“What is this creature doing here?” Lochvaur said as he turned his baleful gaze on Imdyr.
Imdyr reined her horse backward in fear. Areyn raised his hand in a motion to stop her. “She serves at my whim.”
“Then she is a fool,” Lochvaur spat. He turned to her. “You’ll regret your decision, dark one,” he said. “Though you’ve already twisted the Wyrd to your purposes, haven’t you? I know what you carry.”
Imdyr grew pale. “This is a dangerous creature,” she said to Areyn. “Why do you insist on using him?”
Areyn Sehduk had watched the interplay with interest. Lochvaur had seen something he had not. “Perhaps because the son of Rhyn’athel may still have some use to me,” he replied.
“He will lead you down false paths.”
“Really?” Areyn smiled. “I never said I trusted him.” He turned to Lochvaur. “What is Rhyn’athel’s plan?”
“Why don’t you ask Rhyn’athel, yourself?”
Areyn resisted the urge to use his mace to smash the godling’s sardonic smile off his face. “Because it’s easier to ask you. You can’t lie to me. Why is Rhyn’athel here in Elren?”
“Because you’re here,” Lochvaur replied. “You didn’t think Fialan’s death would go unnoticed?”
Areyn frowned. “It was the damn wolf-cur, wasn’t it?”
Lochvaur grinned. “Ni’yah? He had something to do with it, yes.”
Areyn’s gaze narrowed. “You know nothing?” he demanded, circling the godling slowly with his horse.
Lochvaur stood rigid. “Why do you think Rhyn’athel would share his plans with me?”
“Because you are his son.”
“Do you think my father would give the enemy easy access to such information?”
“I think you know more than you say.” Areyn Sehduk considered Lochvaur thoughtfully. The godling showed no sign of fear. “I think you’re holding something back.”
“How can that be?” Lochvaur replied. “I can’t lie—you’ve said so yourself. You own my very soul—I am the good little soldier who obeys your orders…”
Areyn’s mace came crashing down. In a split second, Lochvaur had drawn his Sword of Power and parried. They stood for a moment, eyes locked, before Areyn broke the weapons’ contact. “You task me.”
“You wish the truth? You know I can’t lie under your power.”
“The truth? What truth?”
“You shouldn’t have taken me,” Lochvaur remarked, sheathing his sword. “I’m a danger to you, and yet you continue to keep me in chains while I wait and watch patiently for you to falter. Every day I plan for your destruction, but the Wyrd hasn’t shown me the way yet. So, I bide my time and wait. You know I will destroy you, and yet you give me the means of doing so. It would be better if you freed me and sent me back to the Hall of the Gods to await the end of time when you and I will meet. Each day, I learn more and more what you are and hate you for it. Each day, I grow stronger with the knowledge I obtain. It won’t be Rhyn’athel who will destroy you, Areyn. It will be me.” He smiled coldly. “All it will take is one slip…”
Areyn’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard enough of your prophecies…”
“You could stop that fate, if you so chose,” Lochvaur said. “But you won’t because of your arrogance and your hatred of me and what the Eleion and Ansgar stand for. We can no more be destroyed than Athel’cen, and for that we are punished. You torment me to soothe your own pride.”
“I’ve heard enough of your prattle,” Areyn Sehduk growled.
A slight smile played across the godling’s lips. He turned to Imdyr. “The death god is a poor choice for lovers,” he remarked. “He despises you and all that you stand for.”
“Silence,” Areyn snapped. “Prepare your warriors—we’ll be attacking Caer Lochvaren within the week.”
Lochvaur’s smile was mocking. “As you wish, my lord,” he said as he vanished.
“Caer Lochvaren?” Imdyr repeated after the godling vanished. “It will take months to siege their fortress. It’s winter, too—we won’t be able to launch an effective campaign.”
“No need,” Areyn said. “I have work for you to do.”
“Work?” she repeated.
“Work that will bring the destruction of Caer Lochvaren.”
56
Fialan awoke to the dim red sun of Tarentor. The ruddy sky stretched overhead as he lay on cold sand. The wind howled over the desert hills and Fialan knew it would soon be dusk. He groaned as he lifted his head. This time, his body ached all over. He felt a nudge as someone stood over him. Tarentor was so dark compared to Elren that it took time for his eyes to adjust.
“Eshe?” he asked.
“I don’t think Eshe would appreciate that.” Kiril chuckled as he offered Fialan his hand. “She’s much better looking than I am.”
Fialan laughed and then groaned as the big man helped him up. “My head aches,” Fialan said as he gazed at the bronze warrior. He looked around and saw that other warriors lay across the hills—thousands of them. Many were stirring as Fialan was, blinking in the dim light.
“Rhyn’athel doesn’t hold back much when he decides to unleash his power,”
Kiril remarked.
“Rhyn’athel? That was Rhyn’athel?”
“Who else could destroy the entire Braesan with a thought?” the Shara’kai replied.
“Fialan?” Eshe’s voice came from a few yards away.
Fialan blinked. “Here—Eshe!” he shouted. His eyes were still unaccustomed to the dark world, but he could see her shapely form as she came towards him.
She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. “I missed you,” she said. He responded to her kiss, but then Lachlei’s image still burned in his mind.
Fialan pushed her away. “No, Eshe, this isn’t right,” he said. “Lachlei…”
Eshe shook her head. “Very well,” she said. She smiled sadly and turned away.
“Eshe…” he began and gripped her arm.
“Fialan—I can’t compete with the living,” she said. “As long as we continue to fight in Elren, you may see your wife again. It is torture, Fialan, for as long as she lives, you can never have her.” She freed herself and walked away.
“Do you want my advice?” Kiril asked as Fialan watched her help other warriors recover.
“No.” He sighed. “Where’s Lochvaur?”
“Areyn summoned him,” Kiril replied. “No doubt to make him pay for Rhyn’athel’s attack.” He paused as he watched Fialan gaze on Eshe. “You’ll get my advice anyway, first-blood. I think you’re a fool.”
Fialan met Kiril’s gaze. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
The Shara’kai grinned. “No, but I’m good at giving it. She loves you.”
Fialan shook his head. “Damn it, Kiril, I love Lachlei.”
“And I loved Samara, but death got in the way.” He shrugged. “Lochvaur tells me we may die dozens of times before the war ends. You’re no longer of Lachlei’s world anymore than she is of this one.”
“Wise words, if there ever were,” came Lochvaur’s voice. They turned to see the godling standing beside them.
“Lochvaur—what happened?” Fialan asked.
“My father lost his temper,” the godling grinned. “We should have a few days of rest before the demons come back for us.”
“This is hardly rest,” Fialan remarked, looking at the bleak landscape.
“It will have to do,” Lochvaur said. “We’ll be sent back to attack Caer Lochvaren by the end of the week.”
“Is Areyn growing soft?” Kiril said scornfully.
Lochvaur chuckled. “No, the rest is not for us—it’s for him. Areyn lost quite a bit of power with Rhyn’athel’s attack.” “Won’t that mean he’ll use our energy to sustain him?” Eshe asked, shivering.