“You need my help? You’re an Athel’cen.”
“Well, yes, and I could appear to Conlan as Elisila and tell him to not join the Silren,” Ni’yah said. “Or I could destroy the entire Elesil army with a single thought. But I’ll have more than enough to do explaining why I went to Silvain’s daughter for help.”
Cara laughed. “You’re doing this behind Elisila’s back?”
“And Rhyn’athel’s and Areyn’s,” Ni’yah said slyly. “Call it a favor to the wolf-god—and to Rhyn’athel, but my brother knows nothing of it yet.”
A mischievous glint entered Cara’s blue eyes. Haukel stared at her. “You’re not thinking of going along with this creature?”
“I think we should,” spoke Tora and a number of Silren murmured their agreement.
“I have to agree,” Cara said. “We are sitting idly by now, when we should be in battle. If we can turn the war, let’s do it. We’re Rhyn’athel’s warriors.” She paused and gazed at Ni’yah knowingly. “Besides, it’s not often one has an Athel’cen in her debt.”
50
Conlan, the king of the Elesil, awoke in a sweat. The nightmares had begun again. They were Wyrd-dreams, he knew. As the last of the first-blood Elesil, Conlan was gifted with the Sight. He had heard the rumors of the Silren going to war against the Lochvaur. Now, the Wyrd-dreams painted a disturbing future.
Each dream became more vivid than the last. A warning or portent of sorts, but Conlan did not know how to respond to it. The Wyrd showed him demons swooping down to destroy the kindreds. His last vision was of the death god, Areyn Sehduk, himself; wielding the Fyr and decimating the entire world.
Conlan stood up, unable to shake the dream from his mind. He slid from the bed, careful to not wake Rani, his sleeping consort. He shrugged into a tunic and breeches, not certain what he would do, but he could not sleep. The dream was a portent from the gods, and he decided that he would not stand idly by while the kindreds were destroyed. He left the room.
As Conlan entered the passageway, he saw the moonlight enter through the stained glass windows that lined the corridor. He paused and stared out of one of the moonlit windows. He had spoken to no one about these dreams. No one, save perhaps another with the Sight could offer him counsel. He wished that Elisila would guide him, but the Goddess of the Heavens was silent.
Battles between kindreds were common. Border disputes were not unusual, but the bloodiness of North Marches was. Conlan had never known the Silren to put all to the sword as they had done. That brutality befitted the Eltar and Falarel more than children of Elisila.
Conlan had heard of Fialan’s murder and grieved for the Lochvaur king. While being royalty precluded true friendship among rulers, Fialan had been the closest thing to a friend that Conlan had made among the Nine Kindreds. Rumors had it that a Silren had murdered Fialan—rumors that Conlan had not believed until he had heard about North Marches.
He stared out at the moon which shone over the land. It was Mani, the moon that heralded change. Staring at the moon, he heard a wolf howl, and the face of a woman flashed in his mind. Her white mane streaked with silver and pale blue eyes marked her as a Silren. She rode on a steed, leading a score of Silren towards Caer Elesilren.
As he made his way down the steps, one of his personal guards, Hakan, was climbing up. Like all Elesil, Hakan had a silver mane and silver eyes. He wore the dark blue colors of the House of Elesil with three eight-rayed stars. “My lord, I didn’t expect to see you awake,” he said.
“We have a visitor, Hakan?” Conlan asked.
“Yes,” Hakan said. “The daughter of Silvain—she insists on speaking with you at once.”
Conlan nodded. The woman in his Sight vision. “Bring her and her warriors to my meeting chambers and offer them food and drink. Tell them I will speak with them shortly.”
“I don’t know if this was a good idea,” Haukel said to Cara as they waited in the Elesil meeting chambers. Cara gazed at the opulence of the room that confirmed the Elesil’s wealth. They had walked through corridors paneled in maple with marble floors. Everywhere, the banners of the Elesil’s three stars hung as tapestries along the walls. Within the meeting chamber, the only light came from the fireplace and two sconces along the wall. They sat on oaken mead benches next to tables as they waited. Servants had brought breads, sliced cheeses, dried fruits, and spiced wine.
Cara glanced at Ni’yah, who had taken Silren form. He smiled and winked at her. She noted that he avoided the spice wine and thinking it wise, abstained as well. “I think we’re doing the right thing,” she said. “It isn’t often that one has the favor of an Athel’cen.” “We could all be put to death as traitors, too,” Haukel grumbled.
The massive bronze doors to the meeting room swung open. They all stood as a tall Elesil with a silver mane and eyes strode in, his countenance dark. He wore a small circlet and the robes of royalty, but his clothing was simple as if hastily thrown on. Guards flanked him as he entered the chamber. He scanned the Silren party until his eyes locked on Cara. “You—you’re the one I’ve foreseen.”
Cara glanced at Ni’yah, who shook his head. “I am Cara, daughter of Silvain,” she said, sounding more confident than she felt. “I apologize for the hour I’ve come to you, King Conlan, but I fear Areyn Sehduk may have the upper hand if we delay this meeting.”
Conlan’s frown deepened. “Areyn Sehduk?” he repeated, his mind going back to the dream.
“Surely you already know that is why we are here,” said Ni’yah. “We have had the dreams, same as you. We know that the death god walks this land. He has taken control of our kindred.”
Conlan stared at Ni’yah. “What of Silvain?”
“My father does not know it is Areyn Sehduk, for Areyn has disguised himself as one of us,” Cara said. “Areyn fooled me for a time, but what you see here before you are all of the Silren who escaped his powers.”
Conlan gazed at the Silren present. “There’s a little over a score here. This is all?”
“This is all,” Cara said.
A silence ensued. Conlan seemed lost in thought for a while. Cara glanced at Ni’yah.
Don’t worry, I have faith in Conlan, the god replied.
“What would you have the Elesil do?” Conlan asked at last.
“Don’t enter the war,” Cara said. “My father will ask that the Elesil fight alongside the Silren against the Lochvaur. He will ask in the name of blood ties. This you must not do lest all is lost.”
Conlan turned away. “You come to me in the middle of the night with an odd request, daughter of Silvain,” he said. “One would normally consider what you ask an act of treason.”
“And one would normally consider a first-blood who ignored the warnings of his Wyrd-dreams to be a fool,” Ni’yah spoke.
The Silren gasped. “What are you saying?” Cara hissed.
The wolf-god ignored her. “You’ve seen the battle that may come. You’ve seen Areyn’s demons destroy your army on the battlefield. You’ve seen the decimation the Fyr will bring. Tell me, King Conlan of the Elesil, would it be wise to ignore such portents?”
Conlan’s eyes widened. “Who are you?”