Margaret Bonham - Lachlei

So, Rhyn, this is how I die , she thought bitterly. Half frozen and eaten by Areyn’s demon wolves .

But, they were not just demon wolves, Lachlei knew. They were Areyn’s Yeth Hounds—supernatural dire wolves that would follow their prey relentlessly.

Lachlei decided she would take some of them out if they dared enter the shrine. She had not much wood left, so she threw the last on the embers and rekindled the fire. She did not dare to try to put on her boots with the wolves outside.

Lachlei waited, but the Yeth made no movement. It soon became apparent that they were not going to attack. She looked at the threshold in wonder—the ward glyphs gleamed with their own light. Whatever she had done must have activated the very old magic.

“This is a shrine to the Athel’cen ,” she reminded herself aloud. The magic was good against the demon wolves, but what of the heath-stalkers and arch-demons? And even though it protected her from her enemies, it would not keep her from freezing to death or dying of thirst or starvation.

The sanctuary was a cell. She had walked into a trap.

The demons knew she would have to come out soon or die. Either way, Areyn would have her. Lachlei almost despaired now and searched her mind for anything that might help her. She sat down again and ran her fingers along her frozen feet, trying to heal them the best she could with what little energy she had left before sliding her stockings and boots back on. Unless she reached Laddel or Ni’yah soon, she was likely to lose some toes.

Lachlei pushed those thoughts aside. “I will not die a coward,” she said aloud. If necessary, she would die in battle. But then she would become a Braesan and serve Areyn against her people. Lachlei shook her head. Even a valiant death—one that she did not fear—would feed her enemy, the death god. Her mind returned to Rhyn. She had been angry with him and spoken rashly, but had she truly driven him away? She could not believe he would abandon her to death or worse to his ancient enemy—if he were Rhyn’athel.

But Lachlei knew little of the warrior god save what she learned from legends and old writings. Most of what she knew focused on his powers and his actions—not his personality. Rhyn had admitted he had taken mortal form for her—could mortality have affected him?

She did not have the answer and Rhyn would probably deny it, she admitted to herself wryly. “Rhyn,” she whispered. “Rhyn—I was wrong, I’m sorry,” she said. “You’ve proven your point—I can’t do this without you.”

Silence followed.

Lachlei drew Fyren . The adamantine blade shimmered blue in the darkness. “Rhyn, I go to die—I don’t expect forgiveness, though I ask for it. If I can’t live through this, at least let me die well.”

She took a deep breath of the cold air and charged out of the shine, swinging her sword.

Lachlei charged from the shrine, swinging Fyren . She could see the demon Yeth wolves now—ghost white with red eyes and ears. They had long, saber-like fangs that shone in the darkness. The moment she stepped past the glyph wards, they charged her. Fyren bit deep into the first wolf and she slashed again, cutting deep into the one next to it.

Lachlei summoned what power she could and focused it against the Yeth. A wave of blue fire issued from Fyren ’s blade and rolled over the wolves, throwing them backwards. Lachlei pushed forward, using the blade to clear a path of those Yeth Hounds which had been unaffected by her initial blast.

But there were too many. Lachlei continued to fight her way through, even when she heard the screams of demons above her. One wolf lunged past her defenses and threw her to the ground. She struggled against it, but its teeth clamped around her throat, slowly suffocating her. She slammed Fyren ’s blade into it repeatedly, but it would not let go. Sharp teeth sliced into her sword arm, forcing her to drop Fyren . She tried to cry out in pain, but she could not even do that. She was completely at their mercy and she could do nothing. She fought to stay conscious.

Suddenly, Lachlei heard a massive fight somewhere ahead. Yeth were snarling and yipping in terror. The wolf that held her fast released her and she gasped for breath. She sat up and grasped Fyren . She stared in shock as she saw she was face-to-face with the largest wolf she had ever seen.

“Lachlei,” the wolf said sternly, staring at her with its brass eyes. “Get up!”

“Who are you?” she stammered as she clambered to her feet.

“A foolish romantic,” the wolf replied. “Climb on my back and we’ll get out of here.”

Lachlei sheathed her sword and grasped handfuls of his fur with her cold hands. As she touched his fur, she felt warmth run through her. She was dry, and her pain was gone. She stared at her right wrist and saw there was no mark on it.

“Rhyn?” she stammered as she climbed onto his back.

“No, Ni’yah,” the wolf replied. He leapt forward, bowling the snarling demons over.

“You heard me?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” he replied. “But I’ll admit, I have a soft spot for you.”

Lachlei buried her face in the warm fur and almost wept as she hung on. “What of Rhyn?”

“Probably sulking in Athelren —he’ll get over it after a couple hundred years,” Ni’yah remarked.

“Then, he is…”

The wolf-god glanced back with an incredulous grin. “Mortals have never failed to amaze me. How you can be so powerful, and yet so blind to the truth?”

“You’re insulting me?”

“Well, it’s not every day a god gets a captive audience,” Ni’yah chuckled as he padded through the forest. “Unless you’d like me to hand you over to the Yeth again.”

Lachlei stared for a moment at the wolf-god and then began to chuckle. “The stories don’t do you justice, Ni’yah,” she said. “I had no idea you had such a sense of humor…”

“It balances Rhyn’athel’s lack of humor,” he replied. “Anyway, you know that I’ve been called a meddler and a trickster. Certainly, humor would be a part of it.”

Lachlei smiled and held on as the wolf continued to lope through the forest. Despite the cold, she felt comfortable on the wolf-god’s back—no doubt due to the god’s magic that had also healed her. She looked up and saw that the sky was lightening between the treetops. It would soon be dawn.

Mile after mile, the wolf-god loped effortlessly. The sun soon shone over the horizon, peering through the trees, and still they continued. At last, Ni’yah slowed down as they approached a meadow.

“Why are we stopping?” Lachlei looked back apprehensively.

“We’re safe—Areyn’s demons won’t attack you while I’m here,” he said. “We’re almost to Darkling Plain, and you and I need to talk.”

Lachlei hesitated. What would the god say to her?

“Are you hungry?” the wolf looked up at her.

“Famished.”

“Then I suggest you check your horse’s packs—if I recall, you had a few days worth of provisions.”

Lachlei looked up and saw her warhorse standing in the meadow, pawing the snow to graze on the grass beneath it. She slid off Ni’yah’s back and stared at it. “Where did you find him?” she asked and turned to Ni’yah. To her surprise, he was no longer a wolf, but in Eleion form. “Telek—there was such a familial resemblance,” she said shaking her head.

“Being Wyrd-born does that to you,” Ni’yah remarked. “But, I’m surprised you noticed the resemblance between Rhyn’athel and me. Most are thrown off by my gold eyes and silver hair.”

“I knew you and Rhyn were related the moment I saw you. I just couldn’t see how,” she admitted. She walked over to her horse, pulled out one of the rations, and stared at it quizzically.