CHAPTER Eighty-Two
Lachlei gazed at the slaughter below them. She turned to Rhyn’athel who grinned at her. “How?” she asked. “Rhyn, how did you stop Areyn?”
“Areyn relies on the dead for his power, beloved,” Rhyn’athel said. “He assumes he can bring as many dead as he needs.”
“You had Ni’yah close the Gateway in the north,” Lachlei said, the answer dawning on her. “Areyn used the Gateway to bring the dead through.”
“Normally, he would use his own powers to bring them forth, but his time in this world has weakened him,” Rhyn’athel remarked. “He’s had to feed to keep the
Silren
guise and has had to feed to keep both the living and dead under his control. And, he has had to maintain a shield to keep me from finding him…”
“But you have had to maintain your body and keep yourself hidden from Areyn,” Lachlei said.
“But I do not control you or these forces,” Rhyn’athel said. “Nor does my power come from destruction. My power is in creation, Lachlei. Areyn and I are opposites.”
“But you can destroy…”
“Just as Areyn can create,” he remarked. “But Ni’yah and I chose long ago where we would draw our power.”
“Then, the battle is won…”
“Not quite,” Rhyn’athel said, gazing below. “I must still confront him, and I must take from him that which is rightfully mine.”
Lachlei met his gaze. “Will Areyn accept it?”
Rhyn’athel grinned. “Probably not, but it is not his choice any longer. The
Chi’lan
belong to me, beloved, be they alive or dead. Areyn can take those who follow him, but Ni’yah and I will deny the source of his power.”
“How?”
A battle-horn rang across the fields. Lachlei felt a chill run through her. She turned her horse and saw an army along the hills of Darkling Plain. She turned to Rhyn’athel. “Who are they?”
“
Chi’lan
,” Rhyn’athel replied.
She stared as the army stood ready. “
Chi’lan
? There aren’t any more
Chi’lan
, Rhyn,” she said.
“Lochvaur and Fialan will be leading the warriors against the demons.”
*****
Lochvaur reined his horse, and grinned at Fialan, Kiril, and Eshe who sat on their own warhorses beside him. They had appeared on Darkling Plain, sandwiching the enemy between themselves and the
Lochvaur
and
Laddel
lines.
“Hold your position!” Lochvaur shouted as he rode down the front lines. “We won’t be fighting our own any longer! We fight for Rhyn’athel now!” A cheer rang over the plain as the godling’s message was passed through the
Chi’lan
ranks.
Fialan stared at the godling. One moment, he had been kneeling beside Eshe, weeping for her; the next moment, he was here, astride a warhorse.
Fialan looked down at his body. Armored in mail, his surcoat bore the colors of Rhyn’athel, not Areyn. He took a deep breath, allowing the acrid air to fill his new lungs and turned to Lochvaur in wonder. The godling rode up to him and grinned. No longer did the godling have the pale skin and red cast around his eyes; he looked
Eleion
, not
Braesan
. None of the former
Braesan
did. They looked like a powerful
Chi’lan
army.
“Feels better to have a real body, doesn’t it?” Lochvaur remarked.
“It’s real?” Fialan asked. “You mean that we’re not tied to Areyn any longer?”
“No,” Lochvaur replied. “Though technically, this body doesn’t belong here either. We’re tied to
Athelren
now
—
not
Tarentor
.”
“
Athelren
?” Fialan repeated. “Then, then
—
we’re Rhyn’athel’s warriors again?”
“As we always have been,” Lochvaur said with a wry smile.
“What if we choose not to fight?” Kiril asked. Fialan turned to look at the
Shara’kai
in wonder. In his new body, Kiril looked impressive
—
a more fearsome warrior, Fialan could not imagine, save Lochvaur, himself.
Lochvaur became somber. “That is your choice,
Shara’kai
. My father will not control us the way Areyn controlled us. It is not in Rhyn’athel’s nature to do so.”
Kiril grinned. “Then, it’s true
—
the warrior god has freed us.” He laughed. “I will fight for a god such as Rhyn’athel.”
“What of you, Fialan?” Lochvaur asked. “You have grievances against the warrior god.”
Fialan turned and looked at Eshe. She was more beautiful now, and she smiled at him. Fialan felt a twist in his gut as he realized how much he loved Eshe. He had chosen to stay with her
—
to die with her rather than save himself. What of his loyalty to Lachlei?
Even as he wondered, he already knew the answer. His death had severed the bond between him and Lachlei. Death
did
change things. He smiled wryly at Eshe, before turning back to Lochvaur. “Damn you!” he growled in mock anger. “You planned this…”
“Did I?” Lochvaur said. “I don’t see how
—
I hadn’t any powers while I was under Areyn’s control.”
“I don’t believe that,” Fialan said. “By Rhyn’athel’s blood, Lochvaur, you know I’d follow you back to
Tarentor
if you asked. Don’t you think I owe that much allegiance to the warrior god?”
“This is why I chose you as second-in-command.” He grinned. “How would you like to be known as a demon-slayer? Flayer is bringing five thousand against us.”
“Demons,” Fialan laughed. He drew his blade
—
no longer
Fyren’s
doppelganger, but a broadsword made from
Athelren’s
adamantine. “It would be a pleasure to see one writhe on my sword.”
*****
Areyn shuddered as he felt Rhyn’athel’s power bear down on him. Rhyn’athel’s power surrounded him, threatening to crush him from this world. The
Braesan
were gone
—
wrenched from his grasp as though he never had control over them. Their deaths could no longer feed him, and his link with
Tarentor
was slipping fast.
Lochvaur’s mocking words haunted him now. The godling must have known Rhyn’athel’s plan. Yet, how Lochvaur kept the knowledge from Areyn, the death god did not know. Areyn mistrusted Lochvaur even though the godling had been under his control the entire time in
Tarentor
. Lochvaur was not like his sire in one crucial way
—
Lochvaur’s desire for vengeance was beyond anything seen in the Nine Worlds. It rivaled Areyn’s hatred for Rhyn’athel. That alone had made Lochvaur dangerous.
But Areyn knew Lochvaur would get his chance at vengeance now that Rhyn’athel and Ni’yah had torn away his power. He could go to the Gateway, but his Sight within the Wyrd showed a Gate Guardian. He could defeat it, but he would be forced to flee back to
Tarentor
. No, the
Fyr
was the only way.
Areyn shed his mortal body, gathering what little power remained to him. The demons would be destroyed. The
Eltar
and
Silren
would fall back
—
no longer under his control. But, he would have the strength to release the deadly eternal fire from his realms. With a shudder, he felt the slender flames slip through his grasp as he released the fire.
Thunder rolled across the plains, and violet lightning streaked across the sky in a pattern that unmistakably caught the filaments of the Wyrd threads. Areyn grinned, feeling his link establish to
Tarentor
and his other worlds again. The dead’s energy strengthened him once more, and he looked up at Rhyn’athel’s troops in satisfaction.
Let’s see how you handle the Fyr, Rhyn’athel.
CHAPTER Eighty-Three
Demon warriors charged Lochvaur and his
Chi’lan
. No longer
Braesan,
the
Chi’lan
attacked the demons in fury. Their bodies, now from
Athelren
, made them immortal, and they could not be killed. The demons fell to their swords and spears.
Thunder rolled across the plain, stained black with demon blood. Fialan looked up to see instead of stars, dark clouds with violet lightning shimmering across them.
Lochvaur finished impaling Flayer on his sword and looked up. Dread crossed the godling’s face as his silver eyes darted from one end of the horizon to the other.
“What is it?” Fialan asked.
“I’ve seen skies like this once before,” Lochvaur said. “Can you see the Wyrd filaments or the branches of the World Tree being shaken?”
Fialan stared into the sky. The violet flames licked the stars and coursed along in a spinning fashion. Ethereal and beautiful, yet altogether sinister, the fire seemed to arc across the sky. “I see something, but I can’t describe it. Like a dance of fire, only woven…” He shook his head.
“Damn demon!” Lochvaur said. “Areyn is releasing the
Fyr
—
I thought we had weakened him enough.”
“What does this mean?” Fialan asked. When he heard no reply, he turned to Eshe. “Eshe
—
what is it?”
“It’s our destruction,” Eshe said, her face pale. “Unless Rhyn’athel can stop it.”
*****
“You knew it was a possibility,” Ni’yah said as the flames raced across the sky. His voice was as hard as his brass eyes. He met his brother’s gaze. “I can’t stop it
—
you know that.”
Rhyn’athel gazed at the fire. “I know,” he said. “It is something I must do.”
“What is it
—
the
Fyr
?” Lachlei asked, her terror creeping into her voice. What had Rhyn said about the
Fyr
? She tried to remember, but none of what she could recall would help her battle this power.
Rhyn’athel turned to her. “Stay with Ni’yah
—
no matter what happens to me.”
“What are you doing?”
“What I must do, Lachlei.” Rhyn’athel reached over and caressed her cheek. He met her gaze. “I love you.” He drew
Teiwaz
, clapped his legs against his warhorse, and rode forward.
Rhyn, no!
Lachlei shouted in mindspeak, but she heard no acknowledgment. His form glowed as he rode forward and faded on the wind.
She turned to Ni’yah. “Will he live through it?”
Ni’yah turned to her, his brass eyes filled with worry. “I don’t know.”
*****
Rhyn’athel rode forward, his eyes focused on the flames of the
Fyr
. They swirled ahead of him, dancing like the Northern Lights. Yet, unlike the Auroras, Rhyn’athel could see a pattern and a purpose to them. They ran along the World Tree’s trunk and through its branches; across the filaments that wove the great Web of Wyrd
—
the Web of Fate. He stared at the flames, both beautiful and deadly.
Rhyn’athel had used the
Fyr
when it was contained. Like the Wyrd, the
Fyr
was the power of creation and destruction. Like the Wyrd, an
Athel’cen
could only affect it, not fully control it. He and Ni’yah had used it to create life. Areyn had used it to destroy. It would destroy again if he did not stop it.
As
Athel’cen
, the higher gods believed nothing could destroy them, but Rhyn’athel had long wondered about the Wyrd and the
Fyr
. Even the higher gods were beholden to both: the Wyrd controlled the
Athel’cen
destinies and the
Fyr
gave them life. But could they destroy the
Athel’cen
? Rhyn’athel and Ni’yah had argued the philosophical points, but to no avail. They simply did not know, and neither wanted to find out, even though Ni’yah wryly suggested they try its powers on Areyn Sehduk.
Rhyn’athel stared at the flames as they spread across the fiber of the Web. Areyn did not care if he destroyed all in his quest for power. He would rather destroy all than give into Rhyn’athel. The warrior god concentrated, but the power of the
Fyr
was too great for him to simply control. There was only one way, and that was to transmute into pure energy and join it. Only then, Rhyn’athel knew he might be able to control it.
But at what cost?
The god stared at the
Fyr
. He might lose himself to the Eternal Fire. He would not be dead, but he would be trapped for eternity. Without him, the
Eleion
would not survive, even under Ni’yah’s protection. Areyn Sehduk was too powerful for Ni’yah to defeat alone, and the death god would gain the upper hand in this battle for power. His sons would not survive, and Areyn would finally have control over all the worlds, save perhaps
Athelren
. But, in time, even
Athelren
would fall, regardless of the other gods and goddesses. Areyn was too powerful to be held at bay for long.
But the Fyr would destroy all.
Rhyn’athel closed his eyes. He knew what he had to do. He shed the corporeal shell he had so carefully constructed. Areyn must not win now.
Without a body, he was free to sense the Wyrd and its patterns. It gave him no hope
—
no answer to his questions. It merely stopped at his decision point. The future was completely unknown. His destruction would shake the World Tree at its very foundations.
Perhaps there would be another
Athel’cen
; another warrior god created from his own energy.
Perhaps; perhaps not.
His thoughts were of the
Eleion
, the
Lochvaur
, his son, his unborn sons, and Lachlei before he leapt into the
Fyr
and was consumed…
*****
The foundations of the Nine Worlds trembled. Tremors ran across the Darkling Plain causing the battle to halt. Demons and
Eleion
stared into the sky as the Wyrd strands streaked across it. Dark lightning coursed across the filaments.
Fialan turned to Lochvaur, who watched the patterns of the Wyrd race through the sky. “What does it mean?” he asked.
Lochvaur gazed at the sky stoically and shook his head. “I don’t know, Fialan. I hope my father knows what he is doing.”
Farther up the battlefield, Areyn Sehduk smiled.
Rhyn’athel was no more.
*****
Lachlei hung her head and began to weep. Rhyn’athel was gone
—
she could feel it as the Wyrd shifted.
Why, Rhyn? Why?
she silently asked. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up. Ni’yah’s brass eyes glittered in concern.
“He’s gone, isn’t he?”
The wolf-god shook his head. “I don’t know, Lachlei. I can’t see into the Wyrd with this. The path isn’t there…”
Lachlei wiped her tears and met his gaze. “Is there a chance he might survive?”
Ni’yah sighed. He shook his head. “I don’t know
—
it’s the
Fyr
, Lachlei. Only the dragons survive it, themselves being creations of it.”
“Then, there is a chance,” Lachlei said fiercely. “We do have hope.”
“A foolish hope, perhaps,” Ni’yah said. “Come, we must meet with Lochvaur and the others.”
“Lochvaur? Rhyn’s son?” Lachlei asked.
The wolf-god nodded. “Lochvaur might have a better idea for fighting Areyn than I do. He was under Areyn’s dominion for nearly two millennia.”
“Lochvaur is still not as strong as he would like to think he is,” a voice came from behind them.
Lachlei turned her horse. Before her stood Areyn Sehduk. Beside him stood two demons holding Lochvaur, who struggled against the chains that bound him.