by Tora Moon
He banged his metal goblet on the table. “Where’s the food?” he slurred. “Bring me food!”
The side door opened, and the serving staff filed into the dining hall, balancing platters of steaming food. Mendehan reached out and snatched the young serving girl walking past by her waist, pulling her to him. She shrieked and spilled the platter she carried onto his lap. Roaring in anger, he surged to his feet, and began pounding into her face and body.
Histrun and Tedehan rushed to their feet, their chairs clattering to the floor. But before either one could take a step toward Mendehan, six large, brawny men surrounded them, their hands on helstrablades and menace in their eyes. Histrun looked around the dining hall to see more men stationed around the room, all armed and all in black uniforms—the Black Guard Salloreen had mentioned.
No one else had carried weapons to the table, so they were at a disadvantage, unless they broke with tradition and fought in their warrior forms. Histrun would only consider doing so to save his life or the lives of those around him. To fight another Posair in his warrior form was the act of a rogue. Glancing around the room for help, he noticed the only fighters, including Reds, in the dining room were his and Tedehan’s people. That’s why it’s so empty in here. Where could the fighters be?
He motioned for Tedehan to sit down as he fumbled to right his chair. If Mendehan hadn’t been the Clan Alpha, he’d have been declared a rogue wolf, and no one would have followed him in his corruptions. As he watched the poor girl crumble under Mendehan’s blows, Histrun swallowed hard, vowing he would stop this atrocity, even if he had to challenge Mendehan to do it.
The next morning, Histrun paced across the floor of the room he and Zehala had been given. Zehala sat on the chair by the desk, her eyes following his motions.
“We have to do something!” Histrun clenched his fist, remembering the cowering girl.
“You heard Salloreen. No one here can challenge him. Do you want to?”
He stopped his pacing for a moment. “No. I could easily beat the mangy cur, especially in his current condition. But that isn’t what this clan needs. They need a strong leader from their own clan, not an outsider like me. We need to get word to Rodehan. From what I saw of him, he’d make a good replacement.”
“It will be a risk to whomever we send, if they even make it out of the territory. You saw those goons doing Mendehan’s bidding last night.” Zehala rubbed her face. “I still can’t believe they’d follow his madness. I’ve never heard of anyone killing people in their own clan before. It’s like their spirits have been poisoned.”
Histrun shook his head and sank onto the bed. “Neither have I, except for stories of the Great War.”
After a soft knock on their door, Tedehan and Norvela slipped into their room.
“We have to do something about Mendehan,” Tedehan said as soon as the door closed. “I can’t sit by and watch a rogue control this keep. Those are people of my clan he’s hurting!” He took Histrun’s place in pacing the room.
“I know,” Histrun agreed. “He needs to be challenged. But I don’t want to be your clan alpha.”
“No, no.” Tedehan said. “That wouldn’t work. We need a Dehanlair warrior as our alpha. I’ve talked to my people, and tonight a small squad is going to slip from the keep and head back to Dehanrolos Keep to bring Rodehan here to make the challenge.”
“No one travels after dark!” Zehala’s brows furrowed with concern. “There’s too much danger of being attacked by narhili beasts or paether.”
“They’re willing to take the risk,” Tedehan said. “It’s worth it to put an end to this madman’s control.”
“Does anyone know what happened to the Reds and warriors?” Zehala asked. “I didn’t see any at dinner last night.”
“Neither did I,” Histrun said.
“I did some asking around,” Norvela said from her perch on a clothes chest. “Thankfully, they aren’t dead. They’re being held prisoner in store rooms below the keep-house. The women’s helbraughts were confiscated, and Mendehan made sure there wasn’t anything in the rooms they could burn or use their fire magic on. Even the doors were replaced with stone. He’s ensured the fighter’s good behavior by threatening to kill their loved ones and families. He’s taken the keeps’ children hostage so no one will challenge him. He’s already killed one child to prove he’s serious.”
Histrun surged to his feet. “He’s what?”
“How could he do such a thing?” Zehala said, tears in her eyes. “How could anyone kill a child?”
“He’s depraved and mad,” Tedehan said. “It’s the only explanation.”
“Send your people out tonight,” Histrun said. “In the meantime, we need to make other plans in case they don’t make it. As a last resort, I’ll challenge the cur to end this.”
“We should talk more with Salloreen,” Norvela said. “She brought you here to help. We need her input.”
Zehala leaned against the desk. “We do. But she’s just as terrorized by Mendehan as everyone else. We came to train the fighters here in our new method, so we can at least show it to her. I doubt Mendehan will deign to appear at the practice arena. Norvela, your people could use more training anyway.” She paused, thinking, then continued. “I’m going to have our Reds practice using their magic without the aid of helbraughts. We’ve become too dependent upon them to focus our magic.”
“While you do that,” Histrun said, “I’ll wander around the keep and do some snooping. Are the children held in the crèche?”
Norvela nodded, frowning. “But there isn’t any way to get to them. The crèche is the most heavily protected place in the keep, for good reason. Though this time, it’s working against us.”
Histrun ran a hand through his hair. “Guards for the crèche, guards on the fighters, and guards to block the gates? That’s a lot of people. Surely he can’t have that many goons following along with his insanity. We have strong fighters. We should have the upper-hand in any fight.”
“Wait a minute,” Tedehan said, holding up a hand, a disturbed look in his eyes. “We can’t fight our own people.”
“You just might have to, Tedehan, to free them from this tyranny. We can try to subdue them rather than hurt or kill them. But they probably won’t give us the same courtesy. Remember, they’ve already killed several people.”
Tedehan’s shoulder’s slumped. “Too bad Mendehan doesn’t go out fighting the monsters any more. A lot of things can happen during a monster battle.”
Histrun sat up straighter. “That is an idea. Maybe I can use our rivalry, and shame him into doing his duty. Let me think about how I can do that.”
Zehala laughed. “It shouldn’t be too hard. As long as I’ve known you two, he has always resented you, and has done all he can to prove he’s better than you.”
“Ah, but I want him to fight the monsters, not me.” Histrun stood up and stretched. “It’s way past breakfast time, and my stomach’s grumbling at me that it’s empty. Keep your eyes open as we move through the keep. Perhaps we’ll see something we can use. We’ll reconvene tonight and compare notes.”
The others agreed, and together they crossed the strangely empty courtyard to the keep-house.
When they entered the communal dining hall, they were greeted by an odd quiet. No fighters sat around chatting while they waited for the next monster alarm, no children ran in to beg a snack, and no workers wandered in on their break. In all the other keeps Histrun had ever visited, the communal dining hall was always a bustling, busy place where people gathered throughout the day. He’d never seen one as empty as this.
The dour kitchen staff brought them bowls of thin gruel and weak taevo. Histrun could barely choke down the lumpy, tasteless stuff. “Do we have any travel bars left?” he whispered to Zehala.
She nodded her head.
“Good. They’re better tasting than this slop.” He dropped his spoon back into the bowl and pushed it away from him.
Zehala sighed and did th
e same thing. “Norvela, while you gather our people for training, I’ll go ask Salloreen to join us.” She stood up and strode from the dining hall, Norvela at her side.
Histrun glared at the bowl as he put a hand over his stomach. “It’s still growling. The first stop on my wanderings is my room to get a travel bar.” He pushed away from the table and stood up.
“I’d like to accompany you on your inspection,” Tedehan said. “We shouldn’t all be in the practice arena at the same time. Besides, two sets of eyes may see things that just one set misses.”
“Come along, then.” Histrun strode from the dining hall with Tedehan at his side.
* * *
Histrun’s unease grew deeper as they walked the quiet streets. He hadn’t noticed the lack of activity when he’d arrived yesterday, but then he’d been so enraged over the monster attack in the keeps’ field, he hadn’t been paying much attention. Even though Dehanlair Keep was smaller than Strunlair Keep—housing about four thousand people to Strunlair Clan Keep’s six thousand or more—the size difference didn’t explain the strange lack of activity. There should be people wandering the streets as they went about their business, vendors should be setting up in the two plazas and doing a brisk trade of their wares, and children should be romping and laughing through the crowds. But only a few people walked on the streets, their heads bowed, throwing furtive glances at Histrun and Tedehan as they passed.
On every corner stood a black-clad man watching the light foot traffic. Their hands rested on their helstrablades, their eyes glinted with hardness, and their faces wore brooding scowls. Danger oozed from them. Seeing them made Histrun glad he’d defied custom and had worn his helstrablade inside the keep. The number of Black Guards surprised him, they outnumbered his and Tedehan’s platoons.
The men glared at Histrun and Tedehan but didn’t stop them as long as they stayed on the main streets. When they tried to turn down the side street that would take them to the crèche, however, a guard stepped in front of them, blocking their way.
“This way is restricted,” he said. “Only residents and the Black Guard are allowed on this street.”
“The Black Guard?” Histrun raised an eyebrow. “Never heard of them before. What exactly is your purpose?”
The man’s scowl deepened. “We make sure Mendehan’s laws are kept.”
“What? That’s blasphemy!” Histrun shook his head. “The only laws ruling the Posairs are those of the Goddess. The White Priestesses and Clan Alphas are supposed to work together to ensure the people follow those laws—not any ‘Black Guard.’” There were few lawbreakers or criminals. Most people had enough to do to just survive the Malvers monster’s continuous onslaught. For a Clan Alpha to make their own laws was unthinkable, and yet, Mendehan was doing it.
“We’ll just be on our way,” Tedehan said, tugging on Histrun’s arm.
“Let me go!” he hissed, jerking his arm free. “This is—” Histrun stopped, noticing the guard’s drawn helstrablade. He looked the man in the eye.
“The only reason you’re still alive, old man,” the guard growled, not lowering his blade, “is because the alpha wants you for himself. Go on, get out of here.” The guard made a shooing motion.
“Yes, we’ll just be on our way.” He backed slowly away and crossed to the other side of the street.
“I can’t believe he threatened you!” Tedehan exclaimed. “You’re an alpha!”
“I didn’t think he would,” Histrun admitted. He changed course to return to the main courtyard. “We’ll have to find some other way to check on the children. But first, I want to check on the White Priestesses. I’m now worried they are in trouble too.”
Tedehan’s face blanched and his step faltered. “No … he wouldn’t harm a White Priestess!”
“If he’s hurt a child, a White Priestess isn’t much more of a step.” Histrun quickened his pace. As they neared the main courtyard, the temple bells rang, announcing afternoon services. He glanced around, expecting to see those people who could break away from their work heading to the temple. But only a group of five old people tottered across the square toward the temple. A Black Guardsman stood next to the temple’s doors, glaring as the old ones climbed the stairs. Histrun lengthened his stride, not quite running, not knowing what to expect from the Black Guard. He reached the temple a few heartbeats after the elders.
“Go home, old ones,” the guard grumbled. “You know you’re not supposed to be here.”
An old woman, her red hair faded to a pale pink, leaned on her cane, her back hunched with age. “Young man, step aside. It is my right to worship when the Goddess calls. Mendehan can’t take that away from me.”
“Please, Granny,” the guard pleaded, “I don’t want to hurt you. Go back home.”
“Now, look here, son,” a man stepped forward, his back still straight even though his once-brown hair was so pale as to be nearly colorless. “We want to attend services.”
“Please,” the first old woman said, her voice softening, “we don’t want to cause trouble. Let us go in. We look forward to hearing the priestesses sing, and at our age, we don’t have much to look forward to.”
Histrun shook with anger as he climbed the last stair. No one had the right to deny a citizen the right to attend worship services. He made his way around the group of elders to stand in front of them, his hands on his hips—and near his helstrablade.
He exchanged glares with the guard. “I don’t know what has been taught here in Dehanlair Keep, but where I come from, no one can prevent anyone from attending services. It is our divine right to commune with the Goddess, and no one”—he shook a finger at the young man, and his voice took on a growling tone—“no one can take that away. Step aside and let these people enter.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then we will go through you.” Histrun raked him with his eyes. “How fast can you shift, youngster? Because I can shift and tear out your throat before you can blink.”
“But … Mendehan—”
“Mendehan, nothing! I’m not afraid of him. Whatever he thinks he can do to me, you’d still be dead. So, what will it be?” Histrun growled, the sound more warrior than man. He lifted a hand, which was now a warrior’s paw, his claws glistening with venom. He’d never threatened another Posair before, but this situation was unlike anything he’d experienced in his long life.
The young man gulped, his face losing color. “Sorry, sir,” he stammered, as he stepped away from the door. “Please, go right in.”
Histrun stepped in front of the guard, maintaining his partial shift. With his other hand, he beckoned for the group to enter the temple. After the last person walked through the door, he released the magic and placed his hand on the guard’s forearm. Looking him in the eye and lowering his voice, he said, “I don’t know what Mendehan has promised you or threatened you with, but you know this is wrong. Grow a backbone and do what’s right. You don’t have to be afraid any longer. Help us overthrow him.”
The young man lowered his eyes, and nodded slightly. Histrun let him go, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake. He slowly entered the temple.
The dim interior welcomed him after the brightness outside. The familiar scent of kehani flowers and frankincense wrapped around him, easing his mind and soul. He took a deep breath and consciously let go of the altercation with the guard and the issues with Mendehan.
The small group of elders had already gathered by the front altar, where a White Priestess quietly lit candles and another laid fresh flowers on the altar. Histrun paused as he debated which aspect of the Goddess he needed to connect to the most. The Mother’s fierce protectiveness appealed to him as he strove to defend the innocents of this keep. He took a step toward the table under the Mother mural filled with unlit votive candles. Then his gaze swept over the Crone’s mural, pausing on the scene of the Crone’s judgment fires. Yes, Mendehan and this keep needs Her purifying fires to erase the evil that pervades this place.
Histrun c
hanged direction, and went instead to the Crone’s table. As he chose a votive candle from the selection, he glanced up at the Crone’s eyes, and remembered Her other aspects: wisdom, patience, and love. He bowed his head at the reminder to temper whatever he did to right the wrongs Mendehan had committed with the same qualities.
He approached the main altar and reverently placed the votive offering on it. An eight-pointed star had been carved in the center, each point inlaid with tiny glass tiles in the color representing one of the eight Talents. The symbol for each Talent had been wrought in gold and placed on the tip of each star-point. When everyone had placed their offering on the table, the White Priestesses began the ceremony.
Histrun relaxed, letting the sacred words wash over him. His thoughts returned to the Crone’s judgment as he contemplated what could be done to stop Mendehan’s madness. A plan started to tickle his mind, but before it could completely coalesce, the ceremony concluded, pulling him out of his meditation. Keeping his eyes closed, he frowned, trying to hold onto the thought, but it trickled away. With a huff, he opened his eyes and found the others had moved away from the altar. Only the head priestess and he remained.
“I sense you are troubled,” she said, her turquoise-blue eyes were filled with compassion. “Are you Histrun de Strunlair?”
“Yes, Priestess, to both. Everything I see in this keep distresses me, but I’m unsure how I can help.”
The priestess glanced toward the elders still in the temple sanctuary. “Walk with me.”
Histrun joined her as she ambled toward the door in the rear of the sanctuary. Her long, silvery-white hair peeked from under her white veil.
“I’m Wylara,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you. The Goddess showed me our salvation would come from outside our clan.”
“What happened to Mendehan? He’s always been a stubborn fool, but nothing like this.”
She ushered him through the door, down a short corridor, and into a small parlor. A two-seater white couch and two winged-backed chairs surrounded a low table that held a pot of steaming taevo and two cups. As Wylara settled on the couch, Histrun poured each of them a cup of taevo. He handed her one, then sat on a chair.
