Sign of the Throne: Book One in the Solas Beir Trilogy (11 page)

“There is only one Solas Beir in each generation of my people. The Solas Beir is our ruler, the one who serves as the Light’s representative, who bears the Light. The term
lightbearer
is used in more casual settings, but Solas Beir is a formal title, and therefore preferred, particularly in affairs of state. The other reason that the term
Solas Beir
is preferred is that the term
lightbearer
is sometimes used to refer to a future ruler, one who has not yet ascended to the throne, who does not yet possess the power of the Solas Beir. Do you understand?”

Abby nodded. “But what do you mean by power? Political authority?”

“That, and power that comes directly from the Light. The Solas Beir is the strongest of us, unbound by the natural laws of our worlds. He can move and manipulate objects by sheer force of will, defy gravity, and heal others. He also has the power to shape-shift and heal himself. In representing the Light, he has the power to destroy those who walk in Darkness merely by speaking a word. But although he has great power, he cannot use it for his own gain. He has a heavy burden to bear—he is a servant of his people, leading them, protecting them, and if necessary, sacrificing himself for them.”

“Is the Solas Beir always male?”

“The power of the Solas Beir comes from the Light, and is passed from parent to child. It may be possible for a daughter of a Solas Beir to someday inherit the gift and rule. However, all of the Solas Beirs in our history have been male,” Eulalia said.

“So then, if Tynan Tierney were to gain power and rule Cai Terenmare, he wouldn’t be a Solas Beir,” Abby reasoned.

“Not a
true
Solas Beir,” Eulalia explained. “He might call himself Solas Beir, and he might have great power, but his power does not come from the Light.”

“But the last king, your husband, was a true Solas Beir?”

“Yes.”

“And David…?”

“Is the next one.
If
he returns,” Eulalia continued. “That is why Lucia’s plan was so brilliant, you see. Even though Tierney failed in his attempt for the throne and has been imprisoned, Lucia was able to remove the one person who can keep him there. If she can keep David from coming home, she still wins. And if Tierney rules Cai Terenmare, he will have access to your world. None of us will be safe from his tyranny.”

Abby
cringed at the thought of Tierney entering her world with an army of bloodthirsty monsters. She imagined a wave of darkness pouring in from the sea like fog, destroying everyone she loved. She had to know more. “So, after you were injured and were trapped here, what happened? Did Fergal make it back through the portal?”

“He did. He informed Cael of my plight.” The queen sighed and paused, as though she were lost in thoughts of another world. “It has been so long since I have seen Cael…”

Abby stared at her. “You and Cael are very close.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.” Eulalia met Abby’s gaze. She smiled weakly. “Another story for another time. Suffice it to say that I can see his dreams
very
clearly. When Cael learned what happened, he gathered his best soldiers. Half were left to guard the kingdom and half went with him to find the Sign of the Throne. With the greatest haste, they rode on horseback to the snow-covered mountains in the northernmost reaches of my world, seeking the Northern Oracle.”

“The Northern Oracle? What is that?” Abby asked.

“
Who
, actually. The Northern Oracle is one of four principalities governing the outermost realms of my world. Oracles are people, but they are not like us. They are like forces of nature—they do not bow to the Solas Beir’s authority, but by working in harmony with them, the Solas Beir can tap into their power, much like a ship sails with the wind. Cael’s journey north took many months. Although he and his men could have traveled as swiftly in their totem forms, going by horseback allowed them to conserve the energy required for battle. And they battled often.

“Tierney’s forces delayed them at every turn with frequent attacks. The journey was treacherous. Countless times they encountered beasts of darkness, terrible creatures thirsting for their blood.

“Many of Cael’s men suffered grievous injuries, but they fought off each attack courageously, giving their enemies many more wounds than they bore. However, with such short intervals between conflicts, the men grew weak, having so little time to heal. As they grew weaker, it became impossible to transform to their animal forms to fight. And still, the nightmarish creatures seemed to multiply—with each monster they cut down, two more appeared, more massive than the last.”

Abby shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

Eulalia paused and studied her face. “Are you all right, dear? You are shivering.”

Abby smiled grimly. “I’m fine.”

Eulalia looked skeptical.

“Really. I’m just picturing your story in my head, and it’s terrifying. I can’t imagine being in Cael’s shoes, fighting creatures like that.”

Eulalia patted Abby’s hand. “I pray you shall never have to. Shall I continue?”

Abby nodded. “Please.”

Eulalia shifted in her seat, smoothing out her skirt. She gazed into Abby’s eyes and continued her story. “The worst attack came in the form of an ambush as they neared their destination. The house of the Northern Oracle stands on top of a mountain, and the forces of darkness were laying siege to the snow-covered fortress. There was no telling how long the creatures had been there or if anyone remained alive within the walls. The only road leading to the fortress was through the Gauntlet, an icy canyon so narrow and deep it seemed to expel light. As Cael and his soldiers made their way, they could hear the hellish howls of the beasts on the ledges above, crying out for blood to be spilled.

“In the darkness, they could hear the creatures descend behind and before them, their claws scratching on frozen rocks. Through a dense fog, the men could see the dark outlines of hulking feline forms, some stalking on two legs like men, some creeping closer on all fours, all with bristling hair standing on end.

“As the creatures got closer, the soldiers could see their evil, murderous grins. Cael and his troops were trapped—their only chance for escape was to fight. The horses upon which they rode, steady in battle up to this point, panicked, tossing many of their riders to the ground. The horses knew death was imminent, and they were mad with fright.

“The monsters attacked from all sides. A creature leapt onto the back of a riderless horse, sinking its claws into the stallion’s hide, locking its teeth onto the terrified animal’s neck. The rider, recovered from being tossed from his mount, made the mistake of watching his horse’s demise. He stood frozen in horror as the horse crumpled under the weight of the monster and the blood drained from the dead animal’s body. Another beast grabbed the man’s ankles, dragging him away screaming into the darkness.

“Cael heard his cries, but could not help—he had too much trouble of his own. He was trying to push the monsters forward, toward the fortress. With a sword in each hand, he slashed and sliced, cutting through beast after beast, and still they came. He fought astride his stallion, the brave horse striving to kick down the monsters until he was too overwhelmed and too exhausted to go further.

“The creatures pulled the stallion down. Cael leapt clear and tried to free his horse, but there were just too many monsters to save the valiant steed. Cael did not dare stop to grieve. To lose concentration for a second was to lose altogether.

“As men and horses were lost in the battle, those who remained formed a tighter circle, fighting the monsters on all sides. No man was without injury. The soldiers’ armor was little more than useless against the claws and teeth of the beasts. Cael bore a gaping wound at his neck, and the armor protecting his chest was slashed. There were deep gashes on his chest and thighs, and he was losing blood quickly. He felt faint but managed to keep his feet, knowing that if he fell, he would not get up again. All seemed lost.

“And then
the tide turned. Cael heard horrible shrieks from the furthest ends of the canyon on either side of the battle, and to his surprise, the monsters seemed to be catching on fire. In the glow of their burning flesh, he saw masked figures clad in tight-fitting black clothing on the ledges, pouring liquid from large clay pots onto the monsters below. Other figures shot flaming arrows into the crowded canyon, igniting the oil-covered beasts.

“A rope ladder was tossed down the side of the canyon where the soldiers were fighting in a tight band. One of the masked warriors descended, beckoning the men to climb out of the fray. With the oily beasts battling in such close proximity to each other, it was little wonder that the fire spread quickly. Cael ordered his men up the ladder before they too succumbed to the flames. The mysterious warrior waited at the bottom with Cael, standing guard while the wounded soldiers ascended out of harm’s way.

“One of the monsters, burning and shrieking, lunged for Cael. In a flash of fluid motion, the warrior unsheathed a long, elegant sword from his back and sliced through the beast, cutting it neatly in half, seemingly without effort. The warrior then calmly wiped the sword clean and offered Cael the ladder, climbing up after him.

“As Cael reached the top of the canyon, he looked down. The fire had consumed everything below and was now inching up the rope ladder, licking up what remained.

“The masked warrior who had guided them up the canyon walls seemed to be in authority and gestured with a gloved hand toward the fortress, silently motioning for them to follow. Beaten by an icy wind whipping over the ridge, blowing snow over their exhausted, wounded bodies, the men willingly followed the warrior, relieved to enter safe shelter.

“The towering walls of the circular fortress were thick, made of smooth black stone, and devoid of any decorative architecture that might provide a foothold and assist an enemy in gaining access. Although the gates were made of wood, they too were solid and smooth, built to withstand any blow. Sentries were stationed at towers on either side of the gate, their gazes and arrows trained on the canyon below, ready to fire through narrow slits in the walls should any of the beasts prove to have survived. Cael and his men followed the masked warriors across a small courtyard, paved with frost-covered black pebbles, into a single massive building, circular like the outer wall.

“Inside, the soldiers were greeted by the warmth of a hearth and the welcome smell of food. The room was minimalist in decor, stoically furnished with long, low tables for meals and cushions as seating on the black slate floor. No paintings or tapestries graced the walls. Functional items—weapons and tools for carpentry and for tilling soil—hung neatly on hooks, serving as decoration. Clay pots and woven baskets rested on the floor against the walls. Along one wall were shelves of rolled parchment scrolls, reaching from the floor to the wood-beamed ceiling. Other than that, the room was barren, an empty hall ruled by order.

“The leader of the warriors motioned for Cael and the soldiers to be seated and take refreshment. Monks with shaved heads, wearing simple, long-sleeved black robes, entered the room. They carried trays with bowls of clean water, towels, cloth bandages, and various healing herbs. They began to tend the men, dressing wounds.

“Cael flinched as he removed his armor; the gashes in his chest and thighs stung. The wound stretching from his jaw down his neck would take a long time to heal—it was deep and had already festered from its contact with saliva from the creature’s nasty bite. He could feel himself growing feverish from the bite and blood loss. He had been wounded in battle many times before, but this time, his skin would be scarred.

“Removing thick leather gloves, the leader pulled away the mask to reveal a feminine face with delicate features that were in stark contrast to fierce, almond-shaped eyes. Cael gasped in surprise and then quickly lowered his gaze to hide his shock. He had known the Northern Oracle was a woman, but he never would have imagined a woman or an oracle on the front lines of a battle, leading a rescue effort with the courage and skill of a seasoned warrior.

“She smiled, enjoying his reaction. ‘Knights of the Solas Beir,’ she pronounced, ‘I welcome you to the house of the Northern Oracle.’ Then she removed her leather hood, unleashing long, straight, black hair. She unbuckled the strap of the sheathed sword she carried on her back and hung it from a hook. Her thick leather jacket had a high collar that protected her neck from enemies’ blades and the cold. She unfastened the clasps that ran down the side and removed it.

“Without her protective armor, she was petite. She wore a scarlet sleeveless tunic with a mandarin collar that fell just below the waist of her thick leather leggings. The thin, red fabric clung to her small frame, makin
g her appear deceptively frail.

“Cael knew how strong she was—he had seen her use her sword. ‘Thank you, Northern Oracle,’ he replied. ‘We appreciate your rescue and your hospitality.’

‘It is we who owe thanks,’ she said. ‘We have been under siege for many months. If you had not drawn the creatures away from our gates, we would still be so. Our supplies are depleted, but you are welcome to share what we have and stay as long as you wish.’

‘Thank you, but we dare not stay long,’ responded Cael. ‘Our kingdom is in grave danger.’