The fight with the copper falcon … how far had the sounds carried in the silent mansion?
“Stay back,” Keph snarled.
“Sir,” the head butler called, “what are you doing?”
“I’m fixing a mistake,” Keph answered. He took a slow step forward. “Get out of my way.”
The underbutler already on the stairs started to retreat back down them, but the head butler moved forward and began to climb.
“That book is from your father’s study. I can’t let you—”
“I said get out of my way!” roared Keph.
Maybe some of the dark force of the slates had wormed its way deeper into him than he had thought. The head butler turned pale and stopped. The underbutler actually choked, pressing himself so far back against the banister that for a moment Keph thought he might fall over. All the other servants cleared away from the bottom of the stairs.
Keph tightened his grip on the book of slates and marched down the staircase. When he reached the bottom and turned to the doors, the servants parted to make an aisle for him. The entrance hall was deathly quiet.
When he opened the doors, though, sound rushed in. Yhaunn’s night was alive with distant cries and screams. Many of them came from the direction of the Stiltways. Keph tottered forward. Strasus’s wards had been designed to keep people out of Fourstaves House, not in. The green lines of magic that flared briefly as he walked out shimmered and shriveled just as the wards in the north wing had. The stone dogs actually cowered away from him.
Whispers crashed inside his head once more, and Keph let them crash, holding them at bay rather than thrusting them back. Staggering like a drunk man wading in the surf, he jogged into the night toward Moonshadow Hall.
Feena could hear howls. She could hear screams. She could hear Julith crying for her and the splashing as the young priestess reached into the water of the sacred pool—and a shout of surprise as she leaped back.
She heard all of it a fraction of a heartbeat before dazzling moonlight burned away the haze that had stolen her vision. Feena gasped—and in gasping, drew the moonlight into herself. Selûne was inside her, burning in her flesh and blood, knitting her together, and making her whole. The touch of the goddess exploded through her. Feena threw back her head and howled—not out of pain, but out of sheer joy.
The wolf within her howled right along with the woman. And somewhere in the silver brilliance of Selûne’s light, Feena could hear a whole chorus of wolves and beasts raising their voices along with her.
The New Moon Pact was reborn!
Feena felt stone under her feet and kicked out. She shot up through the water and into the night, still howling. Shining water streamed from the fur of her hybrid form. She felt stronger and more alive than she ever had in her life. Everything seemed brighter and more vibrant. Growling with fierce ecstasy, she threw back her head and howled at the sky.
“Feena!”
She looked down—no, just across. Julith crouched beside the sacred pool and Feena stood within it. The water was no more than waist deep. But it had felt as though she had been so much deeper! She snarled in awe. There were things to be seen by moonlight.…
She surged forward through the water and heaved herself out of the pool. Julith was still staring at her in amazement.
“How …?”
“Later, Julith,” Feena said. “There’s a battle—”
“Feena, you’re talking!”
She froze and reached up with tremendous, clawed hands to touch her face. A wolf’s muzzle, a wolf’s ears, a wolf’s head, and yet.…
“Moonmaiden’s grace,” Feena gasped. Her voice was deep and resonant, but she could speak just as well as she could as a human. “Oh, Bright Lady of the Night!”
A chilling howl broke through her awe. Julith paled. Feena’s head snapped around. One of the Sharrans’ otherworldly dogs. The sounds of it raised the hair on her neck and all the way down her spine. Up on the rooftop, she could see Selûne’s clerics scrambling back.
“Julith, gather anyone you can and arm yourselves. We’re taking the fight to the Sharrans!”
She didn’t wait for a reply. Powerful legs drove her across the courtyard. There was no time to rush through the twisted passages that led out onto the roof from inside the temple. In one bounding leap, she jumped up and caught the lowest windowsill in the wall above the covered cloisters. Muscles rippled under her fur as she drew herself up and braced her body in the window frame.
Her claws sank into the mortar between the stones of the frame. She looked at them with surprise, then bared her teeth and swung out from the window. Digging in with fingers and toes, she scaled the wall as easily as if it were nothing more than a steep bank of earth. Six feet … ten feet … twelve … and she was racing up the pitch of Moonshadow Hall’s roof toward the high walkway. All along the parapet, the iron hooks of grapples shook as Sharrans scaled the outer walls while Selûnite priestesses huddled against the edge of the walkway, driven back by the unnatural horror of the black dogs’ howling. They shrieked and flinched as Feena vaulted onto the walkway.
Moonshadow Hall’s defenders had been reduced to frightened girls. Feena spread her hands. If she could speak in hybrid form, could she work magic as well?
“Selûne be with us,” she prayed. “Protect us from the terrors of the night!”
The Moonmaiden’s magic swirled like a stirring song, blotting out the lingering echoes of the black dogs’ howls. The priestesses gasped as renewed courage took hold of them.
“To arms, sisters!” Feena howled. “To arms!”
She whirled toward the parapet—just as the first Sharrans hurled themselves over the edge and onto the walkway in a frenzy of screaming madness.
If the sight of a werewolf startled them, they didn’t show it. A surprisingly well-dressed young man flung himself at her.
“Beast!” he shrieked. “This is for Cyrume and Keph!”
He swung at her with a sword, but Feena blocked it with her arm. The blade sliced into her flesh—but without magic or silver behind it, the cut was no more than a sting. The young man’s blow was unnaturally strong, though. She could almost smell the dark magic that clung to him. Growling, she caught his arm before he could swing again, then grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in close.
“You fool!” she roared in his face. “Keph is my friend!”
The wolf in her bayed for blood, urged her to rake claws across the Sharran’s flesh. She held back the savage instinct and punched instead. A jab rocked the Sharran’s head back. A backhand twisted it around. If Keph could recognize the mistakes he had made and turn from Shar, maybe there was hope for the other cultists as well. When she released her grip, the young man slid down to sprawl across the walkway. Feena grabbed the next Sharran to come over the parapet and gave him the same.
Bolstered by Shar’s magic, none of the cultists went down easily. Selûne’s faithful were better armed than the Sharrans, however. Inch by inch and blow by blow, the Selûnites pressed them back toward the parapet—
—until a woman’s voice rolled up from below, speaking a blasphemous prayer to the Lady of Loss.
The worst of the wounds the defenders had inflicted on the Sharrans vanished. The cultists surged forward with renewed vigor. Variance! It had to be the dark priestess.
Feena cursed and leaned out over the parapets, but could see nothing in the shadows below other than the black dogs. They paced and snarled, waiting for prey to come within reach. Feena howled at them and their snarling broke into a frenzy.
Farther along the curve of the wall, though, there was trouble. The battering ram she’d heard as she spoke the oath of the New Moon Pact was swinging again at the front gates. Its dull thunder echoed in the street. Feena wrenched one of the Sharrans’ grappling hooks, abandoned now, free of the parapet and charged along the walkway, rope trailing after her.
“Make way!” she shouted. “Make way!”
Another Sharran tried to stop her
. She met him with a stiff arm that knocked him back off his feet and left him clutching his chest and choking. On the ground below, the black dogs shadowed her in a growing pack.
The walkway ended in a squat bell tower over the gates. The alarm bells that the acolytes had rung earlier as she lay dying in the kitchen were silent—a strong defense was better than a vain hope of rescue! Feena dived inside and peered out one of the high windows. Below her, manned by ten Sharrans, the battering ram swung against the gates hard enough to send vibrations all the way up to shiver through the pads of her feet.
At least it did until the black dogs that had pursued her came bounding around the walls. The ram crashed to the ground as the cultists scattered in shock. Teeth bared, Feena set the grappling hook against the stone of the windowsill and tossed the rope out the window, then grasped it firmly and swung out herself. The dogs howled and scrapped under her like puppies begging for a dangling sausage. Feena counted five of them.
Ten feet up from the ground, she pushed away from the wall, swinging herself out. The black dogs followed her, ugly heads swiveling and spinning. A couple of them darted after her. Feena’s swing slowed and stopped as it reached the end of its arc, then started back down.
She let go of the rope and aimed straight at the ugliest of the dogs. It had time to stare at her in alarm before her full weight slammed into it. The beast went down with a yelp of surprise. The other dogs only hesitated for a heartbeat before closing on her in a frenzy of claws and teeth.
Feena’s teeth were at least as big. Her claws were bigger. And because the dogs had no hope of redemption, she had no regret in letting loose all of the pent-up savagery of the wolf within her.
She tore into the first dog to come within reach, her claws shredding its slick black hide. The dog’s flesh was cold and dark—where light fell on its wounds, black blood hissed away like mist before a flame. A dank smell reached her nose. Shadowstuff. The black dogs had been summoned out of pure darkness.
When she hooked out the first dog’s throat with her claws, its body faded into darkness as well. A hard kick smashed the ribs of the struggling dog she’d brought down with her leap. A third dog darted in to rip at her legs. Feena tore down blindly with her claws and took an ear, but the dog’s teeth caught her arm. She howled in pain. Unlike the Sharrans’ weapons, the dogs’ unnatural teeth could hurt her. She lashed at the clinging dog with her free hand, tearing long strips of dark flesh from its side until it released her.
The last two dogs seized the moment to dart in at her. Feena whirled on them—and dropped to all fours, changing into a wolf as easily as she had in her dream of the New Moon Pact. Another gift from Selûne! Caught off guard, the darting dogs hesitated. Feena leaped at one, growling and bristling. It cringed back—and she spun to the other, seizing its massive neck in her powerful jaws and wrenching hard. It staggered and shook her off, but it was bleeding shadowstuff, darkness drifting from its wounds and fading away. Feena backed off. The dog with the torn ear slunk in to join its packmates. Low snarls seething from out of their throats, all three paced forward. The outer two moved to flank her.
Feena leaped past them, straight at the dog in the center, the only one she hadn’t injured yet. It reared up to meet her charge, but her weight was greater and she bowled the beast over onto its back.
One fast snap of her jaws around its throat sent it back into Shadow, but another dog leaped onto her back. Feena felt jaws closing, trying to find purchase on her neck. She twisted around, willing a change as she moved. Her wide, clawed hands caught the thing’s jaws. She jerked them sharply to the side. The dog shuddered, died, and vanished.
The last dog, the one with the savaged throat, shrank back with its tail between its legs as she rose. Feena stalked toward it, growling and flexing her hands. The dog whimpered—then lunged. Feena spun out of its way and raked it deeply with her claws as it passed. It landed, spun around, and managed one last growl before it collapsed and vanished as well.
The mutter of human voices brought her around. On the far side of the abandoned battering ram, the Sharrans who had manned it stood clenched together in a frightened little pack of their own. Standing at their head, however, was a man with an eerily stiff and flawless face: Bolan!
“You’ve beaten shadow mastiffs, Selûnite,” he called, “but do you think you can take Shar’s faithful?”
The Sharrans managed a weak rattling of weapons. Bolan scarcely seemed to notice. By his voice and the eyes that glared out from his unmoving face, he was half mad. Ceramic flasks and little pouches hung from a harness that crisscrossed his chest. The metallic stink of alchemy drifted off him. Feena dropped down into a defensive crouch. Bolan reached up to his harness with both hands and plucked off flasks.
“Specially created for Selûnites,” he said, “and for werewolves. Powdered silver ground into alchemist’s fire!”
Feena growled. The other Sharrans flinched back, but Bolan stepped forward.
“Untested, it’s true—but I’ve had so little opportunity.” His arms swept back, ready to throw the flasks. “You’ll be the first to experience my creation!”
“No!”
To the side of them, the doors of Moonshadow Hall swung open. Julith stood between them, a helmet on her head, a shield on her arm, and a mace at her side. Selûne’s symbol was in her hand.
“By the Moonmaiden,” she shouted, “she shall not!”
Feena smelled the clean white breeze of the moon goddess’s magic as it roared between priestess and dark priest. The flasks in Bolan’s hands—all of the flasks that festooned his chest—shattered in a cascade of quiet popping noises. Feena saw an instant of horror in his eyes,
Then the gooey liquid that coated his hands erupted into white flame. His chest burst into flame as well—or at least those patches of it that didn’t steam with acid or melt under the bite of vile poisons. Pouches caught fire and flared up in thick, greasy smoke. Bolan screamed in agony, whirling around and around.
“Shar, have mercy! Mistress of the Night, save me!”
The cultists leaped away from him as he danced. Smoke and flame spun a trail behind him.
“No! No! No—”
Something burst and burned in a puff of deep violet flame. Bolan gasped and choked on it, then clutched at his throat with blazing hands. He staggered once more and pitched over onto his back.
The Sharrans—and Feena—stared as the mingled fires of a dozen alchemical preparations consumed the fallen priest.
But the defenders of Moonshadow Hall were rushing through the gates, clergy and acolytes armed for battle and with prayers on their lips. A few of the cultists scattered with Selûne’s followers in pursuit. The others were surrounded in a matter of moments.
“Feena, we’ve won!” called Julith. The dark-haired priestess strode across the abandoned battering ram like the Moonmaiden’s own warrior. “The Sharrans who reached the roof are dead or captured. We’ve won!”
“No,” Feena growled. “There’s one more Sharran to find.” She held up her hand and roared, “A mace! Someone give me a mace!”
A priestess spun and tossed one to her. Feena snatched the weapon out of the air. The blessing of Selûne clung to it. She growled in satisfaction.
“Stay close,” she ordered Julith. “We need to find Variance.”
There was a growl from the shadows ahead. Keph froze in alarm as one of the shadow mastiffs seemed to detach itself from the darkness. It paced toward him, growling.
“You … you stay back!” he said.
The mastiff didn’t stop. Keph felt sweat run cold down the sides of his face. His arms ached from the strange weight of the book of black slates. His head pulsed with the effort of resisting its dark force and the mad whispers within. Moonshadow Hall was close. He could see the steady glow of magical moonlight above the intervening buildings—the priestesses had all but lit up the night.
He was so close to being done with Variance, too, so close to giving her the cursed book.
He tried moving to the side of the street but the shadow mastiff matched his movements.
“What is it?” Keph demanded. “What do you want?” He held out the book. “Look—I’m on Variance’s business. Leave me alone!”
He’d seen Variance speak freely to the beasts, but the mastiff gave no sign of having understood him. It crouched low, moving closer, but at an angle that forced Keph to step away from the wall if he wanted to keep his distance from the beast. Its growl was deep and menacing. Keph twisted around, walking backward so he could keep an eye on it.
“Stay back,” he repeated.
He juggled the book into his left hand so he could reach for Quick with his right … instinct again. The Selûnites still had the damned rapier! He gasped out a curse and brandished the book like a shield.
The shadow mastiff darted forward.
Keph yelped and thrust out the book.
“Get back!” he yelled.
Except that the words that emerged from his lips weren’t his. With a sudden, hideous rush, the whispers of the book came together, blasting through the weakness of his fear to tear across his soul, and out of his mouth. Keph shouted words that grated on his ears for a fleeting moment before vanishing like bad dreams.
The shadow mastiff let out a howling wail as its body smeared out against the darkness and evaporated into a wisp of dark smoke.
Burning pain seared through Keph’s hand. With a howl of his own, he tossed the book back into his right hand and stared at his left. A silvery character branded his thumb—one of the characters from the black slates. He stared at it then at the book.
It seemed lighter than it had moments before. The whispers had receded slightly in his head.
He swallowed hard.
“Variance!”
Feena stalked around to the east side of Moonshadow Hall. If Bolan had commanded the attack on the temple’s south, it made sense that Variance should have commanded the attack from the east. When Feena fought the Sharrans on the rooftop, that had been the direction the dark priestess’s prayers had come from as well.
Mistress of the Night Page 29