The Silren king shuddered. Areyn knew he was considering his options, but also knew that Silvain had none. Even his first-blood powers could not hope to defeat the death god. “What do you want of me?” he asked at last.
Areyn smiled. “The same thing you want—the destruction of Rhyn’athel’s kindred.”
“Why? Why isn’t Rhyn’athel here?”
“Rhyn’athel may already be here, but I doubt it,” Areyn replied. “And why—I have my own reasons, Silvain. I am willing to bargain with you.”
“Bargain? What would you bargain?”
“Your life and the lives of your kindred for your compliance.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you serve me anyway as a Braesan—an Undead,” Areyn replied. “Like my friend, Lochvaur.”
“Lochvaur?” Silvain could not disguise the disbelief in his voice. “Lochvaur is here?”
“He serves me—along with his dead Chi’lan. You can serve me alive or dead, Silvain, it is your choice. But you will serve me.”
Silvain looked around and saw the massive encampment where the Braesan now waited. He looked at his warriors who stood beside him, unable to help him. At last, he met the death god’s gaze.
“What do you want me to do?”
Deep within the Athelren Mountains, the great walled city of the gods sat beneath the blue skies. Overhead, the twin suns shone, making the white walls of the fortress-city glitter in their magnificence. Lofty towers and brilliant spires rose above those walls—their beauty conceived in one single thought of the Athel’cen. Within those walls were the castles of the gods, including the wolf-god’s own hall.
Ni’yah smiled as he gazed at his handiwork. He was fond of the walled city, but found it too perfect. There was little challenge in Athelren and none within the city of the gods since Rhyn’athel had forced Areyn from the world of the Athel’cen. The displacement of the Eleion and Ansgar had much to do with his boredom—they provided a challenge that was now gone in this world.
Ni’yah strode through the open gates where the Watchers stood guard. They were creatures who took the form of silver dragons, but were not creatures of the Fyr as dragons were, but actual Wyrd-born creatures that Rhyn’athel brought forth from the Web to guard the city. They lowered their heads in respect as Ni’yah strode past them.
Once inside the gates, Ni’yah noted the stillness of the world. Nowhere was it more pronounced than here, in the great city of the gods. The glistening streets and towers were all deserted, save perhaps for the gods’ own servants. The great halls, palatial residences, and garrisons were empty, just as the fields outside of the city lay fallow. It was spring, but there would be no crops. The gods didn’t need sustenance, and there were few in this world who did.
He walked towards the palace of Elisila. It stood imposing before him, its tall columns stretched upward, holding a beautiful dome of starlight above.
“Ni’yah,” came a voice. “I hardly expected to see you in Athelren.”
Ni’yah turned and saw a beautiful woman with silver hair and pale blue eyes. She was tall and fair-skinned, wearing a dress that shimmered like the stars. Ni’yah grinned roguishly. “Elisila!” he said.
Elisila frowned. “I know that look,” she said. “You’re scheming…”
“Scheming? Me?” Ni’yah feigned an injured look. “Elisila, have I ever led you astray?”
“Many times,” she said. “I should turn you out for that last little trick you pulled.”
“It was a joke—no harm done,” Ni’yah remarked. “Listen, I’m on an important mission. Rhyn’athel sent me.”
Elisila’s face grew darker. “Then, I don’t want any part of it.” She vanished.
Ni’yah smacked his head against a nearby column. “I forgot how touchy she is,” he remarked to no one. With that, he vanished and rematerialized in Elisila’s great hall.
It was as impressive inside as it was outside. The inlayed stone along the floor and wall sparkled like stars in a deep blue firmament. He gazed at her handiwork in appreciation. “Nicely done,” he said.
Elisila sat on her throne at the end of the hall. “If Rhyn’athel sent you, I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped.
Ni’yah sighed. “OK, not Rhyn’athel. I’m here on my own behalf. Do you know Areyn is in Elren?”
“So is Rhyn’athel,” Elisila shrugged. “The Truce is broken.”
“Then you know Areyn Sehduk has control of the Silren,” Ni’yah said. “He will enlist the aid of the Elesil as well.”
Elisila paused. “Listen, Ni’yah, Rhyn’athel forced us all out of Elren long ago with that damn treaty. It’s up to him to fix his mistake.”
“Even at the cost of your own son’s life?”
A muscle twitched in her face. “I’ve already lost one son to Areyn Sehduk.”
“I’m not willing to lose mine,” Ni’yah replied. “You still have Silvain—if you act now.”
Indecision glowed in her eyes for a moment, and then she laughed. “Ni’yah, this is not my realm any longer. Go plead your case to sympathetic ears.”
“There’s no one else,” Ni’yah said. “I need for you to speak to Conlan—tell him not to support the Silren.”
Elisila smiled, but her smile was coldly patronizing. “You’re Athel’cen, Ni’yah, not I,” she said. “Certainly, you need not my insignificant power to obtain what you wish.”
Ni’yah flashed his teeth, but it was not a smile. His brass eyes flashed with power, and Elisila would have withdrawn if she could. Instead, she met the wolf-god’s gaze.
“I’m willing to play fairly for the sake of my brother, Elisila, but I will do what I must to ensure victory. As an Athel’cen.” With that, he vanished.
49
Rhyn’athel insisted on keeping guard over Lachlei while she lay down to rest. Despite his exhaustion, he refused to lie down again. He sat on a stone beside her and admonished himself for being so lax. In his desire to make love to her, the warrior god had let his guard down—something he wouldn’t have normally done.
What had disturbed the warrior god was not only the timing of the demon’s attack, but also the purpose. The demon had gone after Lachlei—not him. Demons were notoriously stupid—and willing to follow orders precisely. The heath-stalker was ordered to capture Lachlei and bring her alive to Areyn.
It meant that Areyn knew Lachlei’s future in the Nine Worlds’ destiny. It meant that Areyn probably knew that the warrior, Rhyn, was none other than Rhyn’athel. It also meant that Areyn Sehduk was getting bolder. Or desperate.
Or both.
Rhyn’athel gazed on Lachlei as he pondered the new patterns of the Wyrd. He admitted to himself that he had been directly responsible for the change to the Wyrd. But with all the Athel’cen in Elren, their presence complicated things considerably. The Wyrd didn’t fully reveal the changes, but rather showed the ripples and how they could change the course of the future.
I never thought I could love another. And yet I love you, Lachlei had said. Rhyn’athel gazed on her face, wishing desperately that he had more time alone with her. She would have loved him.
The demon could have appeared at a worse time, Rhyn’athel admitted to himself wryly. If the heath-stalker had appeared a few minutes later, it would have forced Rhyn’athel to shed his body and reveal his true identity. Then, all would know, and the delicate game he played with Areyn Sehduk would end.