The Night Holds the Moon

by Roberts, Parke; Thompson, Colleen

"You do? Name it, Caldan. Anything."

  "That you get some rest."

  "Oh," she said. She had been hoping to reward him with something a bit more—well-- personal. "Some rest. That won't be much of a chore. I'm pretty good at sleeping, if I do say so myself."

  "Very well, then. If I make a spot inspection in the middle of the night, I will expect to find you deep in slumber." He pressed his lips to her forehead.

  Elzin playfully plucked at his shirt and grinned. "If you make a spot inspection in the middle of the night, you can bet I'll do my best to make sure neither of us sleeps through it."

  o0o

  The cold walls amplified his footfalls; soft for the tread of one of the lowlands, loud, very loud, for one of the high.

  It did not matter. What mattered now was the Queen's summons; or rather, the reason or reasons behind it. Heratinn had thought of several, Elzin of the one that concerned her. But there were possibilities of which neither of them were aware, and it was to those that he turned his mind.

  Had the dragon's egg been broken? Was Prince Stantinn dead? He had not asked his agents for confirmation; to ease his mind was not worth the further risk of discovery. Certainly his people had not failed him? Surely the Queen had not discovered his part in the business?

  Perhaps she only wanted the new heir returned to the sheltering walls of Castle Sheldwinn as soon as possible, and thought her curt message the best means to that end. Yet, her pointedly disrespectful tone with the Saire was an ominous sign. The Queen might be unbalanced, but pursuit of her sadistic pleasures was still outpaced by her craftiness.

  Or was it? Could it be that she had finally made that irrevocable slide into true madness? What was her plan?

  He could conjecture no better at this point than a soothsayer and his fish bones. He wasted his time to try to anticipate Her Majesty. A sane opponent, no matter how shrewd, he might outguess. The Queen, tottering as she was between this world and the one of her own, twisted delusions, was unknowable.

  And he had no time to waste. Their early departure, forced by the Queen's summons, left him much to accomplish before the rising of the sun. Every possible outcome of his return to Sheldwinn must be prepared for. And most especially the worst.

  o0o

  Tyrmiskai placed a log on the fire. Caldan greeted him with a wan smile and sat cross-legged on the floor.

  "I hope my cooking isn't to blame for that expression," said Tyrmiskai as he sank gracefully opposite him.

  "No." Caldan signaled the black wizard hounds to watch the door. "Thank you for that."

  Tyrmiskai looked puzzled, then rolled his eyes. "Oh. Dinner. Can't have the lowlanders getting the right impression, now can we?" He leaned forward, undaunted. "You look grim. Why don't you tell me what you need, and then get some rest."

  "When I tell you all I must, I may not be the only one who gets no rest tonight," said Caldan.

  o0o

  When at last the councilor had finished, Tyrmiskai returned to Caldan the soul disk he had been given to examine. "Is there no other way?" he found himself asking aloud.

  "I cannot see one. We must move quickly, and foundations must be laid for others in case I should fail."

  "So much…" he said, brushing his long hair back behind his shoulders. Too much; and there was yet more hateful business that must be discussed this night. He forced himself to meet the councilor's eyes. "Caldan, I don't mean to add to your burden, but, there are nightwender here, and it has fallen to me to ask you. What of the Saire and you?"

  Tyrmiskai was not surprised to receive for his query one of those inscrutable looks for which Caldan was famous. "You may tell them that I and other elders have spoken of it," he replied. Tyrmiskai did not miss the subtle reminder that Caldan had been granted that somewhat deceptive title over a decade before, after orchestrating the death of King Nazril. He waited for a moment, to see if his friend would elaborate, but he did not. Caldan had always been secretive, but if he said that he had spoken before the elders, then all was settled.

  Yet his heart ached more now than before. Caldan, what is it you dare with that instrument of death?

  "Would you send Castandra to me?"

  "Yes," he answered woodenly. "Whatever you ask, Caldan."

  o0o

  Fragrant cedar burned in the hearth; the animated flames splashed light along the walls and floor, which glistened bright as blood. They were alone. Behind his heavy desk her father worked, and so she waited wordlessly for him to raise his head.

  When he did, she lifted one eyebrow as a query. He answered with a barely perceptible nod. So, something important. Something that he would make her part of. Of all the many things, her pride at this proof of his confidence in her was the hardest to banish from her mind. But clear her mind must be, and once it was she built swiftly, with the confidence of familiarity and long practice, propelling the conduit before her.

  Align. Link.

  The walls flickered into light.

  Her father added one final notation to his work, then left his desk and, enfolding her hands protectively within his own larger ones, seated her beside him on the divan.

  "Tell me," he asked conversationally, "how do you feel about Duke Everfast?"

  She shrugged her shoulders. "Uncle Lowinn has always been kind and generous to me. I'm very fond of him."

  "Then I have good news. The Duke has asked for your hand, and I have given my blessing."

  Castandra stared open-mouthed at her sire, before she realized how silly she must look and abruptly snapped her jaw shut. Somewhere in the back of her furiously racing mind she recognized that she must reply, before he guessed what thoughts must be behind her silence.

  "Father, what do you say!" she exclaimed, somewhat belatedly snatching her hands away, "He is a lowlander. A lowlander! Do you want to see me killed as amok?"

  "Of course not, Castandra. I have spoken to the elders; they agree that the circumstances are unique, and so have given their consent."

  No time to be shocked. Not now. Think! "But, Father! He is old enough to be my grandsire! Surely you cannot be serious."

  "I am, as is he. Castandra, listen to me. This is the perfect match. Lowinn adores you. He has Talvni, and he has no heirs. All of his marriages have been childless, and at his age, we can be certain that this union as well will produce no issue.

  "Think Castandra. Your mother died in childbirth, as did your granddam before her. But if you do this, if you return to us Talvni, that other obligation will be forgiven. You will not be made to seek a mate, to risk your life to bear children. You will have done enough for us. Enough and more."

  "What if I want a normal life? What if I want a mate and a chance of children?"

  "You may have that, too, if it is what you desire. Lowinn is old; few years remain to him. After, for you, there will be plenty of time. What matters is now."

  "What matters is what he is! Lowlander! Would you match me with the horses of the barn if it would profit you enough?"

  "Castandra!"

  "It is an abomination!"

  "Castandra, please. Calm yourself and consider. For the price of a few years as Lowinn's companion, the Kyr could have again Talvni. Fertile land, a buffer to the south and east, a larger voice for our people--"

  "More power for you," she said bitterly.

  In the otherwise absolute silence, the crackling of the fire sounded like the conflagration of a forest. Yet she only felt a deepening cold.

  "I believe," said her father, "I have already suffered enough insolence for one evening. Tyrmiskai awaits you in the hall. He will escort you to your room. I presume you have a great deal to think about."

  "Do I? It appears my life has been well thought out already."

  "Just go, Castandra. We will speak again tomorrow."

  o0o

  The sorceress flung herself onto the bed. How could he! How could he use her as merchandise, chattel, a possession to be traded to the highest bidder? And all that talk of their people--did
he think her a fool, too stupid to understand the real reason for this marriage to Lowinn Everfast? Oh, yes, being without heirs and too old to produce a son, when Lowinn died his land and title would pass to his wife. But, except for the Queen, a woman could not hold property and a true title in Lhant--both would be passed to her nearest male relative. Her father would be not only Count, but Duke as well. And instead of only wild, mountainous woodlands, he would possess Everfast's fertile valleys. Influence and wealth in the lowlands at last.

  Influence in the highlands, too. In a few years, an old man dies, and the impossible is accomplished without bloodshed. The Kyr would once more possess Talvni, something they had dreamed of since its loss to King Sheldwinn eight centuries before. How could the elders refuse all that for such a tiny sacrifice?

  Her sacrifice, but his glory. No doubt the elders thought him brilliant. The crafty Caldan, the old wolf among the lowland rabbits.

  And what would happen to her when her father's plan came to fruition, when she was a widow, without the money and resources that spelled survival in the lowlands, and in Tarska a sad and pitiable curiosity? If she was still fairly young and attractive, would she then be matched to some other wealthy and decrepit lowland suitor?

  Dear "Uncle" Lowinn. She viewed his attentions now in an entirely different light. All those gifts--the peregrine when she complained of the ineffectiveness of her sparrow hawk, her spirited hunter when she tired of her docile palfrey, even Gestinn, her tutor in the magical arts. She used to think that Everfast considered her the daughter that he never had. How long had he and her father planned this? How many years had Lowinn been patiently weaseling his way into her affections?

  But what if he didn't realize her father's motives? What if her father tricked him somehow into asking for her hand? Duke Everfast was never the brightest of her father's acquaintances, but if she explained to him how he was being manipulated by her sire, surely he would not allow this farce to continue.

  Yes, that was the solution. She would ride for Talvni, and she would leave tonight.

  o0o

  Once more, Castandra's words come back to haunt Elzin. No longer did they seem just jealous nonsense made up by a spoiled and selfish girl to scare her. Now she understood what the sorceress had feared. Only now. Now, when it was too late.

  Sleep. She needed sleep. She needed rest to think. But every time she closed her eyes, Baronet Standard walked his last walk, that terrible and silent journey across the ballroom floor. How like Caldan he had been: bright, articulate, so at home in the tangled web of the intrigues of the court. And brave, so brave. When he walked that last, long walk, he had not bowed his head. He offered no resistance as they bound his arms and legs before the smoking cauldron, and he did not answer when the Queen had offered him his life, if only he would give her names. Even when they held him aloft, and the Queen had made again her offer, he had said nothing.

  Elzin had squeezed shut her eyes so tightly that tears rolled down her cheeks, but nothing could keep out that scream and the smell… that smell…

  She writhed in her cocoon of furs. While Caldan held her, it had been easy to believe he could protect them. He was so brave, so confident.

  Like Standard. Standard had been brave and confident, hadn't he? But he had screamed just like the rest of Hulgmal's victims, and had wound up just as dead. Why should Caldan be any different? Why should she? The Queen had not been stopped for Standard's sake. The Queen would not be stopped for theirs.

  She must not think that way! Flinging aside warm furs, Elzin climbed out of the bed. A wooden carving of a dragon winding round itself held tapers. The embers of her fire kissed the tip of one with flame, and she conveyed it to her lamp.

  Blessed light. And even more blessed, the distraction of this curious chamber. For all its carved beasts, the room was definitely feminine. Had she displaced Castandra? Despite her troubles, Elzin could not suppress a smug smile. She went to the foot of the bed, and, holding her lamp high, lifted the lid of the cedar chest.

  It was curled up in the home of its labors as if it simply slept, undisturbed and perfect down to the curled, translucent nails on the tiny toes of the tiny feet, all tucked so neatly under. But skeletons do not sleep. Though eerily intact, the bones of the mouse were only bones. The one who had built was dead and gone.

  Just bones and a nest remained. She wanted to brush them aside. Only bones and a nest; so easy to sweep them away to get at what lay beneath.

  She raised her hand, but could not do it.

  Slowly, she lowered the lid. In the moving light of her lamp, something beside the bed glimmered. A latch, set in a dark, narrow door beside her bed. How had that gone unnoticed?

  "And just a few steps away, my father's." So Andor had said, when he brought her to this room. She laid her hand upon the latch, pulse pounding in her throat like the hooves of running horses. Caldan. So close, just on the other side. Caldan. He would hold her and her fears would be swept aside as easily as she should have swept aside the bones of the tiny mouse.

  Hesitantly, she knocked. Then waited. Then knocked again, more firmly. In the silence her chest ached as her heart pushed hard against it. She needed Caldan's calm, strong presence more than ever. If he was not there, she would wait. Even to be near where he had been would be a comfort. Lifting the latch, Elzin drew back the door.

  It opened, straight into a wall of black stone. Tentatively, she laid hand and cheek against the granite blocks, imagining that she could feel him on the other side. She allowed the slow tears to come, and she wondered who had placed that cold, impenetrable wall between them. And why.

  She did not know how long she stood there, she only knew that the stone floor had turned the bones of her legs to ice. Wearily, she closed the narrow door, then summoned Kezwann to bring her some hot, mulled wine to help her sleep.

  The warm and spicy taste of the wine lingered in Elzin's mouth as she lay down again. Carefully, she placed the huge mug on the floor beside the bed. Already her eyelids felt heavy, and the movement of her hand seemed slow and dreamlike. She had drunk too much, she thought, and tomorrow she would suffer for her overindulgence. But tonight she would sleep well.

  o0o

  Warmth. She was first aware of the warmth of his hand against her cheek in the darkness, a warmth that slowly pulled her from a deep, deep sleep. Caldan. He had come for his "inspection" after all. Finally, finally, thought Elzin, and a single tear soon slid against the fingers that caressed her skin. She reached up and took his hand within her own, and silently, she pulled him toward her. He joined her beneath the furs, and she smiled to realize that he had undressed already.

  Her own voice sounded strange, hoarse with sleep and wine, as she whispered. "Caldan, you can't imagine how I've missed your visits to my room in Sheldwinn these past weeks. How I've longed for this!" With that she embraced him and set herself to realizing a few dozen of her most cherished fantasies.

  The strength and roughness of his responses surprised her, until she thought of all the years he had been without a woman. She smiled to think that she had been the one to entice him from his treasured celibacy-- she, a miller's daughter.

  She would see that he enjoyed his lapse enough to repeat it many times.

  When finally they lay panting quietly, Elzin could not resist the temptation to bask in satisfaction. So, Castandra's rude assertions that her father would never "profane himself" with her had only been so much arrogance. She would like to see the prissy girl's face if she knew what took place tonight. Perhaps then the sorceress would look her in the eye for a change instead of pretending to examine the skies.

  Triumphantly, Elzin embraced her lover.

  He rolled away. Startled, she wondered what could be wrong. The bed creaked as he left it, then the lamp flared into life.

  Elzin's eyes grew round as coins. Her stomach clenched. A thin cry stuck fast in her throat; it cut off her breath so completely she thought she would faint. Unmercifully, she did not.


  It was not Caldan that stood before her and tossed a used taper into the embers of her fire. It was Andor, his son. She had just made love to Caldan's son.

  "My father is a fortunate man," he observed. "You are quite accomplished. No wonder he looks so tired."

  Andor reached for his clothes and casually began to dress. "Do you think that the Queen might be interested in hearing how lucky he is?" he asked conversationally. "Or do you think that she might get the idea that you and he are up to something more treasonous than just breathless nights between the sheets? Such an interesting question. I am almost tempted to tell her, just to find out.

  "Of course," he said as he meticulously straightened his cuffs, "there are my father's feelings to consider. He sets such store by his women; poor sentimental fellow. It just might break his heart to hear how easily, how willingly you gave yourself to another--his son, no less. It almost smacks of incest, wouldn't you say? Every time he looked at you, he would have to think, 'she has been with my son'. I imagine that it might put quite a damper on your relationship.

  "Oh, I suppose that he might be a little angry with me, at first. But, I am his only son and heir, and he couldn't very well put me aside for long. Too bad that you haven't any real ties with him yet."

  Andor leaned back against the dresser as he pulled on his boots. "I am not generally one for bargains, but you, Great Lady, have given me such pleasure tonight I almost feel obligated. So, out of respect for your… accomplishments, I will agree to keep silent about the two of us. And please," he added as he tossed something from the dresser onto her bed and turned to go, "accept this as payment for your labors."

  Elzin's shock gave way to wordless fury, and she lunged for the heavy object that he had flung upon her bed. But by the time her hands found it buried in the rumpled furs, her target had slipped through the door.

  It was a mirror. So that was how Andor had gotten past the elite. She had told her guards he would bring it and to let him pass. Elzin swung back her arm to hurl the cursed object from her, then stopped, her features twisted with frustration and defeat. The crash would surely bring the guards. The noise and shattered glass would bring their questions.