Mistress of the Night

by Don Bassingthwaite

  So why didn’t she feel like one?

  She needed advice. She needed to talk to Dhauna Myritar. Feena turned her path toward the cloisters and a short cut across the inner courtyard. First thing that morning, she had written a message, relating what had happened and what she intended to do, and dispatched a novice to deliver it while she met with Velsinore and Mifano. Feena blew out her breath in a long sigh. Having spoken with the pair of them, she felt like she needed the High Moonmistress more than ever!

  Except Dhauna found her first. Feena was halfway across the courtyard when the high priestess stepped through the gate of the waning half moon and into the morning sunlight. She was swinging her canes stiffly, moving like a dwarf with vengeance in mind. Her face was grim. Feena hurried to her.

  “Mother Dhauna—”

  Dhauna lashed out with a cane as soon as Feena came within reach. The blow had little force behind it, but Feena still gasped and stumbled back. Dhauna tottered after her, cane flailing.

  “You stupid girl!” she screeched. “What are you trying to do? What are you trying to do?”

  A wild swing threw the old woman off balance. Feena stepped in and caught her, holding her upright. From around the courtyard and within the cloisters, an assortment of clergy, acolytes, novices, and visitors to the temple were staring at them.

  “Dhauna,” she hissed. “What’s wrong?”

  “You!” spat the high priestess. “Running around the city in your wolf form! I read your message—what were you thinking? I promised your mother that so long as you were at Moonshadow Hall, I wouldn’t let you out of the temple in anything but your human shape.”

  Feena’s eyes went wide. “I’m … I’m sorry, Mother Dhauna,” she said. “It won’t happen again.”

  An apology was the only thing Feena could think of. She swallowed and wrapped her arm around Dhauna’s thin shoulders.

  “Here,” said Feena, “sit with me and we’ll talk about it.”

  She nodded to the worn stone rim of the sacred pool. The High Moonmistress relaxed a little and followed as she drew her along. Feena glanced around and caught the eye of the nearest novice.

  “Find Julith!” Feena hissed. “Quickly!”

  The girl nodded and sprinted off. Other priestesses were gathering, concern on their faces. Feena warned them away with a shake of her head. She eased Dhauna down. “You made that promise a long time ago, Mother Dhauna,” she murmured. “My mother brought me to Moonshadow Hall as a girl.”

  Dhauna stared at her a moment then grunted, “I know that.” Her voice was soft. Feena hoped that she was finished shouting. “I’m talking about last night. You said you encountered a follower of Shar.”

  Feena clenched her jaw. Like a cloud passing over the sun, the High Moonmistress seemed lucid again.

  “Maybe it would be better to discuss this somewhere—” Feena began.

  Dhauna knocked her cane against the ground impatiently. “I came looking for you, didn’t I? Tell me now.”

  Or not so lucid after all. Feena swallowed. Maybe it was better to humor her. None of the other priestesses were close enough to overhear their conversation.

  “I did encounter a Sharran,” Feena said cautiously. “I thought maybe there was a cult at work.”

  “Impossible,” Dhauna said without hesitation. “We would have detected a Sharran cult before now.”

  Feena held back a grimace.

  “Velsinore and Mifano said the same thing,” she said. She hesitated for a moment, then met the old priestess’s gaze, and asked as gently as she could manage, “But what about your dreams? The darkness you described. Do you think it could be a warning about Sharran—?”

  Dhauna stiffened, silencing Feena. “Selûne’s warning is clear,” said the aged priestess. “It’s not Shar we need to be concerned with.”

  Her voice threatened to climb once more.

  “Mother Dhauna, please.…” Feena said soothingly.

  Dhauna grabbed her hand. “Sister against sister,” she said urgently. “Temples divided.” Her eyes darted toward the priestesses gathered nearby. “One of them working against us. Or all of them.” She glanced back to Feena.

  “But Shar? No, not Shar. Not this time.”

  She looked up again and smiled just as Julith pushed past the gawking priestesses and hurried over to them.

  “You keep finding me here, Julith!” Dhauna called.

  “You should tell me when you feel like going for a walk, Mother Dhauna,” Julith said with brittle levity. She reached out and helped the High Moonmistress stand then glanced at Feena. “Feena …?”

  “I’ll tell you inside,” Feena murmured as she stood.

  “No,” Julith said, “it’s not that. I was looking for you, too. High Luck Shoondeep from Ladysluck Tower is here with an officer of the city guard. Jhezzail is holding them just inside the outer gate. They’re asking to speak to the High Moonmistress.”

  Feena and Dhauna Myritar glanced at each other. Dhauna shook her head wearily. “Go, Feena,” she said. “Whatever they want, you can deal with it.”

  Feena choked back a curse. How could a day that had started off with such promise have gone so wrong so quickly? She ran from the courtyard through the nearest gate, ignoring the stares of the gathered clergy. She couldn’t imagine that the chubby high priest of Tymora was happy at being held back by a mere acolyte.

  He wasn’t, but Jhezzail was standing her ground with the air of a seasoned sentry as Colle Shoondeep seethed and ranted. Somehow, though, the High Luck managed to look even more enraged when Feena appeared and dismissed the girl. He stepped back coldly, drawing his robes around himself. The grizzled man wearing the crest of Yhaunn who accompanied him—the guard officer, Feena guessed—stared at her in confusion. He seemed ready to ask something, but Colle caught his eye and waved one chubby finger in a gesture of caution. The guard’s eyes widened slightly. Feena glanced down at herself, aware for the first time that she was still wearing her peasant blouse and homespun skirt. Had the man mistaken her for a servant? She grimaced.

  “What can I do for you, High Luck?” Feena asked with all the grace she could muster.

  “We need to see Dhauna Myritar, Moonmistress-Designate,” Colle said. “It is a serious matter that requires her attention.” He indicated the guard. “This is Guard Captain Manas.”

  Feena raised an eyebrow and asked, “Captain?”

  “As I said, this is a serious matter,” Colle said, standing straight. “We need to see the High Moonmistress.”

  Feena crossed her arms and replied, “The High Moonmistress isn’t seeing anyone. Whatever your problem is, I can deal with it.”

  “Not this,” said Manas. His voice was surprisingly pleasant, especially compared to the High Luck’s. “This concerns the High Moonmistress alone.”

  “Dhauna Myritar has chosen me to act on her behalf,” Feena growled. “What concerns her concerns me.”

  Colle’s face flushed angrily. “More true than you—” he spat, then bit off his words abruptly.

  Feena’s eyes opened wide and she looked between the two men.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  Manas glanced at Colle as if seeking permission for something. The priest pressed his lips together and gave a little shake of his head, but the guard captain turned back to Feena.

  “Moonmistress, you’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”

  Feena actually jumped a little, startled by the bluntness of the question. Most people would have danced around the matter or tried to ignore it. In an instant she understood both the guard captain’s tension and his surprise at seeing her. He hadn’t mistaken her for a servant, she realized—he had simply been shocked to find himself face to face with her. And Colle … it seemed the priest of Tymora had indeed recognized her as a werewolf at the council of temples the day before. He was already looking triumphant at her discomfort. Feena bit back another growl as one rose in her throat and drew herself up, matching Colle’s stance.
/>   “I have been blessed by Selûne,” she said, using Mifano’s expression for her shapechanging. “What of it?”

  “The guard has received a scattering of reports this morning of sightings of a creature seen lurking in the shadows around the city last night. A few of the reports described a wolf—unusual enough in the heart of the city—but others described the creature as walking onto two legs, a human with the head and tail of a wolf.” Manas tucked his thumbs into his sword belt. “In short, Moonmistress, the typical description of a werewolf.”

  Feena sucked in her breath. Apparently she hadn’t been quite so stealthy as she thought. And if Colle had known the day before what she was …

  The High Luck must have read her glare.

  “Fortunately,” he said, “word of the same sightings reached my ears as well. Naturally I went to the guard to offer my services and to tell them what I knew.”

  He tried to make his voice sound concerned, but didn’t quite manage to disguise a gloating note. The priest had led the guard right to her.

  “Naturally,” Feena snapped.

  “There’s more, Moonmistress,” Manas added. “A man’s body was found just before dawn near Stonecutters Well in the Stiltways, the area where most of the reports were made. He had been mauled by some kind of animal.”

  “Mauled?” Feena swung around to him. A body found by a well in the Stiltways? It sounded like it could be the Sharran—but she hadn’t touched the man. “You think I …?”

  Manas shook his head. “No, Moonmistress. Not necessarily. But the coincidence is remarkable—a man mauled, a werewolf sighted.…” His hands shifted on his belt. “Your recent arrival in Yhaunn.…”

  What was going on? Feena thought. The Sharran had been dead practically before she reached him, and she would never mutilate a corpse—let alone one with poison coursing through it. Someone or something else must have mauled the corpse after she left. But why?

  For a moment, she considered relating what she’d learned the night before. A Sharran cult was a danger to everyone. Except that there was no cult, was there? Velsinore, Mifano, and even Dhauna had made that clear. She looked at Manas and Colle. The faces of both men were hard, Colle’s with unbecoming glee, Manas’s with professional distance. Something else occurred to Feena as well—she’d left Shar’s disk clutched in the corpse’s hand. If the disk had been found, surely they would have mentioned it.

  Even if she could convince them that the man had been a Sharran cultist and a follower of the immortal enemy of Selûne, could any dispute justify the ravaged body that had been found? If she confessed to what had happened, Feena realized, she’d be forced to defend what hadn’t.

  She must have been silent too long. Manas and Colle exchanged another glance. The guard captain pulled his thumbs from his belt.

  “Moonmistress,” he said, “can you answer some questions for us?”

  Feena’s tongue felt as if it were stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  “Such as?” she asked.

  “Where were you last night?”

  “She was with me,” called Julith. The dark-haired priestess stepped out from the depths of the temple. She walked with grace and her voice was steady, but her face was flushed. She must have run all the way back down to the gate from Dhauna’s quarters, Feena realized. Julith stopped just on the other side of the guard captain and the High Luck, forcing them to divide their attention between her and Feena. “We were here, at Moonshadow Hall.”

  “All night?” Manas asked her.

  Julith nodded and said, “We were holding vigil for the health of the High Moonmistress.” She inclined her head toward Colle. “I’m sure the High Luck has told you Dhauna Myritar’s health has failed her of late? It’s most gratifying to see the concern that the high clergy of Yhaunn share for each other.”

  There wasn’t a trace of irony in her voice—she could have been offering Colle genuine praise—yet the statement pushed the weight of the visit smoothly onto the high priest and left him red-faced and sputtering. Manas looked back to Feena.

  “Were you holding vigil here last night?” he asked.

  Feena swallowed. Did Julith have a plan? She hoped so.

  “Yes,” she lied.

  Manas raised an eyebrow. Colle’s sputtering ground down into indignation and he snapped, “An invocation to Tymora would enforce the truth, Manas!”

  Feena’s heart lurched, but Julith’s response was swift and calm. “High Luck,” she asked, “are you questioning the honesty of Selûne’s priestesses within her own temple? Would you ask the same of Dhauna Myritar if she were here?”

  Colle’s mouth opened, then closed as he struggled for words in the face of Julith’s serene challenge. “I would never question the High Moonmistress—” he managed finally, but Julith cut him off again.

  “Then why do you question the Moonmistress-Designate? She is the High Moonmistress’s voice and her chosen successor at Moonshadow Hall.” Julith caught Feena’s eye as she spoke. “Challenging her is the same as challenging Dhauna Myritar herself!”

  Moonmaiden’s grace, Feena cursed silently as she caught the priestess’s meaning, do you know what you’re asking, Julith? Selûne give charm to my lying tongue!

  The priestess of a country village might be intimidated by a guard captain of Yhaunn and a high priest of Tymora—but not the Moonmistress-Designate of Moonshadow Hall. She had authority. She needed to use it. Dredging up memories of Dhauna in her prime, Feena raised her chin and looked first Manas, then Colle, directly in the eye.

  “You don’t think I’m telling the truth?” she demanded. “I’ve spoken within the holy confines of Moonshadow Hall—and you doubt me?”

  Selûne must have heard her prayer, because Colle actually flinched at her vehemence, though Manas seemed to take it in stride.

  “No, Moonmistress,” he said, “but it is necessary that we investigate such a suspicious death.”

  “Which you have done by calling both my honor and Selûne’s sacred gift into question.” Feena faced down the guard captain. To her surprise, it didn’t feel that much different from facing down another wolf. “I’ll be blunt, Captain Manas. I can see that’s a quality you appreciate.” She leaned closer and said, “I serve Selûne and my service is not gentle. I have killed in her name and in defense of the innocent. But this man you’ve found—I did not kill him.” She glanced at Colle and growled, “Do you still feel the need to test the truth of that, High Luck?”

  The high priest shook his head. Feena looked at Manas. The guard captain’s face was blank with studied discipline—and perhaps a little respect.

  “And you?” Feena asked.

  “Moonmistress, you’ve answered all of my questions.” He took a step back and gave her a sharp half-bow. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, guard captain.”

  “If we should discover that there is a werewolf at large in Yhaunn, may I call on your expertise?”

  Feena restrained a blink of surprise. “Of course,” she said. “Selûne guide your search.”

  Manas turned to go, summoning Colle after him with a hard glance. The High Luck stared in angry shock at Feena, then scurried after the guard captain. The two were exchanging angry words when they stepped out of the gate. Feena waited until they were out of sight entirely before letting out a sigh of relief.

  “I think you made an enemy in Colle Shoondeep today, Feena,” Julith said.

  “He was no friend to begin with,” Feena replied. She slumped back against the nearest wall and pushed her fingers through her hair. “Thank you.”

  “Whispering in ceremony and now lying to city guards and high priests,” Julith said through a thin smile. “Feena, you’re a terrible influence.”

  Feena tried to echo the smile, but couldn’t quite manage it.

  Jarull was waiting in the cool shadow of the stone wall. Keph twitched Quick out of the way and settled down beside him.

  “I got your note this morning,” Keph said. “What i
s it?”

  “Cyrume is dead.”

  Keph blinked at the big man.

  Jarull growled and added, “The potter from the south side of the city?”

  “Oh,” Keph breathed.

  The past several days had been a heady whirl for Keph. Jarull had introduced him to a number of new people—all followers of Shar. Faces and names had started to blur in Keph’s mind. His memory hadn’t been helped by nights spent drinking with Jarull and some of his new friends. He and Jarull weren’t the only disaffected young people of Yhaunn. Cyrume the potter hadn’t been among Jarull’s immediate circle, but Keph thought he could picture him. He had seemed disturbingly intense.

  “What happened to him?”

  “He was found in the Stiltways last night,” Jarull said.

  Keph sat up sharply and asked, “That was him?”

  Cold wrapped around his chest. The servants at Fourstaves House had been gossiping about the body found in the Stiltways. According to them, it had been torn to bloody shreds and half devoured. Panic was said to be spreading through the lower levels of the Stiltways.

  “How … what …?”

  “Selûnites,” said Jarull. Keph blinked at him again.

  “Followers of Selûne?” In spite of his horror, he felt his mouth twitch almost into a smile. “That can’t be right. I know Selûnites and Sharrans don’t like each other, but have you seen the priestesses of Moonshadow Hall?”

  Jarull glared at him and said, “You think they’re all mercy and innocence? I’ve heard they harbor werewolves, Keph. They think the moon goddess blesses lycanthropes.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Moonshadow Hall. “That place is probably as much a kennel as a temple!”

  “Dark,” Keph muttered. He glanced at Jarull. “How did they know Cyrume was a Sharran?” he asked. “If it was Selûnite werewolves that killed him, can they …?”

  He touched his nose. Keph didn’t think he had to ask the obvious question. If the Selûnites could tell—could smell maybe—that Cyrume was a Sharran, what was to stop them from coming for Jarull? Or maybe even for Keph himself eventually?