The Night Holds the Moon

by Roberts, Parke; Thompson, Colleen

  "Perhaps sooner, if all goes well."

  "If all goes well." The old wolf's look turned thoughtful. Dangerous, that. He shouldn't toy with him, but the temptation was irresistible. "Andor, one might think you had a plan. If so, it might do me good to hear it."

  "I've only one plan, Father," he assured him earnestly. "To see you again soon. To put an end to all these good-byes. I want you to know I am capable. I want… I want you to look up to me." From your knees… That would be perfect.

  “I will prove myself to you, Father. Truly. And I will take good care of Castandra, too."

  "Of course you will."

  "Wind to your back, Father."

  "True aim to you. And Andor… thank you."

  "No, Father. Allow me to thank you. At last you have given me a chance, and I want you to know how very responsible I will be… for everything."

  o0o

  He had not so much as shrugged when Father asked him for a moment to speak with her alone. It seemed adversity brought out the best in her brother, thought Castandra. She wished that were true of herself. She regretted now her venomous rejection of Andor's earlier apology, and began to understand how, as he had claimed, the attention their father seemed to lavish on her had driven him wild with jealousy.

  That same jealousy already gnawed at her own temper. No matter what happened in Sheldwinn, her star had set. At best she had been relegated to nothing more than an excuse for Andor to join their father at the capitol. And at worst--

  "Castandra."

  She saw her father as if through a veil of mist. Fearing prophesy, she shuddered; the dew gathered upon her lashes splashed away and her vision cleared.

  Tears; it was only her tears. She did not Dream.

  "I promised you a chance with Lowinn," he was saying, "and you shall have it. But I would rather you reconsider. Think how very much your sacrifice will accomplish. Your safety--"

  "--and the recovery of Talvni," her wretched tongue added.

  "And Talvni," her father admitted, unruffled. "We need Talvni. Yet, even more, we need you. Watch over your brother, Castandra. He tries, but he is rash and overbold. I was wrong to protect him by leaving him here, and have discovered that too late. I fear that my error may fall hard upon your shoulders."

  Deep within the cloud of confusion raised by emotions at war, she heard his voice as if through a fog, or an impenetrable mist. His words seemed to come to her from unfathomable directions, ephemeral and distant; except at the end. Those last few words fell clear upon her ears, solid as stone and inescapable as prophesy.

  But she told herself it was not. She told herself she did not Dream.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Though the waves do all the thundering,

  It’s the undertow that drowns.

  --fisherman's proverb

  "Containment," said Tyrmiskai.

  "How…?" Andor blinked at the tiers, as if they had suddenly done something surprising. "Ah. Curse it, so it is!"

  Tyrmiskai lifted a coiled dragon between thumb and forefinger and placed it fastidiously in the appropriate cradle of his hinged, wooden box. "Your mind is not on the game. Perhaps you need another, more challenging partner. It is not fully spring. The archives will be well-populated."

  "Ask someone working in the archives? I doubt they'd be amenable; they come in from below, they leave from below, and when they are here they stay below. They don't care to enter this place." Andor sighed and toyed with his griffin. "Besides, you're not the problem, Tyrmiskai; I am. As you said, my mind is not on the game."

  "And where is it?"

  "Where is yours?" Andor countered.

  Tyrmiskai sighed. "I wish he had not gone away so abruptly. He has left us here with too many decisions too hastily made."

  "The ride south to our border is long."

  "Yes. That will give him time to consider."

  In silence they continued to clear the board.

  "You still worry," said Andor. He deftly plucked a snow lion from the second tier. "Perhaps you find his traveling companion unsuitable?"

  "Olkor is hardly an unbiased sounding board. His past consumes him. He may risk all to have revenge on the lowlands."

  "Why, then, do you delay?"

  "Your father did not ask for my company."

  "Pride ill becomes either of you." Andor lowered the lid of his casket with care. "Tyrmiskai, you are his trusted friend. He would speak to you, frankly, as he would to no other. You want to ride to him. You know he needs you. Or do you think his son and his pigeons need a nursemaid more?"

  o0o

  "Greetings, my feathered friends." Andor closed his fist around one pigeon. The trapped bird pecked at him feebly. "A fine way to treat your liberator," he said, rapping a fingernail sharply against the pigeon's round head.

  "I have an announcement. Our nursemaid has flown the coop. Scandalous, I know. But, never fear, I know just what to do about scandalous behavior. I want you, you, and you to carry a most important message to the Queen. And shame on any of you who dawdle." He smiled beatifically.

  "Her Majesty will want to know of my father's love affair as soon as possible."

  o0o

  He had so much to tend to, such a busy, busy schedule. Still, he must spare some time for a word or two with her. It was the least he could do.

  "It's a hard thing, when others don't appreciate the sacrifices one makes. Poor Castandra. How well I understand your anguish."

  "What?" was his sister's witty reply. She had scarcely stirred when he crept up and laid his hand upon her shoulder. Now she looked up at him, bewildered as an orphaned foal and just as easy prey.

  "You're thinking, aren't you, about the cruel road that lies ahead. You're wondering who among us can fully appreciate the sacrifice you will soon make."

  "Andor, I don't want to speak--"

  "No, no--I will not allow you to send me away again. I never had anyone to talk to of my problems; no one to share my grief and loneliness. It drove me nearly mad. The thought that one gives up everything, all unnoticed, so that others may profit will fester inside until it becomes like a poison, dear sister.

  "I would not have that happen to you, Castandra. I want you to know that I appreciate all that you will suffer for our benefit. It's not just the marriage you dread, is it? You're no fool; you realize already that having some lowland pig heave his heavy, sweating body atop yours night after night will be the least of your burdens.

  "It will be sad to never have you home again. I will miss you, Castandra. Still, better that you not have to suffer the averted eyes and turned backs. And you must not ever let the actions of our people make you believe that it is you they find repugnant. No, I'm sure they will still love you just the same; it is their part in this abomination that they will find appalling. Your presence will make it impossible to deny to themselves the shameful thing they have permitted. Only that will be the reason they will be unable to bear the sight of you ever again."

  "Andor, stop it. Please."

  "Castandra… No, Castandra, don't cry. I'm telling you I know all this so that you may understand that I won't desert you! I'll come to visit you often; whenever Father permits me to leave his side. He'll need me, of course, once you are gone, but I will never be too busy to think of you with sympathy. And gratitude. I will always remember that you gave up everything so that I might have so very, very much. Truly, Castandra--you will always have me!"

  My! How swiftly she could move in those silly lowland skirts of hers.

  "And I'll keep that awful Tavari away from you, too!" he called after her, and was gratified to see her stumble as she mounted the steps.

  "Well. Fled to her room again. Poor girl, she must be nearly out of her mind by now." Andor rubbed his dogs behind their ears. "Yes, very nearly. Still, I did promise I would not forsake her. I'll bring her a meal in an hour or two. Perhaps another talk would be just the thing."

  o0o

  The night's embrace was not warm, but Caldan treasured
it the more for all of that. Its darkness shielded him from mundane distractions. Its quiet was companionable, not petulant. A perfect companion, it concealed no real mysteries and demanded no answers.

  He was weary of mysteries for which he had no answers. What the Queen would demand of him, what Buktoz might plot, what connected the hounds and the ancient Starsinger. Elzin was no help; indeed, she understood far less of these things than did he. And lately, she had been so strangely withdrawn.

  In the dark, something glistened like new snake scales in the moonlight near his feet. He settled upon his heels before it: a silver chain all coiled about a coin. Elzin's necklace. He had seen her handle it with such reverence that he could not believe that she would lose it carelessly. How had it gotten here then, where he was certain she had not walked?

  Carefully, he lifted it from the dirt. Despite the chill air of the evening, the silver felt warm, like some living thing. Yet, it looked no different. One side of the coin bore a heroic image of old King Sheldwinn; the other bore its minted year, 668. No foreign apparitions this time. Still, he could not shake the sense that he had not stumbled upon the thing by chance. When he dropped the coin into his pocket, the chain slithered after, a snake's body in the trail of its head.

  Elzin had arisen from her nap when at last he returned to the camp. "I don't know which smells worse, my horse or my tent. Anyway, for eating at least, I thought I'd sit out here." She looked down at her half-empty bowl and grinned sheepishly. "I, um, meant to wait."

  "You should not wait for me."

  "Oh, but I wanted to! Anyway, it is good; you can smell it, can't you? Look--I had Kezwann save some for you." The Saire moved aside some blankets and triumphantly produced a bowl. "I think it's even--" she dipped a finger, sampled. "Mmmmm! Still warm!"

  He leaned forward to take it from her. "Thank you."

  "Oh, I may be impatient, but I haven't forgotten anybody. That includes you two," she said as she offered Dagger and Arrow each a morsel from her plate. Fangs thick as her pinky took away the bits of meat, yet not so much as a whisker brushed her fingers. "I hope I'm not spoiling your dogs."

  "They seem none the worse for your attention".

  "How about you?"

  He smiled and reached into his pocket. "I brought you a present." He held the medallion out to her by its chain. "I found this in the dirt, some ways from camp."

  With a look of disbelief, Elzin leaned forward to take the necklace from him. The world vanished beneath him at the first touch of her fingertips upon the coin. His stomach lurched at the sudden drop. He fell, plummeting, and in the abrupt and utter dark he could not tell if he had shut his eyes against the vertigo or if within the emptiness he simply could not see. A hand grasped his arm. Elzin's; somehow he was certain of it. It was as if she had snatched him from the sky in mid-fall.

  "Caldan? What is it? What--" A rushing, as if of wind or great wings, carried away her voice. But he felt nothing; only the grip on his arm was real.

  He struggled to open his eyes--to see--and the face of the Queen thrust itself into his, her bloated visage twisted with hatred and a maniacal glee. She licked heavy lips and opened wide her maw. Wider. Wider. Wide enough to swallow a nation whole…

  No. Not real.

  Did he close his eyes, or had the dark snatched Hulgmal away? The Queen was gone. Castandra now stood before him. Her words were familiar, but the inflection was all wrong. "Father," she said, bored and weary, a speaker listing facts by rote to a faceless, indifferent audience. "She will kill you. She will do it in the most horrific way imaginable. The woman is mad."

  She turned her back on him and lost dimension, became a silhouette: white paper which tore itself into pieces as he watched. The sound of the wind--or was it dragon's wings? rose again. The tempest did not touch him but caught up the torn bits, sent them swirling aloft in a whirlwind of white. Doves. A flock of doves. Their mournful voices cried out to him as if in appeal. Awkwardly, they began to flutter down, spiraling, tighter and tighter, jostling one another as if intent on some spot in mid-air, some individual place in a pattern which took shape as he watched.

  Shelvann. The murdered candidate looked frail and tiny with the backdrop of all infinity against her pleated gown of white. But her voice was strong, her song somber and compelling. A dirge. "All will learn death's name. Peasant, Prince…"

  "You are not real."

  Cold. The fire had died down and the night's caress was chill. Elzin's hand had slipped from his; it lay curled loosely on her right knee, the silver chain caught between her fingers. She snored softly; her head pressed against his shoulder. He did not disturb her. Instead, he opened his eyes to the dark and his mind to the black tidings of the messenger of the Flute.

  o0o

  Castandra sat quietly; back poker straight, hands folded neatly in her lap, head slightly bowed. Her hair was plaited in a single, long braid, with bows at either end. The bows were the same delicate shade of blue as her dress, which was soft and girlish and not at all what she was accustomed to wearing. They made her look far younger than her seventeen years, exactly as she wanted.

  She had spoken the truth when she had told her father that she did not wish to marry--not anyone, not ever. And even if her father's motives were prompted not by greed, but by concern for her welfare, she certainly had no intention of marrying a lowlander--with or without the consent of the elders. When he had agreed to give her the opportunity to talk Lowinn out of this marriage, her sire had underestimated both her cunning and her determination. Once she finished her talk with Lowinn, she was certain that the lowland noble would never trouble her again.

  Duke Everfast opened the door of the study, and she stood to greet him. He kissed her cheek and took both her hands, still holding them as they both sat down on the divan.

  "See, I have come for you, just as you asked," he said.

  In the days that she had waited for his arrival, she had considered what she would tell him with great care.

  "Uncle Lowinn--"

  He squeezed her hands. "No, no, my love. We are to be married. You shouldn't call me 'Uncle' anymore."

  She frowned. "Uncle Lowinn, that is what I want to speak with you about. You are a generous and thoughtful man, and I am very flattered that you have asked for my hand in marriage, but I do not think that I am yet ready to be married."

  "Nonsense!" he countered, smiling up at her. "You're seventeen, Castandra. Most women your age have already had their first child. Your father kept me waiting for a long time before he would give his consent."

  "Yes. My father," said Castandra flatly. "Lowinn, do you understand why my father has given his consent?"

  "Because he knows that I adore you, and that I will cherish you always."

  "No," she replied coldly. "Lowinn, it grieves me to tell you this, for you have been very kind to me. My father did not give his blessing to this union because of anything so ephemeral as love. He did it because you are an old man. Because you haven't any heirs, and are not likely to produce any. Because when you die, Talvni will pass through me to him."

  She waited for his shocked, hurt expression, to be replaced by rage, as she had imagined in the days passed. Instead, however, he patted her hand calmly.

  "I know," he said.

  The sorceress stared at him in disbelief. "You know? It's true, then? How can you allow him to get away with this!"

  "Castandra, I'm surprised at you! Your father is a great man, and he has ever been a friend to me. Of course we have discussed this. I want him to have Talvni."

  Stunned and outraged by this unexpected turn of events, Castandra felt her throat begin to tighten with frustration.

  "Why involve me? Why not just give it to him?"

  "You know better than that," the baron chided. "The council will dispute his right to Talvni as it is. Without our marriage to seal it, he might lose his claim."

  This final blow put the girl beyond speech. Compassionately, Lowinn tried to put his arms around her, but
the countess pulled away. He stood awkwardly and went to the door. By the time he reached it, his round and wrinkled cheeks were wet with tears.

  "Castandra. I love you. I have loved you for years. This isn't just a marriage of convenience for me. I know that you are frightened; women often are. But when we are married, I will be so gentle with you. Anything that I have will be yours for the asking. And you will come to love me, too. You'll see."

  She clenched her fists and snarled up at him, her face streaked with tears but fierce as any beast at bay. "Never!" she vowed. "Now get out! Do you hear me? Get out!"

  Everfast retreated, and she curled up on the divan like a small animal in pain, rocking.

  He had known! He had known all along that she would never be able to talk Lowinn out of this marriage. And she, so sure that when she told her tale to the duke he would recant his proposal, had agreed that she would marry him if she could not convince him otherwise.

  What a fool she had been to think for even a moment that her father had cared. She was nothing more to him and to her people than fair payment for Talvni.

  Curse them all! Did her sire really believe that she would keep such a loathsome bargain? She would leave. She would leave now.

  She swiped the tears from her eyes defiantly and yanked on the door.

  It was locked.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Those things which lack both beginning and end

  Neither curses, nor fire, nor weapons can rend:

  The circle of seasons, the moon's death and life,

  The passage of girl-child to mother and wife.

  --Eternal Telriss

  She would not open her eyes. She would lie here in her tent and pretend to be oblivious to her handmaid's gentle urging. That way they could not make her climb on Tutor's broad, brown back and ride and ride and ride from dawn until past dusk. Elzin had wanted to protest, to complain that she must have some respite, for her child's sake if not her own, but the Queen's ominous message had left her mute with fear.