Mistress of the Night

CHAPTER 7

Feena leaned forward into the breeze that blew through the carriage window. Julith clicked her tongue in gentle disapproval, and Feena grimaced and sat back, swaying slightly with the carriage's motion.

"A high priestess isn't allowed fresh air?" Feena muttered under her breath.

"A high priestess can have fresh air," Julith replied, " but she should try not to mess up her hair."

Feena wrinkled her nose and asked, "How much longer?"

Julith peered out the window herself, but Feena noticed that she was careful to avoid the breeze.

"We're almost there," the dark-haired priestess said. "Now remember: watered wine only and drink it sparingly. Merchants and most nobles will bow to you, but you bow only to the Nessarch of Yhaunn, if we encounter him. Treat clergy as equals, whatever their faith or station. Only sit down to converse with someone who's already seated. Stick to minor topics. That's safest. If you really need to start a conversation with a scholar or a mage, ask about their research but be carefulthey can usually talk for hours. You don't need to discuss city politics or temple policy. This isn't that kind of-"

"I'm not going to remember all of this."

Julith squeezed her hand and said, "You'll do fine, Feena. Don't worry. If there's anything you need to know, I'll be right beside you."

"I'd rather you were right in front of me," Feena grumbled.

It was only half a jest. Her stomach was knotted. Julith had permitted her only a very light dinner that night, and Feena was grateful for that.

The carriage turned and its rattling progress slowed then stopped. Bright lights shone through the windows. Julith took a deep breath as footmen scurried outside.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"No," Feena grunted, "but it's too late now, isn't it?"

The carriage door opened. Feena rose into an uncomfortable crouch, then stepped out as Julith had taught herhead and shoulders first, arm extended to take the hand of a waiting footman, then feet, down to the step-stool placed for her convenience, unfolding gracefully as she cleared the door.

She managed it all without tripping on her shoes or her dress.

"Well done," murmured Julith from behind her as she stepped down from the carriage herself. "Let's keep going."

Feena nodded and moved forward. Small steps, she reminded herself. No need for long strides.

The white walls of the mansion of Ammanas Aum-leagarr, patron of Yhaunn's arts and host of the city's most lavish parties, loomed above them. Tall lanterns of glass and bronze lit the great entrance arch; within it, smaller lanterns marked a path up a broad flight of stairs. The sounds of talk, laughter, and music floated down from above. Other guests to Ammanas's party were drifting up the stairs as well. For a moment, Feena felt crushed, hemmed in like a sheep in a pen, even though she could have swung her arms wide without so much as touching anyone. She froze.

Julith took her arm and drew her gently onward.

As the stairs rose into the open again, she spoke to another footman. The servant cleared his voice and announced, "Moonmistress-Designate Feena Archwood and High Initiate Priestess Julith Harkspur of Moonshadow Hall!"

Feena climbed the last few steps and the night opened up around her. Below the perfect, delicate bow of Selune's waning crescent, more lanterns shone on the raised flower beds and tiled paths of a garden terrace. Along the paths and among the beds strolled the wealthy and powerful of Yhaunn, the crystalline music of flutes and harps mingling with the buzz of their conversations. A few men and women, those closest to the stairs, looked up idly at the footman's announcementthen looked again as they caught sight of Feena.

She could understand their awe. When she first looked in a mirror after Julith had finished dressing her, she'd hardly been able to recognize her own reflection.

Gone were the frilly blue dresses with layered crinolines that Dhauna Myritar favored and that Velsinore had insisted on squeezing Feena into. Julith had summoned a proper dressmaker to Moonshadow Hall. Feena wore a slim gown of moon-pale white silk with silver embroidery traced along the hem and across the bodice. Long, tapered sleeves covered her arms and ended in pointed, silver-trimmed cuffs that extended across the backs of her hands. The high, starched lace collars that scratched her neck were gone as well, replaced with a light stole that draped softly across her shoulders. Instead of ridiculous slippers, she wore solid shoes of tooled white leather with heels that lent her an imposingly noble height. Julith had brushed her hair until it shone, then dipped deep into the neglected recesses of Moonshadow Hall's regalia chests. The moon's road tiara and the silver circlets with their heavy representations of Selune's phases had remained at the temple. Instead, Feena's flaming hair was caught back with a web of silver filigree from which a crescent-carved opal hung over the center of her forehead.

The merchants nearest to her bowed in respect. Feena nodded in return.

"Strictly speaking, you didn't have to do that," whispered Julith as they swept past them.

"I know," Feena said. She squeezed Julith's hand then released it and raised her chin in confidence.

Heads turned as they walked through the gardens. Those few among the party guests who had met Feena before her transformation generally wore expressions of astonishment. Colle Shoondeep actually smiled at her and nodded before doing a comical double take and scowling furiously. Endress Halatar, the elderly high priestess of Lliira, goddess of joy, grinned, however, and shook her hands, holding her in pleasant conversation for several minutes.

"What's she doing now?" Feena asked Julith as they walked away.

Julith turned her head discretely.

"It looks like she's talking to one of her junior priests and a couple of merchants about you," she said. The young priestess smiled. "I think she's impressed!"

People who hadn't met Feena before seemed eager to accept her. Julith ushered her from group to group, murmuring names and information about important people.

"Diero Mivaldihe runs a trading business between Yhaunn and the Vilhon Reach," she whispered and Feena exchanged a few words about sea conditions with the dark-skinned man in a green vest. "Betha Horndriver she was playing the harp just now." Feena praised the young woman for her skill. "Arthagus of the Miracleshe has friends on the Merchants'Council of Sembia." She shook hands with the thin and trembling wizard.

As Feena discussed the summer heat with a master craftsman from Yhaunn's fantastically spired Glass-crafter's Hall, a man stepped up beside her. Feena felt a warning nudge from Julith and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was somewhat older than her, with hair that was showing signs of gray, but his face was strong and his shoulders, attractively broad. His clothes were dark and plain but well-cut. He looked like he should have been carrying a sword and she had a distinct feeling that she had met him before.

When her small talk with the glass crafter ebbed and the master craftsman drifted away, he said, "You look lovely tonight, Moonmistress."

Feena was the one who did a double take then, though she managed to turned it into what she hoped was a graceful nod.

"As do you, Guard Captain Manas," she replied, then winced at the words and saw Julith cringe as well.

Manas managed a chuckle. "It seems we both clean up well." He was carrying two goblets of wine and offered her one. "I think I'm as surprised to find you here as you are to find me."

"True enough." Feena accepted the wine and took a sip. It was watered. She raised an eyebrow and Manas gave her a small smile.

"Attendance at these parties is the price you pay for attaining a certain rank in Yhaunn," he said. "Judging from the way your aide has been guiding you through the crowd" he nodded to Julith" I suspected you might have been given the same instructions I once was."

Feena returned the smile. "Thank you for your courtesy," she said.

Manas's lip twitched. "Your appearance isn't the only thing that's changed since we met," he observed. "Before, I would have said that your speech and manners were straight out of the country. Does Yhaunn really change people so quickly?"

"Not on its own," Feena confessed. "I've been taking lessons."

"She's a fast learner," added Julith.

"I can see that." Manas glanced down at his wine. He hesitated for a moment, then said somewhat awkwardly, "I wanted to tell you that I admired the conviction with which you stood up to me and High Luck Shoondeep, Moonmistress. I can tell that you're a fighter. I know how hard it can be when you're thrown into a situation that puts words over actions."

Feena blinked. "I…" she stutteredthen met Manas' eyes as he looked back up.

Both of them flushed and glanced away.

Julith stepped into the conversation smoothly: "Have your investigations turned up any other clues about the death in the Stiltways, Captain?"

"No, ma'am," Manas replied as promptly as he would have to a superior in the city guard.

Feena could hear the relief in his voice at the change in topic. She had to admit that she felt a certain relief as well.

"Are there any indications of another werewolf in the city?" she asked.

Manas shook his head and replied, "No. We haven't been able to figure out why the man was in the Stiltways, either. He only had a few friends we've been able to locate, but they say that the Stiltways isn't somewhere they'd expect him to be. Apparently he pretty much kept to himself."

"If you find out more," Feena said, "will you let me know?" Her voice came out with a breathless rush. She snapped her teeth together, but of course she couldn't recall the words. "If there is another werewolf involved…" she added quickly, but the flush had already sprung back to Manas's face.

"You'll be the first to know, Moonmistress!" he said. He bobbed his head in a hasty bow. "If you'll excuse me, I… I see someone I need to talk to."

Manas turned and darted away down the nearest path.

Julith looked at Feena and smiled knowingly. Feena flushed again as well and gulped from her goblet. "It's your fault," she said.

Julith snickered, "You both just clean up too well for your own good, I suppose." She looked after Manas. "And he appreciates you as a fighter. I think I'd spar with him for a few rounds." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Feena groaned.

"Who's the bad influence now? Let's just move on." Feena looked around and gestured to a trio, an older man and woman and a second, younger man, strolling along a path well away from the one Manas had taken. "Who's that?"

Julith looked, nodded, and said, "Strasus Thingoleir, possibly the greatest wizard in the city. That's his wife, Dagnalla, also a wizard. The young man is likely one of their sonseither Roderio or Keph." She led Feena toward them. "Master Thingoleir!" she called. "Mistress Thingoleir!" The old couple stopped and turned. Julith bent respectfully and gestured to Feena. "May I present Moonmistress-Designate Feena Archwood of Moonshadow Hall."

Strasus smiled kindly and extended a wrinkled, leathery hand. "Well met, Moonmistress."

Feena took it and smiled back as Strasus gave a little bow over their joined hands.

"Well met, sir." She shook Dagnalla's hand as well. "Well met, madam."

She turned to the young man. He nodded to her soberly and reached out his hand as well.

"Roderio Thingoleir," he said. "Well met."

The skin of his hand was smooth and very soft when she took it. His face had the same soft look as wellthe aftereffect of massive magical healing, Feena realized. She wondered what had happened to him.

"Well met," she said. She looked back to Strasus and Dagnalla. "And your other son, is he here tonight as well?"

The smiles on the old wizards' faces faltered, turning thin and strained.

"I'm afraid Keph seldom attends events such as this," Dagnalla said. Her voice was flat, and Strasus's eyes filled with a deep sadness.

Feena cursed herself silently. It didn't take a wolfs nose to know she'd stepped into a dung heap.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "Perhaps another time." She fell back on Julith's advice and asked, "How is your research, madam? What are you working on?"

Dagnalla glanced to her husband and a little life struggled back into Strasus's eyes.

"Historical research," he said. "A cache of artifacts recovered from the depths of one of the tunnels in Yhaunn's cliff walls." He swept his hand around them, taking in the bowl of the city, his voice gaining strength as he warmed to his subject. "Few people realize how ancient the quarry that gave birth to Yhaunn truly is. Most historians date the first settlement here to about a thousand years ago, roughly concurrent with the establishment in the 380s of the Chondathan colonies that would become Selgaunt and Saerloon. However, it's known that humans, refugees from the devastation of Jhaamdath to the south, were colonizing the Dalelands to the northwest almost five hundred years before that and it seems highly unlikely that such a vast source of fine quality stone as originated here should be entirely ignored. In fact, I've found supporting architectural evidence for this in Westgate, where a monument erected by the city's ruler about fifty years before the beginning of Dalereckoning is constructed of what is clearly Yhauntan stone."

Feena struggled to keep an interested smile on her face. Hadn't Julith warned her that could happen? Unfortunately, the dark-haired priestess was actually listening to Strasus's tale with interest. Feena couldn't very well tear herself away.

"And the artifacts you're studying?" she asked.

Strasus stroked his beard and said, "Well, that's the really fascinating thing. Almost three hundred and fifty years before Dalereckoning, the northern empire of Netheril fellquite literally. The floating cities that were its greatest achievement dropped out of the sky in a moment of terrible catastrophe. There were survivors among ground-based settlements, of course, but the last cities of Netheril faded over the following centuries as the Anauroch Desert expanded and swallowed them. The last survivor-state, Hlondath, was abandoned to the sands in 329 or the year 4188 by Netherese reckoning."

Strasus's eyes were fully alive again, any hint of Feena's gaffe clearly forgotten. Feena was afraid, however, that she was about to make another. She scanned the gardens, looking for a way to escape the old wizard as Strasus droned on.

"The artifacts that were brought to me recently are clearly Netherese and had apparently lain undisturbed since they were deposited in the deep tunnel where they were found. What interests me is when they were placed or lost and"

Dagnalla chuckled and interrupted her husband with an elbow in the ribs. "What interests you is the Netherese magic!"

"Well, that goes without saying," grunted Strasus, "but the implications for Yhaunn's history…"

From the corner of her eye, Feena spotted a pair of figures standing a little way off, watching them. Watching her. Lantern light shone on a stark gray robe and glinted off silver hair. Velsinore and Mifano! Feena cursed silently. If she and Julith broke off conversation with the Thingoleirs, the priest and priestess would be down on them like vultures.

Dagnalla, however, had followed her furtive gaze. She must have recognized the clerical vestments that Mifano and Velsinore wore because she cut Strasus off with another elbow.

"My dear, enough with your history. The Moonmistress-Designate has followers waiting to speak with her." She nodded to Feena and said, "A delight to meet you."

Feena's silent curse turned into a blasphemy. At her side, she could feel Julith stiffen as she spotted Mifano and Velsinore as well.

"No, please go on," Feena said, but Strasus was already sighing and nodding.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I tend to get carried away. Another time?"

Roderio and Dagnalla drew him away, and Feena blinked numbly.

"The best of luck with your research," she called after them, the response drilled into her by Julith. "When you complete it, I hope you'll call on me at Moonshadow Hall and present the results!"

There were footsteps behind her. She turned to face Velsinore and Mifano. Neither looked pleased.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Mifano commented with a scowl. He looked her up and down. "You've got a new dress."

Velsinore scowled as well, but her eyes were fixed on the filigree web in Feena's hair and the opal crescent hanging against her forehead. "Who gave you approval to go through the regalia chests?" she seethed.

Feena gave Julith a fast glance, then drew herself up tall and lifted her chin boldly.

"The same person who authorized the expense of a new gown, Velsinore. Me. Isn't it my right and duty as Moonmistress-Designate to dress in a manner that does credit to Selune and Moonshadow Hall?"

Mifano's eyes narrowed at the sound of confidence in her voice, but Velsinore didn't even pause.

"That… cobweb is two hundred years old! It hasn't been worn in a generation. Mother Dhauna wouldn't touch it!"

"I'm not Mother Dhauna," said Feena. "The tiara and circlets that she wore belong to her generation. This" She touched the opal crescent, "is a fine piece of our temple's history. It should be worn proudly."

Velsinore gasped. "I'm in charge of Moonshadow Hall's internal affairs!" she spat. "The regalia is in my keeping as part of the temple's treasury."

"The regalia isn't part of the treasury, Velsinore," Julith said. The dark-haired priestess stood firm at Feena's side. "It isn't an account. It can't be spent or sold or traded for food or supplies for the infirmary. It doesn't fall under the purview of the Waning Crescent. It's entirely within the charge of the High Moonmistress." She inclined her head toward Feena. "And her designated successor."

Velsinore turned such a violent shade of red that Feena thought she might give herself a nosebleed. Mifano, however, remained tense and cold.

"Speaking of the High Moonmistress," he commented, "who is watching over Dhauna Myritar tonight?"

"No one is 'watching over' her, Mifano," Feena said as she turned to look at the priest. "I gave Jhezzail a break from the gate and asked her to stay close to Mother Dhauna's quarters in case she needed anything. I also," she added before he could raise another objection, "told Chandri that we would be out, just in case the infirmary was needed."

Mifano's lips pressed together. "The assignment of gate duty," he said thinly, "is my charge."

"As the infirmary is mine!" snarled Velsinore.

Feena took a deep breath. Moonmaiden favor me, she prayed silentlyand looked down on both of them.

"And 7," she reminded them, "am the Moonmistress-Designate, heir to the High Moonmistress and entrusted with her responsibilities." The wolf within her stirred, but she held it back, allowing only the force of authority to enter her voice. "You say you've sent to Waterdeep and the House of the Moon for advice on Mother Dhauna's condition. You haven't had a response yet, have you?"

Neither Velsinore nor Mifano responded.

Feena raised an eyebrow and continued, "No? Then until you hear back, I think you should accept Mother Dhauna's decisionsand mine."

Velsinore glowered at the ground, but Mifano glared at her, two spots of color high on his cheeks. Feena met his glare and waited. Finally, he looked down and gave her a stiff bow.

"As you wish, Moonmistress," he growled under his breath.

"I'm glad we spoke," said Feena. She stepped around the priest and priestess, her fine gown swaying around her feet as she walked confidently down the tiled path. Julith followed her without a word until they turned a corner and were out of sight of the twothen she let out a long breath.

"Feena…" she began in awe.

Feena held up a hand. "Don't say it." She groaned and sagged, stopping for a moment to catch her breath, then said, "Moonmaiden's grace, if the House of the Moon speaks against Dhauna, they'll turn me out faster than a burned griddlecake." She glanced up at Julith. "I don't think you'll be especially welcome either."

"If that's the way Mifano and Velsinore choose to act," Julith replied, "I'll stay while Mother Dhauna needs me and no longer." She surveyed the party. "Do you feel up to going on? You're doing very well tonight."

"Aside from acting like a girl around Manas, coming close to walking away from Strasus Thingoleir out of boredom, and causing a scene with Mifano and Velsinore…?"

"No," Julith said, "in spite of that. Strasus and Dagnalla Thingoleir, Endress Halatar, Arthagus of the Miraclesnone of them are fools, Feena, but they all respected the Moonmistress-Designate."

She stepped back a pace and bowed. Feena drew a deep breath.

"Moonmaiden's grace," she said again, "they did, didn't they?" Feena felt warm and confident all through her body. "And Mifano and Velsinore?"

"Have been put in their place," said Julith.

"Bright Mother of Night. Thank you, Julith." She straightened up. "But I think that's enough. The Moonmistress-Designate has had her evening and can retire for the night with dignity."

"The Moonmistress-Designatebut not Feena," Julith said, and made a face as they turned toward the entrance to the garden terrace, the stairs back down to the street, and the waiting carriage. "You'll still go back to the Stiltways?"

"I need to get out," said Feena. "Especially after that." She tossed her head in the direction of Velsinore and Mifano. "Besides, you heard what Manas said. The city guard knows nothing more about the Sharran. They don't even know he was a Sharran. I have to try to find out more."

"You could go to Manas with what you know. I think he'd appreciate it."

Feena gave her a dark glance, and Julith shrugged.

They had brought Feena's linen blouse, homespun skirt, and sandals with them in the carriage. As they rattled along, Julith helped Feena slip carefully out of the gown and into her own clothes. Feena sighed and rubbed the silk of the gown between her fingers.

"I don't think I've ever worn a dress this fine before in my life."

"I'm sure it won't be your last chance," Julith said. She folded the dress, then held out a velvet bag.

Feena exchanged the silver filigree and opal crescent for her plain chain and battered medallion, hiding the medallion under her blouse.

"How do I look?" she asked.

Julith grinned and reached out to mess up her hair. Feena spluttered, brushing hair out of her face. "And now?"

"I wouldn't let you into my party," said the younger priestess, her lips pressed together. "Moonmaiden watch over you, Feena." She reached up and banged on the carriage roof. "Driver, slow down!"

"I'll be back by dawn," Feena promised.

As the carriage slowed to a walk, she opened the door and hopped out carefully. The driver twisted around and gawked at her, but Julith rapped on the roof and ordered him to pick up the pace once more. Feena turned away from the carriage and down a street that led toward the chaos of the Stiltways.

She trotted through the streets in silence. It felt good to be out on her own again. Even with Julith's support and quiet suggestions over the past several days, even with her performance that night, Moonshadow Hall had started to wear on her once more. Ceremonies, rituals, prayers, meetings with the temple staff, meetings with important followers of Seluneeven when she had left most of those things to Velsinore and Mifano, it appeared there were responsibilities she couldn't delegate away. Thanks had been delivered to the temple on behalf of the ruling council and the Nessarch, Yhaunn's mayor, for the swift action that had prevented an epidemic of disease in the slums. Feena had been forced to stand and accept the honor, though Mifano had somehow arranged to make it seem that the idea was entirely his. Velsinore was busy preparing for the New Moon Beneficence, only a few days away, and seemed to want Feena's official approval on every last detail, even though she'd clearly gone ahead with everything beforehand.

If there had been any benefit to the night's confrontation with the tall priestess, Feena hoped, maybe it would be that Velsinore would stop bothering her. How had Mother Dhauna put up with the woman?

Feena clenched her teeth. And there was Dhauna. The High Moonmistress had woken on the morning after her seizure claiming no memories of the event. Mifano and Velsinore had given Feena knowing looks. Even in private, Feena hadn't been able to coax Dhauna into admitting that anything had happened. Julith, however, reported that she was skimming through materials in the temple archives with a new and frantic energy.

There would be answers within a tenday, Dhauna had promised. Feena was beginning to doubt that.

She'd had no time to look into the threat of Sharran activity. When she raised the issue again with Mifano, couching it in the most diplomatic terms she could manage, he had once more denied the possible existence of a cult of the dark goddess in Yhaunn.

"We'd know, Feena," he'd said. "Sharrans can't hide themselves forever. Shar thrives on sacrifices and wicked deeds. We watch for those but we've seen nothing out of the ordinary." He'd given her a sideways glance. "Except for a suspiciously mauled body in the Stiltways, that is."

Feena had said failed to respond.

Her chances of finding any clues almost five nights later, after Manas and the city guard had already surveyed the area, Were questionable. As she'd told Julith, though, she had to at least try. Velsinore had mocked her for leaving the Selunite battle against Shar to fight the bloody followers of Malar, but it didn't seem as if Moonshadow Hall was trying very hard in the battle against Shar either. There was something more to be found, something more going on than either Mifano or Velsinore knew aboutFeena was certain of it.

And while she missed the keen insight that her wolf-shape's nose gave her, there were places two legs could go that four could not. She would enter the Stiltways as a woman.

The district was busier than it had been before. Its lower levels seemed darker as well. Feena paused in the shadows to let her eyes adjust and to get her bearings, then plunged onward. While her departure from the Stiltways the last time had been hasty and furtive in an attempt to conceal her monstrous hybrid wolf-woman form, she had taken care to make note of landmarks. Even so, her progress through the darkness of the Stiltways's streets was haphazard. She was forced to backtrack several times. She clenched her teeth. Manas had said the Sharran's friends claimed he hadn't frequented the Stiltways. When she'd followed the man, however, he'd moved quickly and with purpose. Even if he hadn't frequented the mazy district, he'd been more than familiar with the route to the well.

Feena stayed alert as she walked, not just for the human predators and denizens of the Stiltways, but for signs of more monstrous presences, the kind of creatures that might maul a body. Especially the kind that would maul a body with poison flowing through it. Over the past several days, shed given the question a lot of thought. It was possible that feral dogs had done the damage, but they would have smelled the poison on the Sharran just as she had and shied away. More unnatural predators might not have minded the poison, but she hadn't caught the scent of any such creatures before. Was it another werewolf, or other lycanthrope, as Manas had suggested? It was possible, but unlikelyFeena couldn't understand why any intelligent creature would risk poisoning itself just to ravage a corpse.

Unless someone had deliberately set out to make the Sharran's death look more violent than it really had been and to pin that violence on her. In which case, who and why? She couldn't believe that even Velsinore or Mifano, as much as they disliked her, would stoop to such a thing.

She found the tiny courtyard and the well. Just as before, the area was deserted. Scooping up a pebble, Feena murmured a prayer to Selune. A thread of divine energy shivered through her fingers. When she opened her fist, the pebble shone with the light of a full moon. She cupped her hand so that the light shone only downward and played it across the ground. The courtyard was paved with broad flagstones, broken and uneven with time. Dirt and dust blurred its corners, and mingled with a scattering of broken crockery.

There was only the faintest of stains where the Sharran had fallen. Her human nose wasn't as sensitive as her wolf nose, but even so, she could smell only the residue of poisoned blood. She looked closer. A wide patch of the cracked stone paving was cleaner than elsewhere in the courtyard and the dust around it was streaked and pocked by water. Some well-meaning soul had tried to wash away the offense of the man's death, probably with the very water he had been trying to taint. Feena shined her light on the dust and dirt. The only tracks she saw were the prints of boots and sandals. She sighed and looked around the courtyard, then turned her gaze upward to the walkways and platforms above it.

Two levels up, light glimmered and rough sounds of merriment drifted downthe backside of a tavern, she guessed. She stepped all the way to the opposite side of the courtyard and peered closely at the wall, risking an upward flash of her magical light. It barely reached that high, but she could make out long, wet stains streaking the walland the figure of a man who staggered and slurred obscenities, twisting around to peer over his shoulder as the faint light caught him. Feena flicked the light back down and wrinkled her nose. The tavern's toilet facilities, such as they were, overlooked the courtyard.

It was a place to start. Some regular patron of the tavern might have seen or heard something to give her a clue. She dismissed the light with a whisper and waited for her eyes to adjust again, then slipped back out onto the street and looked for a way up. A simple ladder two buildings over led up one level; a steep plank ramp led up another. She doubled back along a narrow, creaking platform and found the front of the tavern. It was hardly an inspiring sight. Narrow windows, any glass in them long since broken away, spilled light and the blue smoke of pipeweed into the night. The door of the place had been a window at some point in the pasta frame of rough wood covered the rounded edges of long broken bricks. The narrow alley that led to the courtyard reeked of urine. The tavern didn't smell any better.

And only a short time ago, Feena thought, I was walking in a beautiful garden and shaking hands with the great and glorious of Yhaunn.

She crinkled her nose and stepped through the open door.

In spite of its appearance and odor, the tavern was packed with customers. A few glanced at hersome wearily, some suspiciously, some with an unnerving las-civiousnessbut most ignored her presence. The crowd was a surprising mix of rogues off the streets, sailors up from the docks, respectable craftsmen, and well-dressed merchants, all of them squeezed in and sweating together. A bard was giving a raucous performance in one corner. In another, a big, muscular woman in shining bracers was arm-wrestling a burly dwarf to the encouragement of the crowd. Their chants "Lahumbra! Lahumbra!" mixed with the screeching of the bard to create quite a din. Feena forced her way through, trying to guess who might be a likely patron to have witnessed something in the courtyard.

She settled on an old man wedged into a corner near the thick plank that served as the bar. He looked as comfortable as if he had grown there, but his eyes were bright and sharp, not addled with too much ale. She stepped in close to him.

"Good evening to you, sir!" she said over the noise of the tavern.

His eyes went wide and Feena bit her tongue. She'd gotten too used to speaking in the stilted, precise register of a high priestess. She forced her voice back to its normal tones.

"Well met, old father!"

The man's long eyebrows twitched. "Well met, young daughter." He switched the stem of a clay pipe to the other side of his mouth as his eyes traveled slowly up and down her body. Feena fought back an urge to growl at him. He sighed regretfully. "Lass, if I were thirty years younger, your virtue would be in danger."

She gave him a sharp-toothed smile. "Really?" she asked. "From what?"

The old man choked on his pipe smoke and let out a long, rattling laugh.

"Well, aren't you a shark out of water," he wheezed after a moment. His eyes fixed on her face. "Eyes like an angel, tongue like a guard. You've got questions, don't you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"When anyone comes into the Cutter's Dip and doesn't belly up to the bar first thing, they've got questions." His pipe switched sides again and smoke drifted out of his mouth with his words. "But you're lucky. I've got nothing to hide, especially from a woman as lovely as you." His eyes began to wander downward again. "Ask away, daughter, ask away."

Feena ground her teeth and crossed her arms over her bosom. The old man puffed smoke in disappointment. Feena drove straight to the point.

"The walkway behind this placeit looks over a courtyard," she said. "I'm trying to find someone who might have seen anything happen there five nights ago."

The man's pipe drooped in his teeth, then snapped up as he clenched his jaw. His fingers made a sign against evil.

"Beshaba's ivory arms," he hissed. "Are you mad? It was a werewolftore a man to bits down there."

"I've heard that," Feena said. "I'm looking for more information. If anyone was back there and looked down or if anyone in here heard anything, I'd like to know."

"Listen for yourself, girl! You can't hear from one side of this place to the other!" The old man reached for a mug of ale with a trembling hand. "I was in here that night. Sat right here while a man was slaughtered not sixty feet away. If I'd gone out to have a splash at the wrong time, that could have been me down there!" He gulped from his mug.

"Here, Noyle, what's wrong?"

The barkeep leaned over sharply. Other patrons standing by the bar turned to look as well. Before she knew it, the old man had become the center of attention, and Feena along with him.

"The wolf of the Stiltways," Noyle moaned. He glared at Feena. "I don't know what a woman like you would be doing looking for a beast like that, daughter, but let me tell youI've a friend and his grandson's wife saw the monster prowling that night." He slammed his mug down. "Aye, she chanced to be awake and look down from her window as it stalked out of the Stiltways, its fur slick and red with blood by the full moon's light, and in its claws" he stuck out his hand, his fingers curled up" it carried the heart of its victim!"

Feena swallowed. The Sharran's flask, of course, and her own russet fur, altered by the sleepless woman's tales She ran her tongue around her lips.

"Actually, the full moon was a tenday ago," she said awkwardly.

All eyes turned to her. Noyle shook his curled fingers under her nose.

"Have some respect for a murdered man, girl!" he said. "By the twin gauntlets of Torm and Helm, I hope that when they catch that monster they stretch its skin over Yhaunn's gates and sink its bloody corpse in the harbor!"

"Here, here!" cheered the spectators around the bar.

A shudder of discomfort ran down Feena's back. As the spectators raised their mugs and drank, she slipped away.

Or tried to. Her back bumped up against a man's firm chest.

"Well, would you look at this, Drik! It's our feisty missus from the other night!" Hands spun her around and Feena found herself staring into Stag's leering face. He bared his teeth in a nasty smile. "Well met, red bird! Going to show us your legs again?"

Feena clenched her jaw, hissed, "With pleasure!" and jabbed her knee up at Stag's groin.

The bandit twisted deftly out of the way.

"Not this time, red bird," he said. "Not so easy to surprise us when we know you've got fight in you."

He shoved her back hard and another pair of hands clutched at herDrik. She slapped at him, but he ducked. Her blow clipped another man across the back of the head.

"Hey!" the bystander snapped, and spun around to glare at her.

"Your pardon, sir," Feena gasped quickly in her most polite high priestess voice.

She tried to duck around the man, but Drik was already there, boxing her in.

"Not going to leave so soon, are you?" he asked.

There was movement behind her as Stag closed again. Feena flung an elbow at him, but once again he just stepped out of the way and she was forced pull back or hit someone else. In the moment that she hesitated, Stag popped up inside her reach. He grabbed her arm and twisted it, bringing her into a close, painful embrace. She snapped at him but he only leaned away and laughed. She tried to wrench free, but his grip was too strong.

"Let me go," Feena spat, "or I'll scream so loud everyone in this bar will hear me!"

"Sing your lungs out, missus," Stag said with a nasty grin. "This isn't a country clearing." He nudged the man Feena had accidentally slapped. "Is it, Kor?"

The man turned and glared again. "Some of us are drinking, Stag," he growled, then looked away as if utterly unconcerned with Feena's captivity. Her eyes widened.

"See, red bird," cooed Stag, "this's our own pretty little clearing right here. No one's going to bother us."

He started to tug her toward the back of the bar, and Drik stepped forward to take her other side.

As the second bandit closed, Feena reared back against Stag and kicked out at Drik with both feet. The blow connected, and Drik stumbled into Kor, who roared in frustration. When he whirled around, beer dripped from his face. He cuffed Drik hard with a meaty fist. Startled, Stag relaxed his hold on Feena. She twisted half free of him and leaned toward the corner of the bar.

"Noyle!" she shouted. "Noyle!"

The old man looked up from his story. His eyebrows rose. Other people swung around as well, just as Stag grabbed for her again, trying to pull her back into his grasp. Drik was rising, too, an ugly look of rage burning on his face. He grabbed her free arm and used it as leverage to drive a punch against her chin. Feena's head snapped back.

"Torm and Helm!" Noyle gasped.

Through a brief wash of bright pain, Feena saw him start up from his chair and turn to face Stag. She started to pull herself away from the bandit

"She's the one who beat you down?" asked Noyle.

Feena froze. Stag's hand tightened on her right arm.

"She's the one," the bandit said. "Fights like a demon and twice as dirty."

"Stag and me were lucky to get away," Drik chimed in, seizing her left arm. "She charmed us like fools with her country girl act, then turned on us faster than you could pick a pocket. That's probably what she had in mind for you too, Noyle."

The old man flinched back. Drik twisted Feena's arm painfully.

She gasped and growled but Stag jabbed her hard under the ribs before she could say anything. The blow left her struggling to suck air into her lungs and would have doubled her over if the two bandits hadn't been holding her up.

"Got to be careful of her," Stag said. "She's got some kind of magic, too."

Noyle pulled away in alarm and said, "She's probably some kind of wild hedge mage." He spat on the floor in her direction. "Beshaba's arms hold you, bitch!"

Feena managed to get her breath back.

Moonmaiden's grace, Feena, she cursed, you picked a fine tavern to start poking around in, didn't you?

She fought back the rising fear that surged in her belly. Selune's magic wasn't going to help her. Drik and Stag would stop her at the first sign of a spell. Anywhere else, she might even have considered changing shapeher hybrid form was strong and fierce enough to take on four men or morebut in this place? If she revealed herself as a werewolf, she'd be facing an angry mob.

Stag and Drik couldn't have the entire tavern on their side, could they? Bright Lady of the Night favor me, she prayed.

She twisted around as best she could and screamed over her shoulder, "Help me! Somebody help me!"

A few people looked up, startled, but friends held them back. Others glanced at her, then laughed.

"Now, didn't I say no one would bother us, red bird?" sneered Stag. "You know, there's a reason people are afraid to come down here after dark." He grinned at his partner. "Hey Drik, let's show missus how alone she really is!"

Drik's face split in a horrid smile. "Aye, Stag!" His voice rose. "Dip's stagger!" he shouted out.

His call got more attention than Feena's scream. All around the tavern, people shouted back eagerly as they turned to face the bandits and their captive. Stag and Drik hauled roughly on Feena's arms.

"One!" they cried, swinging her back toward the crowd. Feena fought to stay on her feet.

"Two!" chanted the crowd in response.

The bandits pulled her forward.

"Three!"

Stag and Drik swung Feena back again and let go. Feena reeled free, arms flailing as she struggled for balance. She slammed straight into the big woman who had been arm-wrestling the dwarfand gasped as the woman shoved her away again.

"Dip!" the woman roared merrily.

Feena spun a few feet and hit someone else, a gap-toothed merchant.

"Stagger!" he yelled and pushed her as well.

"Dip!"

"Stagger!"

The crowd shifted and flowed around Feena, never allowing her more than a few steps before she hit or was caught by someone and sent staggering on her way. Beer splashed, drenching her. She didn't have a chance to catch her breath or recapture her balance. There was certainly no chance for a prayer. Even the wolf within her was whining in fearshe couldn't have changed form if she wanted to. Wild-eyed, she tried to drop, tried to dart between the legs of the crowd and make for the door. Stag's hands caught her.

"No, no, red bird!" he laughed and gave her a hard shove back into the chanting crowd. Other hands twirled her around and around, tossing her across the bar.

The dwarf whirled into her field of vision. Feena heard him guffaw over the tavern's din.

"Dip!" he bellowed and swung a shoulder against her hips.

Her torso kept going forward. Arms outstretched, she rolled helplessly over the dwarfs shoulder, bounced off a table, and landed hard in someone's lap. A goblet spun away with a ring and clash of cheap metal. Spilled wine pattered around her like rain.

She looked up at a man with light brown hair and a soft goatee. He was well dressed, though wine soaked his clothes. His face was younghe was easily ten years Feena's juniorbut there was a hardness to his eyes that aged him. His mouth was set in a thin line. He looked down at his stained clothes, then at herand up.

The crowd went silent. Feena blinked her eyes back into focus in time to see the tavern's patrons part to leave a clear space between the man who held her and Stag. The bandit's eyes were narrow.

"Give her here, Keph," he growled.

"Why should I?" The young manKephcurled an arm around Feena's shoulders. "I might just keep her."

Drik snickered. The young man's gaze darted to him and the bandit fell silent. He moved to Stag's side, both men watching Keph.

"I hear you think you're a bad man now," Stag said. "You still look like a spoiled brat to me. Maybe you want to just step back before you get hurt."

"And maybe when the two of you are finished taking on a farmer's wife, Stag," Keph replied, "you'll be ready to face a real opponent."

Stag's face flushed. "I'll take on both of you by myself!"

The crowd pulled back even farther, making a wide ring in the middle of the tavern. Keph glanced down at Feena.

"Do you mind a little help?" he drawled with mock courtesy.

"Not at all," Feena replied. She pushed herself to her feet and bared her teeth. "Watch out for Drik. He's not going to stay out of this."

Keph's eyes betrayed surprise, as if he hadn't expected such rage to pour out of her, but he rose and stepped to her side. He wore a rapier on his hip, though he didn't draw it. Stag was already moving, strutting forward confidently but watching them both closely while Drik moved around to the side. The crowd began calling out to all four of them, taking sides and cheering. Feena took a step toward Stag, and so did Keph.

"Take care of Drik!" Feena hissed at him.

"You take care of Drik. Stag's mine."

Keph circled around the bandit, hard eyes locked on him. Stag froze, not sure which opponent to focus on. Growling, Feena took the choice away from him. She dived past Keph to throw a punch at Stag.

He got an arm up and blocked her blow, then swung his other in a backhand that forced her to leap away.

"Hey!" snapped Keph. "I said he's mine!"

He started to move in. Out of the corner of her eye, Feena caught movement and tried to shout a warning as Drik jumped into the fray, but she was too slow. The second bandit wrapped his arms around Keph's chest and heaved him off his feet. The crowd cheered wildly.

The moment of distraction cost her as well. Stag's fist seemed to snake out of nowhere and snap into her jaw. The punch spun her halfway around and knocked her to the floor.

"You're a lot of trouble, red bird!" Stag growled as he drew a foot back to kick her.

Feena threw herself away and came up beside Drik and Keph. The young man was struggling ferociously against Drik's embrace, but the bandit just kept squeezing tighter. Feena rolled up to her knees and drove a punch hard into Drik's kidneys. He gasped and stumbled. As soon as Keph's feet touched the ground, he hunched forward sharply, tumbling Drik over his shoulders. Drik didn't loosen his embrace, however. For a heartbeat, the two men stood twined, then Drik went over, pulling Keph after him. They sprawled across the floor, both stunned, as the crowd jeered. Feena scrambled to her feet and swung around to face Stag once more. The bandit was circling her, fists ready. She took a slow step away from where Drik and Keph lay.

"Trouble?" she asked. "You don't know the half of it." She gestured for him with both hands. "Come and get me."

Stag took a cautious pace forward. Feena glanced down.

"Keph! Yours!"

On the floor at Stag's feet, Keph looked up. He grinned viciously and his hands snapped out to grab at the bandit's leg. Stag stumbled, surprised. Feena darted forward, grasped the fabric of his shirt, and slammed her knee into his groin. Stag let out a horrible rattling gasp and stiffened.

"Bitch!"

Still holding Stag upright, Feena spun around. Drik was up in a crouch, one leg stretched out, the other bent in front of him. Sharp metal glinted in his hand. A throwing knife. His arm drew back…

Keph twisted over onto his side, pulled a leg in, then kicked out hard. His booted foot hammered straight into Drik's bent knee with a bone-splintering crunch. Drik shrieked and the knife tumbled from his fingers as he toppled over, clutching his leg.

For a moment, the crowd held its breath, then erupted in a roar of appreciation for the brawl.

Keph pushed himself up and rose to his feet. Feena glanced at Stag. The bandit's eyes had rolled back and he was making rasping, choking noises that flecked his lips with foamy saliva. She shoved him into Keph's arms.

"I'm done," she said over the noise of the crowd. "Your turn."

The young man pushed Stag to the floor, grabbing her instead and pulling her close.

Keph felt the red-haired wildcat's body stiffen in alarm as he drew her in.

"Easy!" he hissed before she got the wrong ideahe didn't want to try fighting her on his own. "We're not out of danger yet."

He spun her around toward the door of the Cutter's Dip. Between them and it were big Kor, wily old Noyle, half-mad Lahumbra, and a few other thugs. None of them looked happy.

"Those are Stag and Drik's friends," he whispered in the woman's ear. "They'll cool down later, but if we want to get out of here now, we'd best go together."

The woman's eyes narrowed and she nodded. Keph led the way toward the door. The woman didn't try to challenge him. Hands reaching out to touch and congratulate them, the crowd parted easily. The woman flinched backafter a round of Dip's Stagger, Keph thought, who could blame her? but he accepted the congratulations and shook hands easily. As they drifted past the bar, the thugs were forced back away from them by the press of people, but he heard Noyle hiss out a warning.

"Best not be coming back to the Cutter's Dip any time soon!"

The woman started to twist angrily. Keph held his grip on her and kept them moving.

"Bad odds," he muttered to her. "You can get back at them another time."

A moment later, they were through the tavern's door and out on the platforms of the Stiltways. Keph walked a short distance away from the Cutter's Dip, then let out a breath and released his hold on the woman.

"What did you do to get Stag and Drik so mad at you?" he asked her.

"They tried to rob me a tenday ago," she said bluntly. "I objected." She jerked her head at the door of the Dip. "This was just… unlucky. Thank you for your help."

Keph couldn't hold back a disdainful snort.

Dark, he thought, if Jarull and the other cultists saw this

"Don't thank me," he told her. "If Stag had held his tongue, I would have given you back to him."

The woman looked at him with disgust. "I guess I shouldn't have expected any more." She drew herself up as if she wore a noblewoman's finery instead of country clothes, and lifted her chin haughtily. "In that case, accept my apologies for interrupting your drink and my congratulations on a fight well fought."

Keph blinked at the change in her manner and cocked his head. Country wife, scrapper, noblethe woman had more sides than a loaded die. She must have recognized the surprise in his expression because she grimaced and shook her head.

"No," she said, as much to herself as to him it seemed. She looked at him and bent her head. "Thank you," she said with genuine gratitude. "Even if you don't accept itthank you."

"I…" He searched for words, something that would knock her back down. To his surprise, he couldn't find any. "You're… welcome," he told her haltingly.

She extended her hand. "Feena," she said.

"Keph," he replied, "but then, you already know that." He took her hand and bowed over it politely.

Feena started.

"Keph Thingoleir?" she asked, surprised.

Keph bit down on his tongue, let go of her hand, and said, "My reputation precedes me."

Feena seemed confused. "No," she said, "it's just… this is the second time tonight I've heard your name. And you shake hands like your father."

"I'm sure he'd be pleased to hear that," Keph snapped. He stepped away from her. "You should go."

She looked at him strangely. "I'm sorry if I"

"Go. And like Noyle said, best not be coming back any time soon."

"All right." Feena's expression hardened. "Will they come after you?"

Keph laid a hand on Quick. No weapons was an unspoken rule inside the Cutter's Dip, but outside was another matter.

"They can try."

"You'll be alone," she warned.

"I was waiting for a friend before you came along. He'll be here soon." He gave Feena a cold glare. "Leave!"

She turned and stalked awaythen paused and twisted to look back at him.

"I owe you," she said, then she turned back around and continued on.

"You don't owe me anything!" he shouted after her.

He turned to the railing of the platform and looked out into the darkness of the Stiltways.

Dark, he thought silently. Mistress of the Night, are you the only one who can see me as more than the failed son of Strasus Thingoleir?

He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, then opened them again. He stood that way for a long while, listening as the sounds of the Cutter's Dip returned to normal at his back. The bleeding light of the tavern caught his shadow and threw it out, long and thin.

Heavy footsteps came creaking along the platform toward him. He twisted around. Jarull stood staring at him.

"What are you doing out here?" the big man asked in surprise.

Keph put on a false smile. "A little trouble," he laughed. "Nothing I couldn't handle." He swaggered up to his friend and punched him in the arm. "You should have been here. You would have enjoyed it!"

Jarull gave him a sober look and said, "Variance wants to see you."

All of Keph's swagger and bravado vanished. He slumped back against a wall.

"Dark, Jarull." He pushed his hands through his hair. "Did she say anything? Is she still angry?"

Three nights past, as he, Talisk, Starne, and Baret had staggered through the depths of the Stiltways celebrating his revenge against Lyraene, Variance had descended on them like the wrath of Shar herself. For Baret, still trembling after the Selunite's spell, the dark priestess's appearance had been too much. He had shrieked and dropped where he stood. Talisk and Starne had fled. Keph had found himself backed into a corner as Variance stalked after him, shadows surging as if brought to life by her rage.

"You fool," she had seethed. "You fool! What were you thinking?"

But she hadn't even given him a chance to explain, just pointed a finger at him and hissed, "You will not see me or know Shar's favor again until I send for you!"

His heart had gone cold. All he'd been able to do was stare as she turned and vanished into the shadows. He hadn't seen heror Bolansince. He had not been summoned to the Sharran temple. Starne, Talisk, and Baret had taken to shunning him. Even Jarull had seemed distant. And when he tried to work the orison that Variance had taught him at his initiation, there had been nothing. Not after a thousand desperate prayers and hours of sitting in the dark. Shar had not answered him.

If Variance wanted to see him He looked up at Jarull hopefully. The big man's face twisted.

"Hope is for the ignorant and the weak," he said in disgust. Keph flinched, and Jarull pointed and said, "There's a bookbinder's shop a street along that way and one level up. Go in. Variance is waiting for you."

Keph scrambled to his feet and ran in the direction his friend pointed.

He found the shop easily enough. It was closed for the night, of course. No light showed around the heavy shutters that covered its windows. Keph swallowed and reached for the door handle. The door was unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped inside, closing the door swiftly.

The shop smelled of leather, paper, and glue. Variance stood over a table on which half a dozen books were laid out. A single candle was set on the table as well, though its flame seemed writhed in shadow, dimming its light to the barest dull glimmer. The light certainly wasn't enough to read by. It came to Keph that Variance didn't need the light. She belonged to Shar. She lived within the darkness. The candle was there for him, a reminder of his weakness.

"Writing," Variance said without looking up, "is a marvelous thing. Someone can write down a thought they had or a story they heard or a description of something they experienced, and that thought or story or experience is preserved. It will last as long as the writing itself lasts. If the writing is copied, it can last even longer. Through writing, even the humblest man or woman can become, in a way, immortal. Without magic. Without the favor of the gods."

She reached out and turned a page in one of the books.. Keph waited in silence while Variance turned another page, and another. He wanted to fall down on his knees and beg for her forgiveness. He didn't dare. What would another misstep cost him? He waited and the hollow in his heart seemed to grow into an empty, desolate void.

Just when it seemed he had to cry out or go mad, Variance finally looked up.

"And now," she said, "you begin to understand Shar's great sorrow. She may be the Mistress of the Night, but she is also the Lady of Loss. When Selune kindled fire in the darkness of creation, she did so without thought for her sister. Ever since that first dawn, Shar has ached for the simple peace that Selune tore from her." Variance stepped away from the table. "Do you understand, Keph?"

He nodded. He could feel tears on his cheeks. Variance studied him. When she spoke, her voice was soft.

"What were you thinking when you attacked that half-elf?"

"I wanted to hurt her," Keph said. The words burst out of him. "I wanted to hurt her the way she hurt me. She mocked me with what I didn't have, so I wanted to take it away from her." He wiped at his face with the heel of his palm. "I wanted to honor Shar with Lyraene's loss!"

"Ah."

Variance turned and began to close the books on the table. Keph clenched his jaw.

"I'm sorry, Variance!" he blurted. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to"

She turned on hini sharply.

"Now," she hissed, "you dishonor Shar! The agony of an enemy's spirit, that is joy to the Mistress of the Night. Regret" She slammed the cover of the final book. "Regret is no honor. Especially false regret." She glared at him. "Everything that you did to Lyraene, you did deliberately."

Keph stumbled back. "No…" he gasped. Variance raised her eyebrows. Keph's hands curled into fists. "I mean, yes. Yes, everything was deliberate. But I didn't mean to dishonor Shar!" He sank down to his knees. "Please, Variance. Forgive me!"

Variance's pale face was cold. "Shar does not forgive."

Keph felt his heart drop out of his chest.

"But," added Variance, "she does teach." She reached down and offered Keph her hand. He took it and rose. "If you wish to truly honor Shar, Keph, you must be patient. The Selunites would erase us from Faerun, just as Selune tried to erase her sister's darkness. Think… if you had been patient, if you had taken Lyraene somewhere else…"

"The priest of Selune wouldn't have found us," Keph said. He clenched his teeth and looked at Variance. "But he did find us. Variance, the Selunites"

The priestess silenced him with a gesture and said, "The Selunites don't recognize Shar's hand in what you tried to do."

"But Lyraene or her friends must have told someone what happened," Keph protested. Variance tilted her head.

"Is this the first you've thought of that possibility?" she asked.

Keph blinked, and flushed. Not one guard had so much as come calling on Fourstaves House since his attack on Lyraene. He'd been so terrified by Variance's rage that the fact hadn't crossed his mind.

"Yes," he admitted in a whisper.

"And how would you have dealt with her accusations if you had carried out your revenge to its fullest extent?"

He swallowed and said, "I didn't think of it."

Variance slapped him across the face.

"Shar favors you more than anyone could have guessed!" she cursed. Keph hung his head. Variance forced his chin up. "I have visited Lyraene," she said. "Shar grants me certain powers over the minds of the weak. Lyraene recalls the duel and her injury, but not your malice. She bears anger for you, but not outrage. You're fortunate I was able to reach her in time."

Keph stared into the priestess's cold eyes, then glanced away.

"Thank you, Variance," he said.

"Patience and subtly, Keph," she said, and she finally released him. "Bolan doesn't believe you have the potential to become a priest."

Keph bristled at the comment. "I"

"Hush." Variance silenced him again. "I don't share Bolan's opinions. Shar has great plans for you, Keph. I'm certain of it. Perhaps they will be revealed soon. Until then, you need to bide your time. Let the spirit inside you burn, but give no one cause to guess your true allegiance. Shar's worship prospers in secretthis is the Dark Goddess's lesson. Do you understand?"

He nodded. She touched her fingers to his forehead in silence, then stepped back.

"You have seen me again. Know Shar's favor once more."

It felt like a yoke had been lifted form his shoulders. Keph gasped in joy.

"Hail to the Mistress of the Night!" he sighed.

Variance gave him a cool smile and folded her hands.

"Go," she said. "I told Jarull to await your return."

Keph bowed low before her and turned, walking through the door and back out into the Stiltways. His heart felt as light as it had after his initiation, but without the sense of invulnerability that had led him astray. A mistaken invulnerability! He breathed a sigh of relief for the second time that night.

Jarull was leaning back in a shadow just where Keph had left him. He started upright as Keph approached and his somber expression was shattered by a grin as he saw Keph's face.

"She forgave you!" he whooped.

"She taught me," Keph said, but he returned Jarull's grin and swung an arm around his shoulder. "Let's see if we can find Starne and the others." He looked along the platform toward the Cutter's Dip. "I feel like tonight is just getting started."