’s wrong?” Cahal asked.

Ni’yah ignored Cahal. “I must leave now,” he said to Laddel . “It’s too complex to explain, but if I don’t Lachlei will die.”

“What of our armies?” Laddel asked.

“Do what you can—my shield should protect you.” With that, Ni’yah leapt through the tent flap. He turned into a wolf in mid-air and loped across the Darkling Plain.

Lachlei awoke to growling. The fire had died and she lay on the blanket freezing and shaking. The terrible cold had made her delirious and exhausted. She wondered why she was even awake—those who suffered from hypothermia fell into a sleep, never to awaken again.

The growling continued and Lachlei reached for Fyren ’s hilt. As far as she could tell, she was still in the little shrine, curled up and shivering. She lifted her head and groaned. Everything took energy from her body—energy she did not have. And yet, the growling continued.

She forced herself to sit up and use her Sight. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She looked out of the threshold and saw dozens of glowing eyes and stumbled to her feet. Her numb feet were bare from when she had taken off her boots. Pain shot through her, and she nearly doubled over. Lachlei looked down and saw her feet were mottled white and her toes were turning black as if terribly bruised. She cursed herself. She should have put her boots and stockings back on once they had dried. Now she could not run—she could not even walk—and she doubted she could fight. Lachlei glanced at her hands—she had left them bare too, but had tucked them against her body. She at least had their use.