No, she whimpered silently. No, I can’t. I won’t. I’m needed!
“Feena! Feena!” Julith’s voice called again, growing distant.
Closer—much closer—there was a growl. A chorus of growls, like a pack of wolves at her back.
No, like a Pact. Feena was aware of Niree Swifthands’s lean gray form to one side of her and Rade’s black bulk to the other. More animal voices rose behind her. Tyver Thorndrove’s human voice rang out in triumph above them all.
“She denies death, Shard! There is still hope. She denies death!”
The Shard’s beckoning gestured slowed, then stopped. Her arm fell back to her side and her eyes … her eyes shone with joy.
She faded from the sky and the glorious full moon faded along with her. Darkness fell.
A darkness that surged with whispers. Feena stared into it. Selûne’s warning? That couldn’t be right. The New Moon Heresy was dead once more, killed along with Velsinore. The New Moon Pact had been rediscovered. What more was there?
She found her voice and called, “Tyver!”
The Peacemaker was crouched in front of her. “Feena! Feena, listen to me! The Pact—”
“The darkness, Tyver!” Feena screamed at him. “What is it? I still don’t understand what Selûne wants of me!”
“There are things that should not be understood. There are things that must not be spoken. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do,” Tyver said, then he reached down and grasped her shoulders. “Feena, if you would deny death for Selûne’s service, enter the Pact!”
“Tyver, I don’t—”
“The Pact, Feena!” Tyver shook her hard. “Enter the waters of the moon—”
“Feena!” shouted Julith.
Feena coughed. Blood sprayed out of her throat and she gulped air. Close by, Julith gasped. Feena groaned and opened her eyes. She was still on the floor of the kitchen, though Julith had her sitting up, her hands on Feena’s shoulders. The young priestess’s symbol of Selûne dangled around her neck. Feena could feel the fading remnants of healing magic coursing through her body—but too little and very nearly too late. Blood had spread in a pool around her. Her head felt light.
She didn’t have long. She could feel it.
“Oh, Feena,” Julith said. “What did Velsinore do to you?”
“The attack?” slurred Feena. Speaking hurt. “What’s happening?”
“We’re holding the Sharrans off,” said Julith, “but just barely. They tried to climb the winter chapel and—”
“I know.” She shook her head at Julith’s look of amazement. “You stopped them?” Julith nodded and Feena grunted. “Good. The book of the New Moon Pact. Where is it?”
“I—” Under smears of blood, Julith’s face went pale. “I dropped it in the courtyard!”
Enter the waters of the moon—Selûne’s sacred pool.
“Take me there.” She got a hand onto Julith’s shoulder and tried to stand. The effort sent a wave of pain through her. Julith hissed and caught her as she fell backward.
“You need more healing than I can give you,” Julith said. “We need to get you to—”
Feena opened her mouth and spat out more blood. “Get me to the courtyard!” she choked.
“Nice bird,” said Keph. “Pretty bird.”
The copper falcon cocked its head. Keph stretched out a hand as if the wondrous construct might somehow catch his scent. Why not? It worked for the stone dogs at the door of Fourstaves House. It had seemed to work with the creeping ward on the study door. He held his breath, praying that his luck would hold out and that the falcon would let him pass as well.
The metal bird leaned forward. Keph stepped through the door and into the study, moving a little closer. “Good bird,” he murmured. “Good bird …”
Whether he had moved too close or too fast, he couldn’t tell, but the bird pulled back, its wings spread wide. Keph could see the blue sparks that danced along them and his nose caught the sharp smell of lightning. He froze but the bird didn’t relax. He stretched his hand out a little farther.
The bird’s wings snapped down and its body stiffened as its hooked beak opened and vomited a thin, crackling stream of lightning at him. Keph felt the energy crack into his outstretched fingertips and writhe up his arm. He snatched his burning hand back with a yelp, shaking it against the sudden sharp pain.
“Ow! Beshaba’s—”
The copper falcon stiffened again, wings out then down. Keph danced aside just in time as lightning arced down to the floor where he’d been standing. The falcon’s head swiveled, following him. Its wings pumped again. Keph stifled a curse and dodged back. Another stream of lightning crackled across the study, then another.
A long arc caught his leg. Keph choked on another yelp and hopped frantically. He needed cover against the metal guardian, but unfortunately there was none. Strasus’s study was open, with bookshelves back against the walls and three tall tables too high to hide behind and too solid to consider tipping over—if he’d been able to reach them. The falcon spat its lightning with disturbing efficiency, keeping him boxed in by the door as if to give him the option of retreat.
Except that retreat wasn’t an option. At least not yet. He needed the slate tiles. If he could find them, maybe he could get past the falcon, grab them, and get out again. Keph scanned the tables and shelves as more lightning chased him back across the room. Books, strange figures, talismans, fetishes from distant lands, scrolls, a pile of crumbling leather, a rust-eaten sword, a heap of odd coins …
Coins. The conversation he’d overheard around the breakfast table came back to him. Krin had described coins that had been found with the tiles. On the same table as the coins, the ancient leather, and the rusty sword, a big piece of gray silk covered something flat and thick.
The tiles?
Keph clenched his teeth and hurled himself toward the table, straight past the copper falcon’s perch.
The bird let out a screech and flung its wings wide. Lightning flashed in a crackling burst that seemed to hit Keph from every angle at once, lifting him off his feet even as it knocked him across the floor to crash into tall stools set before one of the other tables. Brilliant flashes lit his vision—for a moment it seemed as if he couldn’t close his eyes. His hair stood on end. The sweat that had soaked his clothes puffed away into rank steam.
The falcon’s eyes, glowing bright blue, were fixed on him. Keph ground his teeth. He couldn’t hide from the bird. He couldn’t get past it. How was he supposed to deal with something that was faster than he was?
The same way Lyraene and the Sharrans had dealt with Quick: brute force. Attack the weapon, not the wielder. His hand closed on the leg of one of the stools. It was good, heavy wood. The seat of the stool was even heavier.
Keph surged to his feet and charged at the falcon, stool raised.
Lightning crashed against him, another thin, stinging stream. Keph sucked in his breath at the pain, but didn’t stop. The falcon screeched again, spreading its wings. Before it could unleash another powerful burst, he twisted around and swung the stool with all of his strength and weight.
The heavy wood smashed into the bird with a crunch and swept it off its perch. It hurtled across the room to crash against the far wall with a metallic clatter. Keph darted after it. One wing bent back, its entire side bashed in, the thing lay on its back, struggling to right itself. Lightning crackled in wild arcs across its battered copper feathers. Keph spun the stool around in his grip. Holding it upside-down by two legs, he drove the broad wooden seat down against the construct.
Metal crumpled and screeched. He hit the bird again. Blue sparks spurted out in a final cascade. Keph lifted the stool and peered underneath. The falcon lay against the floor like a broken toy. It wasn’t moving.
Keph dropped the stool and staggered to the table with the coins and the silk-swathed object. He reached out and twitched the silk aside.
Shouts and screams echoed through Moonshadow Hall as Feena
, most of her weight on Julith’s shoulders, stumbled out into the cloisters. An acolyte racing through the cloisters nearly ran them down.
“What news?” Julith asked.
“There’s no sign of the guard yet,” the girl replied, gasping for breath. Her voice was very nearly hysterical. “There’s something happening over in the Stiltways!”
“A distraction,” groaned Feena with dreadful certainty. The guard would go there first, trusting thick walls and Selûne’s might to give Moonshadow Hall a chance to hold out on its own for a time. “No help from the guard.”
“Carry that message, girl!” Julith said. “We must have faith in Selûne. Let all her servants hold their ground.”
The acolyte plunged on along the cloisters. Julith twisted her head around and Feena caught fear in her eyes.
“Are you sure about this, Feena?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Feena.
Her head was swimming. Her vision was blurred and fading. Her legs felt numb, cold, and heavy. She knew that if she looked back the way she and Julith had come—if she’d been able to look back—she would have seen a steady trail of bright red blood. She needed more than healing. Tyver had given her a clue.
“Do you know what will happen?” whispered Julith.
Feena managed a grin and said, “No.”
A shudder wracked her. She didn’t even have the strength to cough anymore. Her throat felt like it was filling with blood again. Julith turned away, her face grim.
“Ready, then?” she asked. “Last few paces.”
Feena’s heart fluttered with agony as they staggered together across the cloister and through the gate of the waning crescent. Moonlight, the last of her spell, still sparkled on the grass of the courtyard. More light winked in and out above, conjured by Selûnites only to be blotted out by shadows called by the Sharrans—by Variance or Bolan.
Feena could make out arrows and stones littering the ground. At least some of the Sharrans’ attacks had reached over the temple walls. The sacred space of the courtyard was empty of other people, though—Moonshadow Hall’s defenders had other places to be.
The book of the New Moon Pact lay close to the blood-darkened grass where Mifano had fallen. Had Chandri’s prayers rescued the silver-haired priest? Feena couldn’t ask the question.
“Hurry, Julith,” she breathed. She tried to point to the pool, but her free arm just flailed loosely. “Beside the pool.”
The dark-haired priestess dragged her over and lowered her down beside the ancient stone wall around the pool, then raced to snatch up the abandoned book.
“What now, Feena?” she asked.
Feena prayed that her next guess was correct. “The first page,” she rasped. “There’s a rite …”
Julith opened the book and scanned the page. Stepping into the brightest of the light that shone from above, she raised the ancient text and read aloud.
“What time has consumed, not even gods can recall, but know this—these words were spoken by those who first made pact with the Moonmaiden, just as they were spoken by the last. This is the sacred rite of the New Moon.” Her voice rose. “Selûne, Moonmaiden, Silver Lady of the Night, hear me!”
“Hear me …” echoed Feena. The words were weak and faltering. She reached up and groped for the stone wall, dragging herself upright with trembling arms. “Selûne,” she prayed with all the strength she could force out of her battered body, “Moonmaiden, Silver Lady of the Night, hear me!”
“I have roamed in darkness—”
“I have roamed in darkness,” repeated Feena. The words tore at her throat, but she forced them out anyway, speaking them as Julith read from the book.
“Shadows hold no fear for me. Under your light I have run the moon’s road. I have known your bright faces: joy, strength, and wisdom. For your sake, I have held death itself at bay, but the Ancient Knight is swift—”
Up on the rooftops, there was a wail of pain. It ended sharply. Outside, Sharrans cheered. There was a hiss and patter like rain as arrows came falling out of the sky. Shouts from above heralded the reaction of Selûne’s faithful. Slings hummed and the shower of arrows came to an abrupt end. Julith’s voice broke and she huddled down, but kept reading.
“—and I must be swifter!”
The hair on Feena’s neck rose. Under the blood that stiffened her robes and caked her arms, she could feel her skin tingling. She heaved with weakened arms and numbed legs. The words were the oath of a warrior and she would not speak them sitting down. Bracing herself against the stones of the wall, she rose into a crouch. Her head spun, but she stayed up and the words poured out of her.
“By blood spilled, by my faith, give me your blessing and I shall be yours. I will strike down your enemies. I will be your claws and your teeth. Where darkness lies, I will be the unseen shield that defends the children of both sun and moon. Where they have fallen, I will make silent vengeance that no more shall follow. Where shadow gathers, I will be the secret light that turns it aside.”
She heard dull thunder and desperate screams. The Sharrans had turned some kind of battering ram against Moonshadow Hall’s gates. Julith faltered, her voice almost fading away, but it seemed to Feena that she could hear the words of the oath in her heart, as if she had always known them both as a woman and as a wolf. She lifted her arm, reaching up toward the dark, shrouded sky. Her legs straightened. For a moment, she stood tall, ignoring the pain that stroked up and down her spine and the crippling ache that throbbed in her head.
“Selûne, make pact with me for I have seen your hidden face! Between light and light, the new moon guards the night! Selûne, make—”
Her vision faded. Her balance pitched.
“—pact—”
“Feena!” screamed Julith.
She caught her breath, struggled to force the last words out: “—with—”
She was falling. She twisted, trying to find her balance once more, but something pushed at her legs—the ancient stone wall—and she toppled over. Cool water closed around her. Air burst out of her tortured lungs and Feena choked on water. Her throat burned. One last bubble of air pushed through her mouth. Her lips shaped it with dreamlike hesitation.
“—me.”
Black as Shar’s own darkness. A double handspan wide and high. As thick as four fingers held together. Tiles of slate as thin as fine porcelain and marked on the front with silver writing that Keph’s mind refused to recognize. Hinged like a book, Variance had said, but in truth not so much hinged as caught along one side in an arrangement of silver rods and clasps that bore a resemblance to both a cage and the setting of an elaborate piece of jewelry.
Keph stared at the book. No wonder it had so completely fascinated his father. No wonder Variance should want it. He swallowed.
“Guide me through this, Selûne,” he muttered, “and you have my service!”
He reached down and picked up the book.
The instant his fingers closed on the slates, a dark force pulsed through him like a dragon’s roar.
Variance gasped and staggered as the call that had tugged at her for more than a month faded. Bolan whirled.
“Mother Night, are you well?”
“Better,” Variance breathed. Keph had The Leaves of One Night. She called out to the nearest shadow mastiff. “Seek the man who stood with me when I summoned you,” she commanded the creature, pointing in the direction of Fourstaves House. “That way. Escort him to me!”
The beast growled and loped off. Variance drew a deep breath.
“Now, Bolan,” she said, “we unleash our worst.” She reached to her side and drew her chakram from her belt. “Mistress of the Night,” she called, thrusting it high, “drive ice into the hearts of your faithful and let Moonshadow Hall be brought low!”
All around her, shadow mastiffs lifted their savage muzzles and let out a howl as terrible as night itself.
CHAPTER 17
The force within the black slates hammered at Keph like pounding wave
s driven before a storm. He gasped and staggered—but didn’t let go. Strasus hadn’t described the dark force and Keph knew his father would have! The old man thought of the book as some curiosity, some ancient artifact and nothing more.
“I spoke no lie when I said you had the potential to become one of Shar’s priests,” Variance had said. Was the power of the book something that reacted only to the potential of divine magic? Was it possible that even a wizard as powerful in the Art as Strasus Thingoleir had not felt the tide of darkness?
There were whispers within the darkness as well: slow, low, and powerful. He felt like he could almost make out the words within them—almost, but not quite. He strained and tried to catch what the whispers were saying. They swirled around him, a whirlpool that threatened to pull him under, to swallow him whole …
Almost like Variance’s attempt to alter his memories. He clenched his teeth and thrust back against the whispers just as he had thrust back against the dark priestess.
“Get out!” he hissed. “Get out! I’m not listening to you!”
The force surged. It probed. He flung it back with all the strength of his will.
It retreated. Keph stood still and stared down at the book. It seemed heavier in his hands. His breath came in short gulps once more.
Another questing tendril of force caressed the edges of his mind. He slapped it away, then turned and stumbled out of Strasus’s study. Carrying the book was like carrying a tub of water, a weight that shifted constantly and threatened to splash free at any time. Keph held it as close as he dared and made his way slowly back down the corridor of the north wing. He could feel the wards again. Instead of tugging at him, though, it was almost as if they brushed against him then shrank back like hair singed by a candle flame. Whispers swirled.
“No,” he growled.
“Master Keph!”
Halfway up the grand staircase, the underbutler he’d encountered before stood and stared at him. There were other servants too, all in various stages of preparing for bed. Down in the entrance hall, the head butler, dressed in a night robe, was just emerging from the passage that led back to the servants’ quarters. Some of the men were armed with knives and short swords. All of the servants were staring at him. Keph froze.
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