“I’ll go,” she said quietly. “You’re needed here.”
Torim found Asherah a short distance from the tent, staring at the Ish h’ra hai camp. The sight reminded Torim of a time not so long ago, when Asherah had gazed out over a haphazard gathering of freed slaves and wondered where she should lead them. And now she leads them home to Teg’urnan. She stood behind Asherah and grasped her hand, resting her chin on Asherah’s shoulder. Asherah relaxed against her, and Torim felt her tension to ebb.
“You think you would be such a horrible queen?” Torim asked.
“I think Parthalan can do better,” Asherah replied. “I don’t know how to lead.”
“You already lead Tingu.”
“I’m no leader. I’m only Lormac’s mate.”
“I don’t believe Lormac considers you only his mate,” Torim said. “His people don’t, either.”
“Torim, this is absurd. Why Harek even suggested me, I don’t know.”
“I do.” Asherah turned to look at her friend. “All of the Ish h’ra hai know.”
Asherah sighed. “Leading a group of slaves is different that ruling a land.”
“There is one who can teach you, one who has already welcomed you into his life,” Torim said.
“Lormac? He cannot leave Tingu without a leader.”
“Who says he has to? Perhaps it’s time for the land of elf and fae to become one.”
Asherah sighed again. “Why don’t you lead, Torim? You’re as qualified as I.”
“No,” Torim said quietly. “I’m destined to be a companion, nothing more.” Torim gestured to the ranks of fae and elfin warriors. “You see, we already fight together.”
“That we do,” Asherah murmured.
At length, Lormac emerged from the tent. Torim moved aside as he put his arms around Asherah and kissed her temple, then she leaned against them both. Torim found that she enjoyed the solidity of the two, the mountain and his mate.
“What has been decided?” Asherah asked.
“Sahlgren will be captured, and while he is held prisoner, we will decide what to do with him,” Lormac replied. “Belenos brought up a good point in that we need to ensure there is no heir before a replacement is chosen. A man can have many dalliances in three thousand years, and it’s unlikely that no children have resulted.” Lormac chuckled. “Or perhaps he’s cockless like Harek.”
Asherah thumped his shoulder, hiding her smile against his chest. “Stop.”
“Solon never intended for a king to be chosen the way one chooses a mate,” Torim said. “He wished for a strong warrior to take the king’s head in battle, not for Parthalan to be caught up with councils and such over the lack of an heir.”
“I forget your Solon was a warrior,” Lormac mused. “Elves are the same; a king is made on the battlefield, not in a closed-off council.”
“You see, Hillel, elf and fae are more alike than different,” Torim said.
“Perhaps,” Asherah murmured as she settled against Lormac’s chest, “perhaps we are.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Sunbonnets?”
Caol’nir looked up from his flower gathering and met Torim’s soft brown gaze. “They are my mate’s favorite,” he explained. “She’ll enjoy these.”
“I’m sure she will,” Torim replied.
The Ish h’ra hai chose to camp beyond the eastern foothills. The natural topography shielded them from view of Teg’urnan, and the sorcerers had magically obscured them from view. Caol’nir waited impatiently for its completion, for until the shield was established passing through it would shatter the illusion. He’d taken a walk to pass the time and happened upon a patch of his mate’s favorite blossoms.
“For you,” Caol’nir said as he proffered one of the tiny blossoms to Torim. She tucked it behind her ear, then the two made their way to the Prelate’s tent. Tor glanced toward them, the handful of flowers telling him what was on his son’s mind.
“I wish you’d reconsider,” Tor said. “It will be difficult to take the palace unawares if you’re recognized. Questions will be asked.”
“And I won’t leave Alluria inside a palace that’s about to be attacked,” Caol’nir countered. “Wouldn’t you do the same for mother?” Tor glared at his son; Caol’nir knew that drawing a comparison between Alluria and his mother wasn’t fair, but he was adamant that Alluria be far from Teg’urnan before the Ish h’ra hai began their assault.
“Don’t you see how this is foolhardy?” Tor continued. “Why don’t you beg an audience with Sahlgren and explain our plans to him in detail?”
“No one will know I’ve returned. Remember, I have a twin.”
Before Tor could respond, a shout announced that obfuscation of the camp was complete. Without another word, Caol’nir left his father, mounted his horse, and galloped toward the palace, his blood singing in anticipation of being reunited with Alluria.
Caol’nir entered the gates without incident; the gatekeeper even hailed him with his twin’s name. Once his horse was stabled, he entered the palace and moved directly toward the Great Temple.
While he was most anxious to see Alluria, being within the smooth gray walls that had sheltered him nearly his entire life eased him. As he walked the corridors, he realized how much he loved Teg’urnan and resolved to ask Alluria if she’d consider making it their permanent home.
The lack of activity near the heart of the palace made him to leave off his pleasant musings. It was midmorning, and the corridors should have been a hubbub of activity, full of priestesses and their guards walking to and fro while performing the god’s work, saffira going about their daily tasks... but this portion of the palace was deserted.
Caol’nir launched himself into a run, his carefully gathered bouquet falling to the floor when he saw the Great Temple sealed shut.
Legend spoke of the Great Temple’s creation, of how Olluhm had lovingly placed one stone atop another as Cydia looked on, lounging atop the flat rock that would become the altar. Once the temple had been completed Olluhm threw the doors wide, and proclaimed that from the moment he crested the horizon in the morning until he went to his evening rest, the doors were to remain open to allow sunlight, and therefore him, full access. It wasn’t a widely known legend, and only one of Olluhm’s priestesses, or a con’dehr, would realize that the temple doors being shut during the day meant that something was terribly wrong.
“Alluria!” Caol’nir bellowed as he threw his weight against the northern doors, solid slabs of granite meant to represent Parthalan’s strength. The doors didn’t so much as budge. He kicked it, pounded it with his fists, all the while knowing it was futile; brawn cannot override magic. A memory burst forth and he searched his jerkin, finding the stone Alluria had charmed to open the temple. Caol’nir stared at it for a moment, then he thrust it against the granite. The binding spell shattered, and Caol’nir pushed his way inside. What he saw made him wonder if he’d stepped into the pits of hell rather than the holiest of holy places.
Caol’nir saw why he needed to shove with all of his strength: directly inside the entry a mordeth lay atop of a priestess. He thrust his sword into the beast’s back, and heard a sickening crack as the spine was severed. Caol’nir yanked his sword free and hauled the body from the priestess; the victim was Alyon, Alluria’s sister priestess from the east. He lifted her from the bloody floor, relieved to find her breathing.
“It’s Caol’nir,” he said when she threw up her hands. “Where’s Alluria?”
“I don’t know,” she replied with wide, terrified eyes.
“Can you walk?” he asked, and she nodded. He wrapped his cloak about her shoulders to cover the bloody remains of her robe. “Run. Find Rahlle, and bring him here,” he said, squeezing her hand as he spoke. Alyon nodded and fled the temple, her bare feet soundless as she went in search of the sorcerer. Once she was gone Caol’nir shut the door, and faced the demons.
Caol’nir ran through the Great Temple, teeming with mordeths and their p
rey, the priestesses he as con’dehr sought to protect. His sword flashed in a silver arc as he killed first one, then another, hurriedly pulling the victimized priestesses to their feet and giving them the same instruction he had given Alyon. A girl screamed, but as Caol’nir went to her aid he tripped over a body.
“Fiornacht!” Caol’nir cried when he saw the familiar straw-colored braid. He was lying atop one of the novices; Serinha, Caol’nir thought was her name. Caol’nir assumed his brother was shielding the girl with his body. He grabbed Fiornacht’s shoulder and yanked him about, revealing the gaping wound in his gut.
“Go in peace, brother,” Caol’nir said as he shut the cold, lifeless eyes. He looked to Serinha and saw that she was also gone, her fingers tightly laced with his brother’s. “As Father always said, we’re more alike than not,” Caol’nir said, then he bolted toward the altar calling his mate’s name.
Caol’nir spied the recaptured girl too late, and sank his sword into the mordeth’s back. He scanned the temple, not finding his mate. “Alluria!” he roared.
His reply was a wail that pierced the chaos of the temple; even in terror, Alluria’s voice was beautiful. Caol’nir ran up the steps to the altar, finding the worst scene he could have imagined, far worse than stumbling across his dead brother. Mersgoth, the mordeth that had been briefly captured in Tingu, the beast that had scarred his neck, had Alluria on her back atop the altar stone, burning his handprint into her thigh.
A shaft of light shot down from the oculus and into Mersgoth’s eyes, blinding him. As the demon stumbled Caol’nir flung himself forward, slamming into the beast and sending Mersgoth hurtling down the altar steps. In the next instant, Caol’nir snatched Alluria from the altar and into of his arms. He set her down against a statue of the doe and pushed back her hair.
“Alluria,” he began, but she screamed and drew her dagger. Caol’nir turned as Mersgoth rose up behind them. He swung his blade and impaled the mordeth in the gut. As the demon fell to his knees Caol’nir saw that he was naked, his cock barbed and bloody and dripping…
Caol’nir screamed as his blade severed the demon’s member, his booted foot connecting with the beast’s chest and sending him once more tumbling down the steps. Caol’nir stood panting, then his gaze returned to the altar stone. Once pristine and shining, it was now covered in gore, defiled by the demon’s foul seed. He couldn’t bear that this of all places was ruined, and roared as his troll sword cleaved the stone in two. He kicked the pieces of the altar down the steps after the mordeth, hoping the slabs would crush him. Caol’nir’s heart pounded as his blood shouted for further vengeance, but a whimper stilled him. Alluria cowered against the base of the statue, clutching her dagger in a white-knuckled grip.
“Nalla,” he said, kneeling before her. “I’m here.” Slowly, gently, he pried her fingers from the dagger, then took the weapon and shoved it into his belt. He tried to cover her with the shredded remains of her robe, but there was hardly anything left. Caol’nir unlaced his jerkin and pulled his shirt over his head, then he eased the bloody tatters from her body. Alluria sobbed, drawing her knees to her chest.
“I just want to cover you,” he soothed. Caol’nir murmured quiet, calm words, until she relaxed her arms and let him put his shirt on her.
“Nall?” Alluria asked, touching his face. “You’re really here?”
“I am,” Caol’nir replied, then he tossed his jerkin across his shoulders and lifted his mate in his arms. He set his jaw as he surveyed the carnage that filled the temple and carefully picked his way down the steps. “Close your eyes, nalla,” he whispered, and Alluria hid her face against his neck.
Caol’nir saw that Mersgoth’s body wasn’t at the foot of the altar, and didn’t tell Alluria. He moved quickly to the northern door, reaching it as Rahlle entered with his three apprentices, as well as Atreynha and Alyon.
“Goddess above,” Atreynha swore when she saw the interior of the temple, her hand shaking as it covered her mouth. She saw Alluria in Caol’nir’s arms, and asked, “Is she alive?”
“Yes,” Caol’nir replied, then he noted his mate’s limp form; Alluria had fainted. “Are you unharmed, Mother Priestess?”
“Yes, I was with Rahlle,” she replied, then looking over Caol’nir’s shoulder. He turned, and saw Rahlle and his apprentices retrieving the surviving priestesses. When Caol’nir had left for the north, the temple had been home to over three score priestesses; now, only eight and Atreynha still lived.
“Did you kill them all?” Atreynha asked, her gaze skating across the temple. Seventeen mordeths were dead, and only Caol’nir held a weapon.
“I suppose I did,” Caol’nir answered.
“Solon’s son, greatest of our warriors,” Rahlle said. The mad sorcerer’s face was taken over by the same pensive gaze as Grelk’s whenever he mentioned Solon.
Alluria stirred in Caol’nir’s arms. “We need to leave,” he snapped. “Atreynha, can you seal the door?”
“Of course,” she murmured. As she recited the incantation, Caol’nir explained to Rahlle what he had learned in the north and the location of the Ish h’ra hai beyond the eastern foothills.
“First, we will go to my rooms and heal them as best we can,” Rahlle said, indicating the priestesses with a sweep of his hand. “Then, we will join you under cloak of darkness.” Caol’nir nodded, turning as he did so and revealing wounds on Alluria’s legs and feet. “I will heal her, as well.”
“What?” Caol’nir followed Rahlle’s eyes to the burn above Alluria’s knee, the mordeth’s handprint.” No,” Caol’nir said, tightened his hold, “I will care for my mate myself.”
Rahlle bowed his head. Caol’nir left without another word as he brought Alluria to their chamber. Good thing she charmed it, he mused as the door opened and shut of its own accord. Once inside, he leaned against the heavy wood, worn smooth with winters of use, and held Alluria fast against his chest. He allowed himself a moment, then straightened and brought her to their bed. As Caol’nir nestled her among the furs he remembered the first time she had been in his chamber, and how surprised she had been by his soft, comfortable bed.
She thought I was a barbarian, Caol’nir thought as he stroked her cheek, bruised and streaked with blood. He rose, halting when she grabbed his wrist.
“I’m only getting water,” he murmured. “Nalla, I won’t leave you.” Alluria nodded and withdrew her hand. Caol’nir retrieved a basin and sponges from the adjoining washroom. After he coaxed her into a sitting position, he set to washing the gore from her hair.
“Is there very much?” Alluria asked quietly.
“No,” Caol’nir replied as he combed her hair, “not very much at all.” Having finished with her hair, Caol’nir knelt and sponged the blood from her feet.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Caol’nir asked, trying to remain calm. He had hoped that Alluria had merely stepped in someone else’s blood, but her cuts meant it was likely her own.
“Everyone was running, screaming,” Alluria began. “I couldn’t find Atreynha anywhere…I was so worried one of them took her.” Alluria’s voice caught, and she covered her face with her hands. Caol’nir rose up on his knees and kissed her forehead, murmuring that she did not have to continue if it was too much. “No, I’m fine,” she said, wiping her eyes. He returned his attention to her battered feet. Alluria watched him spread salve across her abrasions before she continued.
“I didn’t know what to do,” she said softly. “The doors were sealed shut, and I was too far away to open them. Then the big one saw me…he pointed at me and said that I was for him, that I was special and set aside for him… He came at me and I didn’t know what to do. I ran behind the statue of Cydia and used a glamour to hide... He was furious, roaring and bellowing that he would find me… Then he lunged forward and grabbed Keena. She struggled, but she couldn’t get away. He… he ripped off her robe.”
Alluria fell silent, and Caol’nir watched as rage and despair played across her face. �
��Beloved, who sealed the doors?”
“Sarelle,” she answered, anger burning in her eyes. “She locked us in with them.” His gentle mate had practically growled the words. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, then Caol’nir bent his head, having cleaned the wounds up to the mordeth’s handprint. He swabbed the edge with a damp cloth, mindful of her charred flesh.
“I will release you, if you like,” Alluria said softly. “You deserve more than a mate that has been so defiled.” Caol’nir dropped the cloth and grabbed her hands.
“You will never release me,” he said fiercely. When she refused to look at him, he nudged her forehead with his. “Alluria, you are my mate, the only mate I will ever have. You are not defiled. You are injured, and I will care for you, until these wounds heal and for the rest of my life.” Alluria nodded as a tear ran down her cheek. Caol’nir kissed it away, then resumed dabbing at her burn. Needing to distract her, he asked her what happened after the mordeth took Keena.
“I ran toward her—I know I should have stayed hidden, but I couldn’t just watch while he hurt her—and the strangest thing happened. I had my arm outstretched, and as I yelled at him to let her go, I moved my arm. He staggered, as if I’d pushed him.”
“Was it a spell?” Caol’nir asked.
“It was no spell that I know,” she answered, “but when I did it again, he staggered. Then, like a fool I stood there staring at my hands, and he grabbed my neck.”
Caol’nir abandoned his healer’s tasks and took Alluria’s hands in his.
“He told me that I was special,” she continued, “that I was for him alone, and I would give him his heirs. I told him I was bound, so I could only bear my mate’s child…he said it didn’t matter, that he would have me anyway. Then I told him I already carried my mate’s child, but he said he would rip the baby from my womb so his could grow there instead.” Caol’nir sat next to her, and placed his hand on her belly.
“Alluria, are you…” His words trailed off, and she shook her head.
Heir to the Sun Page 27
