“You asked me another question,” Feena said. “If you’re a traitor, why does Selûne still answer your prayers?”
“Do you have a homespun answer to that too?” asked Velsinore. She stalked around the cauldron, but Feena just moved with her. “Let’s hear it.”
“Selûne answers your prayers so that you know her power and never forget that she’s there for you. She answers your prayers so that one day you will come back to her.”
Velsinore’s hands slid to one end of the rod and she swept it out in a wide, flat arc. Feena ducked down and let it hum over her head. Thrusting her weight against the cauldron, she sent the huge pot screeching across the floor. Velsinore gasped and stumbled back. The iron rod went flying from her hands to ring against a distant wall.
Feena darted out. Velsinore had already recovered her balance and stood ready for her. They crouched, circling each other like animals.
“Here’s a question for you, Velsinore,” Feena said. “If the Sharrans are suddenly your friends and allies, what’s going to happen to you when they attack Moonshadow Hall?”
“They won’t attack. They’re too weak, and Bolan is a coward.”
“Bolan doesn’t lead them any more in anything but name,” Feena reminded her. “Variance does and if she’s been manipulating us, she’s been manipulating them.”
Velsinore’s face flushed red. “You’re lying,” she spat.
“You’ve deluded yourself.” Feena stopped and took a slow step back from Velsinore. “Come back to Selûne. You’re wrong, but we all mistakes. Find your faith again and—”
“I’m not the one who’s wrong and I haven’t lost my faith! I never left Selûne, you mangy dog!” Her eyes flashed and the fingers of one hand curled into a sign. “By the Moonmaiden’s light,” she howled, “let your hidden spirit be revealed!”
When Mother Dhauna had spoken the prayer, Feena had been caught off guard by the attack of a beloved friend—but she had been facing a friend. As silver light shot out from between Velsinore’s fingers, Feena threw herself away across the floor. Face grim, Velsinore swept the light to follow her. On a long counter, polished pieces of silver plate had been laid out in preparation for a feast that would never happen. Feena hurled herself into the shadow of the counter just as distant shouts of alarm and confusion came echoing through the corridors and into the kitchen.
“… dark mist! There’s a cloud of dark mist on the west side of the temple!”
“Take positions. Get the novices to safety. Someone summon the guard!”
“There’s still a crowd outside the gates!”
“Do you hear that, Velsinore?” Feena shouted over the top of the counter. “That’s your friends coming. That’s the Sharrans attacking!”
“Focus, Feena,” Velsinore replied. “You’ve never had focus. The Sharrans aren’t fighting me right now. You are.”
The bright moonbeam of Velsinore’s spell wavered overhead as she slid closer to the counter. Feena watched the shadows dance and drew a deep breath.
“Moonmaiden guide me,” she murmured.
She leaped to her feet. Moonlight washed over her, stirring the wolf within and trying to force her body to transform. Teeth clenched, she fought back the transformation as she snatched up a big silver platter from the counter and held it up like a shield.
Reflected moonlight flashed back at Velsinore.
Magic intended to affect a lycanthrope had no effect on her, but the sudden reflection of light was dazzling. Velsinore’s free hand shot up to block it and she glanced away out of instinct. In that brief moment, Feena jumped up on the counter and leaped at her with an angry shout.
“Selûne!”
Velsinore gasped and tried to duck, but she wasn’t fast enough. Feena’s arm caught her around the chest. The two priestesses slammed to the floor, locked in struggle. Moonlight winked out. Feena managed to get an arm around Velsinore’s neck in a chokehold, but Velsinore slid her arms free. One hand scrabbled for her medallion. Feena growled and snatched at it.
Too late. Velsinore’s fingers closed.
“May Selûne’s touch turn against you!” she gasped with her last breath.
Her arm snapped up, slapping the hard metal of the medallion against Feena’s neck just at her shoulder.
Feena screamed as pain split her flesh. Under her robe, she could feel wounds opening, gushing blood. The magic tore into her, sinking deep into her flesh. Something ripped inside her chest. Her grip on Velsinore loosened. The traitorous priestess started to slip free.
Feena clenched her teeth and tightened her hold, clawing with her other hand for a new grasp on Velsinore’s head.
“By my faith and for Mother Dhauna,” she gasped, “Bright Lady of the Night give strength to my arms!”
The prayer hadn’t even left her mouth before Selûne’s power descended on her. For just a moment, it seemed that she was whole and uninjured. Magic thundered in her muscles. With a wild cry, she jerked them tight.
Velsinore’s head wrenched around and her neck snapped with a loud crack. Her body shuddered once, then went limp.
Heresy died.
Feena clutched a dead weight in her arms. She pushed Velsinore away. The effort sent new pain ripping through her. Feena choked and toppled onto her back. Velsinore’s final twisted curse had done something awful inside her. A cough wracked her and she could feel warm blood spatter across her lips. The borrowed strength of the goddess was already slipping away. Like a dream in the distance, she could hear the frightened shouts of Moonshadow Hall—and a sudden fierce cry: the charge of Shar’s cult.
Moonshadow Hall needed her, if not as High Moonmistress, then at least as a warrior. She tried to move her arm, to reach for Selûne’s medallion. She tried to force the words of a prayer—Bright Lady of the Night, lay your touch upon me!—out of her throat.
Her arm didn’t move. Her prayer drowned in blood.
CHAPTER 16
Keph ran through streets that seemed darker than he had ever known them. Was it just his imagination or was it some foul magic of Variance’s? Did Shar’s gaze rest upon Yhaunn? He could almost believe it did. He could almost believe he had brought disaster down on the entire city.
Sweat streamed from his forehead, catching in his eyebrows and dripping into his eyes. It poured down his back. His shirt was plastered to his skin. His breath came in huge, thick gasps. It felt as though his chest was ready to rip itself apart; cramps cut into his sides. Anyone who glimpsed him must have thought he’d gone mad.
He didn’t dare to stop or even to slow down. Variance had studied him, and his family, too well. The attack of the shadow mastiffs on the Stiltways would be too much for the city guard to handle, especially combined with an attack on Moonshadow Hall. Faced with a threat to the city, Strasus Thingoleir wouldn’t even hesitate before throwing himself and his entire family into the fight.
It didn’t seem possible for his knotted guts to twist any tighter, but Keph could feel them clench with the hollow, watery feeling of new fear. The wizards of Fourstaves House would save many lives in the Stiltways. He knew that. They would drive the black dogs back—but not without risk to themselves. A vision of monstrous Rax flitted through Keph’s mind. If Strasus, Dagnalla, Malia, Krin, or Roderio was hurt or killed because of what he’d caused.…
But he couldn’t leave Jarull in Variance’s grasp either. His family had a chance at least. They were powerful. They had magic. Jarull was already a prisoner, mad and tortured solely because Variance had needed something to hold over Keph’s head.
He choked and tried to run a little faster. You idiot, he cursed himself, you stupid, stupid idiot!
The first deadly howls drifted over Yhaunn from the Stiltways as Keph tore around a corner and sprinted across the small courtyard toward Fourstaves House. The three stone dogs at the door growled and bristled at his sudden approach—Keph didn’t think he had ever been so happy to see them. Compared to the shadow mastiffs, they were like puppies! He thrust
his hands out for them to smell, but kept moving, reaching for the door before the guardians had fully taken his scent. One of them snapped at him. Keph froze, his chest heaving.
“Hurry!” he implored the stone animals. “Hurry!”
It took only a moment before the dogs relaxed. It seemed like forever. He pushed the door open. The entrance hall was empty, but Fourstaves House was alive with shouts and commotion. Up in the family wing and down along the warded corridor of workshops, doors were banging as the Thingoleir wizards prepared for battle. Keph darted across the hall and threw himself into the shadows of a parlor. Pressed up against a wall, he tried to stifle his panting gasps.
Scant thundering heartbeats later, he heard Strasus’s voice call, “Are we ready?” A small chorus answered him in the affirmative. “Then may Mystra ride with us!”
Keph held his breath as footsteps raced down the grand staircase and across the entrance hall. The door opened—outside, the stone dogs whined in greeting at their master—and closed again. Keph released his breath, slid over to a window, and twitched aside a heavy curtain. Out in the courtyard, Strasus held out his hand and spoke a word of magic. Mist and faint glimmers of light swirled into the form of a silver-gray horse. Dagnalla cast the same spell and the two elder wizards mounted while their children and son-in-law worked magic of their own and rose up into the air.
Strasus urged his phantom horse around to face the mansion. In the window Keph froze, but his father just raised his staff and uttered another magical word—and a command: “Let none enter!”
For an instant, green light shone bright enough to illuminate the courtyard. Lines of magic laced across the window in front of Keph’s face then faded—a new ward. He swallowed. Strasus touched heels to his mount’s side and pulled on shadowy reins. The apparition reared silently and began to gallop up into the night as if climbing a hill. Dagnalla rode at his side, with Malia, Roderio, and Krin soaring around them both.
The five wizards of Fourstaves House raced off like heroes. Keph turned away from the window and slunk back out into the entrance hall.
Halfway across the hall, an underbutler stopped, startled. “Sir!” he said in surprise. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
The man’s eyes were wide. Keph realized what he must look like—but then again, he’d come home more than once looking much worse. He forced back a grimace and feigned a lazy, drunken sneer.
“I was asleep in the parlor until all the racket happened.” He strutted across the hall and turned up the staircase. “If anyone asks, do me a favor and tell them you haven’t seen me.”
The underbutler swallowed and said, “Sir, your father did leave instructions for all of us—the next time we saw you, we were to tell you that he would like to have a word with you at your convenience.”
“Did he?” Keph turned to look back at the servant. An angry retort started to roll off his lips out of pure habit. “Well, you can tell the old man that—” he caught himself and bit his tongue—“you can tell him that I send him my respect.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me,” Keph growled. “Now don’t you have something to do? Be about your duties!”
Keph leaped up the stairs two at a time without looking back. It would look strange if he were to turn down the north hall toward Strasus’s study. At the top of the stairs, he turned south instead, toward the family quarters. As soon as he was out of sight of the stairs, however, he stopped and sagged against the wall. Too close, he thought. That was all too close. He closed his eyes for a moment. His limbs were shaking and weak after his run, but he couldn’t stop yet.
Forcing his eyes open, he creeped back out to the end of the corridor and looked down over the entrance hall. The underbutler was gone. Keph darted across to the north corridor. Once again, wards brushed against him like spiderwebs as he passed under the archway. He shuddered at their touch.
The floor outside Roderio’s laboratory was still stained. Keph looked away and hurried on down the corridor’s length, passing other doors: Malia’s laboratory, shared with Krin; Dagnalla’s workroom; the arcane library shared by all of the wizards; and at the end of the hall, Strasus’s study. Keph stopped in front of the study door. When was the last time he’d entered the study? Years ago. Had he ever tried to enter when Strasus wasn’t there? He couldn’t recall. He didn’t think so. But Roderio and Malia did it all the time. Taking a deep breath, he reached down and squeezed the door’s ornate latch.
It was locked by a plain mechanical lock. He could feel the metal bolt clicking and pulling with each squeeze of the latch. Keph’s lips twitched. So much panic, only to be stopped by a humble lock? He groaned and slapped at the wood of the door in frustration.
Something seemed to crawl across his hand. The latch appeared to shift slightly.
Keph started, pulling his hand away. The crawling sensation vanished and the latch stiffened once more. He frowned at the wood, then slowly pressed his hand back against it. The strange sensation returned, playing over his hand like a dog snuffling at his scent. Keph’s breath hissed. He kept his hand in place. Another ward? The answer came in a heartbeat as the latch gave way to his grasp. The crawling sensation disappeared.
It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Cautious, Keph pushed open the door.
On a perch just inside the study, a strange bird croaked and stirred, turning its head to look at him.
He froze. It was no bird. Its feathers were burnished copper, its head and wings cast to resemble a stylized hawk. Its eyes were fashioned from chips of sapphire—exactly the same glittering blue as the sapphire that decorated Quick’s hilt.
The copper hawk had something else in common with Quick, too. Still staring at Keph, it rattled its wings. Sparks flashed between the thin metal plates of its feathers.
“Oh, Beshaba’s ivory arms,” Keph cursed.
The stone, mortar, and wood of Moonshadow Hall tickled at Feena as she rose slowly up through the temple’s structure. For a long moment, it seemed as if she were everywhere within the old walls all at once. She stood among frightened novices as elderly priestesses tried to calm them in spite of being terrified themselves. She stood within the gates as younger priestesses and priests gripped maces in preparation for battle. She stood above the gates as acolytes rang alarm bells to alert the city guard to danger. She passed through the infirmary where Chandri spoke desperate prayers of healing over Mifano. She passed through the archives, through dusty storerooms, and through the cold vaults and crypts that lay beneath the temple.
And as soon as she wondered at the wash of impressions and the miraculous vision, she realized what was happening.
Moonmaiden’s grace, she cursed, I’m dead!
“Feena! Feena!”
Julith’s voice. Where was she? Feena tried to call out, to turn around and find the younger priestess. There wasn’t time. Suddenly, irresistibly, she was outside of Moonshadow Hall and gazing down upon it.
Clergy crawled around the ring of the temple roof. Moonshadow Hall had known nothing but peace for generations, but abruptly Feena could see that it had once been intended as a solidly defensible building. The walkway that circled the roof was protected by parapets. Above the false, decorative gates that marked the outer walls, guardhouses stood out, additional protection for defenders. The temple’s original windows faced only inward—attackers would have to storm the main gates or climb the high, smooth walls to gain entrance.
At least they would have centuries ago. Generations of alterations had weakened Selûne’s temple. The wall of the kitchen garden looped away from the temple like a bubble. The slope of the winter chapel’s roof was a ramp reaching almost to the top of the walls. A bold attacker could cross the gap with a leap. Here and there, windows had been forced through the outer wall. Guardhouses and parapets crumbled in disrepair. Mifano and Velsinore had been the only leaders of Moonshadow Hall to dismiss the Sharran threat, it seemed!
To the west of the temple, she could see the lingering cl
oud of dark mist that screams had described as she had struggled with Velsinore. A few of Selûne’s clerics still looked out that way, but more were racing around the roofs to take positions on the east and south as figures broke from shadows to surge around the temple walls. Feena drew a sharp breath. The mist had been a trick to draw attention from the real attack. On the east the figures had grappling hooks to attack the walls. On the south, outside the gates, they had an easier target: the mob of poor who had gathered to demand a share of the New Moon Beneficence were fleeing or falling before the screaming Sharrans. Selûne’s priestesses had tried to get some of the poor inside the protection of the temple. Now they struggled to close the gates against the rush of Sharrans!
There were more than just humans among the cultists, too. Feena could see some kind of beasts loping alongside them. Wolves? No, huge dogs—but not natural animals at all. Creatures summoned by dark magic. Feena growled under her breath. Cyrume, the cultist in the Stiltways—had his body been ravaged by one of those beasts in order to frame her? She struggled to turn her head, trying to see more.
Shadows crawled up the roof of the winter chapel toward the top of the walls. The Sharrans had found Moonshadow Hall’s weakness. Feena tried to call out a warning to Selûne’s defenders.
Nothing happened. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. She just kept rising, higher and higher above Moonshadow Hall, up toward a full moon that hung bigger, brighter, and more beautiful than any she had ever seen in her life.
A blue-haired woman stood in the air before her, soft wings beating slowly at her back, arms outstretched in welcome though her eyes seemed to hold immeasurable sorrow. Feena recognized her from legends and from the tall relief that stood against Moonshadow Hall’s pale walls—one of the seven Shards, Selûne’s greatest servants. The Shard smiled softly, sadly, and beckoned to her.
Fear sharper than pain stabbed through Feena.
Mistress of the Night Page 27
