Mistress of the Night

by Don Bassingthwaite

  They must have been halfway to Ordulin when his horse stumbled and went down. Keph landed on his side, facing east toward the rising sun—and the approaching pursuers. His horse was somewhere close, staggering and groaning. Hooves rang and slid on the ground just out of his vision; Julith reining in her mount and coming around. Keph twisted and forced himself up onto his knees. His palms were scraped raw. Blinding pain shot through one ankle at the slightest pressure and almost sent him down again.

  “Keep going!” he gasped at the priestess.

  “There’s no point,” Julith said. She passed a hand over her face and her own features returned. “It’s over. Feena’s had all the time she’s going to get.”

  Hooves thundered on the ground, and they were surrounded.

  Keph didn’t think he’d ever seen priests and priestess, not even Bolan and Variance, look as dangerous as the Selûnites did. The silver-haired dandy and gray-robed stork—Mifano and Velsinore, Keph guessed from Feena’s descriptions—who rode at their head seemed ready to spit fire. Especially when they realized who it was wearing Feena’s clothes.

  “Julith!” howled Mifano.

  For a moment, the priest was a silhouette against the glare of dawn. Then he moved closer, staring at Keph, and the young man got a better look at his face. Keph’s stomach dropped.

  Beshaba’s arms, he choked silently.

  Mifano was the priest who had interrupted his attack on Lyraene. He should have guessed. How many silver-haired priests of Selûne could there be in Yhaunn?

  It looked like Mifano hadn’t forgotten him either.

  “Hold him!” the priest snapped. “Take his sword!”

  Three of the larger Selûnites jumped down and grabbed him while others crowded around, spells ready if he tried anything. All Keph could do, however, was yelp as the Selûnites hauled him to his feet and pain flared in his ankle. It was broken or at the very least sprained. As he swooned, a priestess pulled Quick and his belt pouch away from him.

  Velsinore urged her horse forward, stopping in front of Julith. Her eyes were narrow.

  “Iraelathe’s Escape?” she asked. Julith nodded, and Velsinore’s face twisted in anger. “Where’s Feena?”

  “Well away from you,” Julith answered.

  “You’ll be banished from Moonshadow Hall for this.”

  Julith sat up straighter and said, “I wouldn’t stay anyway. Not with you in charge.”

  Velsinore sucked in her breath, but her hiss of rage wasn’t nearly so loud as the gasp of surprise from the priestess who had taken Keph’s pouch. She had the pouch open. In her palm lay Shar’s disk.

  Keph could almost feel the anger of Selûne’s clergy flare into hatred and disgust. Shock flashed across Julith’s face as well.

  “It’s not what you think,” Keph said, desperate.

  “Selûne’s shining face, it’s not!” One of the priests holding him twisted and smashed his elbow back into Keph’s face. The blow connected with his cheekbone and sent dark blotches swimming across his vision. If the Selûnites hadn’t been holding him up, he would have staggered and fallen. “Filthy Sharran!”

  “Aeso!” Mifano’s voice cracked like a whip. Keph couldn’t quite manage to focus on the face of the priest who had hit him, but he felt the man hesitate, then relax. “No one touch either of them,” Mifano said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Hate is Shar’s way, not Selûne’s. We’ll rest the horses, then start back to Moonshadow Hall—Selûne will judge her fallen daughter.” He turned his gaze on Keph. For all his words, his eyes held almost as much loathing as Aeso’s. “The laws of Yhaunn will judge Shar’s man.”

  Keph’s tortured head throbbed.

  “No,” he breathed.

  The laws of Yhaunn—the consequences of his attack on Lyraene—he could face that. But returning to Yhaunn would put him back within reach of the cult. His knees buckled. The grips of the priests tightened, holding him up.

  A nearby farmstead was only too happy to host the clergy of Selûne, offering up cool water, bread, and fruit for the priests and priestesses, and feed for their horses—and the use of a shed to hold their prisoners. Aeso and another priest bound Keph and Julith securely, while Mifano traced a long, sprawling symbol around the doorframe. Where his fingers passed, cold silver light glowed for a moment, then faded. Once Aeso and the other priest had stepped out, he turned to glower at Keph and Julith.

  “If you want a quick way to face your ultimate destinies,” he said darkly, “opening this door would be it. I can’t guarantee any greater mercy for traitors and Sharrans.”

  He walked out and closed the shed door firmly. A bolt squealed on the other side. Keph swallowed and stared across the dimness of the shed at Julith. Aeso had left them facing each other.

  “Julith—”

  She cut him off before he could say anymore. “Does Feena know?”

  “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  “Does Feena know?”

  “Yes!” Keph spat back at her. “Julith, I—”

  The priestess cut him off again. Her voice was cold. “She told me you rescued her in the Stiltways. Was that some kind of trick?”

  “Will you let me talk?” he snapped.

  “So you can spin Shar’s lies?”

  His head sagged down in defeat. His face where Aeso had struck him felt swollen and strangely numb—when he spoke, a dull ache ran down to his teeth. It was a counterpoint to the growing fire in his ankle.

  “No,” he said. “No lies. I’m trying to get away from Shar’s cult. I would have told you, but we didn’t exactly have a chance to talk, did we?” He looked up. Julith’s face was still angry, but her eyes were narrow. She was at least listening to him. “Believe me, Feena was just as angry when she found out. But I want to leave Shar. I swear it. I want to get away before something terrible happens and there’s no turning back. That’s all.”

  Silence lingered between them. Keph could hear the Selûnites off in the distance somewhere outside the shed. It sounded as if they were arguing among themselves. He didn’t have to work very hard to guess what they were arguing about.

  “Why should I believe anything you say?” asked Julith.

  “You shouldn’t, I suppose,” said Keph. “You’ve got no reason. I could be lying right now. All I can say is that I’m not. I’m sorry you had to get caught with me—because of me. I probably should have left you.”

  “You probably should have.” Julith let out a slow sigh and continued, “But it would have been a worse ride without you. If Feena could trust you, I suppose I can.” She glanced up at him. “So there are Sharrans in Yhaunn after all. Velsinore and Mifano must be wetting themselves. I guess we’d all gotten a little too complacent in …”

  Her voice fell away. A shudder ran down Keph’s back. There was something in the air, a strange feeling of being watched. Keph looked around the dim shed, but there was nothing to see, except scraps of tack and harness, a few old farm tools, and slow moving dust caught in the few beams of sunlight that fell through gaps in the plank walls to pierce the shadows.

  Shadows.

  Keph’s breath caught.

  “No!” he choked.

  The shadows deepened abruptly, as if a cloud had passed over the new-risen sun outside. The sense of being watched changed, became more intense.

  The darkness folded and gathered in on itself. When it parted again, Variance was in the shed with them, a thick cloak shrouding her dusky pale form. Her hand darted out toward Julith, amethyst ring flashing as it caught a stray beam of sunlight.

  “In Shar’s name, be still!”

  Julith stiffened, a look of surprise caught on her face. Keph gasped and drew breath, a shout of alarm already on his lips. Variance whirled and spoke a low word, flicking her fingers at him. Shadows spun out from her gesture, and coalesced into a solid form. Keph’s shout died as a chakram, the razor-edged throwing disk that was Shar’s own legendary weapon, materialized out of the darkness. The weapon stopped less t
han an inch from his throat and hung there.

  “Be silent, Keph,” ordered Variance. “Did you really think you could run from us?”

  Sweat broke out on Keph’s forehead. He could feel it trickling from his face, down his outstretched neck. He sat back slowly. The floating chakram moved with him, maintaining its position.

  “How did you find me?” he breathed. “How did you even know I’d gone?”

  “Selûne’s clergy aren’t all so faithful as the moon goddess might think,” Variance said in a low voice. “Now hold your tongue!”

  Her fingers twitched. The chakram slid forward and its cold edge kissed Keph’s throat. Variance turned away to stand over Julith.

  “Priestess of Selûne,” she murmured. Her voice took on a strange timbre, a haunting, seductive quality. The pupils of Julith’s eyes grew wide, seeming to consume all the color of her irises. “Priestess of Selûne, hear me. What you remember now is false. Let it pass from your memory. This is the truth that you will recall: that Keph Thingoleir broke free from his bonds, and that he mocked you and your faith and your foolish confidence that there could be no Sharrans in Yhaunn!”

  The lie stabbed into Keph, more painful than he could have thought. He moaned against the edge of the shadowy chakram. The power flowing off Variance raised the hairs on his skin. The dark priestess had said that Shar granted her certain powers over the minds of the weak, that Lyraene didn’t recall the full truth of their duel—was this what she had done to the half-elf?

  “Don’t listen, Julith!” he hissed “Fight her! I wouldn’t mock you!”

  But Variance’s murmur was relentless. And cruel.

  “He fooled you, priestess! Keph Thingoleir is more than he seems. He enspelled you! Beloved of Shar, he commands the darkest of forces. He tore open the shadows themselves to make his escape. And before he fled, he swore his vengeance against Moonshadow Hall. At the moment of Selûne’s weakness, Shar will lay your temple waste—he promises it! Know fear, priestess, for Shar shall come!”

  Her hands floated through the air, fingertips settling briefly against Julith’s forehead. The pitch of her voice turned harsh and commanding.

  “By the power of the Mistress of Night, this is the memory I make for you!”

  A shadow slid across Julith’s eyes.

  Keph’s heart felt as if it had stopped. Variance drew a slow breath and lifted her hands away from the priestess, then turned back to him.

  “So,” she said, her gaze as cold and as hard as her voice. “You disappoint me.”

  “Variance …” Keph gulped.

  “Be silent!” Variance snarled again.

  She reached down and clenched his hair in one fist. Keph gasped, then gasped again as a cold force wrenched him into swirling shadows.

  “Julith!” he shrieked. The priestess’s gaze didn’t even flicker. “Jul—”

  Darkness closed around him, choking his scream into silence.

  CHAPTER 13

  It was time to go. The sun would be rising. Moonshadow Hall would be stirring. Did Selûne’s faithful need to know what had happened in that cramped little room? The last dark depths of the High Moonmistress’s madness?

  Feena eased Dhauna’s frail body out of her embrace and laid her on the torn linens that covered the floor, turning her on her side and drawing her cooling limbs up into a childlike huddle. She clenched her teeth as she stood. Dhauna’s body told the comforting lie of a peaceful death, a mercy to ease the mourning of the faithful.

  The truth would be a terrible, secret burden for her to carry alone.

  Feena bolted the iron-banded door behind herself. It was reasonable to assume the spell of moonlight that had lit the infirmary had ended with Dhauna’s death. There would be no reason for anyone to guess she had been back to Moonshadow Hall.

  Outside the infirmary, she paused. The sounds of a new day were drifting through the halls of the temple. She might still be able to slip out before too many of the remaining priestess and acolytes were up and about. Against the savory scents of Idruth’s kitchen, however, she was suddenly aware of the foul smell that clung to her robe. She stank of urine and death. There would be a fresh robe in her former chamber, but in the extra minutes it would take her to retrieve it, there was also a greater chance of getting caught.

  Her fists clenched with a sudden need to be rid of the tainted garment.

  She turned and darted down a dark corridor. The mossy pillar in the kitchen garden wasn’t the only secret she remembered from her playful days as a novice and an acolyte. Exploring Moonshadow Hall’s unused passages and dusty storerooms was a rite for every child entering the temple. Beyond the infirmary, a steep, narrow ramp led up to the second floor and a series of dim rooms that smelled of mice. Beyond those rooms was an abandoned library, walls lined with empty shelves. Beyond that was a long, curved passage with dust so thick on the floor it held the footprints of countless novices—and one stealthy priestess. Feena walked quickly, the hem of her robe stirring up little clouds of dust in her wake. At the end of the curved passage was a narrow door. Feena thrust against it. Hinges squealed.

  She stepped out beneath the ramp leading up to the archives. Leaving the narrow door ajar, she trotted past the ramp and peered down the long corridor that connected the clergy’s quarters. The morning sounds of the novices’ and acolytes’ dormitories echoed from its distant end.

  Just ahead, sunlight burned a bright path across the dim corridor.

  Feena trotted up to Dhauna’s chambers and peered inside. The broken door remained where Mifano had left it, leaning against a wall. Someone had pulled open the heavy curtains that hung over the big window, though. Morning light streamed in. On Dhauna’s desk, the ancient tome that recorded the fall of the New Moon Pact shone in the sunlight, white leather gleaming like a lie. Feena looked away and darted past.

  Her former chamber was only a short way along the corridor. Its door stood open as well, though the curtains remained drawn. The torn strips she had used to bind Jhezzail were scattered on the floor. Feena stripped off her fouled robe and kicked it under the bed, then opened the wardrobe. A clean robe hung inside—right next to the silver-embroidered gown she had worn to Ammanas Aumleagarr’s garden party. She brushed the moon-pale silk regretfully before tearing her hand away. Swiftly donning the robe, she stepped back into the corridor and ran for the ramp that led down to the temple’s ground floor.

  A shadow fell across it from below. Someone was coming up.

  Feena pulled away quickly. Could she hide in her chamber? No. With the door open, anyone passing could see inside—and soon the novices and acolytes would be pouring past on their way to breakfast. Closing a door that had stood open all night would only draw attention.

  But there was a chamber nearby that had been deliberately placed so that no one passed it. Feena scrambled silently back down the corridor and ducked into the brilliance of Dhauna’s chamber. Holding her breath, she strained her ears to catch the steps of whoever was climbing—

  The wail that tore across the courtyard outside struck her like a blow.

  “She’s dead! Mother Dhauna is dead!”

  Someone had visited the infirmary. For a heartbeat there was silence, then chaos erupted as the news spread. Feena could hear shouts and screams from the dormitories, cries and exclamations from the few priestesses who had remained in the temple. She could imagine the confusion amid the heat of the kitchens—the New Moon Beneficence would suddenly become a funeral feast. For a moment, all of her own grief threatened to come crashing back yet again. Memories of Mother Dhauna in better times, wise and gentle before madness claimed her …

  Feena squeezed her eyes shut and sagged back against a wall.

  “No,” she snarled under her breath. “Enough.” No more tears. Not now.

  She reached up and clenched her hand around Selûne’s medallion, gripping it so hard that the edges of the holy symbol bit into her flesh.

  Bright Lady of Night, she prayed in silent anger,
how could you let this happen to someone who loved you?

  Her arm tensed. The chain of the medallion strained against her neck. One tug would tear the holy symbol free.…

  She forced her hand open and let it fall back to her side. Rejecting Selûne wouldn’t change what had happened. She opened her eyes. Her gaze fell on the white book on Dhauna’s desk.

  Was that how the New Moon Pact had felt as their sisters and brothers turned on them? Had they questioned Selûne, too?

  Out in the courtyard, chaos was giving way to order as elder clergy took charge of the situation. Feena couldn’t hear running or shouting anymore, but her chance to slip out of Moonshadow Hall unnoticed had passed. Whoever stood sentry at the gate would be alert. She would need to find a place to hide and wait for the right time to make her escape. She forced herself away from the wall and started to turn to the door—then stopped and turned back to the white book.

  One good thing had come of Dhauna’s madness, hadn’t it? The New Moon Pact, condemned by jealousy and lost for centuries, had been rediscovered. Feena lifted her chin, stepped forward, and scooped up the massive tome.

  If nothing else, she was going to have time to read.

  By our authority in assembly, these are the heretics who shall face Selûne’s own judgment:

  Tyver Thorndrove, called the Peacemaker, of Berdusk.

  Niree Swifthands of Elmwood.

  Brant Hallower of Candlekeep.

  Qualise Domo of Turmish.

  Rade of the Farsea Marches (died in capture).

  Enshu Venerun of Chondath (died in capture).

  By our authority, a bounty is also placed on any servants and close associates of them, and on the wolf called Halftail, companion of Niree Swifthands. They are cast out of Selûne’s grace in body and in soul. May Selûne’s face turn away so that their souls walk in darkness until the end of time.