The War of the Moonstone: an Epic Fantasy (24 page)

“But aren’t we going to open the
Gates, my lord?” asked Kragt.

“Perhaps there is another way.”

“
Another
way, my lord? But—”

“Just see to it.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Raugst leaned back, allowing
himself to relax. Giorn was safe for the moment, though where he could be was
anybody’s guess. Now all Raugst needed to do was figure out how to save the
city.

Or not.

He let out a breath. “I need a
drink.”

Chapter
15

As soon as Raugst—
the
bastard!
—and his minions had gone, some into the tunnel, others
accompanying Raugst back to the feasting hall, Fria, who had followed the latter
group to delay suspicions, doubled back and reentered the catacombs. She took
quite a different route this time, going even deeper into the dank, squat passages.
I can’t believe it
, she thought.
They were right. Raugst is a . . .

She couldn’t quite bear to think
it. It was too awful, too monstrous. She had loved him. Cared for him. Slept
with him. She had even looked the other way when she knew he was bedding
others. She would have done
anything
for him. She had been hoping, praying she would get with child, that she could
bear a fine strong son by him and renew the Wesrain line. Oh, he would have
been such a handsome boy, with broad shoulders like Raugst, maybe with Giorn’s
dark blond hair and lithe muscles, and Raugst’s strong jaw . . .

But no. He would have been a
monster. Her baby would have been . . .
tainted
.

She realized she was trembling and
leaned against a wall for support. She couldn’t catch her breath fast enough. She
just wanted to slide down the wall and weep. But she was a Wesrain, a descendant
of Orin Feldred, and she pushed herself off and forced one foot in front of the
other.
Revenge
.
I can’t undo what’s happened, but maybe, just maybe, I can get revenge.

It had to be more than that, though.
Vrulug had besieged Thiersgald, and Raugst, the traitor, was positioned to open
the gates for him. No, she remembered. Raugst had said he had something else
planned. What could be worse than opening the gates?

She came upon a certain shrine to
one of the first Wesrains: Soran Wesrain, the first of the family to be crowned
king. It was here, behind the great statue of a smooth-faced young man with
flowing locks, behind the bulky sarcophagus, that Giorn lay gasping and feverish,
with one of the nurses tending to him. Mushrooms grew in the corners.

Fria knelt over him and kissed his
forehead. “You were right, Gi. You and Niara both.” She clenched her hands into
fists. “How could I have been so
blind
?”

Giorn, even through his fever,
reached out his good hand and clasped hers. “It . . . will be . . . all right.”
Each word obviously cost him. He shook and sweated, and his hand was hot to the
touch.

Fria smiled, cheered more by the
fact that he still had the strength to lie for her than by the lie itself. “I
know,” she said.
But how?

The fever overcame him. His hand slipped
away. Fria exchanged a nervous look with the nurse.

“He needs the proper medicines,”
the nurse said. “Access to facilities . . .”

Fria sighed. As soon as she had
been released from her old bedchambers, she had gone to the nurses and
instructed them to bring Giorn here, knowing that Raugst would search the
hidden tunnels now that he knew of them. She wondered if she had done the right
thing. Certainly she had saved Giorn from instant death, but now he might die a
slow, agonizing one.

“He’s strong,” she insisted. “Both
in will and body. What one lacks, the other will supply.”

Her words firmed the chin of the
nurse, but they struck hollowly inside Fria herself. They were in dire straits
indeed, the capital of the barony besieged, a demon on the throne, the true
baron ill, crippled, perhaps dying, the priestesses without their powers . . .

Realizing that she’d laid her head on
Giorn’s slowly rising and falling chest, she jerked up.
I will not be the helpless maiden
.

She pushed herself to her feet.

“My lady?” said the nurse. “What do
you intend to do?”

Fria wiped the tears from her eyes.
“As of now, I am the rightful ruler of the barony. When Giorn is better, I’ll
relinquish the throne to him, but for now there’s only me. The fate of Fiarth
rests solely in my hands. And I will not suffer that traitor to live!”

The nurse stared. “You mean to kill
your
husband
?”

“He is not my husband. He’s a demon
spawned in the Abyss.
And I will return
him thither
.”

It felt good to say that. Of
course, the question of
how
was a bit
more dicey. She could perhaps poison Raugst in some fashion, but what would
prevent his lackeys from instantly killing her and then going through with
Raugst’s plans anyway? No. She needed to end Raugst and his lackeys together. Only
then could she reclaim the throne and steer the fate of Fiarth herself.

She sagged against the statue of Soran.
The face of the nurse, which had begun to blaze with hope at Fria’s words, lost
its luster.

Giorn half sat up. The movement
startled Fria, who had to strangle the cry that rose in her throat. “Lay down, Gi,
you need to conserve your strength.”

He waved her words away with his
bad hand. Blood stained the bandages, but it was old blood. The wound was
scabbing over.

“Tell me,” he rasped, “does Hanen
still live?”

At first she could not answer, but
she summoned her strength. “I’m sorry, Gi, but Raugst slew him and his men. Not
one survived.”

His shoulders slumped. Half to
himself, he said, “Hanen, I’m so sorry . . .” He looked up. “What of Duke
Yfrin?”

“Yes, he lives. As soon as Raugst
took the throne, he announced to the people that the duke had been executed for
killing Father, but he never saw it through. Niara spoke with him, though I
don’t know what they spoke of exactly. Afterward he said he’d rather have the duke
alive in case he needed something from him, perhaps to use as a pawn against
his family.”

“Good,” said Giorn, clearly
speaking through his pain. “His own craftiness will be his undoing.” Wincing,
he swung his legs round. “Bring me a cane. We’re going for a walk.”

Niara approached the castle warily. She and the other
priestesses dismounted. Servants took their horses and led them away. The
breeze whispered eerily. Niara glanced at her sisters, who looked nervous as
they stared up at the towers of the keep.

“It will be all right,” she told
them. “He’s one of us now, even if he doesn’t realize it.”

They nodded doubtfully. Niara felt
a different source of dread.
Giorn
. He
was in there somewhere.
Does he live?

She moved up the stairs toward the
high doors, where a pair of guards stopped her. She wasn’t sure, but she
thought they were Raugst’s men.

“Admit me.” She made it an order.

“Lord Raugst said you might be
following him,” one said. “He ordered us not to let you in.”

Yes
,
Niara thought.
He was very angry when he
left the temple. Hopefully he’s calmed.

“I am High Priestess,” she said,
straightening her back and leveling her gaze like a weapon. “You will do as I
say. Now let me in!” Ignoring the pain that flared from her hips, she strode forward,
as if confident they would step aside.

They moved closer together and
crossed their spears before her.

“No.”

She nodded to her priestesses. They
returned the gesture tersely, grabbed the white stones about their necks,
muttered a short prayer, and began to glow.

The guards swore. One coiled his
arms, ready to thrust his weapon through Hiatha. That shocked Niara; she knew
they were Raugst’s men, but that he had given them permission to slay a
priestess could only mean that he was ready to end this farce. Thiersgald’s
time was almost up.

The priestesses blazed with white
light and threw a flash toward each soldier. The soldiers cried out, dropped
their weapons and fell to the stairs, where they twitched and groaned, drool
running from their mouths. Niara made a sign to ward off evil. Only complete
devotion to the dark powers could bring about such a response. Hopefully these
guards were men Raugst had brought in from outside and not true Fiarthans; Niara
could not bear the thought that Fiarthans would succumb to evil so thoroughly.

Hiatha wiped sweat from her brow.
“We cannot . . . the light . . .” Both priestesses breathed heavily.

“I know,” Niara said. “Whatever’s
weakening us is getting stronger.”

“Even the stones emanate a . . . a
darkness. So weak . . .”

“Come.”

Niara shoved open the doors and led
the way down the main hall. She followed voices to the feasting hall, where
Raugst’s lieutenants were piling dead bodies—scores of them—onto carts, then
draping the carts with sheets to hide the contents. Niara clamped a hand over
her mouth to keep from gasping and indicated that her priestesses should keep
silent. She led on, past the feasting hall, sticking to the shadows and moving carefully
to avoid being seen. Her pelvis pained her still, and she winced at every step.
I’d best get used to aches and pains. I’m
truly mortal now.
Before she might have lived for hundreds of years,
perhaps even forever, there was no way to be certain, but now . . .

Who were those dead men in the
feasting hall? Where was Raugst? Giorn? It was like an alien place she was
walking into, a dreamscape, not a place she had been a thousand times and more.

Footsteps around the bend. Perhaps
a dozen soldiers. Niara and her priestesses shrank into an alcove and waited till
they passed by, then continued on toward the Throne Room. At the high archway,
two more guards waited.

Niara didn’t bother to engage these
two in conversation. At her order, light flashed from her sisters and the
guards crumpled mewling to the floor. Again, their reactions dismayed her.

“No more,” Hiatha gasped. She
looked wan.

Cirais nodded. “We’re too weak,
Mother. The stones . . . they’re like anchors, dragging us down . . .”

Niara nodded. “Hopefully we won’t
need to use them anymore tonight. Now come, we’re almost there.”

She stepped over the
still-twitching bodies of the guards and into the Throne Room. High, thick
columns lined the chamber, hung with tapestries depicting great battles against
the shadow, as well as simpler ones depicting hunting scenes or marriages, or
particular heroes of lore.

And there, hunched upon the throne
and drinking from a bejeweled goblet, was Raugst. He looked weary and troubled.
Good
.

A half dozen of his lieutenants
grouped around him, taking orders, but they spun as Niara and her sisters
marched up. Hands flew to sword hilts. Niara halted, alert, and her sisters
tensed to either side.

“Stay your hands,” Raugst said. “They’re
not a threat to me.”

“But tonight is the night!” said
one. “We can risk no interference.”

Raugst smiled patiently. “Stay your
hand, or I’ll take it off.”

With obvious reluctance, the
soldiers assumed more relaxed positions, but they did not take their eyes off
Niara and her sisters.

 
“Perhaps we can have some privacy,” Niara
said.

Raugst nodded. “So be it. Lads, you
have your instructions. See to them.”

Grumbling, the men moved off,
casting backward glances at Niara as they went, and when they were gone she
relaxed.

“Pull up a chair,” Raugst told her.
“And some for your lasses.”

“We’re not tired,” Hiatha said,
though she still looked sickly.

Niara allowed herself a small
smile. “
Some
might not be.”
Approaching Raugst, she saw that he appeared disheveled.

For a long moment, they just stared
at each other. There was no malice in his dark eyes, only sadness and a sense
of . . . confusion.

He let out a sigh. “What did you do
to me, woman?” It had become a mantra.

Gently, she laid a hand on one of
his. He did now draw it away. “I released you from the Dark One’s power. His hold
on you is gone.”

He frowned, raised the goblet to
his lips, downed its contents in one swallow and refilled it from the jug on
his armrest.

“And who said I wanted it gone?” he
said. “Now I’m no one. I have no home. No purpose . . .” He took another sip
and grimaced. “Even the wine’s not as sweet.”

She knelt beside him, ignoring the
muttering from Hiatha and Cirais behind her. They would not like her apparently
kneeling before Raugst. They did not understand that she needed to show support
for him, not arrogance. She should not be standing over him now.

“You
do
have purpose,” she said, “now more than ever. You must do what’s
right.”

He sneered. “And what’s that?”

“You know what it is.”

He looked away. “To save the city .
. . to betray my people.”

“They are yours no longer.
We
are.”

His eyes focused on her again, as
if just seeing her. “
You
. . . my
people?” He snorted. “I think not. You’re a child of the Larenth—or you were. I’m
a son of Oslog. I was raised in a city of men deep in the heart of that great
empire. I prayed and worshipped to the Great One
every day
of my life, and
every
day
I attended sacrifices in His honor. All my life I was assured of a
place beyond life, a place in the Master’s service. And so it was. I died, but
my spirit went to Him, and He gave me new bodies, new tasks, and always it was
for Him. Everything—for Him! My whole life, and beyond, wrapped in His shadow,
His loving shadow. And now here I am, ripped violently from it, from Him. And
told
by one of His enemies
to betray
my mission and save this pitiful city!” Glaring, he downed this cup of wine as
well and reached for the bottle.

Niara stopped him with a hand on
his wrist. “Easy, Raugst. I know this is hard for you. Of course it is. But
don’t pretend that I don’t know hardness, as well. Do you know what I gave up
to take you from His shadow? Do you know what I sacrificed to make you free?” She
heard the brittleness in her voice and made herself take a breath. “I gave up
eternity, Raugst.
Eternity
. Immortality.
For you.
All
of my grace, my light. For
the good that you can do.”