The War of the Moonstone: an Epic Fantasy

by Jack Conner

  Steam rose from the glimmering waters of the Pool, and from it emerged a goddess. She was tall and blond and buxom, clad in a sheer, thin gown of white pasted to her body, and her eyes shone with pleasure.

  Niara, who stood in the water before her, smiled kindly. Of all of her duties as High Priestess, this was Niara’s favorite. Reciting from the Books of Light, she said: “And do you now accept the blessing of the Father—” (this was Brunril) “— and of the Mother—” (Illiana)—“who together begat the First Men and imbued them with Light and Grace and love?”

  “I do, High Mother.”

  They were surrounded by a circle of smiling priestesses each holding a candle on a silver holder, all clad, as Niara was, in a thin white gown cinched by a slim golden belt shaped like intertwined leaves. With the water and steam, the gowns were now molded to their frames. The lights of the candles became blurry, leaping fairies in the steam.

  “Then I bestow upon you that same Grace,” Niara said. “May your cares be lessened, your past transgressions washed away, and may you travel in the Light unto the end of days.” The girl bowed, and Niara kissed her on the forehead. The girl’s flesh was warm. Niara had to use the white stone she wore about her neck to bless the girl, for she had no more grace to give. Raugst had taken it all.

  When the girl stood, she beamed brightly, her cheeks flushed, her hair dripping and steaming. Perhaps she was not truly a goddess, Niara thought—her hips were a bit too wide, perhaps, her breasts were a bit too full, too low—but she was a vision of beauty nonetheless. She was so happy. May you stay that way.

  Light shone down through the sun-shafts overhead, turning the walls and pillars to shining white, and the steam to wispy, glowing cotton. Vapor curled up from the water, and Niara basked in it. There were furnaces beneath the Pool that priestesses would stoke during a Bathing Ceremony, the ritual by which a bride-to-be was purified before her wedding. When Niara had first journeyed here, when she had first become a priestess, she had slaved away in the heat, stoking those fires during the ritual, and now she presided over it.

  Smiling, she led Liela, the bride-to-be, out of the water, embraced her, and sent her to be dried and dressed by a gaggle of blushing young priestesses. Niara remembered when she had blushed so. This was the romantic part of being a priestess, the magical, girlish part. Only women were allowed during a Bathing Ceremony, but all women were girls underneath.

  Niara watched wistfully as Liela was led away, and she could not help but sigh. I will pray for you. I will pray for us all. Yet she had little real hope. Vrulug may have spared Thiersgald for the moment, but he had taken his army and sacked Branagh and Galamheim. Legions of refugees had escaped those cities and sought a haven inside Thiersgald, and Niara had been spending her days and nights seeing to them. Many had been raped or tortured by Vrulug and his thralls, and more had lost loved ones. These were dark times, and Niara was forced to admit, at least to herself, that Gilgaroth’s dreaded Age of Grandeur might finally be upon the world. She did not see how any host of Man could stop Vrulug. But, of course, she confided her fears to no one save Illiana.

  Hiatha, who had not participated in the ceremony but had been overseeing things High Motherly while Niara was occupied, entered the Hall of Beginning and approached. Still glowing a bit from the ceremony despite herself, Niara puzzled at the strange expression she wore.

  “What is it, dear?”

  Hiatha lowered her voice. “It’s . . . him. Raugst.”

  Niara felt beads of sweat stand out on her skin, and it wasn’t because of the steam. Instantly she felt a stirring of anger—Raugst had ignored the letters she had sent him over the past week—but also a stirring of something else.

  “I had heard he was busy with the King.,” she said.

  “He wants to see you.”

  “Very well. Tell him I’ll meet with him in the solar after I dress.” Hiatha nodded and began to move off, but Niara stopped her, half smiling. “And tell the girls below that they can stop the bellows.”

  Quickly Niara went to the large bathroom areas of the Temple, where the bathing basins were. She found her storage cabinet, took out a dry robe and laid it aside. Her black hair hung in damp waves around her shoulders and her ceremonial gown was pasted to her body like a second skin. She untied the golden belt and slipped out of the gown.

  “Very nice.”

  She spun, clutching at the garment. He stood before her, dark eyes smiling. Wearing his hunting finery, with his black mane combed back over his head and his beard trimmed, he looked most handsome in that moment.

  “Raugst, you shouldn’t have come here. These are private rooms . . .”

  He strode across the marble floor, past the marble benches, threading through the bathing basins toward her. Her back was to the wall. Smiling, he came to stand over her. Steam still rose from her hair, and she felt very warm. He smelled of leather and, faintly, sweat.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said again, but her voice had lost its strength.

  He smiled. He laid his hands upon her shoulders and drew her to him. Her gown fell away, and her wet breasts pressed against his chest. He bent his head and kissed her. His lips were warm and soft, and she gave in to them. For a moment.

  She tore herself away and snatched up her dry gown. “No.” Her voice was a coarse whisper.

  “Damn you.”

  She hid behind a pillar and slipped the gown over her head. Clothed, she reemerged, grabbed up a belt and cinched it about her waist. She was still wet, however, and she caught him staring at her chest. She grabbed a towel and began to dry her hair.

  “Why didn’t you reply to my messages?” she said, trying to glare at him.

  “Messages?”

  “Don’t deny it. I had my girls deliver them to the drop spot at the castle, but we never received a reply.”

  “Ah. That.”

  “So you don’t deny it.” Somehow that disappointed her.

  “You don’t understand. It was Saria. I thought she was acting awfully smug the other day. She must have discovered our drop spot. I never received any messages.” He sat down on a bench, suddenly seeming to lose his strength. “She’s been keeping a close watch on me, and lately the staff too. She must have noticed something unusual.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  She stepped closer to him. He eyed her up and down.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  He raised his eyebrows. Patted the seat beside him. “To see you, of course,” She ignored his offer. “Saria will no longer keep us apart.”

  “You speak as though we were torrid lovers.”

  He stared into her, and she felt suddenly uncomfortable.

  “Are we not?” he asked.

  She turned away. Her hair was as dry as the towel could get it. She laid it over the side of the hamper. Not turning to face him, she said, “What became of her?”

  There was genuine sadness in his voice, and something haunted about his face. “I slew her. Her and her shadow-slaves. And . . . and one more. They will bother us no longer.”

  She faced him. She still felt oddly conflicted at the thought that he had slain a woman, but she forced herself to admit that it was for the best, and she did not let her eyes waver.

  “The sword worked, then,” she said.

  He seemed relieved that she did not rebuke him. “Yes, and I thank you for it.”

  “And what do you want of me now?”

  Almost violently, he rose to his feet. “I don’t want anything of you, woman. I want you.” He grabbed her shoulders again and shoved his lips against hers.

  She kissed back, then ripped herself away. He growled. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she tried not to let them out.

  “No,” she choked. “Giorn.”

  “Damn him!”

  She made a cutting motion with her hand. “Just go. I cannot betray him.”

  “Bah! This is madness.” He towered over her, and she had the urge to shrink a
way. She stood firm. “I know you feel it too, Niara. I can smell the fire in your blood, and the juices in your cunny. Don’t be a fool!”

  She slapped him. “I will not betray Giorn.”

  “Why not? He’s betrayed you.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “It’s true. Saria told me how she got the Moonstone from him, and it wasn’t by flattering him.”

  The blood drained from her face. “He would never . . .”

  “He would. He did. But never mind him, woman! You’re mine. don’t deny it. Once was not enough, for either of us.”

  He started to kiss her again, but she placed her hands on his chest and shoved him away. “The Moonstone, you said. Tell me, how’s Vrulug using it against us?”

  He rolled his eyes. “He’s corrupted it. Or the Master has, anyway. Vrulug’s using it to taint the light, to block it. Your priestesses are worth less than horse dung now, as far as the War is concerned.”

  “Can the Stone be purified? Perhaps the Pool, weakened though it is . . .”

  “No pool can reverse what Lord Gilgaroth did to it. He’s stronger than all of you.”

  She stared up at him soberly. “Then the Stone must be destroyed. It is the only way.”

  “You destroy it. Vrulug has it. Vrulug, the son of Gilgaroth and Mogra, at the head of his army—which, according to my spies, is marching toward us even now. It could be here as soon as the morrow. Besides, I don’t even know where it is, where he’s keeping the Stone. I looked for it when I was with him, but . . . No. The only way is my way, to become King.”

  She shoved him farther back. “You still mean to go through with it? But Saria is dead!”

  “How do you think I killed her? The only way I could get her to trust me enough to drink the poison, was, well . . .”

  She blinked, putting the pieces together. When the truth dawned, she nearly sank to her knees. “You slew him. King Ulea, he’s . . .”

  “It was the only way, Niara. Now Saria’s dead, and because I’ve upheld my end of the agreement Vrulug will forebear attacking long enough for us to unify against him.”

  “Monster!” That seemed to pain him, despite everything, so she said it again, “Monster!” He flinched. She stepped forward and beat against his chest. “Monster!”

  “Niara . . .”

  She stepped back, wiping at her eyes. “Go,” she commanded. She couldn’t even look at him. “Just go.”

  For a moment, he stood there, conflicted. Then he turned and walked away through the mist.

  Word about the king’s demise spread fast, first among the soldiery, then among the townspeople. There were official announcements in the city squares telling the people of King Ulea’s wickedness, his secret devotion to Gilgaroth, and how Raugst, the great hero, had saved the kingdom from his vile clutches. It was painted as a grim and close battle, as King Ulea summoned the forces of darkness to combat brave Lord Raugst. Somehow Raugst had summoned the strength and the righteousness to overcome these blasphemous sorceries and had at last, in single combat, slain the King with his own hands, throttling the very life from him.

  Of course, there was a lot of disbelief. The King was a beloved figure throughout the land, and his family had been beloved likewise for hundreds of years.

  Just the same, it was hard to refute the evidence of the letters found in Vrulug’s camp, and harder still to refute the united word of Felgrad’s aristocracy combined with the solid front of King Ulea’s generals. Could King Ulea truly have deceived everyone so brilliantly? To make it easier to believe, as well as to accept, Raugst let it be known that Lord Ulea’s conversion to the worship of Gilgaroth was a recent event, and that the King had done so in order to save Felgrad—in a manner of speaking. The King had feared Vrulug would win out and that only by turning Felgrad over to him could Felgrad be spared. King Ulea would still rule Felgrad, but Vrulug would be his overlord.

  This logic worked, and it allowed people to believe their faith in King Ulea had not been entirely misplaced. Still, they considered him a rank traitor, a blasphemer and a craven, and most were glad of his death.

  The story also served to instill fear into the people. If King Ulea had expected Felgrad to fall, then why shouldn’t they? This made them desperate for strong leadership, and there was Raugst, already a well-liked and heroic figure, waiting on the throne. To cement this, Raugst’s officials let it be known that the Crowning Ceremony would take place the following evening at sundown in Mitsgald Square. High Mother Niara Ilimfad would preside. To this neither she nor her priestesses gave comment.

  Today, however, would be a day of mourning for Felgrad’s lost lord. Traitor or not, he had been a popular king. Funeral bells tolled throughout the city, and the townspeople wore black.

  Fria stroked Kragt’s hair. He lay drowsily in bed, his eyes barely open, even though sunlight poured in through his bedroom window along with the tolling of bells. Naked, Fria lay beside him, sweat from their coupling cooling on her skin.

  “That’s right, my darling,” she said, curling her fingers through his dark hair. “Rest.”

  “What need have I for rest?” Kragt gestured angrily. “I’ve nothing to do. Nothing to occupy me.”

  She snuggled tighter to him. He was long and lean and tightly muscular, with a lean, wolvish face, and deep dark eyes. He was actually quite handsome, she admitted to herself. Not that she felt any attraction to him, nor affection, though she was careful not to let him know that.

  She sighed, pretending to share his sadness. “Yes. And now Raugst is to be king. It’s a strange world . . .”

  He said nothing. He knew something she did not, some secret Raugst was keeping. There was a reason Raugst had maneuvered himself onto the throne. What could that be? Damn Kragt! She wished he were not so tight-lipped.

  “King,” she mused. “But, perhaps, he’ll let you remain lord here. Let you be lord of Fiarth . . .”

  He frowned. “I do not want his leavings.” He cast her a sullen glare. She was all too aware that she, too, could be considered Raugst’s leavings. Still, as she had expected, Kragt had come to her shortly after Vrulug’s army withdrew, and she had allowed him to take her, then and many times afterward. Indeed, she had enjoyed it. But it had all been for this moment.

  “So what are you to do, my lord?” she asked. “If you will not take Fiarth, then . . .”

  His right hand clenched into a fist. “I should take all of Felgrad. I’m as worthy as him. Worthier! I’ve seen how he looks at that Moon-witch whore. I would never be seduced by the likes of her, a slave to the Master’s enemies.”

  “Yes,” she said, injecting some honest venom into her voice. She still couldn’t believe Niara had taken up with Raugst. “I’ve seen it, too. But what can you do?”

  “I can kill him.”

  She gasped—quite convincingly, too, she thought. “But is that wise, my lord? He has other followers, and how would you take his place?”

  “Easily enough. I could . . . yes, I could poison them all.”

  “But surely that would be too difficult . . .” She made herself sound somewhat awed by his daring.

  A bit of pride entered his voice. “Not so much. There’s plenty of the old store left. I know just where it is, and how to get it. We used it once on Giorn’s men in the feasting hall, remember. Yes, you remember that night, don’t you?” He smiled unpleasantly. “Almost tasteless it was. It must be how he slew Saria. That was foolish. Wait until Vrulug discovers it! Yet if I could bring Vrulug his head . . . yes . . . after I’d already taken his place as king . . .”

  “That’s too dangerous! And how could you possibly take his place?”

  “Oh, it could be done. I am not without power.”

  She shuddered. He and the others did not hide their secrets very well these days. They were not too open about their otherworldly natures, but they were not too subtle, either. Nor did they hide, at least from her, the truth of the One they served. The Castle Guard knew something was wr
ong, too, but their leaders had been appointed by Raugst, and so they were paralyzed. And the castle staff was impotent with fear.

  “How do you mean, my lord?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Don’t play the dullard, woman. It doesn’t suit you. I know that you know I am not what I appear. Well, I could, with certain effort, appear to be what Raugst is not, either.”

  “You could . . . change your shape into his?”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Easier to cloud people’s minds for a space. He’s more powerful than I, but I am not without some skill. Though . . . all those people . . . at the crowning ceremony . . . it would be too many to deceive, even for one very powerful . . . But afterwards, at the feast . . . yes, that might do. That might do very well.”

  She spotted a flaw in his plan. “And you would keep your shape altered for the rest of your days?”

  He frowned. “If I must . . .”

  “You don’t. Once Raugst is crowned, I will be queen, remember.”

  “Yes! I’d forgotten. So we have only to announce his death, and your remarriage . . .”

  Her grin widened. “You would make a most dashing groom, my lord.”

  He leapt to his feet and threw on some clothes. “There are plans to make, things to see to.” He paused at the door and turned to her. A calculating look came into his eye, and she felt a chill. “You are not to mention this to anyone.” He glared at her, and she said nothing. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled. “But you wouldn’t have, would you? You wanted me to do it. You led me to it. Well, that is fine by me. I like a woman with a taste for blood.”

  With that, he was gone. She stared at the place where he had disappeared, feeling the beating of her heart.

  At last she allowed herself to relax. Yes, she thought, Kragt was the perfect tool to use against Raugst. Kragt had served the bastard for many years, had seen the praise and respect Vrulug lavished on him, and Kragt wanted that respect for himself. Fria would help him. And then I will send you to Raugst, and you can explain your betrayal in hell.

  Fria thought of her husband and all his awful lackeys, and that traitor Niara, all choking on poison tomorrow night after the crowning, and she smiled. Soon, Father, brothers, I will avenge you.