There would be another time, he silently promised himself.
He felt a touch on his shoulder and looked up. Cahal stood over him and grinned. “Gods, Rhyn, I don’t know how you do it, but you need some rest.”
Rhyn hesitated. He hadn’t slept, and the fight with the heath-stalker had pushed this body to its very limit. He was exhausted, and yet Lachlei needed a guard. “Someone needs to watch Lachlei,” he said.
“I will keep watch,” Cahal replied. “Get some sleep—I’ll alert you if the demons come around.”
“But Lachlei…” he began.
“Will be safe if we’re both near her,” Cahal said. “Sleep beside her, Rhyn. I will keep watch.” He grinned knowingly.
Rhyn chuckled and nodded. He settled down next to her and gently took her in his arms. Lachlei’s eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, and she smiled as she felt his arms wrap around her. The warmth of her body relaxed him—as much as her feelings of love for him. He wanted her now, but Rhyn could not risk another chance encounter with the demons.
Lachlei was nearly asleep from exhaustion. She had stripped the gory mail, underlying arming shirt and padded leggings, and was down to a simple tunic and breeches. If she had to, she could don her armor quickly enough, but another demon attack would warrant Rhyn’athel protecting her at any cost.
As he felt her muscular frame against his, the warrior god relaxed. It was when, not if, and he accepted the fate with quiet confidence. He had waited this long, he could wait a little longer. He closed his eyes, hoping he would rest.
Yet, despite his fatigue, Rhyn’athel could not sleep. Instead, he pondered Lachlei’s question—how the Fyr had destroyed the very thing it created and if Areyn would use it again. He had discounted it when he had spoken to her—another lie, if harmless—but in truth, Rhyn’athel had no answer. Rhyn’athel could not fully control two things, despite all his powers as an Athel’cen. One was the Wyrd; the other was the Fyr.
The Wyrd had created the Athel’cen, perhaps as guardians for it. Rhyn’athel likened it to a web or a tapestry. It wove itself into patterns that created and destroyed. At some point, it began to create. The Athel’cen and the Guardians were the result.
Rhyn’athel never understood the full reason behind his own existence, let alone the Wyrd’s. It was mindless in many ways, and yet had a purpose. The Athel’cen were not the first of the Wyrd-born, but they were the most powerful. They could change portions of the Wyrd through their existence, but nothing could actually change the strands themselves or reweave them in another manner.
The Fyr was part of the Wyrd. Like the Wyrd, the Athel’cen could affect the Fyr, but it was dangerous and tricky to handle. Rhyn’athel drew on its power to create; Areyn called on it to destroy. Once it was unleashed, it was difficult to contain. The Fyr was the chaos to the Wyrd’s order. Rhyn’athel had failed to control the Fyr when Areyn had unleashed it on the world. It had destroyed everything, save the walled city of Athelren.
Areyn would use it only in desperation, Rhyn’athel decided. Only if Rhyn’athel had the obvious upper hand.
But what could Rhyn’athel do if Areyn decided to unleash it?
“Rhyn?” Lachlei’s voice drew him from his reverie. “Rhyn?” she murmured again, this time, her voice distant and dreamlike. The warrior god smiled as he slipped into her dreams.
I am here, beloved.
“There’s a large wolf following us.”
Cara, the renegade daughter of Silvain, twisted in her saddle to look for movement. In the twilight, she could see nothing save shadows among the grasses that blew in the breeze. She turned to Haukel. “Are you sure?” She slowed her horse to a walk. The other Silren followed her actions.
“Quite—it’s been following us for some time,” Haukel said. “It’s a big one, too—might be one of Areyn’s Yeth Hounds.”
Cara nodded slowly. Although the Yeth Hounds had not entered this world in two thousand years, she had seen shadows of demons fly overhead. “They normally run in packs, but this one might be a straggler. Let’s be prepared. Everyone nock your arrows.”
The Silren warriors pulled their light bows and nocked their arrows. They rode into a circle to cover their flanks. Suddenly, they heard a scream overhead. A shadow passed over them, and Cara released her arrow. The other Silren shot at the dark shadow in the sky. It circled once before heading southward.
“Hold your fire,” came a strange voice.
Cara looked down to see an enormous gray wolf standing before them in the waning light. She lowered her weapon. “You can talk?” she asked. “What manner of wolf are you?”
The wolf grinned. “A wolf that would be your friend, Cara, daughter of Silvain, heir of the Silren,” he said. “You’d just be wasting arrows on the demon if they aren’t tipped with adamantine.”
“Demon,” she whispered as she watched the shadow head southward.
“You’re in a precarious position, daughter of Silvain,” the wolf remarked. “Outcast from your kindred, if you approach the Lochvaur and Laddel, you’ll be shot before you could surrender—or even if they did accept you, you would not be allowed to fight.”
“How do you know so much about me?”
“Rhyn’athel is not the only Athel’cen who hears your prayers.”
Cara and Haukel glanced at each other. Whispers ran through the other Silren warriors. “Ni’yah?” she asked. “I had heard rumors that you still walked this world, but I scarcely believed it.”
Ni’yah transmuted into his Eleion form and grinned. “There are other Athel’cen who walk this world now. You’ve already seen Areyn.”
“Areyn Sehduk?” Haukel said, turning to Cara in wonder. “Could this be true?”
Cara’s face darkened. “Akwel,” she said. “I knew there was something wrong with him. But how do I know that you are Ni’yah? There are many treacherous spirits wandering this world now.”
“I know all of you here serve my brother, Rhyn’athel,” Ni’yah said. “And I know what Areyn said to you before you could talk to Silvain alone.”
Cara stared. “What do you know of it?”
“Areyn threatened to expose those of you who are Rhyn’athel’s followers.”
“You didn’t tell us that,” Haukel said, turning to her. “How could he have known?”
Cara turned to Ni’yah. “That was a private conversation spoken in mindspeak.”
“You know that only an Athel’cen has this much command of the Wyrd.”
“You could be Areyn, trying to trick us,” Haukel spoke.
“If I were Areyn, I wouldn’t trifle with a small band of outcasts,” Ni’yah replied. “But, as you know, Ni’yah would. The choice is yours.” With that, he changed into his wolf form and turned to leave.
“Ni’yah, wait!” Cara said. The wolf paused and turned around. “Areyn has control of the Silren, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does,” Ni’yah replied. “Even now, he may be bringing more forces against the Lochvaur. If he succeeds in bringing the Elesil into this war, I fear the Lochvaur and Laddel may fall.”
“Why have you come?”
“I need your help—to stop the Elesil from entering this war.”