Lachlei was near exhaustion when Rhyn’s eyes opened. He gripped Lachlei’s wrist and broke their contact. She would die if she continued. “Rhyn?” she whispered.
“By Rhyn’athel’s sword,” Cahal said, not believing what he had seen. “Lachlei—he was dead.”
“Not quite,” she whispered. “Not quite.”
Rhyn took a breath and then another. His miraculous recovery would look suspicious, regardless of how slowly he appeared to heal. “Lachlei, you shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, Rhyn,” she said. “Don’t speak. You must heal.”
“No, Lachlei,” he said. “I’m not what you think I am…”
“I know what you are,” Lachlei replied and met his gaze. Rhyn hesitated.
You’re a Guardian, aren’t you? she asked. The gods have sent you.
Only one god, Rhyn thought. Perhaps it was time to reveal who he really was…
Cahal touched her shoulder. “Lachlei, the watchers tell us Areyn’s army is on the move. We’re likely to get more of those demons…”
“Prepare for the march,” she said. “Let me know when we’re ready.”
“Don’t wait,” Rhyn said, his voice hoarse. He still had the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and felt weak, but the link between the mortal body and himself had not been quite severed. “Lachlei, you must go now…”
“Rhyn, you’re in no condition to travel,” she said.
And who would protect Lachlei? Ni’yah added in his mind.
Rhyn fought to sit up. Despite his mortal disguise, he had to heal himself quickly and give Lachlei enough power to protect herself. With each second, Rhyn’athel allowed himself to regenerate. Areyn would probably laugh if he saw the warrior god and his champion, injured and unable to continue.
“No, Rhyn,” Lachlei said and tried to push him back down. Her strength was returning. “You’ve been mortally wounded.”
“No, Lachlei,” he replied. “You don’t understand, do you? I can heal. Areyn’s demons want you. If they capture you, Areyn will have you.”
A cold wind blew between them, causing her to shudder.
“We must leave now,” he said, his voice growing stronger.
Indecision flickered in her eyes.
“Have I ever led you astray?” he asked.
She met his steely gaze. Something within those silver eyes told her he was serious. She turned to Cahal. “We’re going.” She looked at Rhyn. “Can you stand?”
“I think so,” Rhyn said, scrambling to get his knees under him. The last surge of power healed him, and he drew Teiwaz. The Sword of Power glimmered in response.
“Demons!” They heard the watch cry out. Warriors were already scrambling to arm themselves and turning to meet the threat. Lachlei was fastening the arming points of her quilted jack.
“Don’t bother!” Rhyn snapped. “Get on my horse!”
Lachlei turned to see Rhyn’s stallion standing nearby. She shrugged the mail hauberk over her shoulders and fastened her swordbelt. “What of my own horse?”
Screams echoed from the army’s flank. A dark wave like smoke rolled over the Chi’lan and Laddel warriors as Areyn’s army of dead warriors charged the flanks. Demons shrieked overhead and plummeted towards the warriors. A demon—a heath-stalker—flew at them, and Rhyn slashed at its claws. The demon shrieked and hovered just out of sword reach. The warrior god cursed Areyn and swung Teiwaz. The demon chattered and flapped its giant wings to stay away from the god’s weapon.
“I can’t protect you if you’re away from me,” Rhyn shouted.
Lachlei’s expression darkened. “I am Rhyn’athel’s champion,” she said. “I should be leading my people.” She leapt on her own warhorse and drew Fyren. “To me! To me!” she shouted.
54
Fialan reined his horse and stared. Despite the overwhelming force that gripped him, he saw Lachlei and halted.
“By Rhyn’athel’s sword!” he exclaimed. “That’s Lachlei!”
Lochvaur reined his horse beside him. “So, it is,” he said. His gaze fell on the warrior who stood beside her.
Father…
Fialan glanced at the godling, overhearing Lochvaur’s unguarded thoughts. Rhyn’athel? he wondered. Fialan followed Lochvaur’s gaze to a warrior who fought a heath-stalker. He caught his breath and glanced at Lochvaur—he looked like Lochvaur—or Lochvaur looked like him.
Yet, even at this distance, Fialan could see a difference. The warrior who stood among the Chi’lan was powerful—more powerful than any creature Fialan had seen before. Light glowed like an aura around him, and he swung a Sword of Power that glowed bright with each cut.
This is the warrior god.
Fialan felt the pull of Areyn’s magic. He would soon be unable to resist and have to fight. He turned to Lochvaur, whose face was grim. “That is your father,” he whispered.
“I know,” said Lochvaur heavily. “And these are my people. I will have to fight both.” He drew his sword—a Sword of Power, Fialan noted—and closed his eyes. “May Rhyn’athel forgive us.” He clapped his legs against the horse and charged forward, swinging the great blade.
Fialan resisted the pull. How could he fight against his own army? His wife? Pain shot through him, and even as he resisted, Fialan found himself, sword in hand, charging into the Lochvaur and Laddel ranks.
A demon saw Lachlei as she rallied her troops. It dove towards her as she rode forward. Rhyn charged, but they were already too far away. Lachlei swung Fyren, slicing into the demon. The heath-stalker shrieked in agony as she cut into the demon’s wing and sent it plummeting to the ground. Lachlei turned her warhorse and charged the demon, leaping off her horse and plunging Fyren into the demon up to her sword’s hilt. She turned, her eyes glowing fiercely bright.
The warriors rallied. Swords drawn, they charged Areyn’s troops. Then, suddenly, the fighting broke off and the Chi’lan stared in dismay at their adversaries. Lachlei ran forward, Fyren in hand.
“Charge! Charge!” she shouted and then stared. “Chi’lan? What manner of devilry is this?” She gazed at the warriors who attacked—they were Chi’lan; not Silren, Eltar, or demons. Areyn’s warriors forced Lachlei’s Chi’lan into a retreat, fighting as they withdrew.
Rhyn leapt on his own horse and rode to her. “Lachlei!” he shouted grasping her arm and hauling her up to his saddle.
“What is happening, Rhyn?” she gasped as he carried her away. “Areyn uses the dead against us,” he said grimly. “He uses my own Chi’lan in this fight.”
“Your own?” she began.
“Our own,” Rhyn said hastily. Another heath-stalker swooped down on them, and Rhyn killed it with a single cut from Teiwaz. “Areyn has brought a hundred thousand Braesan—Undead.” “A hundred thousand?” Lachlei gasped. “Our army can’t withstand that. Sound the retreat.”
Retreat! Retreat! she heard Rhyn mindspeak across the battlefield. He glanced at her. “Rally point?”
“The knoll,” she said and heard him relay the message in mindspeak to the troops.
Suddenly, the troops parted. Two warriors came riding towards Rhyn and Lachlei. Lachlei gasped as she saw a warrior that looked exactly like Rhyn riding towards them—and another, more familiar face.
“Fialan!” she gasped. What is happening, Rhyn? Why does that warrior look like you?
The warrior god made no response. Instead, Rhyn’athel turned his horse around and met his son’s gaze as both Fialan and Lochvaur reined their steeds. Their faces twisted in pain as they fought Areyn’s power over them.