Dave Gross: Mistress of the Night

She continued walking. The door of her sitting room opened into the hall outside, where sconces of frosted glass glowed with pale magical light. Dhauna shuffled her canes with care. Julith's room was next to hers and her secretary could hear a quill fall. No sound came from behind Julith's door, though. She was fast asleep.

To reach the head of the ramp that led down to the ground floor of Moonshadow Hall, Dhauna had to walk almost a quarter of the way around the temple. Under her breath, she cursed whatever ancient architect had decided that the high priestess's rooms should lie farthest from the head of the ramp. Maybe the idea had been, as

Julith often argued, to allow the head of the temple some peace and quiet rather than having novices and junior priests and priestesses continually tromping past her door. That was a stupid idea, Dhauna thought. The novice and junior clergy were young. They should be the ones walking the farthest!

She focused on getting along the corridor then down the long ramp, turning each slow step into a meditation, trying to remember her nightmare. There didn't seem to be much to remember, only her terror. There was something to be frightened of, she was sure of that, but just what… she couldn't remember. Even her terror was fading away, leaving her only with a vague sense of unease.

At the bottom of the ramp she turned, stepping through a door and out into the cloister around the temple's central courtyard. A night breeze tugged at her robe and wrapped its hem around one of her canes. Dhauna paused and shook the fabric free. The waning gibbous gate was only a few shuffling paces farther. With a small sigh of relief, she stepped through the gate and into the courtyard. The dew-cool grass was soft under her feet and much more pleasant to walk on than hard stone. She stood for a moment, digging her toes into the grassand realized for the first time that she had forgotten to pull on her slippers. Had the nightmare really disturbed her so much?

Walking with more care, she made her way down the courtyard to the sacred pool and the low stone wall that surrounded it. Selune's light entered the courtyard at a sharp angle, but as long as some light entered the courtyard, the moon was reflected in the still water. Dhauna sought out a patch of moonlight, settled herself sideways on stones that had been worn smooth by countless clerical hands and backsides, and stared into the water. Silhouetted by the moon, her reflection stared back at her. Dhauna closed her eyes, reaching deep within herself for the fleeting memories of her dream. They eluded her like fireflies, leading her on with flickers and flashes, only to vanish, leaving her lost in darkness. Dhauna ground her teeth in frustration and strained, trying hard to remember what had frightened her into waking.

Moonmaiden guide me, she prayed silently. Help me remember-More quickly than she could have thought, she brushed against a memory and a dread she couldn't name or even comprehend filled her. An old horror. So very, very oldbut close as well. Very close. Her chest clenched and a thick bitterness choked her. She forced her eyes open.

She was staring up at the moon, Selune's light falling full across her face. The memorywhatever it had beenwas gone again. But there was a new, dreadful certainty in her belly.

"You sent it," she whispered to the moon. "You gave me a warning. But of what? Of what?"

Her last word came out as a shout. Dhauna clapped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. The windows of the temple's bedchambers overlooked the courtyard, and at Julith's window there was a flash of light. Dhauna muttered a curse. She wouldn't be alone for long.

The danger was close. But where? Within Yhaunn? Within Moonshadow Hall? A sharp ache throbbed in Dhauna's head as. she struggled with the question. If the danger was so close, she needed help. Someone she could trust.

Julith's footsteps echoed on the flagstones of the cloister.

Dhauna dipped her hand in the sacred pool. "In the name of the Bright Lady, hear me," she prayed softly, "Feena of Arch Wood, daughter of Maleva, come to me!"

A single ripple shimmered across the surface of the water as her prayer took flight.

"High Moonmistress?" called Julith. "Is something wrong? Are you all right?"

Dhauna turned to see the young priestess hurrying across the grass. She smiled and shook the water of the pool from her hand.

"Nothing's wrong, Julith," she lied. "I'm fine."

Month of Eleasias, the Year of Rogue Dragons (1373 DR)

The little clearing beside the road to Ordulin just outside of Yhaunn was quiet except for the sluggish gurgle of a summer-warmed stream. All was still'but for the slow dance of leaves stirred by an evening breeze. Quiet. Still. Peaceful. Even so, the wolf that squatted in the twilight shadows at the edge of the clearing waited a few minutes morea lesson of caution learned the hard waybefore stepping out into the open. Between its jaws, it clenched the loop of a strap that bound a tight bundle of rags. The animal dropped the. bundle beside the stream, then sat back and with a silvery jingling of the chain collar that circled its neck, shook itself.

With every shake, the wolfs russet pelt grew shorter, except at its head where a mane of red hair billowed free. Canine features flattened and smoothed as limbs grew longand human. The change took only moments.

Feena rose up on two feet, naked except for the chain she wore. Out of reflex, she put a hand to her throat checking to see that the medallion hanging from the chain had survived her journey. It had, of course. Battered and scratched, the disk of silver that bore Selune's symbol of bright eyes and seven stars seemed able to survive anything even a werewolf could throw at it.

She hoped it would survive what she was going to face in Yhaunn.

"It's been a busy month, High Moonmistress," she said, rehearsing the excuse one more time as she reached for her bundle. "I couldn't come any sooner. Two of the village women were pregnant, then one had a difficult birth and the baby was sicklyI had to watch over him, Mother Dhauna."

The strap around the bundle had slipped tight. She picked at it in frustration until it opened and her clothes spilled out onto the ground: light sandals, a simple blue skirt of homespun wool, and a blouse of linen dyed yellow with yarrow. Feena shook the dirt out of the skirt and pulled it on.

"What was wrong with him? A twisted leg, Mother Dhaunaand jaundiced, too, the poor little thing!" She bit a corner of her lip as she cinched the drawstring of the skirt tight around her waist. Was the excuse too much? "Maybe just the twisted leg," she muttered.

"There's nothing twisted about your legs, missus, not from where I'm standing!"

Feena snatched up her blouse and spun around. At the edge of the clearing, two men emerged from the trees. One carried a short sword, the other a heavy club. Neither looked particularly honest. Both wore unpleasant leers.