Heir to the Sun
Page 14
“Oh, it was most certainly a demon,” Rahlle said as if a demon walking the halls of Teg’urnan was a normal occurrence. “I mention mordeths because of the way the girl died. The warlords are, shall we say, rather more intense than the lesser demons.”
“How could a demon make its way to the temple? It would need to pass the gate, pass the guards… hells, it would need to pass everyone in Teg’urnan.” Caol’nir had never felt so distraught. His beloved had never been safe; she had slept near rapists and demons alike. Rahlle turned his grey eyes, wild and churning like a gathering storm, to the warrior, and Caol’nir spied a measure of calm amongst the madness.
“A portal.” The clouds in Rahlle’s eyes shifted, as if lightning had struck its mark. “The king, he has invited these things into our home.”
Caol’nir was nearly struck dumb. The great King Sahlgren was a living legend amongst his kind for deeds performed near three millennia past, when Parthalan had been overrun by demons, Teg’urnan lost to the mordeth-gall. Sahlgren had rallied the gentle fae to become warriors, much as Solon had once done, and drove the monsters back to the underworld. If Rahlle was to be believed, Sahlgren had committed the ultimate betrayal.
“Why?” demanded Caol’nir.
“He seeks power, more than the gods have bestowed upon him, more than I can provide.” Rahlle paused for a moment, his voice hardly more than a whisper when he continued. “He would gladly trade us all for such power.”
“What does he mean to accomplish with such power?” Caol’nir asked. Sahlgren was stronger than any prior king of Parthalan, and Caol’nir couldn’t imagine a prize so great that he acted in collusion with demons.
“He seeks to conquer,” Rahlle said, then made a quick gesture with his hands. Before him an ethereal globe appeared, then eight more orbited it. “He seeks to conquer all the nine realms. We fae cannot freely cross the veils that separate our worlds, as we are bound to our gods. Demons, however, are bound to none and may cross as they will.” Rahlle laughed shortly. “Olluhm saw to that when he cast the old gods from the sky.”
A memory of the first winter he spent at the southern outpost burst across Caol’nir’s mind. The wind had blown unusually cold one morning, and while Caol’nir had known that demons preferred the cold, he hadn’t known that the chill air would make them appear in droves. His outpost had been besieged for many days, the white sands blackened by their foul blood. He looked to the swirling orbs before Rahlle and imagined such carnage spread across not only Parthalan, but all of existence.
“If you know what he is about, why don’t you stop him?” Caol’nir asked. It was known far and wide that Rahlle was the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, his abilities matched only by the gods. It was Rahlle’s great power that created the oaths faeries swore to each other when they bound their souls, pledged their swords to the service of the king, and vowed to mate themselves with a god.
Or, in Rahlle’s case, pledged to support and serve the ruler of Parthalan.
“I cannot overtly work against him,” Rahlle replied. “I do what I may, but it is not enough. You must help with the rest.”
Caol’nir stared at the central orb, representative of the world he lived in…the world he wanted to share with Alluria. “How can I stop him?”
“Tomorrow, the king leaves for the south. Follow him. When you’ve learned all you need, go north to the elflands. There, you will find those who will remove him.”
Caol’nir accepted his charge and swore to do whatever was necessary to ensure Alluria’s safety. If her safety involved the death of the king, so be it. Rahlle called upon the gods to bless Caol’nir’s coming journey, for he would certainly need it, then the mad sorcerer faded from view. Caol’nir looked to the child sun, who by now had moved far from his zenith, and wondered if Solon had heard his plea.
Just as Solon had never acted without first obtaining the blessing of his father, Caol’nir descended from the tower and made his way to the Prelate’s chamber. His determined stride dissuaded all from approaching him. He had no interest in the petty concerns of others, not when the safety of not only his beloved, but all of Parthalan hung in the balance. Caol’nir entered the room without knocking, though that was a privilege not even Tor’s son could claim.
Caol’nir found the Prelate involved in a meeting with three men. Two were lords from the west currently involved in a dispute with the dark fae, and Caol’nir didn’t recognize the third. All eyes turned toward Caol’nir, the lords aghast at the disturbance.
“Is something amiss?” Tor inquired, his tone betraying his annoyance.
“Yes,” was Caol’nir’s simple reply. What Caol’nir was about to say bordered upon high treason and meant for his father’s ears alone.
Tor dismissed the three, then he glared at his son. “Given your behavior I’m assuming this is a matter of much importance.”
“I’ve just left Rahlle’s company,” Caol’nir said. “He told me that there is a fifth entrance to the Great Temple, through which both men and demons have violated the sisters and made fools of the con’dehr.”
His father appeared neither surprised nor outraged. Instead, he seemed well aware of the situation. “Caol’nir, sit and we will discuss this. There are things I need to explain to you.”
“You knew of this,” Caol’nir accused. “You knew that a man had taken Keena. That a demon had killed Ethnia, and yet you said nothing.”
“I only know of the fifth entrance,” Tor replied. “It’s called the King’s Door. As for Ethnia, I examined her cell myself. A demon could have been responsible, but I don’t know how one lone creature could have breached every defense we have.”
“And what of the girl who claimed she was taken by a man?” Caol’nir demanded.
“That man is the king.” Caol’nir stared at his father in shock, and Tor continued, “Son, it has ever been this way; either Olluhm chooses to honor a priestess or sends the king in his stead.”
“I’ve never heard of this custom.”
“Sahlgren was once rarely summoned to the task, but Olluhm no longer honors the sisters as he once did.”
“They why do the sisters still perform the summoning rites?” Caol’nir asked. “Seems like a waste of time if they know Olluhm won’t appear.”
“Only I, the king and Sarelle are aware of this,” Tor replied. “Sarelle thought it best to not let all of Parthalan know that our god finds his pleasure elsewhere.”
“Alluria was right,” Caol’nir murmured. “Olluhm has forsaken us. How long has he been absent from the Great Temple?”
“Many winters,” Tor gravely replied. “Sarelle believes that Cydia has again allowed him to share her bed, but the king believes the god has found love elsewhere.”
“And you?”
“I don’t presume to know the heart of a god.”
“When we heard the sisters’ concerns, when Caol’non and I drove Sarelle mad examining the temple for evidence of intruders, you dismissed us because you knew it had been the king!”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you say something?” Caol’nir demanded. “Why didn’t Sarelle send for you? And the sisters, they do not know that the one who honors them may not be the god they’re mated to!” Caol’nir’s fury had gotten the better of him, and without realizing it he had leapt to his feet. “Forgive me, Father,” he muttered as he sat.
“Which priestess told you a man was coming to their beds?” Tor asked.
“I told you, Keena.”
“I did not ask which girl suffered. Who told you?”
“Alluria.” Caol’nir raised his head and met the Prelate’s gaze; his outrage had taken him far past Tor’s ability to intimidate. “After Keena told Alluria of her ordeal, Alluria confided to Caol’non and me. That was what, three moons ago? I had assumed she was a scared girl. Now, one has been killed—under our very noses, she was killed—and I wish I’d paid her more heed.”
“Then Alluria does remain untouched.”
“Caol’nir, what would you have me do?” Tor asked. “Forbid Sahlgren from entering the Great Temple, which is his right as king? When my father was Prelate, and his father before him, this custom existed. What right do we have to question it?”
“Perhaps it should have been questioned long ago,” Caol’nir said. “Father, do you know of a portal in the Great Temple?”
“I do not. I only know of the four compass entrances and the King’s Door, which is hidden to all but Sahlgren.”
“Something very wrong is happening in the temple.” Caol’nir rose to his feet. Now that Caol’nir knew of the king’s deceptions, he needed proof of Rahlle’s other claims. “And I plan to stop it.”
###
Once he had extracted a promise from Caol’non to guard Alluria in his absence, Caol’nir and his horse spent a cold night on the eastern foothills, waiting for King Sahlgren to depart. He didn’t allow himself the luxury of a small fire; his anger kept him both alert and warm. If what Rahlle said was true, if the king had somehow allowed demons entry into the temple…
He shook his head, unsure if he wanted to prove the sorcerer’s allegations true or false. What really he wanted was to speak with Alluria, partake of her wise counsel, and ask her if the king really did visit the priestesses at Olluhm’s behest. He considered asking Atreynha, but that would risk sending the temple and all of Teg’urnan into an uproar. If Caol’nir were wrong, he would surely lose his head. No, better he follow Sahlgren and learn for himself, then he could relay what he learned to his father and ask for guidance.
The moon had just set when the king’s procession passed through the iron gates. If they aren’t doing anything wrong, why are they leaving under cover of darkness? Usually, when Sahlgren ventured forth from Teg’urnan he was accompanied by a good deal of fanfare, sometimes even a feast. As Caol’nir watched them travel down the royal road he realized that this was the king’s third trip south in as many moons, and wondered why. Most avoided the region, because it was where the mordeth-gall was rumored to reside.
Caol’nir forced himself to think on something else, and felt more than a little foolish as he shivered upon the small hill. He had worked himself into such a state he was ready to believe Rahlle’s ramblings over the slightest evidence. He pulled his cloak close and watched the procession until they were out of view, then he mounted his horse and pursued.
For two days Caol’nir shadowed the king. He kept himself well out of sight until the third morning, when he crested a hill and saw the royal camp spread out in the valley below. Quickly he backtracked, and once he had seen to his horse Caol’nir began the long process of watching, and waiting. Nary a soul entered or left the camp for the remainder of the day, and Caol’nir wondered if the king was merely enjoying a royal whim. When night fell, Caol’nir’s patience was rewarded.
Torches were lit as the child sun went to rest, outlining a walkway to the king’s tent. A hush descended over the bustling camp as Sahlgren emerged. Others were approaching from the south, and Caol’nir nearly cried out when he saw them.
Striding toward King Sahlgren was Ehkron.
Ehkron!
Ehkron, the reigning mordeth-gall and sworn enemy of the fae, the demon that had killed Caol’nir’s grandsire, was welcomed by the king as an honored guest. Fae and demon entered the tent together, and the king’s private guard stood watch.
Caol’nir rolled onto his back and stared at the sky, his blood beating in his ears. Tor had confirmed that the king had his own entrance into the temple; if he could enter, then a demon could as well. He thought of Keena, how she had claimed her experience left her bloody and hurt, how he had dismissed her. He thought of Ethnia, a priestess he hardly knew who’d been torn to shreds within her cell. And he thought of Alluria, who had narrowly avoided such fates.
As Caol’nir thought of his beloved, he realized that she would emerge from the vaults that morning, and he was two days south of the palace. As he lay beneath the stars, he remembered the night they’d shared, his arms wrapped around her as he finally had said everything he’d wanted to say. He could still feel her against him: her soft lips exploring his neck, her shy glance when she unlaced his jerkin. He was careful with his hands, but she didn’t protest as he stroked her neck, her back. She moved toward him as his hand crept up her thigh…
Caol’nir woke; he’d been dreaming of making love to Alluria. Frustrated, he groaned, an emotion echoed by his swollen shaft, and gritted his teeth as he rolled onto his side. The king’s camp was quiet, the torches having burned low. Light still emanated from the oiled silk tent Sahlgren occupied. Caol’nir could not determine if the mordeth-gall remained, but he had learned all he needed. Rahlle had been correct; their king had invited the enemy into their home. As Caol’nir mounted his horse and rode toward Teg’urnan, he hoped he could find a way to stop him.
Chapter Thirteen
Alluria crept up the frigid, dark stairs from the vaults, shivering and starving but also elated. She had the answer she sought: she could depart Olluhm’s service honorably. She stumbled as she ascended the stone steps, her feet long since numb. Two novices appeared and helped her to the bathing chamber. Once inside, Alluria breathed deeply of the humid air as the girls removed the woolen shift from her shoulders, and led her to a pool filled with steaming water with petals strewn across the surface. Alluria sank into the water, enjoying the warmth after kneeling against hard stone.
The older of the novices, a soft-spoken girl called Serinha, quietly moved about the chamber lighting incense, while the younger girl, whose name Alluria did not know, rubbed a salve into her chilled hands. Once the incense permeated the air, Serinha drew Alluria’s feet from the water and rubbed a separate ointment into the chilblains on her soles. Alluria leaned back against the stone basin and wondered if they were going to bring her any food, and contemplated eating the flowers floating atop the bathwater.
No sooner had Alluria formed the thoughts when she heard the rustle of heavy silks; Sarelle had entered the chamber. The High Priestess carried a golden ewer and a plate of fruit, along with her usual air of displeasure.
“Leave,” Sarelle commanded, and the novices silently disappeared. Alluria said nothing as Sarelle sat on the edge of the bath, unsure why the High Priestess was really there. Sarelle was loathe to complete any task she considered beneath her, including the offer of comfort to another, even one who’d recently been in the company of the gods.
“Well?” Sarelle asked as she filled a goblet and handed it to Alluria. “Tell me what transpired.” Alluria drained the goblet, learning too late that it was not water the High Priestess offered but a strong brandy.
“I’m able to leave the sisterhood with honor,” Alluria rasped, the brandy having burnt a path down her throat. “But it won’t be simple.”
“Things worth having rarely are,” Sarelle observed.
Alluria proceeded to describe what she had learned during her confinement, all the while struggling to keep her emotions in check. Despite her many years of training, Alluria’s austere mask cracked when she mentioned Caol’nir.
“You have a natural talent for magic, near to Rahlle’s own gifts,” Sarelle said. “Why leave it behind for this boy? Is he worth all this trouble?”
Alluria considered the past days she’d spent alone in the cold and dark, of the aches she was just now feeling as the warm water thawed her frozen limbs, and admitted to herself that this was indeed a lot of trouble. She had a secure existence within the temple, where her needs were met and she was able to indulge her passions for spellcraft and herbals. Her life was comfortable, and there was no reason to change it.
Her thoughts turned to Caol’nir, how he always went out of
his way to make her happy, either by simply bringing wine or risking everything to smuggle her outside the palace. During the last night of her confinement, by far the most arduous, Alluria had thought the still, soundless vaults would either kill her or drive her mad. Then the very thought of Caol’nir’s smiling face, his kind eyes, his gentle touch, gave her the courage to go on.
“Yes,” Alluria replied, “he is worth this, and more.”
###
Sarelle soon took her leave. Alluria endured six additional baths, and while each was far more pleasant than those just five days prior, Alluria wished for their end. Once the baths were done and Alluria was allowed to robe herself, she was given sliced melon drenched with honey, the same food Olluhm had once fed Cydia when she was heavy with child; legend claimed that Olluhm fed sweet foods to his beloved to ensure that their children would share their mother’s temperament. Atreynha joined Alluria for her ritual meal, and the Mother Priestess reassured her that she would always have a home among the sisterhood, as a priestess or otherwise.
Atreynha accompanied Alluria as she ventured into the temple’s main chamber, and was surrounded by her sisters asking about the trials. Alluria answered as best she could, hiding her disappointment when Caol’nir wasn’t there to greet her. Alluria reasoned that he had not expected to see her until the following morning and made her way to Caol’nir’s chambers, excited beyond reckoning to share what she had learned, yet nervous for his reaction.
The moon had not yet risen, and Alluria found the room dark and empty. Caol’nir must be finishing his duties, he will return soon. Alluria sat on the edge of his bed, intending to wait up for Caol’nir’s return, but she was exhausted. She yawned and lay back on the soft furs, telling herself that she would only sleep until her love returned and woke her.
It wasn’t Caol’nir but the elder sun that woke Alluria, invading her slumber with his bright rays. She wondered if Olluhm was punishing her for wanting to leave his service. She’d assumed that Caol’nir slept beside her, having quietly slipped into bed so as not to disturb her, but when she rolled over she realized that she remained alone. Alluria rose and looked about the room, finding it as empty as the night before.