Free Lachlei by M. H. Bonham Page B

sword and with a cry, spurred his horse forward. The entire cavalry charged with him.
    Areyn gazed at the ramparts. With a single thought, the entire wall blew apart, throwing soldiers and Chi’lan everywhere. Areyn Sehduk felt the surge of power as he sensed the soldiers deaths. He grinned, almost giddy. It would be a good night.
    *****
     
    Ronan lay half covered with rubble. The explosion had thrown him and the other soldiers from the rampart. Even now, he could see the Silren cavalry ride through the breech. He realized they had made a tactical error by stationing so many guards along the ramparts. Still, he hadn’t expected the Silren to destroy the wall so easily.
    The chaos of battle surrounded him, but Ronan could do nothing. He couldn’t feel his legs. Blood was everywhere, and Ronan could see that his lower body was twisted at an odd angle. His sword was gone. Alasila lay nearby, her eyes half open and glazed over.
    Chi’lan fought against the mounted warriors, but there were too many Silren . One man, cleaved from shoulder to chest, collapsed on top of Ronan, but the dying Chi’lan could do nothing. He heard those who were still alive sound the retreat and flee, leaving him alone to die.
    Then he felt it. Cold seemed to grip his very soul, and Ronan turned to see the dark rider as he rode through the breech. The rider approached slowly, carefully, as though studying the dead. He halted at Alasila and his mount lowered its head as though to inspect its grisly work.
    “Leave her alone!” Ronan said, without thinking.
    The dark warrior turned towards Ronan, a sardonic smile on his face. “Well, Slayer, one still lives.”
    The beast turned its gaze towards Ronan, and Ronan stared at the demon. Gone were the trappings of a horse. Instead, red eyes glowed above a maw of sharp teeth. Its legs weren’t horse-like at all — instead it was muscular with sharp claws. Why had Ronan thought it was a horse?
    “By Rhyn’athel’s sword,” Ronan whispered.
    The rider was grinning broadly now. “Rhyn’athel has no power here,” he said. “But I do.”
    The beast rose up and turned on Ronan, silencing the Chi’lan even before he could scream.
    *****
     
    Lachlei awoke in a sweat. She sat up straight, shivering violently. The last thing she could remember was some thing leaning over her, drinking the life from her body. She shuddered, pulling the bedclothes around her. She tried desperately to recall what she dreamt, but only violent images remained. A battle? It seemed more like a slaughter.
    The mead hall was silent now, leaving her in the darkness and alone. Lachlei slid from the bed and leaned over Haellsil’s cradle to check on him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest assured Lachlei he was all right. She hastily dressed in a tunic and breeches, fastened on her swordbelt, and opened the locked doors to the hall.
    Outside, the guard was standing there. A quick shake of her head told him that he was to say nothing. Lachlei peered out and saw that the fire in the firepit was dying and cast the entire hall in shadows. The warriors lay stretched out around the fire, sleeping the mead off in their bedrolls. A few quietly played dice in the corner, but overall, the room was still.
    A hand on her shoulder brought her around abruptly. It was Rhyn, and his expression was grave.
    “North Marches has just been attacked,” he said.

CHAPTER Seventeen
     
    “Are you sure?” Lachlei whispered as Rhyn led her past the sleeping warriors.
    “Quite sure — you dreamt it too, didn’t you?” Rhyn said, anger and helplessness glinting in his silver eyes. “I should’ve listened to my brother — he warned me…” he said more to himself than to her.
    “How could your brother know?”
    Rhyn paused and realized what he had said. “He couldn’t,” he said quickly. “Listen, what you saw tonight was the Wyrd. You saw the attack of North Marches.”
    “It was a slaughter,” she whispered. “You saw it?”
    “I