Lachlei looked up and saw her warhorse standing in the meadow, pawing the snow to graze on the grass beneath it. She slid off Ni’yah’s back and stared at it. “Where did you find him?” she asked and turned to Ni’yah. To her surprise, he was no longer a wolf, but in Eleion form. “Telek—there was such a familial resemblance,” she said shaking her head.
“Being Wyrd-born does that to you,” Ni’yah remarked. “But, I’m surprised you noticed the resemblance between Rhyn’athel and me. Most are thrown off by my gold eyes and silver hair.”
“I knew you and Rhyn were related the moment I saw you. I just couldn’t see how,” she admitted. She walked over to her horse, pulled out one of the rations, and stared at it quizzically.
“I took the liberty of improving the food,” Ni’yah said. “Rhyn’athel is great at creating and swordsmanship, but he’s a lousy cook. Toss me a ration—there should be one for me as well.”
Lachlei laughed and then shook her head as she handed Ni’yah the packet. She pulled out the bread, leaned against her horse and began to eat.
“What’s so funny?” Ni’yah asked, seeing her expression.
“A few hours ago I was nearly dead, frostbitten, covered in demon blood, and ready to die in battle. Now I’m having breakfast with one of the most powerful gods in the Nine Worlds.”
“The Wyrd spins strange patterns.”
“You heard my prayer. How?”
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” he said wryly. “You’re really quite a powerful first-blood when you focus your magic. I was surprised you decided to stay in Fialan’s shadow as long as you did.”
Lachlei winced, but held her temper. “I loved Fialan.”
“Nobody, least of all Rhyn, would dispute that claim. But you ask something that is beyond even his power to grant.”
“I know,” she muttered, “and I behaved like a fool. It’s just that I wasn’t prepared to fall in love so soon.” She pulled her flask from the saddle and took a swig. Honey-sweet spiced wine filled her mouth. She swallowed it. “Metheglyn?” she remarked. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“No, that’s for me,” Ni’yah said. “Rhyn’athel would have my hide if I touched you. He really does love you.”
“I know,” she said wistfully. She fell silent and ate the meat in the ration.
“Do you love him?” He paused. “As Rhyn, I mean. Not as a god.”
Lachlei thought back. Rhyn had been closer to her than anyone, save perhaps Fialan. He had seen her at her worst and best times and still loved her. And yet, she had tried to distance herself from him as their relationship had taken a new tenor. Why?
She knew the answer even before she asked the question. Fear. The damage the torn mind-link had done seemed irreparable. Seeing Fialan again had simply opened the wound. And yet… Lachlei closed her eyes. Even now, she missed Rhyn terribly. She had never thought she could feel this way about another man, but Rhyn’s leaving left an emptiness within her. Lachlei wished she had not banished him. Rhyn had loved her deeply—perhaps more deeply than even Fialan had loved her—and now, Lachlei admitted she loved him.
She turned to see Ni’yah chewing on his bread with a wry smile.
“You already knew,” she accused him. “You know I love him.”
“Yes, but you didn’t know, did you?” Ni’yah remarked. “Not until I asked.” He paused. “Hand me that flask of metheglyn.”
Lachlei held the flask in her hand for a moment and then eyed the wolf-god. “You’re going to talk with him, aren’t you?” She asked as she handed it to him.
Ni’yah uncorked the flask and took a swig. “You’ve made a bit of a mess of things for me,” he admitted. “Rhyn’athel is rather displeased at me anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a meddler,” Ni’yah grinned. “How do you think he found out about you?”
“You?”
“If anyone is to blame for this, it’s me,” he said, taking another swig. “You were the bait to get Rhyn’athel interested in Elren again.”
“You used me?” Lachlei stared.
“I saw Fialan die,” Ni’yah said. “I knew it was Areyn, but I couldn’t convince Rhyn’athel. So, I suggested that he see the damage done firsthand…”
“The night of Fialan’s pyre,” Lachlei said. “I can’t believe this—you brought him when I asked Rhyn’athel for vengeance?”
“He told you, did he?”
“You knew he’d fall in love with me.”
“Oh yes, I did.” Ni’yah grinned and caught her fist in mid punch. “That’s no way to treat the god who rescued you from Areyn’s demons.” He chuckled and shook his head as she lowered her arm. “Lochvaur. You all have Rhyn’athel’s temperament, you know.”
“You deserve a good beating,” she remarked, crossing her arms.
“Why do you think I’m not in Athelren?” he said slyly.
Lachlei laughed, despite herself. She then met his gaze. “You’ll talk to him, won’t you?”
Ni’yah considered her carefully. “I might.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
A wolfish gleam entered Ni’yah’s eyes and he smiled. “I’ll have what I want,” he replied. “Don’t worry; Rhyn’athel will be responsible for this debt, not you.”
“Why doesn’t that put me at ease?”
“Because I’m a troublemaker,” Ni’yah said. “Now go. Your army needs you, and I must talk to Rhyn’athel. Don’t worry; you’ll be under my protection until you reach them.”
Lachlei nodded and finished her ration. She hesitated and met Ni’yah’s gaze. “I think I owe you something anyway,” she said. She walked over and kissed him. “Thank you.”
Ni’yah grinned. “You tempt me sorely,” he said, shaking his head. “But Rhyn’athel would truly skin me alive.” He disappeared, leaving Lachlei to mount her horse.
73
Lachlei rode southward along the road through the forest. After an hour, the trees thinned and rolling hills of grassland replaced coniferous forest. She hesitated and scanned the area, using the Sight. She could feel the demons pursuing her, and yet, she could feel another power holding them at bay.
“Ni’yah,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
If the god heard her, he made no reply. Lachlei could sense her army five miles ahead even though she could not see them. The rolling hills of the Darkling Plain made it impossible for her to see beyond a mile, but she knew Cahal and Laddel were leading them in a retreat. A small demon contingent was harassing them; pushing them southward towards a larger army of Braesan. Lachlei knew they would not last.
“What have we here?” came a voice.
Lachlei turned and saw two Redel warriors, their arrows aimed directly at her.
“Put your hands up, pretty one,” said the Redel who had spoken. He was a tall Eleion with a gold mane and gold eyes. Like all Redel warriors she had seen, he was well over six feet in height with a thin, muscular build. The bow he used was light—not like the heavier longbows that the Lochvaur, Laddel, and Haell used. Still, at this range, it could probably pierce her armor. His partner was a slightly older Redel with silver streaks through his gold hair. He had an unpleasant glimmer in his eyes as he considered Lachlei.
“By Rhyn’athel’s mane, I don’t have time for this!” Lachlei snarled. She raised her hands to give her a few moments to think about what she should do. She had been so focused on returning to the Lochvaur that she had not bothered to scan the area for other Eleion. “This is Lochvaur land.”
“Redel land,” the first replied. “You and your army have entered Redel claims. We intend to take our land back.”