Mistress of the Night Page 21

  “What do they do?” asked Feena.

  “Tonight, they’ll help us outwit Mifano and Velsinore.” She held out her free hand. “I need three strands of your hair. Wrap them around my finger.”

  Feena reached up and plucked at her scalp, then twisted fine red hairs around one of Julith’s fingers like a delicate ring, carefully knotting the ends so they wouldn’t come free.

  “Now,” said Julith, “you take the potion on the right. I take the potion on the left. We drink them at the same time.”

  Keph watched the two priestesses slide the vials free of the case and open them carefully. Feena’s nose wrinkled.

  “It smells like sugared almonds.”

  Julith just smiled and counted to three. She and Feena lifted the vials and drank their contents at the same moment.

  A slight shimmer passed over both of them. When it faded, Julith wore Feena’s face and long red hair spilled down her back. The country clothes no longer hung loose on her. Keph couldn’t tell if it was just an illusion or a true transformation, but if he hadn’t seen it happen, he certainly wouldn’t have known the woman tucking the vial back into the silver case wasn’t Feena.

  Feena, however, was still herself.

  She frowned and said, “Nothing happened to me.”

  “Nothing you can see,” answered Julith. She might have looked like Feena, but the younger priestess’s voice was still her own. “But until the potions wear off, only the most powerful divination magic can locate you. When Velsinore and Mifano try to find you, their magic will find me instead.” She smiled as she took Feena’s vial from her and replaced it in the case, then put the case back in her satchel. “Iraelathe’s Escape—to sight and magic, one person takes the place of another.”

  “What if they’ve already found Feena?” Keph asked. “You said they were already on their way.”

  “At best the trail will lead them to this field. I’ll ride from here—the trail they follow will be mine and I’ll lead them a merry chase.” Julith gave Feena a brief hug and said, “Selûne watch over you, sister.”

  “Selûne watch over you.”

  Feena stepped back. Julith pressed a hand to her tired horse’s heaving side and murmured a prayer. Light flickered around her hand and the horse shivered, standing tall with renewed energy. Julith swung up into her saddle.

  And what, asked a small voice inside Keph, are you going to do? He swallowed, and urged his horse forward.

  “I’m going with you, Julith.”

  Both Julith and Feena looked at him sharply.

  “You don’t have to do that, Keph,” Feena said. “Velsinore and Mifano aren’t looking for you.”

  “They might be,” Keph said firmly. “We’ve been traveling together since Yhaunn. If their magic shows that, won’t it look odd if we separate now?”

  Julith frowned and said, “He’s right.”

  Feena grimaced.

  “All right then.” She stepped up to Keph’s horse and put her hand on his leg. “We’ll meet again, Keph. May Selûne favor you until we do.”

  The blessing pulled at him. He clenched his teeth against tears and gave Feena only a brisk nod of farewell. The priestess moved away.

  “Keep hold of your horses,” she warned—then shook herself.

  Her transformation was at once both terrifying and awe-inspiring, beautiful woman flowing smoothly into powerful wolf. Keph’s horse shied back at the sudden appearance of the predator. He couldn’t blame the animal. Even though he had been expecting it, the wolf’s appearance struck a primal fear in him as well.

  “Easy,” he whispered to the horse, “easy.” He might as well have been whispering to himself.

  Feena gave one sharp yip, caught the strap around Julith’s gray bundle in her mouth, then turned and surged off through the grain, across the field and back toward Yhaunn.

  Julith looked to Keph and said, “This is your last chance. If you want to go your own way, I won’t tell Feena.”

  Keph shook his head. “I’ve run away once tonight. I think that’s enough.”

  Wolf legs devoured ground. Muscles bunched and stretched, driving her across the countryside parallel to the Ordulin road. Feena ran as she had seldom run before, not out of joy or fear, but out of pure desperation.

  Hedgerows flashed past. All of the small creatures that she had heard from the road, she smelled as she passed in the fields. Where they had rustled with the passing of humans, however, they froze with the lightning-swift passing of the wolf. Feena put them out of her mind, put all thoughts out of her mind, and simply ran.

  Until she heard the sound of hooves on the road. A great number of hooves. She froze immediately and crouched down behind the hedgerow. A tiny gap in the tightly woven branches gave her a view onto a short section of the road beyond. The sound of hooves drew closer and closer, growing to thunderous volume.

  And suddenly her view of the road was filled with riders. Feena caught a brief glimpse of Velsinore and Mifano in the lead, both of them following a flickering blue ball of crackling energy. Other riders followed them: half a dozen, a full dozen … twenty, easily. Feena drew back her lips. Velsinore and Mifano must have emptied Moonshadow Hall to carry out their pursuit. There couldn’t have been more than novices, untested acolytes, and a scant handful of old priestesses left in the temple.

  Moonlight shone bright around the entire party, strong enough to cast shadows beyond the hedgerows. More than that, the hooves of the galloping horses shimmered silver when they touched the ground. Some magic sustained the animals, lending them speed and strength. Feena spared a prayer for Julith and Keph. Their lead over their pursuers wouldn’t last for long.

  As abruptly as they had appeared, the riders were gone, past her hiding spot and on down the road. Feena leaped back to her feet and resumed her pace. How much farther? How long had she and Keph walked? How long had they sat and talked?

  The eastern horizon was purple-gray when the crops in the fields thinned and vanished. The walls of Yhaunn rose ahead. Out on the road, farmers and merchants were already beginning to move in and out of the city gates. Feena didn’t bother looking for a particularly sheltered place to change. She made her transformation crouched in the shadow of a bush, hastily donning the bundled robe Julith had given her. The robe had a cowl. She pulled it up.

  Grat and his partner were still on duty, though it seemed they were paying less attention to the travelers passing through the gates than they were to gossiping about the night that the clergy of Moonshadow Hall had apparently gone mad. Feena kept her head down and hurried past in the shadow of a wagon piled high with casks.

  Julith hadn’t thought to include sandals with the robe. Feena walked barefoot through the slowly stirring streets of Yhaunn. After so long in the dark, the light of torches and lanterns seemed harsh to her eyes. She darted from shadow to shadow, moving like a thief. Her muscles ached and trembled from the long walk, followed by the long run. She yearned to find a bed or even a dark corner to curl up in.

  She couldn’t. Dhauna Myritar needed her.

  When she came within sight of Moonshadow Hall, Feena paused and bit her lip in thought. How was she going to get back into the temple? Even with most of the clergy out following Mifano and Velsinore, Idruth and her kitchen staff would be at work. Going over the kitchen wall was out of the question. The front gates were kept closed overnight, and though they were never locked, they would be guarded. Feena drew a sharp breath. If she had to use her magic against another acolyte, so be it.

  For once, it seemed, fortune was with her. When she eased open one of the gates and peered through, she discovered the acolyte on duty—a girl even younger than Jhezzail—crouched against a wall inside. Her head was down on her chest and she was sound asleep. Feena slipped through the gate, drew it closed, and padded into the temple. The slow rhythm of the girl’s breathing didn’t even shift.

  There was a surprise waiting within the temple, however. The thick scent of roasting meat carried through t
he halls along with the sound of even more kitchen activity than usual. Idruth and her staff were especially busy, as if preparing for a feast … Feena’s eyes widened as she remembered what day it was: the new moon.

  In the face of everything that had happened, Velsinore was carrying on with the New Moon Beneficence. Unbelievable.

  At least the activity was confined to the kitchen. The rest of Moonshadow Hall was quiet and empty. Feena creeped softly through the corridors, as silent as a novice sneaking in after curfew. The infirmary lay toward the back of the temple, on the side opposite the kitchens. She reached it without seeing another person and opened the tall doors silently.

  The infirmary was a disaster. Beds had been overturned and cabinets smashed. Bandages and supplies were scattered everywhere. Shattered bottles spilled from one toppled cabinet. A mineral, metallic stink rose from them. Feena breathed through her mouth trying to block out the smell.

  Up above all of the devastation, the entire ceiling shone with the bright, soft light of a full moon. Feena gazed at it in wonder. What magic had Dhauna called down to conjure such a thing?

  She crossed under the shining ceiling to a door in one wall—a heavy door, crossed with iron bands and two stout bolts on the outside. A door meant not for keeping people out, but for keeping something else in. She remembered all too well the cold grating of those bolts as they slid home.

  “Mother Dhauna?” she called.

  There was a little covered hatch in the center of the door, a window into the room beyond. Feena opened it carefully.

  With a tremendous growl, a heavy weight crashed against the door. Narrow jaws and white teeth snapped together inches from Feena’s peering eyes before falling away. She gasped and jerked back out of reflex.

  She could hear the wolf as it paced back and forth on the other side of the door, and imagine it glaring up at the little window, waiting for another chance to strike. She set her jaw and stepped up once more.

  The wolf leaped at the door again, but Feena didn’t flinch back. When the wolf fell away, she peered through the window. The room beyond was small, barely big enough for a large animal to take three strides from wall to wall. When she had been at Moonshadow Hall, it had been dark and empty. Since then, it had been filled with shelves of clean linens. Under the light of the moonglow that extended inside, however, Feena could see that the shelves had been broken and the linens shredded. The foul pungency of urine wafted through the open window.

  The wolf that was Dhauna Myritar circled through the torn, stinking cloth, then charged the door once more. Her body slammed into the wood and iron, her claws scratching as if she could climb it. She propped herself up against the door, and leaned there, snarling and snapping, the tip of her muzzle just below the window. Feena stood on her toes and looked down. The wolf’s muzzle was heavily frosted with gray and white. Her teeth, when she bared them, were worn and dull. Feena waited. Eventually, Dhauna sagged down from the door and stalked away.

  Her muzzle wasn’t the only part of her that showed her age. Dhauna’s gait was awkward, as if her back and hips were stiff. She was small as well, and her legs and chest were thin and frail. She limped badly, one foreleg clearly injured. Blood spotted her fur and stained some of the torn linens. Her tail dragged low behind her.

  “With Selûne’s blessing,” the elderly high priestess had said, “I will be stronger, more vital—the Moonmaiden’s arm!”

  Feena tore her gaze away from the window. Dhauna’s mad expectations of the transformation had failed her. Feena didn’t think she had ever seen an older wolf.

  Steeling herself, she peered through the window once more. The moonlight wasn’t doing Dhauna any good. She touched her medallion.

  “In Selûne’s name,” Feena prayed, “let this magic be ended.”

  Throughout the infirmary, the light flickered and faded, leaving only a few of the cool crystal lights that illuminated the corridors of Moonshadow Hall behind. Dhauna spun around in a circle, howling in alarm. Feena waited. On the night of a true full moon, it wouldn’t be so easy to put an end to the transformation, but removing the magical light would be enough for the moment.

  At least it should have been enough. Dhauna stopped howling and eased down into a crouch, staring at Feena with hot yellow eyes. But there was no change. The woman didn’t emerge from the wolf.

  Feena’s breath hissed through her teeth, “Moonmaiden’s grace, what have you done?” She raised her voice and called out, “Dhauna!”

  Dhauna’s ears flicked at the sound, but no more.

  “Dhauna!” Feena repeated.

  There was no reaction at all. Feena swallowed, then reached down and drew back the first of the bolts that secured the door.

  At the sound of the screeching metal, Dhauna growled and crawled away from the door. At the sound of the second, she backed herself into a corner and crouched there, snarling. Feena waited a long moment—then opened the door, ducked swiftly into the room, and pushed the door closed behind her. Dhauna whined and crushed herself far back into the corner. Feena stood still, giving the wolf time to get used to her presence and time for her own eyes to adjust to the dimness.

  The stench in the room was overwhelming. Feena choked against it, struggling to catch her breath. Then she held out her hand silently. Dhauna stared at it then cautiously unfolded, creeping out of the corner by slow degrees.

  Every movement seemed painful, as if all the years of Dhauna’s human form were suddenly catching up with her as a wolf. Feena bit her lips and tried her best to hold back tears.

  When the old wolf had creeped a few feet out into the room, Feena let out a low, questioning growl. Coming from her human throat, it was weak, but it got Dhauna’s attention. Her ears pricked up and she shrank back for a moment, then stretched forward. Feena sank down slowly, bringing herself to the wolf’s level. She growled again, then whined.

  Friends? Come.

  Dhauna had only been a wolf for a few hours, but on some instinctive level she must have recognized Feena’s invitation. She limped forward cautiously until she was only an armslength away. Up close, Feena could see the bloody paw prints that every step left on the ripped linens. A fast glance over her shoulder revealed fresh, deep scratches marring the ironbound wood of the door—and on the stone of the room’s walls. Dhauna had torn her claws and shredded her footpads in her rage and panic at being trapped.

  “Dhauna?” Feena breathed. “Dhauna, let me heal you. Let me take away the pain.”

  One hand touched her medallion as the other reached slowly for Dhauna.

  The wolf’s eyes flared, and she snapped. Feena snatched her hand away, but Dhauna didn’t retreat. Growling angrily, the wolf paced around the crouching woman. Feena froze, whining lightly, trying to calm her again. She turned to keep her eyes on the wolf.

  Dhauna snarled and leaped.

  Feena rolled back before the attack and caught Dhauna deftly, one hand on the wolf’s chest, the other under her head where her jaw met her neck. The wolf was shockingly light. Feena held her back easily as she snapped and struggled, straining to reach her captor with teeth or claws. Her back legs kicked and scratched futilely. Saliva sprayed from her jaws. Growls rolled out of her chest.

  The wolf within Feena understood them all too well.

  Interloper! Intruder! Kill you! Kill you kill you killyoukillyoukillkillkill …

  Yellow eyes burned with rage and hate above foaming jaws. There was nothing human left in them—except madness.

  Feena’s breath shuddered. Her heart wrenched inside her chest. There were ways to cure a werewolf even after the cursed individual had changed, like prayers spoken quickly by a priest of sufficient faith. But a cure required that the werewolf desire an end to her condition. When a werewolf had truly surrendered to the curse, had taken the beast into her heart.…

  Dhauna’s madness, her pursuit of the New Moon Pact, had taken her too far.

  … killkillkillkill kill kill … kill …

  The wolf’
s growls faded. Dhauna’s struggles weakened. The aged priestess didn’t have the strength her animal form demanded of her. Feena heaved against her weight. Dhauna twisted free and scrambled away. Feena rose to a crouch.

  Had she thought she would never cry again? She could feel tears on her face.

  “Dhauna, please. Don’t make me—”

  Dhauna’s snarl was flat. Her torn claws scrabbled on shredded linens and she leaped again. Feena thrust forward and met her in midair, hooking an arm around her thin chest and sweeping down to slam her against the floor. Bones cracked and Dhauna yelped in pain.

  The bones would knit fast if given the chance. Werewolves were hard to kill. Silver weapons or magic would do it. The claws and teeth of another werewolf could inflict damage, too, but Feena couldn’t bring herself to do that to Dhauna. Her bite had been what brought on this curse.

  She had been fighting lycanthropes most of her life, though. There were other ways to kill a werewolf.

  Pinning Dhauna’s forelegs with her body, she clamped a hand around her muzzle, forcing it shut. Her other hand snatched up a wadded piece of linen and pushed it down over the wolf’s nostrils.

  Dhauna began to thrash almost instantly. Feena leaned hard on her, a dead weight on her twisting body. Her hands clenched tight … tighter. Dhauna’s snarls and growls became desperate, frightened whines. Feena’s vision blurred with tears but she didn’t let go. Even when Dhauna’s whines and thrashing faltered and her body went limp, she didn’t let go.

  Finally, Dhauna’s body shifted under hers, old wolf fading into elderly woman. Feena choked—and let go. Gathering Dhauna into her arms, she held the dead priestess close and sobbed.

  The clerics of Moonshadow Hall caught them at dawn.

  At first their pursuers had been nothing more than a glow of moonlight in the fields behind them. Then they had been a storm of hoofbeats. No matter what Keph and Julith tried, no matter where they fled, that storm followed. Every time Keph glanced over his shoulder, the Selûnites had been a little bit closer, grim faces hunched low over their horses’ shoulders. And Keph would crouch a little lower in his own saddle and urge the animal to greater speed.