Mistress of the Night (15 page)

Keph stepped forward and stopped it with his foot. He scooped it up and advanced slowly on Lyraene. She lifted her head, blond hair falling down around her face, to stare at him.

"Get up," he ordered her.

The half-elf rose cautiously. With Quick hovering at the ready, Keph held her sword out to her.

"Take that," he said, "and cast the cantrip you used at the Mantle on it."

Her eyes narrowed. At the end of the bridge, her cronies began making nasty sounds.

"Don't try anything or she doesn't get a second chance!" Keph yelled at them. He twitched the sword. "Cast the cantrip!"

Lyraene reached out and took it. She kept her eyes on him as she spoke the spell and wiped her fingers along the blade, leaving pale light behind. Keph raised Quick to her. She lifted her glowing sword—and Keph swung Quick down hard and fast. Sparks flew and metal screeched.

The blow slapped Lyraene's sword out of her hand. Keph drew Quick back, then jabbed out with delicate precision. Lightning crackled and Lyraene staggered against the rail, gasping as she clutched at the neat, smoldering puncture in her left hip.

Lyraene's cronies were shouting again, but their shouts soon turned to cries of alarm. Out of the corner of his eye, Keph could see Talisk and Starne menacing them with slashes of their own swords. Bracing himself against the swaying of the bridge, Keph raised Quick once more.

"Remember that cantrip!" he screamed. "It's going to be the last spell you ever cast!"

He thrust Quick down into Lyraene's right arm—and held it there, the rapier piercing the flesh of her forearm and grating along the bone. Lyraene's shrieks almost drowned out the snap of lightning as it lashed through her. Her muscles twisted as they burned, warping her hand and wrist into a dreadful claw. Keph wrenched Quick free. Lyraene fell to the floor of the platform, twitching and screeching. Keph planted a foot on her shoulder to hold her still and took aim at her left arm.

"Halt!"

The command rolled over and through him like thunder, locking his arm and stopping his blow. Keph gasped and looked up.

A man in fine clothing was racing along the walkway toward the other end of the swaying bridge. In his hand he held a long, delicate sword that burned with cold white light. The magical illumination shimmered on his

silvery-white hair and on the silver medallion he wore around his neck. Baret leaped out to confront him, but the man barely paused in his pace. His free hand thrust out, fingers spread wide.

"In Selune's name, I bid you go from this place!"

To Keph's eyes, the man seemed to shimmer with power. He could only guess what Baret saw. The cultist shrieked louder than Lyraene, turned on his heels, and fled in terror.

A priest of Selune! Keph cursed.

The silver-haired man's command was already fading and he could move again. He stumbled away from Lyraene, twitching Quick to point at the priest as the man paused before the end of the swaying bridge. Keph risked a fast glance over his shoulder. Lyraene's cronies had regained some of their bravado while Starne and Talisk were retreating, glancing uneasily between cronies and priest.

Keph whirled and fled toward them, vaulting from bridge to walkway with a hoarse shout. He crashed into two of Lyraene's friends, sending them sprawling, then scrambled to his feet. As the other two spun around in surprise, Starne and Talisk turned and fled. Keph sprinted after them, lashing Quick at the cronies to drive them back.

There were stairs down to the depths of the Stiltways nearby. They raced down them and down the next set, too. Only when they were two levels and a full street away from the vengeful priest did they stop.

"Dark," panted Talisk. "What happened? Where did he come from?"

"It doesn't matter," Keph replied. He held up Quick. Lyraene's blood was still smoking on the metal. He kissed the blade. "Hail Shar, Mistress of the Night," he murmured, his voice thick with rapture. "Thank you."

--- ---<§)-

The old woman seated alone at a table for two pressed her hands to her cheeks as Mifano crossed the terrace of the Sky's Mantle.

"My dear," she gasped, "I was angry that you were so late, but I see that you must have reason!" She reached out and touched his doublet. "Is that blood?"

"Not mine, madam."

He sat down wearily and reached across the table for the decanter of wine. It was almost half empty and he gave the old woman a disapproving look.

"You are very late, Mifano," she said.

He shook his head and poured wine into a goblet.

"I was late when I left Moonshadow Hall," he explained, "and a good thing, too—I took a shortcut and ended up interrupting a duel." He gulped wine and shook his head again. "No," he corrected himself, "not a duel. Something closer to torture. I was able to offer the victim healing and she may recover the use of her arm."

"My poor, silver-haired dear!" The woman reached out and wrapped her fingers around his free hand. "You're a hero!"

"It was nothing more than my duty," he said, but smiled anyway and set the wineglass down. "And a terrible duty it is to keep me a moment longer than necessary from the company of the charming Lady Monstaed!" He raised her hands and kissed them, then smiled again. "And I must compliment you again on your fine new ring. So many other women of your station disdain amethyst as gaudy, but you wear it so well."

"Oh, you tremendous flirt," laughed Variance. She smiled with wrinkled lips. "But tell me, what kept you at Moonshadow Hall? What has been happening there since we spoke last?"

CHAPTER 7

Feena leaned forward into the breeze that blew through the carriage window. Julith clicked her tongue in gentle disapproval, and Feena grimaced and sat back, swaying slightly with the carriage's motion.

"A high priestess isn't allowed fresh air?" Feena muttered under her breath.

"A high priestess can have fresh air," Julith replied, " but she should try not to mess up her hair."

Feena wrinkled her nose and asked, "How much longer?"

Julith peered out the window herself, but Feena noticed that she was careful to avoid the breeze.

"We're almost there," the dark-haired priestess said. "Now remember: watered wine only and drink it sparingly. Merchants and most nobles will bow to you, but you bow only to the Nessarch

of Yhaunn, if we encounter him. Treat clergy as equals, whatever their faith or station. Only sit down to converse with someone who's already seated. Stick to minor topics. That's safest. If you really need to start a conversation with a scholar or a mage, ask about their research but be careful—they can usually talk for hours. You don't need to discuss city politics or temple policy. This isn't that kind of-"

"I'm not going to remember all of this."

Julith squeezed her hand and said, "You'll do fine, Feena. Don't worry. If there's anything you need to know, I'll be right beside you."

"I'd rather you were right in front of me," Feena grumbled.

It was only half a jest. Her stomach was knotted. Julith had permitted her only a very light dinner that night, and Feena was grateful for that.

The carriage turned and its rattling progress slowed then stopped. Bright lights shone through the windows. Julith took a deep breath as footmen scurried outside.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"No," Feena grunted, "but it's too late now, isn't it?"

The carriage door opened. Feena rose into an uncomfortable crouch, then stepped out as Julith had taught her—head and shoulders first, arm extended to take the hand of a waiting footman, then feet, down to the step-stool placed for her convenience, unfolding gracefully as she cleared the door.

She managed it all without tripping on her shoes or her dress.

"Well done," murmured Julith from behind her as she stepped down from the carriage herself. "Let's keep going."

Feena nodded and moved forward. Small steps, she reminded herself. No need for long strides.

The white walls of the mansion of Ammanas Aum-leagarr, patron of Yhaunn's arts and host of the city's most lavish parties, loomed above them. Tall lanterns

of glass and bronze lit the great entrance arch; within it, smaller lanterns marked a path up a broad flight of stairs. The sounds of talk, laughter, and music floated down from above. Other guests to Ammanas's party were drifting up the stairs as well. For a moment, Feena felt crushed, hemmed in like a sheep in a pen, even though she could have swung her arms wide without so much as touching anyone. She froze.

Julith took her arm and drew her gently onward.

As the stairs rose into the open again, she spoke to another footman. The servant cleared his voice and announced, "Moonmistress-Designate Feena Archwood and High Initiate Priestess Julith Harkspur of Moonshadow Hall!"

Feena climbed the last few steps and the night opened up around her. Below the perfect, delicate bow of Selune's waning crescent, more lanterns shone on the raised flower beds and tiled paths of a garden terrace. Along the paths and among the beds strolled the wealthy and powerful of Yhaunn, the crystalline music of flutes and harps mingling with the buzz of their conversations. A few men and women, those closest to the stairs, looked up idly at the footman's announcement—then looked again as they caught sight of Feena.

She could understand their awe. When she first looked in a mirror after Julith had finished dressing her, she'd hardly been able to recognize her own reflection.

Gone were the frilly blue dresses with layered crinolines that Dhauna Myritar favored and that Velsinore had insisted on squeezing Feena into. Julith had summoned a proper dressmaker to Moonshadow Hall. Feena wore a slim gown of moon-pale white silk with silver embroidery traced along the hem and across the bodice. Long, tapered sleeves covered her arms and ended in pointed, silver-trimmed cuffs that extended across the backs of her hands. The high, starched lace collars that scratched her neck were gone as well, replaced with a light stole that draped softly across her shoulders. Instead of ridiculous slippers, she wore solid shoes of

tooled white leather with heels that lent her an imposingly noble height. Julith had brushed her hair until it shone, then dipped deep into the neglected recesses of Moonshadow Hall's regalia chests. The moon's road tiara and the silver circlets with their heavy representations of Selune's phases had remained at the temple. Instead, Feena's flaming hair was caught back with a web of silver filigree from which a crescent-carved opal hung over the center of her forehead.

The merchants nearest to her bowed in respect. Feena nodded in return.

"Strictly speaking, you didn't have to do that," whispered Julith as they swept past them.

"I know," Feena said. She squeezed Julith's hand then released it and raised her chin in confidence.

Heads turned as they walked through the gardens. Those few among the party guests who had met Feena before her transformation generally wore expressions of astonishment. Colle Shoondeep actually smiled at her and nodded before doing a comical double take and scowling furiously. Endress Halatar, the elderly high priestess of Lliira, goddess of joy, grinned, however, and shook her hands, holding her in pleasant conversation for several minutes.

"What's she doing now?" Feena asked Julith as they walked away.

Julith turned her head discretely.

"It looks like she's talking to one of her junior priests and a couple of merchants about you," she said. The young priestess smiled. "I think she's impressed!"

People who hadn't met Feena before seemed eager to accept her. Julith ushered her from group to group, murmuring names and information about important people.

"Diero Mivaldi—he runs a trading business between Yhaunn and the Vilhon Reach," she whispered and Feena exchanged a few words about sea conditions with the dark-skinned man in a green vest. "Betha Horndriver— she was playing the harp just now." Feena praised the young woman for her skill. "Arthagus of the Miracles—he

has friends on the Merchants'Council of Sembia." She shook hands with the thin and trembling wizard.

As Feena discussed the summer heat with a master craftsman from Yhaunn's fantastically spired Glass-crafter's Hall, a man stepped up beside her. Feena felt a warning nudge from Julith and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was somewhat older than her, with hair that was showing signs of gray, but his face was strong and his shoulders, attractively broad. His clothes were dark and plain but well-cut. He looked like he should have been carrying a sword and she had a distinct feeling that she had met him before.

When her small talk with the glass crafter ebbed and the master craftsman drifted away, he said, "You look lovely tonight, Moonmistress."

Feena was the one who did a double take then, though she managed to turned it into what she hoped was a graceful nod.

"As do you, Guard Captain Manas," she replied, then winced at the words and saw Julith cringe as well.

Manas managed a chuckle. "It seems we both clean up well." He was carrying two goblets of wine and offered her one. "I think I'm as surprised to find you here as you are to find me."

"True enough." Feena accepted the wine and took a sip. It was watered. She raised an eyebrow and Manas gave her a small smile.

"Attendance at these parties is the price you pay for attaining a certain rank in Yhaunn," he said. "Judging from the way your aide has been guiding you through the crowd—" he nodded to Julith—"I suspected you might have been given the same instructions I once was."

Feena returned the smile. "Thank you for your courtesy," she said.

Manas's lip twitched. "Your appearance isn't the only thing that's changed since we met," he observed. "Before, I would have said that your speech and manners were straight out of the country. Does Yhaunn really change people so quickly?"

"Not on its own," Feena confessed. "I've been taking lessons."

"She's a fast learner," added Julith.

"I can see that." Manas glanced down at his wine. He hesitated for a moment, then said somewhat awkwardly, "I wanted to tell you that I admired the conviction with which you stood up to me and High Luck Shoondeep, Moonmistress. I can tell that you're a fighter. I know how hard it can be when you're thrown into a situation that puts words over actions."