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.”
Hiatha and Cirais muttered at her back.
This time he did not look away. He studied her, grave and sad. “Then you are a fool. I can do no good. I am—”
“You are baron, and you’re the only one who has any sway over your agents, or Vrulug for that matter.”
His hand fell away from the wine jug. “I think I know what must be done. I’ve been sitting here, playing my part with my men, but my mind has been concocting one plan after another, discarding them one by one, trying to figure a way out of this mess.”
“And? You’ve thought of something?”
“Aye, I have a notion. You won’t like it—I don’t like it—but it’s all there is. I can’t simply step down and let Fria rule. My men would kill her, and me, and one of them would replace me. Literally. One of my lieutenants, probably Kragt, would take this shape, or convince others that he had long enough to open the Gates for Vrulug.”
A trifle nervously, she asked, “So what is it? What’s your plan?”
His eyes glinted, and once more he was his lively, conniving self. “You shall see.”
She was not sure if she should feel reassured or horrified by his return to form. She took in a breath, held it. Now had come time to ask him the question she’d been dreading. “Giorn,” she said softly. “Where is he?” Giorn, I am so sorry. You were dead ...
“I don’t know,” Raugst told her. “Fria’s hidden him somewhere.”
Niara breathed a sigh of relief.
The doors of the Throne Room burst open and in walked Kragt and several of his men. They looked dirty and weary, but excited.
“We did it!” Kragt announced. “We followed the secret tunnels to where they come out near a waterfall beyond Lord Vrulug’s camp.”
Raugst grinned. “Excellent. You’ve mapped it, I trust?”
“Yes, my lord. And it needs mapping. A windy way it is, with many side-tunnels going hither and thither. A few of my men are still down there, lost. They’ll miss all the fun.”
“Is this part of your plan?” Niara said.
Raugst ignored her. “Any sign of Giorn Wesrain?”
“Nothing,” Kragt said. “He must still be here in the castle somewhere, or down a side-tunnel.” His eyes fell on Niara and the priestesses. Hiatha and Cirais bristled. Niara could almost see the hairs standing up on their necks.
Kragt’s men, by contrast, hunched up and actually drew back their lips from their teeth, which were now sharper than they should be.
“Relax,” Raugst said. “These girls aren’t our enemies anymore.” He stroked Niara’s head as though she were a pet, and she flinched away. He laughed.
The action seemed to amuse Kragt, and his men stood straighter and lowered their lips. Niara, who had been gripping the white stone she wore about her own neck, ready to channel its power like her sisters had channeled theirs, let her hand drop away.
“Can we have a go?” Kragt asked.
“They’re all mine,” Raugst said, rubbing Niara’s lips with his thumb. She suppressed her rage, though she did think he was enjoying it a bit too much. “Now go and enjoy yourselves. But no raping or killing. We can’t have the people turn on us yet.”
Kragt seemed confused. “But isn’t tonight the night?”
Raugst pulled a face as though he were mulling things over. “Perhaps, perhaps not. There may be a way to increase our Lord’s blow against the Crescent, to make it even more damaging.”
Satisfied, Kragt bowed and withdrew.
Niara turned a concerned eye on Raugst. “Make it more damaging?”
“Yes, what is this?” Hiatha demanded.
He laughed at their looks of concern. “A pretty lie, do not worry.”
Niara worried.
Raugst stood, swayed, caught himself. He chuckled and stepped down from the dais, his crimson cape flowing behind him.
“Where do you go?” Niara said.
“The tunnels,” he called over his shoulder, his voice one of good humor. He was making for the door. “I go to meet with His Imminence, Lord Vrulug of Wegredon, favorite of the One. We will have a palaver wherein we will determine the fate of your world.”
He swept through the doorway and was gone.
Niara and her priestesses gaped at each other. Niara held her head in her hands. “What have I done? Have I neutered the monster or birthed him?”