Margaret Bonham - Lachlei

“You know of them already?” Lachlei asked, frowning. “Does the entire army know?”

Fialan chuckled. “They may. Lachlei, our son, Haellsil, will be a great warrior in his own right, but the sons you will carry will be greater still. They’ll be sons of Rhyn’athel, same as Lochvaur.”

Lachlei glanced at Eshe, noticing her for the first time. She could see the fear in Eshe’s eyes. Fialan? Could Fialan have fallen in love with her? “You love her, don’t you?”

“Eshe?” Fialan smiled. “Yes, I do. One doesn’t go through Tarentor and battles without feeling something for those who fight beside you. Somewhere in this war, I fell in love with her.”

“Then, you release me?” Lachlei held her breath. Could Fialan have found his soul-mate as she had?

“There is nothing to release, Lachlei, my death broke our bond. We have no mind-link, and even Rhyn’athel would recognize that,” Fialan said. “I owe Rhyn’athel this, if naught else.” Lachlei held him, tears streaming down her face. She laughed. “Fialan, I will always love you.”

“And I, you.” Fialan paused. “Go to him, Lachlei.” He kissed her on her forehead and smiled.

Lachlei turned and strode back to Rhyn’athel. Rhyn’athel straightened, wonder on his face. “Lachlei?”

Lachlei smiled and took Rhyn’athel in her arms. “Rhyn, I couldn’t leave you,” she whispered as they embraced.

Lochvaur turned to Fialan. “It’s time for you to go,” he said. “And it is time for me to say good-bye.”

Fialan stared. “You’re not coming to Athelren ?”

Lochvaur shook his head. “Areyn Sehduk still exists, my friend. Athelren , for all its grandeur and beauty, bores me greatly. I’m a warrior first, Fialan. Why do you think I accepted my fate in Tarentor ?”

“You could’ve left at any time,” Fialan said in wonder. “Areyn wasn’t keeping you there—you allowed yourself to be his slave. Why?”

“The way to defeat one’s enemy is to know him,” Lochvaur said with a wry grin. “Neither Rhyn’athel nor Ni’yah could enter Areyn’s realms or learn Areyn’s secrets—but I could.”

“You were a spy.” Fialan shook his head. “Areyn Sehduk misjudged you.”

“Indeed, he did.”

“But, where will you go?” Fialan asked. “You will have no body in this world.”

Lochvaur glanced at Lachlei. Ah, but I will , he replied in mindspeak.

Fialan stared at him. You can be reborn?

I like the name ‘Lachlan.’ It means ‘champion’—did you know that? Lochvaur said casually, an evil glint in his eyes. With each incarnation, I do change. I become stronger, but I do forget much. Farewell, Fialan. Perhaps in another life, we will meet again .

With that, Lochvaur disappeared. Fialan felt swept up and the world spun around him. Then, Fialan and the other Chi’lan found themselves staring at a great walled fortress, gleaming white, at the base of mountains so tall they touched the sky. Twin golden suns shone in the sapphire sky.

Eshe laughed. “We’re here, Fialan! We’re in Athelren !” She hugged Fialan.

“Lachlan,” Fialan said, thoughtfully. “It has a ring to it.”

Cara and Haukel rode among the Silren wounded. The battlefield was burnt and bloody, filled with the dead, the dying, and scavengers. Thousands of Eltar and Silren bodies lay in the sun. She looked from side to side at the carnage. Those Silren still alive looked on her with hatred—she wore the red and gold colors of the warrior god, not the colors of the Silren . Both she and Haukel dismounted.

“What are you doing here?” demanded a lower-ranked Silren noble named Essil. “Isn’t it enough that you’ve served the enemy?”

Haukel gripped Cara’s shoulder, but the daughter of Silvain was not dissuaded. She smiled grimly. “I was not the one who fought for the death god,” she said. She looked around. “Where’s my father?”

Essil shook his head. “He won’t see you.”

“I think he should be the one to decide that,” she said. She looked over and saw her father’s standard. As she walked towards the standard, she saw the carnage of what had been the top Silren nobles. Nearby lay her father, Silvain. Not dead, but wounded. He looked up at her with pale eyes.

“You,” he whispered. “My daughter…” He stared into the sky. “You’ve come to gloat—to watch an old man die.”

“No,” Cara said softly. “I’ve come to take you home.”

“You’re Chi’lan ,” he spat.

“I am Rhyn’athel’s warrior,” she said. “I am also your daughter.”

“You can’t be both.”

“I am,” she said. She glanced up at Haukel, who knelt on Silvain’s other side.

She laid her hands against his wounds, using her first-blood powers to heal him. “Help him up.” Together, Cara and Haukel brought Silvain to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Silvain asked.

There was pity in Cara’s smile. “We’re going home.”

“The gales are early this year.”

Modolf stared out of the window at the dark clouds and the angry gray-green swells of the North Sea. A Shara’kai of Eltar and Ansgar mix, Modolf inherited his stature from his Ansgar side. He stared at the sea, his own dark eyes in turmoil as he heard the baby cry again.

“She’s dead,” Saeunn said. Saeunn was his wife of three years. The shock of silver that ran through her hair was the only indication she was Shara’kai . “She lost too much blood in the birth. The child’s alive—a boy. He looks Eltar , same as his mother.”

“What is a pureblood doing here?” Modolf mused, staring out at the sea.

He had heard rumors of a war among the Eleion —news traveled even to this far place. He frowned. “Maybe she was an exile.”

“Maybe. And maybe she got lost.”

“Did she tell you her name?”

“Imdyr.”

Modolf spat. “ Eleion name. I bet she was a witch.”

“She was practically a child,” Saeunn said. “She wanted her baby called Allarun.”

Modolf frowned, staring at the sky. The gales were early. “We should leave the child to the gods,” he said at last.

Saeunn stared. “You can’t be serious—it’ll die.”

“Then, that’s what the gods want.”

“It’s not what I want.”

Modolf frowned again. Saeunn had lost their own son in a stillbirth only a week ago. “We can try again.”

“No.” Saeunn shook her head. “He’ll be my son.”

Modolf looked into the sky again. A storm was coming.

Lachlei held her infant son, Lachlan, rocking him gently. His twin brother, Elsonre, had already fallen asleep in their crib. They looked alike in many ways, but Rhyn’athel had assured her that they were fraternal, not identical, twins. Perhaps they looked so much alike because they looked like their father. They had his steel-colored eyes, and their hair was deep red and streaked with gold. Even at a few months old, their faces were angular and held their father’s strong jaw line.

The infant yawned and closed his eyes. It was nearly dusk and well past his bedtime. Lachlei had relieved her servants, hoping to perhaps spend a quiet night in her chambers.

It had been a year since Rhyn’athel’s victory over Areyn. The Lochvaur had reclaimed and rebuilt Caer Lochvaren and now Lachlei had private quarters built from stone rather than wood. Stone would eventually replace wood throughout Caer Lochvaren, making the city impregnable except to the longest sieges. Rhyn’athel had helped design the city after his own fortress-city in Athelren .