crowd.”
Rhyn’athel chuckled. “They’re Chi’lan .”
“They may be your Chi’lan but you’re not one of them,” Ni’yah warned. “You’re their commander. Even if you look like a Chi’lan , they’ll challenge you until you fit in or flee like a whipped cur.”
“I can handle myself,” Rhyn’athel said, taking another bite of the meat, but pushing the mead flagon away. Despite his desire to not admit that his brother was right, the god began to feel the metheglyn affect him.
Ni’yah grinned. “We’ll see.”
Ni’yah vanished and simultaneously the entire hall became alive again. Rhyn’athel chuckled. He knew Ni’yah meant well and was touched by his brother’s concern. But, Rhyn’athel was still a god — the most powerful god of all the gods of light, and arguably, more powerful than any other god. He chose this form, but if necessary, he could shed it.
“You must have been hungry,” Cahal remarked, looking at Rhyn’s empty plate.
“I was,” Rhyn admitted. He leaned back and watched two Chi’lan near the fire try to hit a mark someone had cut in an upturned table. One Chi’lan was a heavily scarred warrior with a broken nose. His frame was large for a Lochvaur — indeed, for any Eleion — making Rhyn look small in comparison.
“That’s Tamar,” said Cahal.
The big man looked up on hearing his name. He saw Rhyn and scowled. “So, this is the Chi’lan from North Marches,” he said, sizing Rhyn up.
“I am,” said Rhyn.
“Who made you Chi’lan ? You don’t look like much to me.” His speech was slurred, suggesting he had drunk more than even his frame could handle.
Rhyn shrugged. “ Chi’lan Ronan of the Marches…”
“Then, you’re no Chi’lan ,” Tamar said. “I don’t know any Chi’lan Ronan. Only Fialan made Chi’lan .”
“Easy, Tamar, he’s first-blood,” Cahal said.
“First-blood!” Tamar spat. “First-blood? Does he think he’s better than us?”
Rhyn stood up. “I don’t want a quarrel…”
“Then, get out,” Tamar growled.
Rhyn glanced around. The other Chi’lan seemed mildly interested in the argument, but no one was eager to aid him, save Cahal. But Cahal was young and inexperienced.
“Tamar…” began Cahal.
“Cahal, stay out of this,” Rhyn said. “I can defend myself.”
“Can you?” Tamar said, drawing closer. Rhyn noted that he still held the dagger. “You don’t look like much of a Chi’lan . No scars.”
Rhyn shrugged. “Maybe I know how to get out of the way.”
Cahal chuckled.
Tamar glared. “You don’t drink mead either.”
“I didn’t know that was a prerequisite for a Chi’lan .” Rhyn smiled. “It’s quite good — you can have mine, if you’d like.”
Tamar glared. “I wouldn’t want anything that a Shara’kai , half-breed from the North Marches touched.”
Cahal glanced at Rhyn. The new Chi’lan seemed relaxed and unoffended. “Rhyn, he just called you a half-breed.”
The god looked bored. “I’ve seen better Ansgar warriors than him.”
Tamar lunged, slashing with his dagger. Rhyn stepped to the right and used the big man’s momentum to toss Tamar aside. A moment later, Rhyn stood over the Chi’lan , his sword drawn. Tamar scrambled to stand, but was met with the tip of Rhyn’s blade inches from his face. The sword glowed blue-white in the dim light.
A murmur rippled through the Chi’lan and the entire mead hall became silent. Everyone stared at the Sword of Power and at the man who wielded it.
“I would be very careful whom you choose as your enemy,” Rhyn said, an edge to his voice. “Especially one who would be your friend.”
Tamar blinked. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow as he met the god’s gaze. Rhyn smiled and lowered his blade. He offered Tamar his hand.
Tamar hesitated and then took the god’s hand. Rhyn pulled the big man up and they stared at each other for a moment. Tamar smiled and Rhyn sheathed his sword. Laughter erupted throughout the
Rhyn’athel chuckled. “They’re Chi’lan .”
“They may be your Chi’lan but you’re not one of them,” Ni’yah warned. “You’re their commander. Even if you look like a Chi’lan , they’ll challenge you until you fit in or flee like a whipped cur.”
“I can handle myself,” Rhyn’athel said, taking another bite of the meat, but pushing the mead flagon away. Despite his desire to not admit that his brother was right, the god began to feel the metheglyn affect him.
Ni’yah grinned. “We’ll see.”
Ni’yah vanished and simultaneously the entire hall became alive again. Rhyn’athel chuckled. He knew Ni’yah meant well and was touched by his brother’s concern. But, Rhyn’athel was still a god — the most powerful god of all the gods of light, and arguably, more powerful than any other god. He chose this form, but if necessary, he could shed it.
“You must have been hungry,” Cahal remarked, looking at Rhyn’s empty plate.
“I was,” Rhyn admitted. He leaned back and watched two Chi’lan near the fire try to hit a mark someone had cut in an upturned table. One Chi’lan was a heavily scarred warrior with a broken nose. His frame was large for a Lochvaur — indeed, for any Eleion — making Rhyn look small in comparison.
“That’s Tamar,” said Cahal.
The big man looked up on hearing his name. He saw Rhyn and scowled. “So, this is the Chi’lan from North Marches,” he said, sizing Rhyn up.
“I am,” said Rhyn.
“Who made you Chi’lan ? You don’t look like much to me.” His speech was slurred, suggesting he had drunk more than even his frame could handle.
Rhyn shrugged. “ Chi’lan Ronan of the Marches…”
“Then, you’re no Chi’lan ,” Tamar said. “I don’t know any Chi’lan Ronan. Only Fialan made Chi’lan .”
“Easy, Tamar, he’s first-blood,” Cahal said.
“First-blood!” Tamar spat. “First-blood? Does he think he’s better than us?”
Rhyn stood up. “I don’t want a quarrel…”
“Then, get out,” Tamar growled.
Rhyn glanced around. The other Chi’lan seemed mildly interested in the argument, but no one was eager to aid him, save Cahal. But Cahal was young and inexperienced.
“Tamar…” began Cahal.
“Cahal, stay out of this,” Rhyn said. “I can defend myself.”
“Can you?” Tamar said, drawing closer. Rhyn noted that he still held the dagger. “You don’t look like much of a Chi’lan . No scars.”
Rhyn shrugged. “Maybe I know how to get out of the way.”
Cahal chuckled.
Tamar glared. “You don’t drink mead either.”
“I didn’t know that was a prerequisite for a Chi’lan .” Rhyn smiled. “It’s quite good — you can have mine, if you’d like.”
Tamar glared. “I wouldn’t want anything that a Shara’kai , half-breed from the North Marches touched.”
Cahal glanced at Rhyn. The new Chi’lan seemed relaxed and unoffended. “Rhyn, he just called you a half-breed.”
The god looked bored. “I’ve seen better Ansgar warriors than him.”
Tamar lunged, slashing with his dagger. Rhyn stepped to the right and used the big man’s momentum to toss Tamar aside. A moment later, Rhyn stood over the Chi’lan , his sword drawn. Tamar scrambled to stand, but was met with the tip of Rhyn’s blade inches from his face. The sword glowed blue-white in the dim light.
A murmur rippled through the Chi’lan and the entire mead hall became silent. Everyone stared at the Sword of Power and at the man who wielded it.
“I would be very careful whom you choose as your enemy,” Rhyn said, an edge to his voice. “Especially one who would be your friend.”
Tamar blinked. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow as he met the god’s gaze. Rhyn smiled and lowered his blade. He offered Tamar his hand.
Tamar hesitated and then took the god’s hand. Rhyn pulled the big man up and they stared at each other for a moment. Tamar smiled and Rhyn sheathed his sword. Laughter erupted throughout the
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