I can’t control it, father, Lochvaur said. Areyn is just too strong.
Fialan drew his sword. Lachlei, beloved, he mindspoke. They started forward.
Rhyn’athel closed his eyes. Forgive me, my son, he whispered. I will free you. Flame shot between him and the Braesan. Their horses reared and turned away. Lochvaur and Fialan rode past Rhyn’athel and Lachlei.
The warrior god turned his horse and headed towards the knoll.
Fialan glanced at Lochvaur as they rode on. “That was Lachlei!” he shouted to the godling.
“I know,” said Lochvaur.
“Was that…?”
Lochvaur’s glance silenced Fialan.
“What happened? We should have attacked,” Fialan said.
Rhyn’athel has spared us the pain of fighting him, Lochvaur said in mindspeak.
Then, we are free?
Lochvaur shook his head. Rhyn’athel has not chosen to free us yet.
Fialan closed his eyes. “Lachlei,” he whispered as he felt Areyn’s power grip him again. He charged at the fleeing army, cutting through warriors as they retreated.
How could the warrior god betray him so? How could Rhyn’athel betray his own son?
Chi’lan and Laddel archers defended the rally point. As Rhyn rode towards his army, demons and Areyn’s warriors chased him. On arriving, the archers let loose their arrow storm, cutting down all. Rhyn sent a wave of fire through the Braesan ranks.
“Rhyn! We must retreat!” Cahal shouted as they rode up.
Rhyn turned to Cahal. “Get her a horse—I’ll try to hold them off!”
Lachlei stared. “What are you saying?”
“Get off now!” Rhyn ordered. He grasped her around the middle, and with one arm slid her off his warhorse.
Cahal offered Lachlei a hand up. “Come on, Lachlei!”
Lachlei ignored Cahal and turned to Rhyn. “What are you doing?”
“Go!” Rhyn demanded. “Get the army out of here!” He spurred his horse forward.
“Come on, Lachlei—take my hand,” Cahal said as she stood watching Rhyn leave.
Reluctantly, Lachlei grasped Cahal’s hand and swung behind the Chi’lan. Cahal turned his horse and urged it away from the charging Braesan. “Retreat! Retreat!” Cahal shouted as they fled the Undead.
Rhyn’athel stared ahead at the oncoming warriors. He could obliterate Areyn’s army, but with the energy Areyn would devour with that huge amount of death, the death god could regenerate them just as fast. Rhyn’athel turned and saw the demons coming in. They would lose the army to Areyn if he didn’t do something now.
Cold anger welled inside him. Rhyn’athel was tired of the charade and tired of Areyn. He reined his horse and stood alone on the small hillock to face the approaching Undead. The warrior god drew Teiwaz and focused on his powers. With a single thought, a wall of flame rose from the ground and raced towards Areyn Sehduk’s army. He closed his eyes as he heard the anguished screams of the Braesan and felt them pulled back to Tarentor. The wall of fire leapt up, consuming the demons as they flew towards him. When Rhyn’athel opened his eyes again, he saw Ni’yah standing beside him.
“You realize what you just did,” the wolf-god said, his brass eyes meeting Rhyn’athel’s gaze.
“I bought us enough time to return to Caer Lochvaren,” Rhyn’athel replied brusquely. He turned away. “Where is Lachlei?”
“You destroyed the Braesan and the demons—Areyn will know now that you are here.” Rhyn’athel turned to meet the wolf-god’s gaze. Despite the mortal body, he looked like an avenging god. “You wanted me in this war, brother. Now you have me. Be careful what you wish for.”
55
The flame raced towards the Braesan. The fires spread from one point and fanned out in a giant wall of blue flame. The demons fled from it, but the blaze consumed them. The Undead warriors scrambled to flee the inferno, but it quickly overtook them, too. Screams echoed across the battlefield and then were suddenly silent. The flame took alclass="underline" Braesan, living, and dead. Even the blood-soaked grasses and bodies were consumed.
Fialan turned to Lochvaur and saw the godling grin before the flames hit them. Searing pain shot through Fialan, and he fell unconscious. “Howling Dead.”
Areyn Sehduk stared in shock at the inferno as it raced towards them. He spread his hands and drew on his dark powers, warding off the terrible magic.
Imdyr, who still rode beside him, shrieked in terror, threw her hood over her head and pulled it down over her face. The flames lapped at his shield like the sea against the sand before dissipating.
The god of death stared at the devastation. The ground had been burned to the very soil, causing it to blacken. What little of his army survived were Silren—he had used the Braesan as his shock troops. No godling could have destroyed his power. No god could have done this—save one—not even Ni’yah, who was Athel’cen. His mind returned to the face of his old adversary, and again to the warrior who rode against him. The magic around the warrior had been impenetrable; his face had been familiar, and yet unrecognizable…
Rhyn’athel.
The name of the warrior god brought fear into Areyn’s soul. Only Rhyn’athel had enough power to bring pain on the god of death. Only Rhyn’athel could have destroyed Areyn’s Undead like this—and yet, Areyn had not been prepared for such a confrontation.
In truth, Areyn Sehduk had not expected Rhyn’athel to enter the war so early. The god of warriors was usually conservative, preferring to bide his time. Areyn had considered Lochvaur’s claims of Rhyn’athel’s return to Elren to be nothing more than boasts, but now he began to wonder how much the godling knew. Despite owning Lochvaur’s soul and even forcing his submission, Areyn could not quite control the godling, nor could he read Lochvaur’s mind.
Perhaps it was time to deal with the godling directly.
Areyn gazed at Imdyr, who cowered on her horse beside him. “Well, Eltar bitch?”
Imdyr shuddered and drew her hood back tentatively. “It was the god of warriors,” she replied.
“I know that,” he snapped. “How do I stop him?”
Imdyr shook her head. Fear filled her dark eyes. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Rhyn’athel is powerful.”
“But not invincible,” Areyn replied. “It took a lot of power to shatter my defenses and destroy the Braesan like that. How much does he have?”
Imdyr eyes became unfocused for a few moments. “Rhyn’athel is more powerful than before,” she said. “But then, so are you.”
“Is he more powerful than I am?” Areyn Sehduk demanded.
Imdyr shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “You have grown in power over the years. It appears you are now equally matched.”
“Equally matched,” Areyn Sehduk licked his lips in anticipation. “Perhaps the godling knows more about this.” At that, he summoned Lochvaur, who appeared before both of them.
Lochvaur stood in his new shadow body, arms crossed against his chest, his silver eyes defiant as they met Areyn’s. He was a tall warrior—nearly as tall as Rhyn’athel—and imposing with broad shoulders, angular features, and piercing eyes. His Sword of Power hung at his side. He was something Areyn had never fully understood—not quite Eleion, but not quite god. He was the epitome of Rhyn’athel’s arrogance. As long as Lochvaur existed, he would be a constant reminder that Rhyn’athel had been the more powerful god.