“I did.”
“Why?”
“You shouldn’t have fled.”
“And why not?” Her silver eyes were unreadable.
“You would’ve been flayed.”
“My skin seems remarkably intact,” she replied, holding her hands outstretched for him to examine.
“Lochvaur’s isn’t.”
A silence ensued. Kiril stopped swinging the sword and brought it point down into the dirt. “By Rhyn’athel’s mane,” he whispered.
Eshe blanched and looked away. “That was his choice.”
“Yes, it was his choice,” Fialan said evenly. “And Lochvaur took the punishment meant for us.”
“I didn’t ask him to do that,” she snapped.
“No, you didn’t. But you ought to be more grateful. Kiril and I took a dreadful chance trying to find you. I would’ve taken my punishment gladly if I had a say.”
Eshe stood up and moved to draw her dagger. Fialan caught her arm. “Leave me alone.”
“No,” Fialan said. He eyed the weapon. “If you’re going to draw it, Chi’lan, you’d better be prepared to use it.”
“Chi’lan,” Eshe spat. “We’re Braesan. Undead. Unwanted and unloved by Rhyn’athel.”
“I don’t believe it—not for a moment,” Fialan said. “I think your time in Tarentor has rotted your mind. You’ve listen too long to the demon’s lies and now you believe them.” He met her gaze coolly. “Listen, Eshe, there’s still hope. There’s always hope—even for the damned.”
Eshe’s hand wavered and she dropped the dagger. She collapsed on the cot weeping. “I don’t know anymore, Fialan. I used to be so strong…”
Fialan held her and glanced at Kiril. Kiril nodded once and silently left the tent. He stroked her hair and kissed her. “Eshe, I’m so sorry.”
Eshe dried her eyes on her tunic sleeve and smiled weakly. “It is I who should apologize,” she said. “The demons would’ve flayed us had it not been for Lochvaur.” She shook her head. “It is so like him to take our punishment.”
“Why?” Fialan mused.
“Lochvaur feels responsible for us,” she replied. “He’s a good commander—he always has been. He never asked any of us to do something he wouldn’t do himself. And, he always felt that the Lochvaur were his children—even if we all weren’t descended directly from his bloodline.”
“Do you know what he is, Eshe?” Fialan asked. “A godling, certainly, but I’ve known Laddel and Silvain, and neither is anything like Lochvaur.”
“I don’t know exactly what he is, except he is Rhyn’athel’s son,” Eshe admitted. “He was at least two thousand years old when I was living, but I don’t think there were any Eleion alive who knew him that long ago. Perhaps he was one of the original Eleion.” She kissed him, and Fialan held her as he stroked her hair. She was so unlike Lachlei, and yet, he sensed a strength within her that had been buried deep. “Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity, mostly. Why does Areyn fear him?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Those of us who saw Areyn’s fear the first time took heart. But as the millennia passed, nothing seemed to come of it, and many of us gave up hope. We thought we had deluded ourselves into thinking we saw what we saw.”
“I know what I saw. I saw fear in Areyn’s eyes,” Fialan replied. “Lochvaur spoke of a game he played with Areyn.”
“A game?” Eshe mused. “Then it is a very old game. Areyn Sehduk has been Lochvaur’s enemy as long as I can remember. This contention didn’t start with Lochvaur entering Tarentor—it started well before that.”
“Odd that a mortal would take on one of the most powerful gods. Unless he is something else.” He looked into Eshe’s eyes and smiled. “I can’t be certain, Eshe, but I think Lochvaur has a plan to free us from Areyn’s slavery.”
Her eyes widened. “How?”
Fialan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I know that with each breath of air, each drop of water, and each morsel of food I take from this world, I become stronger. You’re becoming stronger too—perhaps that’s why you fled—you felt this world permeating your body. If it continues, we may become part of the world of the living.”
“Then, Areyn will have no control over us,” Eshe said. She hesitated and then tentatively slid her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Desire exploded within Fialan and he took her in his arms, kissing her. Lochvaur was right—he was becoming more alive with each moment he spent in the world of the living. The part of him that was living was overwhelming his other senses. He wanted Eshe desperately now.
Suddenly, he pulled away as though invisible hands wrested him away from her. “No!” he shouted. “No! Not now!” He met Eshe’s gaze as he staggered to his feet. “What’s happening?”
“Areyn,” Eshe replied as she stood up. “It’ll hurt less if you don’t fight it.”
“He can control our actions even when he isn’t here?”
“Areyn Sehduk can control everything we do if he so wishes. He’ll force us to fight for him.” Fialan shook his head. Areyn gave them just enough freedom to believe that they were autonomous, only to rip it away and force them to acknowledge that they were subject to his will. Yet, Lochvaur had hope…
Kiril entered the tent. “The demons told me to get you both,” he said, his jaw clenched as though fighting an invisible force. “The Silren army has arrived.”
48
“Where is Akwel?” demanded Silvain. The Silren king stood outside of Areyn Sehduk’s tent, his ice-blue eyes hard as he surveyed the army. The army he had left Areyn with had been ten thousand strong. Now, counting the wounded, they were down to a mere thirty-five hundred and being pursued by the Lochvaur and the Laddel.
Silvain had come ready to confront the demon god on his apparent failure to secure victory beyond the North Marches. He rode with his guards from Caer Silren to take over the army. The godling had dismounted and strode to Areyn’s tent, followed by his guards.
Areyn knew this even before he strode from the tent. “Silvain,” Areyn said with a mocking smile. He crossed his arms and gazed at the tall Silren in amusement. It had taken very little for him to shield the Braesan from Silvain’s senses. The Silren king was unprepared and walking right into Areyn’s carefully laid trap.
“I demand that you explain yourself, Akwel,” Silvain said. “My army is decimated and in retreat…”
“Unfortunate, but there are other players,” Areyn remarked bored. “The Lochvaur bitch, Lachlei, seems to have some help.”
“I’m taking the army back and returning to Caer Silren.”
Areyn laughed. “Really, Silvain?”
Silvain stared at Areyn. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because I never thought you could be so blind,” Areyn replied. “I would’ve thought a godling such as you could’ve seen through this guise.”
Silvain looked taken aback. “What are you talking about, Akwel?”
“Let’s drop the deception, shall we?” Areyn said. At that, the shell vanished and the death god stood before the Silren king. He stood before Silvain as a tall Eltar with a long, black mane and dark eyes.
Silvain retreated, only to find his guards gone; replaced by demons. “No,” he gasped. “No…”
Areyn Sehduk smiled. “Your daughter had the right idea, Silvain, but you were too foolish to listen to her words. Cara serves Rhyn’athel. As you will serve me.”
“No,” Silvain said. “I am the son of Elisila, goddess of the heavens…”
“And I am Areyn Sehduk, the god of destruction. Elisila does not hear your prayers, foolish one, but I will. There is only one other god powerful enough to fight me and you eschewed him long ago.”