“Perhaps,” said Rhyn, amusement coloring his voice. “Or perhaps she was blinded by her love for another. She didn’t know he was Rhyn’athel.”
“I would think she would know if there was a god in her midst,” Lachlei said sleepily. “I would.”
“Perhaps you would,” Rhyn said. He fell silent.
Lachlei found herself drifting off to sleep in spite of her edginess. “Rhyn?” she murmured. “Did Rhyn’athel finally win her love?”
Rhyn said nothing for some time. Lachlei found she could not stay awake and eventually drifted off. Her rhythmic breathing told him she was asleep. Even so, Lachlei thought she heard him speak softly. I don’t know, beloved. That part of the tale is still unfinished.
Rhyn’athel stared at the Wyrd threads as they coursed through the world. The patterns were changing rapidly, leaving gaps where there had been none before. Three Athel’cen within the same world was too much of a focal point for the Wyrd not to be changed. Areyn knew it, too, and sent the demons to find a hole in Rhyn’athel’s defenses. But there were none. Rhyn’athel had been careful to construct an impenetrable shield. The demons could not find a breach within his powers. Not now. Rhyn’athel would shed his mortal body before allowing them to take Lachlei again.
But he could feel a tremor along the Wyrd. The Eternal Fire that fed the Wyrd was crackling against the slim fetters that held it in check. He could sense the Fyr-dragons move though the flames of creation and destruction. They were normally dormant, but now they awoke. He could feel their presence throughout the Wyrd strands.
Rhyn’athel closed his eyes. It would not be long before one escaped that fiery realm.
Lachlei awoke to sunlight breaking through the trees. She shivered in the blankets by the dying embers. She looked to see Rhyn already packing his equipment.
“You’ve been up a while,” Lachlei remarked, sitting up. “Couldn’t you sleep?”
“No,” Rhyn said. “I’ll sleep when we return to the army.”
“It’s the Wyrd, isn’t it?”
Rhyn looked at her appraisingly. “What do you know about it?”
“What you’ve told me,” she said. “But I can feel something happening. I can’t describe it.”
Rhyn smiled grimly. “Nor can I. Because it’s never happened before.”
Lachlei closed her eyes, and a vision of whirling fire filled her mind’s-eye. “It’s almost like a maelstrom of fire and light.”
Rhyn had been cinching the girth tighter on his horse. His head snapped around. “You’ve seen it?”
“Just now.” She stared at him. “I’m the focal point, aren’t I?”
Rhyn nodded. “You are.”
“Why?”
Rhyn made no reply. “Come on, let’s ride. The sooner I get you back to the army, the sooner you’ll be safe.”
Lachlei stared at him, but again, Rhyn offered no explanation. She gathered her bedroll and tied it to her saddle. Without a word, they mounted and headed southward, trailed by demons.
68
Rhyn and Lachlei had ridden most of the morning southward towards the Darkling Plain. They had spoken little, but Lachlei pondered Rhyn’s words. She had seen something of the Wyrd—a maelstrom where she was the focal point. She was certain Rhyn knew why, but the North Marches Chi’lan refused to discuss the matter.
As they rode forward, they entered a small meadow. Something dark lay in the center. At first, Lachlei thought it was a demon, but as they approached, she saw the pity in Rhyn’s face. The creature was long and reptilian with glossy black scales and four legs. Its wings, battered and torn, lay at awkward angles; Lachlei was certain they were broken. Deep gashes ran down its body as though raked by huge claws. Its massive head lolled to one side, and its jaws were open, exposing sharp teeth. It was longer and much more substantial than the elusive fireworms she had seen occasionally in the Lochvaren Mountains.
“Is that a dragon?” Lachlei asked in wonder.
She stared at the creature. She had never seen a dragon, given that they dwelled in the Eternal Fire and in the Wyrd, itself, but it fit the description of one. Its hot body had melted the snow where it lay and scorched the dried meadow grasses beneath it. The snow that had not melted was bright red with blood.
Rhyn had already dismounted and walked over to the beast. The dragon’s skin was becoming gray. Lachlei dismounted and followed him. She walked over to Rhyn, who knelt beside the creature’s head. Rhyn was saying something in a series of clicks and hisses that she could not understand. The creature answered him in the same language.
“He’s one of the Fyr-dragons,” Rhyn said, glancing up at her. “There must have been a break in the Fyr and he slipped through into Elren, but the journey nearly killed him.”
“A Fyr-dragon?” Lachlei repeated. “You mean he lives in the Fyr?”
Rhyn nodded. “The Fyr is a great power of creation and destruction. Only the Fyr-dragons can live within it,” he said, running his hands along the creature’s scales.
“How do you know its language?” she asked.
Rhyn acted as though he had not heard her question. He continued to touch the creature’s scales as it spoke in its strange language.
“Is it—dying?” Lachlei asked. She felt an overwhelming sadness for the creature—as terrible as it was, it was also beautiful to behold. It opened its cat-like eyes and groaned in pain.
Rhyn frowned and shook his head. “Yes,” he said sadly. “These are creatures that can’t live outside of Fyr for very long. His name is Haegl.”
Lachlei knelt down beside the dragon. She laid her hands on the creature’s skin. It was warm to touch, but she could tell it was rapidly cooling. Haegl, she thought.
The dragon looked into her eyes. Help me, Eleion.
Lachlei started and stared at Rhyn. “Can we heal him?” Dragons and Eleion held no animosity towards each other; in the past, both seemed willing to leave each other be.
“Yes, but it won’t stop him from dying,” Rhyn said. “He can’t live outside the Fyr for long.”
Athel’cen, help me, the dragon said plaintively.
Athel’cen? Was that a plea to the gods? Or did the dragon mistake them for gods? Lachlei turned to Rhyn. “He must be delirious—we must try something.” She placed her hands on the dragon and began to concentrate on its wounds. Rhyn knelt beside her, running his fingers along the dragon’s wounds. They healed under his touch. The dragon’s skin began to darken and grow hotter. Soon, Lachlei could not touch the creature for fear of burning her hands. She watched as Rhyn continued to run his hands along the hot scales.
As she watched, she saw a change come over Rhyn’s face. She saw power flash in his eyes, and the dragon’s body glowed where he touched him.
I only sought to free myself from the Fyr, the dragon said. We belong to the Wyrd as well. Is this so evil?
Rhyn shook his head. No.
Then free us and we will be forever indebted.
“What’s happening? Rhyn?” Lachlei asked, but he did not answer. Instead, a slight smile touched his lips. His eyes glimmered with pity.
Very well, Haegl, you are free.
The dragon lifted his head and met Rhyn’s gaze. You have my deepest gratitude. Dragons do not forget. The dragon slowly stood up and turned to Lachlei. And you, Eleion, I will not forget your kindness. Dragons will remember their life-debt. We will serve Rhyn’athel’s heirs. Call on us in your hour of greatest need.
Lachlei stared. “But you owe me nothing. It was a gift.”