Mistress of the Night (10 page)

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 blunt-ness 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 Selune," she said, using Mifa-no'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 Selune, 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 Selune'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? Selune 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. Tve spoken within the holy confines of Moonshadow Hall—and you doubt me?"

Selune 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 Selune'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 Selune 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. "Selune 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 is 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...?"

"Sehinites," said Jarull. Keph blinked at him again.

"Followers of Selune?" In spite of his horror, he felt his mouth twitch almost into a smile. "That can't be right. I know Sehinites 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 Selunite werewolves that killed him, can they...?"

He touched his nose. Keph didn't think he had to ask the obvious question. If the Sehinites 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?

Jarull grunted and shook his head. "They can't sniff out Sharrans," he said. "You don't have to worry about that. Cyrume was on the goddess's business. The Selunites ripped him apart to stop him." He spat into the dust. "They didn't have to. They could probably have just taken him to the guard. But they killed him." He squinted, glaring at Keph through narrowed eyes. "Never trust a Selunite, Keph."

Keph nodded slowly.

"What now?" he asked. "Will you have some kind of memorial?"

Jarull shrugged and said, "I don't know. Maybe. I haven't been part of the cult that long." He twisted

around and rose to his feet. "Come with me. I sent you that note because there's someone who wants to meet you."

"Who?" Keph stood as well.

"Bolan."

Keph drew a sharp breath and dashed after Jarull. Of the big man's Sharran friends, there was one name Keph hadn't forgotten, even if he hadn't yet seen a face to place with it. Bolan was the closest thing to a high priest that the followers of Shar in Yhaunn had, the leader of their secretive cult.

And Bolan, Keph had quickly gathered, didn't meet with just anybody.

Jarull set a brisk pace through the heat of the afternoon. Though they stuck to the relative cool of the shadows, Keph was sweating heavily before long. Jarull, however, barely seemed to notice the heat at all. Not a drop of sweat stood out on his pale skin. When Keph suggested a break in a nearby cellar tavern, a respite from the heat, the big man barely gave him a glance.

"When Bolan wants to see you," Jarull said over his shoulder, "you don't keep him waiting."

Their destination was halfway across the city, in one of Yhaunn's poorer neighborhoods. Jarull stopped and nodded at a narrow, unassuming house. The building was modest, in slightly better repair than those around it. Keph noticed, however, that the children playing on the street gave it a wide berth, and that a group of old men sitting on a plank bench nearby offered dark looks when they saw him and Jarull pause. Keph resisted the urge conceal his face.

"Do they know about Bolan here?" he whispered to Jarull.

"They don't know what we know." He went up to the door and opened it without knocking. Keph followed him through.

The air inside the house was blessedly cool—but it also stank. Keph's nose crinkled immediately. The smell was almost like his family's laboratories, but at the same time different. Wizards' laboratories tended to smell dry and

faded, like old herbs, or else wet and rancid like rotting meat. Bolan's house had a different scent entirely: dark and heavy, a little bit metallic, a little bit like minerals. Keph could smell the sting of vinegar and the burning stench of sulfur, along with other odors he couldn't quite identify.

"Alchemy...." Keph muttered.

"Yes."

A man stepped out from a curtained doorway and Keph resisted the urge to stare. Short legs and a bullish neck made the man look as squat as a dwarf. His shoulders were round and thick, his chest and belly fat like a barrel. His appearance might have been comical if not for the porcelain smoothness of his face. He had no wrinkles or stubble, and Keph was reasonably certain the sun hadn't touched his face in months. His head was bald on top, but a long fringe of unnaturally black and glossy hair was gathered in a tight braid that hung down his back. Jarull offered him an obeisance. After a heartbeat, Keph did the same.