Heir to the Sun

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  “Let him speak,” Alluria said. Caol’nir halted, but didn’t drop his hand. “What do you know of my mother?”

  “She was everyone’s favorite, all tawny hair and soft curves, falling out of her corset as she served ale.” Alluria clenched her fist and Sahlgren choked on the last words; once he had turned a sickly shade of blue Alluria loosened the pressure upon his neck.

  “Continue,” she demanded. Sahlgren slumped to the ground, wheezing.

  “As I said, she was the favorite,” Sahlgren rasped. “I’d heard of her charms from a few of my men, and I sent for her to be one of my saffira.”

  “You bedded my mother?” Alluria’s tone was icy cold, and Sahlgren was again against the wall, this time with his feet dangling well above the ground. Then Alluria unclenched her hands and he fell in a heap of limbs, only to have his head thrust back.

  “I did not,” Sahlgren gasped. “She refused me, like she refused everyone once she came to Teg’urnan. Then her behavior became unpredictable, and we thought she’d gone mad.”

  “Unpredictable?” Caol’nir repeated. “How?”

  “She’d stare at a wall for hours, forget to eat for days. Then we noticed her belly’s swell, and no one would admit to fathering the babe. Rahlle claimed that she had been touched by Olluhm. Sarelle railed against him, saying it wasn’t possible that Olluhm had gotten such a common wench with child but Rahlle, as ever, was in the right. ”

  “And then?” Alluria prompted. “I was born far from Teg’urnan.”

  “By no choice of mine,” Sahlgren snapped. “I offered to make her a queen, but she screamed and cried whenever I drew near. Finally, I had her locked in the southern tower. That night there was a terrible storm, and once it had passed she was gone. No one knew how, but she was gone. I had no idea of where she’d gotten to, until stories came from the east of a woman turning up at a temple in the midst of the storm, alone but heavy with child.”

  “So you brought the priestesses here to find the god’s child,” Caol’nir surmised. “To seal your plans with the demons, you offered Alluria to the mordeth-gall.” When Sahlgren remained silent, Caol’nir drew his sword, and said, “I should kill you for what you’ve done to my mate.”

  “Have you the strength to take your king’s head, boy?” Sahlgren sneered. “What would Solon think of his heir, breaking his oath to snatch the throne?”

  “My father holds my oath, not you,” Caol’nir said as he rose to his feet, looming over the king. Sahlgren cowered against the wall, and Caol’nir was struck by his pathetic appearance. Sahlgren had always appeared noble, in every way the revered monarch of Parthalan. Not so now, his rich velvet pantaloons caked in dust and spilled wine, the lace about his neck tattered and dirty.

  “And I don’t want your throne,” Caol’nir said, and then he struck Sahlgren with the hilt of his sword, rendering him unconscious. He hefted the king across his shoulder and grabbed Alluria’s hand. “Come, nalla, it’s time for this man to be judged.”

  ###

  The battle raged within the hall, and Lormac had one objective: to reach his mate. She had been swept away in the tide of battle, and he had only caught glimpses of her pale hair. Even through his concern, he saw that she fought as well as any of his warriors, as if she had been born to the blade. My warrior queen, he thought, smiling as he cut down another demon. Then Asherah was before him, panting as she leaned on his arm.

  “He’s not here,” she said, craning her head to look about the room. Nearly all of the demons that had emerged from the portal had either fled or been killed. “Where would he have gone?”

  “We’ll find him,” Lormac assured. “Sahlgren will not escape punishment.” Lormac spun and sank his sword into a demon’s gut. As he yanked the blade free, Tor yelled across the din.

  “Follow,” the Prelate bellowed, and fae and elf alike became a morass of limbs and weapons as they rushed behind the dais.

  “They must have found him,” Asherah cried. She took a step toward the crush of warriors, then turned and pressed her lips to Lormac’s, lingering until they were alone in the hall.

  “An Asherah custom?” Lormac murmured.

  “Yes, an Asherah custom,” she replied. Tor bellowed again, and Asherah smiled before she ran toward the Prelate’s voice.

  Lormac tried to follow, but couldn’t move. He didn’t feel the ripping, tearing pain in his belly until he looked down and saw the blade; he had been run through. Hot blood spilled from the wound, and Lormac dropped to his knees.

  “I alone keep her safe,” was growled into Lormac’s ear. Harek withdrew his sword from Lormac’s gut and shoved the elf king to the ground, his boot grinding Lormac’s hand against the floor as Harek stepped over him.

  “Asherah,” Lormac cried, but she didn’t hear him. The last sight Lormac’s living eyes beheld was his beloved’s back as she raced away.

  ###

  “Where are we taking him?” Alluria asked. They had walked from the stable to the palace with the king’s limp form draped over Caol’nir’s shoulders.

  “To my father,” Caol’nir answered. Sahlgren could have only taken one route to emerge where he did, and Caol’nir knew that Tor and Caol’non would be tracking the king in the same way. He hoped to meet up with them, then leave the judging and inevitable execution of Sahlgren to Lormac, while he and Alluria slipped away.

  “Harek!” Caol’nir called as they rounded a corner and nearly walked into him. Caol’nir noted that Harek arrived from the direction of the grand hall. “I thought you were leading the Ish h’ra hai.”

  “I left it to Drustan,” Harek replied. Then Tor and Balthus emerged from the small corridor. Tor shot a glare at Harek, for the Prelate disliked when his orders were ignored, then he dragged Sahlgren from Caol’nir’s shoulders.

  “Awake, traitor,” Tor demanded as he slapped Sahlgren hard enough to split his lip. The king’s blood splattered across the dusty ground as Tor dragged him to his feet. “I’m taking you to the square to be judged.”

  As Tor said the words, Asherah emerged from the same corridor as the Prelate, her eyes wild and searching. “Balthus, I can’t find Lormac!”

  “I’ll find him,” Balthus assured. Asherah nodded as he left to locate her mate, then turned to Tor.

  “Well, Prelate, what shall do we do with the king?”

  Asherah speaks…

  The legends of that day are great and many. They say I cleaved Sahlgren’s head from his body in one stroke and then strode into Teg’urnan, my composure never faltering until I entered the Great Temple and saw the carnage wrought by the mordeths. In my grief, I shed two tears, then went on to rule Parthalan as I do to this day.

  As tends to happen, the reality was quite different from the stories told ‘round the hearth on cold nights. I did indeed take Sahlgren’s head, however his death was anything but clean. Tor forced the king to his knees as he begged for his life; the great King Sahlgren’s last act in the living world was to humiliate himself. The assembled crowd chanted, demanding his death for the atrocities he had perpetrated against his people, and I thought of Torim, my poor, sweet, dead Torim. I remembered all the times she had been returned to our cell bloody and broken, of how she had been used nearly to the point of death more times that I could count, how I swore to her than no demon would harm her again. And that the man responsible for her torment and eventual death now cowered before me.

  Harek and Tor stood over him, shouting out his crimes to the throng, when Tor suddenly turned to me. He proclaimed that it was I who freed the slaves, I who had saved the fae from being enslaved by Ehkron and his followers, and with a great sweep of his arm he said that these were my people now, mine to lead into a golden age of Parthian history. I wanted to scream at him that I couldn’t lead anyone, that my only strength was derived from Torim and Lormac’s belief in me, and now that Torim was gone, all I had was Lormac.

  I was about to answer Tor, to announce to all the Parthians (my Parthians?) that I would lead them
with Lormac at my side, when I saw the litter. With the great amount of dead and wounded I couldn’t imagine how one individual would warrant such treatment; then I noticed that Balthus and Sibeal carried it. I looked at the body, which I could tell was tall and lean despite that it was covered, and realized that the shroud was Lormac’s cloak. That horrible, ugly brown cloak that he insisted upon wearing, that he had wrapped around me so many times…I hated that cloak, never more than that moment. My gaze returned to Balthus, and his pained expression confirmed my fears.

  Lormac was dead.

  Torim was dead.

  The two I loved most were dead, and I was alone…

  Rage and fear and a horrible sense of loneliness overtook me as I grabbed Sahlgren by the back of his head and bared his traitorous neck; his eyes were wide and pleading, as if he thought he somehow deserved mercy for what he had done. The blows were not clean, and it took me three hacks to sever his head. And then I stood there, I who was nothing more than a slave stood there, covered in the king’s blood while a crowd shouted my name.

  No, not my name. The only ones who knew my name were dead.

  I cast the head aside and ran into the palace. I had no idea where I was going, having never been to Teg’urnan before that day, and eventually I pushed my way through a set of massive stone doors. I later learned that it was the northern door to the Great Temple, the stone symbolizing the strength of Parthalan, strength I so dearly needed.

  I didn’t recall having ever entered a temple, much less the Great Temple which was the heart of our land, and the awful scene shook me from my grief. I walked slowly past the bodies of mangled priestesses and the mordeths who’d taken them, who had in turn been killed by Caol’nir. My mind could hardly process the information before me, that Sahlgren and Sarelle had engineered their alliance with Ehkron because of their lust for power. I wondered what sort of power was worth so high a price.

  I made my way to the sacred stairs and dropped to my knees before the shattered altar stone, exhausted in body and spirit. I stared upward, gazing at the oculus situated above where the altar rightfully belonged, and tried praying for guidance; instead, I collapsed into sobs that echoed through a temple filled with nothing but corpses.

  “Asherah?”

  I started, and saw Caol’nir’s mate approaching me. I was amazed that she would deign to enter the temple after what had befallen her only the day before. Alluria knelt beside me and enfolded me in her arms as I cried.

  The legend says that I shed two tears; in reality, it was closer to two thousand. Alluria held me as I wailed, kneeling amid her fallen sisters as she comforted someone she hardly knew.

  “How can you bear to set foot here?” I asked when I found my voice. “So many lost…” My words trailed off as I again gazed around the temple. Rivers of congealed blood snaked across the floor, the statues of the gods toppled and shattered. Her eyes followed mine for a moment, only to rest upon the broken altar where the mordeth had marked her, upon which her sister priestess had been torn to pieces.

  “Caol’nir claimed me upon that altar,” she said, “and then he destroyed it, once he saved me from the fate Sarelle had set for me. I’ll not enter this place again.” Her gaze returned to me, and she smiled such a heartbreakingly sweet smile my tears flowed anew. “I only entered now to ensure that our new queen was well.”

  “I am no queen,” I said bitterly. “I am nothing…no one.”

  “You’re wrong. Many were oppressed, but you alone fought back. You are the one who revolted against Sahlgren. If not for you, the one slave with the strength to rise up against them, we’d all be slaves to demons.”

  “If your mate hadn’t left the palace to join me, you wouldn’t have been harmed,” I said. Alluria had been marked, a torment even I had managed to escape. That such a gentle woman would have to bear such a burden was not right; add that to the long list of what wasn’t right.

  “Who’s to say? If Caol’nir hadn’t burst into the temple, he wouldn’t have killed the mordeths, and I daresay all the priestesses would have died. Maybe it was right that he went to you.” Alluria stood, and pulled me to my feet. “One thing I can tell you is that it does no good to wonder at what might have been. You need to worry about what is, and for you, it is that you have saved Parthalan. We owe you a debt that will likely never be repaid. You are the Asherah, and you have saved us all.”

  “Torim used to tell me that.”

  “I’m sorry she is gone. She was a wonderful, deserving companion.” Alluria tucked a lock of my tear-soaked hair behind my ear. “As was your mate.”

  I murmured that they were, and Alluria took my hand and led me back toward the northern door. “Are you really Olluhm’s daughter?” I asked. Alluria was thoughtful as she looked at his statue, the only one left standing. It depicted a man with unnaturally long and slender limbs, somber eyes, and flowing hair.

  “I’ve always wondered if this is really what he looks like,” she mused. “After all, the tales of him walking among us say that he takes the form of a stag. Do you think this is his form as he drives his fiery chariot across the sky?” She was silent for long moments, regarding the god who might be her father, before she turned to me with a glint in her eye. “You’d think if I were his child, I’d know these things.”

  Against my will I smiled, as much from her gentle nature as her jest. Alluria returned it with one of her own, and as we exited the temple together, I understood Caol’nir’s devotion to his mate. I too believed that she had divine blood.

  Once we reached the platform above the grand steps, Alluria placed her hand on my shoulder. “We can’t present you to your people this way,” she said, wiping my cheeks. Her gentle touch calmed me more than I had thought possible, then she smiled and opened her hand. Her palms, which should have been wet with my tears, held two pale blue jewels.

  “Your sadness,” she explained. “I’ve taken a measure of it, so you may go on as you must.”

  Then Rahlle appeared at Alluria’s side, fumbling as he took the jewels from her hand. I later learned that great magic comes at a great price, and in cloaking the Ish h’ra hai from view he’d sacrificed his sight. But his sadness was tempered by joy, and the priestess Alyon remained with Rahlle to see to his care. It seemed that she had been born barren, but when Rahlle healed her, he restored her fecundity and thus ensured her undying devotion.

  The rest of that day is a blur, and I only carry fleeting images in my mind’s eye. Once the child sun went to rest, I was led before Lormac’s funeral pyre, and with shaking hands I set the kindling alight. As I stood before the flames, I thanked him for everything: the aid he so selflessly gave, his willingness to believe a group of ragged slaves and assist them in overthrowing the king who’d reigned for three thousand years, his unwavering conviction in me, his endlessly loving heart.

  Gods. I thought I would die without his touch.

  The next morning, I said my final goodbye to the other love of my life. Caol’nir procured an oak seedling and I planted it at the crest of the hill, on the very spot where she died. Afterward, I knelt in the freshly turned dirt and stared at the tiny tree, wondering if it would even grow atop this windswept peak. I looked to the other foothills, all of which were bare at their crests. If anyone could thrive in such conditions, it is my Torim. I rose, and made my way back to Teg’urnan.

  Not surprisingly, Caol’nir had made the decision to take his mate far from the palace. I envied Alluria for having a mate who was so devoted to her and wanted nothing but her happiness. Caol’nir grinned as he described the home he would build for his mate and of the many children they would fill it with.

  I was more disappointed than surprised when Tor and Caol’non informed me that they would leave the palace as well. Tor’s oath had been sworn to Sahlgren, and when Rahlle severed the oath he had forfeited his position as Prelate. Caol’non could have remained, but claimed that Teg’urnan without his father and brothers was not for him. I understood their decisions, but it wo
uld be the first time that one of Solon’s line had not served in Teg’urnan. Tor suggested that Harek be named the new Prelate, for he had remained true to Parthalan even when Sahlgren had been led astray. Indeed, without Harek and his brother’s assistance we may never have escaped our slavery, and he was so named.

  Thus they left, and the decision was made to list Tor as having perished that day, and his son’s names were omitted from the records, the original scrolls having been given to Atreynha to secure in the vaults below Teg’urnan. Alluria bore the mark of a mordeth, not just any mordeth but Mersgoth, and I knew better than anyone that the monster wouldn’t rest until he had extracted his revenge. Caol’nir hoped to evade the beast by taking her far, far from the palace. I hoped his plan would succeed… but we both knew that while there was breath in his foul body, Mersgoth would not stop searching for Alluria.

  I traveled once more to Tingu, though it broke my heart to set foot upon the land of Lormac’s birth. When the Seat came into view, I nearly fell from my mount under the weight of my despair, but I couldn’t give myself the comfort of mourning my mate before his warriors. I was now their ruler, and I’d learned from Lormac that a ruler always needed to appear strong, even when being rent apart inside, if for no other reason than to give his (my?) people hope.

  So I squared my shoulders and set my jaw as I opened the Gate. I rode to the palace staring straight ahead. I was met first by Aldo, who understood without asking; I and all my warriors wore yellow, the elfin color of mourning. The old saffira-nell merely bowed his head, unsuccessfully hiding the tears in his eyes. And then, the second worst moment of my life occurred, far worse than any day I had spent in a doja, when Lukka stepped aside and Leran ran toward me.