Margaret Bonham - Lachlei

No!

You’ve broken the Truce , brother.

Ni’yah broke the Truce .

The Truce was between you and me , Rhyn’athel said. Can you deny it?

Areyn remained silent, the pain slowly pummeling him into submission. No, I swear by the Wyrd Strands, I will keep the Truce .

Not good enough, Rhyn’athel said. My warriors—the Chi’lan belong to me .

And the Laddel , Ni’yah added. Those who serve Rhyn’athel and me belong to us .

Areyn’s eyes focused on Lochvaur, who stood beside his father with arms crossed. Take them! Take those vile creatures!

He heard Lochvaur’s mocking laugher.

And Elren ? Ni’yah demanded.

Areyn bared his teeth. The Truce. No more .

Not good enough , the wolf-god said, standing next to Rhyn’athel, opposite of Lochvaur.

Areyn Sehduk met Rhyn’athel’s gaze. And if I were to agree?

The warrior god smiled grimly. Areyn knew what Rhyn’athel was thinking. If you were to agree, then I would have you .

As you do now. It changes naught. If you wish an empty promise, I will give one now. But Elren is still mine if I choose it .

Rhyn’athel pulled Teiwaz from Areyn’s chest. Go , he said. The next time you return to Elren, it will be your last. My sons will see to that .

Areyn fell to his knees. He looked up to see the black dragon looming over him.

Go back to your worlds , Rhyn’athel said in disgust. Areyn, weakened and in pain, fled. The black dragon pursued him to the border of Tarentor .

Ni’yah looked at his brother. You should’ve gotten his word .

Rhyn’athel shook his head. It matters little. He will still fight over Elren until the end of time. His word means naught . He turned to see Lochvaur gazing at him. We have work to do .

Lochvaur nodded and vanished.

Ni’yah eyed his brother. Elren is too tempting for Areyn Sehduk .

Indeed , said Rhyn’athel. But he now knows I am not afraid to enter the fray. This alone may keep him away from the Fifth World .

Until he thinks he has an advantage .

Until then .

Lachlei awoke in terrible pain. She lay in a pool of her own blood. Fyren lay beneath her, broken in two, but her hand was still on its hilt. It must have broken when she cut the adamantine chains that held the gods. Now she lay dying, caked with mud. Not quite dead, but nearly so, she could feel her body tense and then relax in a slow and weird convulsive spasm. She was rapidly fading from consciousness, but instinctively fought as death threatened to close her eyes.

Once or twice, Lachlei opened her silver eyes to stare into the dead face of a Silren warrior. His ice-blue eyes stared vacantly ahead, glazed over in death. His white mane was stained crimson now since his helm was cleaved in two. As far as she knew, he could have been one of many Silren she had killed. Lachlei gazed in pity at her dead adversary.

So, we embrace each other in death , Lachlei thought grimly. For we could not do so in life .

Lachlei’s thoughts turned to Rhyn’athel, Ni’yah, and Lochvaur. They were gone. Perhaps it was just as well, she thought. She had given everything for Rhyn’athel—even at the sacrifice of her own life and the lives of her sons. She hoped that the warrior god had vanquished Areyn Sehduk—perhaps she had given Rhyn enough time.

Where were the healers looking for the wounded? she wondered. Lachlei knew she had led a successful attack, but maybe the Lochvaur kindred had lost. If that were so, then there would be no healers—only carrion and scavengers. It was said that the Silren and Eltar did not bother with their own wounded, let alone the enemy’s.

The Silren warrior could have easily been a Redel , Elesil , or even Lochel , she reflected. If we’re not defending ourselves against the Silren, we’re fighting the Redel, Eltar, Elesil, or any other of the Nine Kindreds. We can’t keep killing each other; there must be a peace .

Lachlei closed her eyes. How ironic that in death, she could see something she had never seen while alive. Her thoughts drifted to her son, Haellsil, and she wondered who would care for him now. Haellsil, who would never know his father, now would lose Lachlei.

Something made her open her eyes again. A dark shape fluttered into view. It took her dying mind a few moments to recognize the shape: a raven. It would be followed by other scavengers: magpies, foxes, crows, wolves, and other opportunists. The raven hopped towards her boldly, cocking its head to one side as if studying her to determine how much of a challenge she would be.

Lachlei grasped the hilt of her broken sword and tried to pick it up. The weight was too great, and it clattered along the ground. She tried again, and this time brought it forward. With all her might, she flung her hand outward, but her fingers loosened, and the sword skittered away out of reach. Lachlei groaned in pain and closed her eyes.

That is hardly any way to greet your lover .

“Rhyn?” she rasped. Lachlei forced her eyes open. “You’re alive…” She tried to focus on the figure that stood before her, but her vision was blurred.

She felt his gentle hands slide along her body. The pain was suddenly gone, and her vision cleared.

“You can’t kill an Athel’cen ,” Rhyn’athel chided her lightly. “You know that.” The warrior god knelt beside her. “How do you feel?”

Lachlei smiled wryly. “Do you want to know?”

Rhyn’athel’s silver eyes glittered mischievously. “I suppose not,” he admitted. “Taking the brunt of Areyn’s wrath is bad enough for a god—I can’t imagine what it might do to a mortal.” He offered her his hand.

Lachlei took it and found herself pulled into his arms. Rhyn’athel kissed her passionately. “I thought you were lost,” she whispered. “Even Ni’yah couldn’t be sure. Only Lochvaur…”

“Lochvaur is much more than he appears,” Rhyn’athel agreed.

“He said he was Athel’cen ,” Lachlei said. “But you said he was Wyrd-blood.”

Rhyn’athel grinned. “Yes, he is both and neither. It’s very complex…” He continued to kiss her.

“Evidently.” She pulled away and looked at him quizzically.

“What is it, beloved?” Rhyn asked. “Something is troubling you?”

“Areyn said that as Athel’cen you couldn’t love,” she said.

“Did he now?” the god of warriors said, kissing her again.

“Rhyn?” Lachlei said as his lips moved to her throat. She pushed him away. “He said you chose me because of the sons I would bear…”

“He told you about the Wyrd prophecy, did he?”

“Then, it’s true…” Lachlei said, feeling her anger rise. “That’s why Ni’yah couldn’t deny it.”

“Areyn is a master at twisting the truth to his own purpose,” Rhyn’athel replied. He traced the lines of her face with his fingers. “Lachlei, I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. The Wyrd prophecy came later—because of my love for you…”

“Then, you loved me before you knew of the prophecy?”

“Oh yes,” he smiled.

“But, you can love? Areyn said…”

“Areyn can’t love, beloved,” he said. “But I can. Areyn speaks of his own experience as Athel’cen —he can’t speak for either me or Ni’yah.”

Lachlei smiled wryly. “I guess I was foolish to listen to him.”