The War of the Moonstone: an Epic Fantasy (38 page)

“Monster!” That seemed to pain him,
despite everything, so she said it again, “Monster!” He flinched. She stepped
forward and beat against his chest. “
Monster
!”

“Niara . . .”

She stepped back, wiping at her
eyes. “Go,” she commanded. She couldn’t even look at him. “Just go.”

For a moment, he stood there,
conflicted. Then he turned and walked away through the mist.

Word about the king’s demise spread fast, first among the
soldiery, then among the townspeople. There were official announcements in the
city squares telling the people of King Ulea’s wickedness, his secret devotion
to Gilgaroth, and how Raugst, the great hero, had saved the kingdom from his
vile clutches. It was painted as a grim and close battle, as King Ulea summoned
the forces of darkness to combat brave Lord Raugst. Somehow Raugst had summoned
the strength and the righteousness to overcome these blasphemous sorceries and
had at last, in single combat, slain the King with his own hands, throttling
the very life from him.

Of course, there was a lot of
disbelief. The King was a beloved figure throughout the land, and his family
had been beloved likewise for hundreds of years.

Just the same, it was hard to
refute the evidence of the letters found in Vrulug’s camp, and harder still to
refute the united word of Felgrad’s aristocracy combined with the solid front
of King Ulea’s generals. Could King Ulea truly have deceived everyone so
brilliantly? To make it easier to believe, as well as to accept, Raugst let it
be known that Lord Ulea’s conversion to the worship of Gilgaroth was a recent
event, and that the King had done so in order to
save
Felgrad—in a manner of speaking. The King had feared Vrulug
would win out and that only by turning Felgrad over to him could Felgrad be
spared. King Ulea would still rule Felgrad, but Vrulug would be his overlord.

This logic worked, and it allowed
people to believe their faith in King Ulea had not been entirely misplaced. Still,
they considered him a rank traitor, a blasphemer and a craven, and most were
glad of his death.

The story also served to instill
fear into the people. If King Ulea had expected Felgrad to fall, then why shouldn’t
they? This made them desperate for strong leadership, and there was Raugst,
already a well-liked and heroic figure, waiting on the throne. To cement this,
Raugst’s officials let it be known that the Crowning Ceremony would take place
the following evening at sundown in Mitsgald Square. High Mother Niara Ilimfad
would preside. To this neither she nor her priestesses gave comment.

Today, however, would be a day of
mourning for Felgrad’s lost lord. Traitor or not, he had been a popular king. Funeral
bells tolled throughout the city, and the townspeople wore black.

Fria stroked Kragt’s hair. He lay drowsily in bed, his eyes
barely open, even though sunlight poured in through his bedroom window along
with the tolling of bells. Naked, Fria lay beside him, sweat from their
coupling cooling on her skin.

“That’s right, my darling,” she
said, curling her fingers through his dark hair. “Rest.”

“What need have I for rest?” Kragt
gestured angrily. “I’ve nothing to do. Nothing to occupy me.”

She snuggled tighter to him. He was
long and lean and tightly muscular, with a lean, wolvish face, and deep dark eyes.
He was actually quite handsome, she admitted to herself. Not that she felt any
attraction to him, nor affection, though she was careful not to let
him
know that.

She sighed, pretending to share his
sadness. “Yes. And now Raugst is to be king. It’s a strange world . . .”

He said nothing. He knew something
she did not, some secret Raugst was keeping. There was a reason Raugst had
maneuvered himself onto the throne. What could that be? Damn Kragt! She wished
he were not so tight-lipped.

“King,” she mused. “But, perhaps,
he’ll let you remain lord here. Let you be lord of Fiarth . . .”

He frowned. “I do not
want
his leavings.” He cast her a sullen
glare. She was all too aware that she, too, could be considered Raugst’s
leavings. Still, as she had expected, Kragt had come to her shortly after
Vrulug’s army withdrew, and she had allowed him to take her, then and many
times afterward. Indeed, she had enjoyed it. But it had all been for this
moment.

“So what are you to do, my lord?”
she asked. “If you will not take Fiarth, then . . .”

His right hand clenched into a
fist. “I should take
all
of Felgrad.
I’m
as worthy as him. Worthier!
I’ve
seen how he looks at that Moon-witch
whore.
I
would never be seduced by
the likes of her, a slave to the Master’s enemies.”

“Yes,” she said, injecting some
honest venom into her voice. She still couldn’t believe Niara had taken up with
Raugst. “I’ve seen it, too. But what can you do?”

“I can
kill
him.”

She gasped—quite convincingly, too,
she thought. “But is that wise, my lord? He has other followers, and how would
you take his place?”

“Easily enough. I could . . . yes,
I could poison them all.”

“But surely that would be too
difficult
. . .” She made herself sound
somewhat awed by his daring.

A bit of pride entered his voice. “Not
so much. There’s plenty of the old store left. I know just where it is, and how
to get it. We used it once on Giorn’s men in the feasting hall, remember. Yes,
you
remember that night, don’t you?” He
smiled unpleasantly. “Almost tasteless it was. It must be how he slew Saria.
That
was foolish. Wait until Vrulug
discovers it! Yet if
I
could bring
Vrulug his head . . . yes . . . after I’d already taken his place as king . .
.”

“That’s too dangerous! And how
could you possibly take his place?”

“Oh, it could be done. I am not
without power.”

She shuddered. He and the others
did not hide their secrets very well these days. They were not too open about
their otherworldly natures, but they were not too subtle, either. Nor did they
hide, at least from her, the truth of the One they served. The Castle Guard
knew something was wrong, too, but their leaders had been appointed by Raugst,
and so they were paralyzed. And the castle staff was impotent with fear.

“How do you mean, my lord?” she
asked.

He laughed. “Don’t play the
dullard, woman. It doesn’t suit you.
I
know that
you
know I am not what I
appear. Well, I could, with certain effort, appear to be what
Raugst
is not, either.”

“You could . . . change your shape
into his?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Easier
to cloud people’s minds for a space. He’s more powerful than I, but I am not
without some skill. Though . . . all those people . . . at the crowning
ceremony . . . it would be too many to deceive, even for one very powerful . .
. But afterwards, at the feast . . . yes, that might do. That might do very
well.”

She spotted a flaw in his plan. “And
you would keep your shape altered for the rest of your days?”

He frowned. “If I must . . .”

“You
don’t
. Once Raugst is crowned, I will be
queen
, remember.”

“Yes! I’d forgotten. So we have
only to announce his death, and your remarriage . . .”

Her grin widened. “You would make a
most dashing groom, my lord.”

He leapt to his feet and threw on
some clothes. “There are plans to make, things to see to.” He paused at the
door and turned to her. A calculating look came into his eye, and she felt a
chill. “You are not to mention this to anyone.” He glared at her, and she said
nothing. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled. “But you wouldn’t have, would you? You
wanted
me to do it. You
led
me to it. Well, that is fine by me. I
like a woman with a taste for blood.”

With that, he was gone. She stared
at the place where he had disappeared, feeling the beating of her heart.

At last she allowed herself to
relax. Yes, she thought, Kragt was the perfect tool to use against Raugst. Kragt
had served the bastard for many years, had seen the praise and respect Vrulug
lavished on him, and Kragt wanted that respect for himself. Fria would help
him.
And then I will send you to Raugst,
and you can explain your betrayal in hell.

Fria thought of her husband and all
his awful lackeys, and that traitor Niara, all choking on poison tomorrow night
after the crowning, and she smiled.
Soon,
Father, brothers, I will avenge you.

Giorn rode to the crest of the hill, Duke Yfrin at his side.
Together, they surveyed the hills that rolled all the way to the high outer
wall of Thiersgald and the great towers inside. Night had just fallen, and
lights twinkled like stars throughout the city.

“It’s beautiful,” Duke Yfrin said.

“Let’s hope it stays that way.”

The host of soldiers rode up behind
them, coming through the forest. It had been a difficult ride with darkness
stealing up on them and tree trunks all around, roots grasping at the horses’
hooves. More than one mount had broken a leg and had had to be put down. But
now it was over, and they left the forest behind. They had been forced to take
this dangerous route, as Raugst maintained spies along the main roads.

“But how are we to enter the city?”
the duke said. “They’ll be watching the secret passages this time.”

Giorn shook his head. “We don’t
need them. There’s no Borchstog host to avoid. We’ll enter separately through
different gates, just as our agents did before us, in the guise of refugees.” He
gestured to a wagon train approaching the East Gate. “It will not be
difficult.”

Before Giorn led them down, he
allowed himself a moment more to enjoy the sight of the city. Wind caressed the
hills and sighed through the forest. And there, carried on the wind, the sound
of bells . . .

Not just any bells.

“A royal has died,” Giorn said,
feeling suddenly cold.
Fria
, he
thought.
What did that bastard do to my
sister?
He clenched his good fist, dug his heels into his horse’s flanks
and made for Thiersgald.

Someone knocked on Raugst’s door, and he glanced up from the
armchair where he had been smoking a pipe and brooding on the days ahead. He
was king, yes. Vrulug would honor their bargain and spare Felgrad.
But what then?
Raugst must somehow array
the Crescent nations against Vrulug before the wolf-lord could discover
Raugst’s treachery, and hope the combined might of the six kingdoms would crush
Vrulug, even aided by the corrupted Moonstone.

Raugst would have to make war on
his old master and friend. He thought of all the years they had shared, all the
feasts they had enjoyed together, all the orgies, the drunken revelries . . . Idle
pleasures, perhaps, but Raugst and Vrulug had experienced them almost as
brothers. And now . . . to twist a blade into his back—

The knocking broke Raugst’s
musings.

“Come in,” he said.

One of his men entered, bowing. “You
have a visitor, my lord.”

“Send him in.”

The man withdrew, and presently a
silhouette materialized at the doorway, one Raugst knew well.

“Niara . . .” He rose to his feet,
pipe forgotten.

“Your Majesty.”

“I’m not king yet. Not officially.”

She closed the door, then came to
him. She smelled heavenly, of light and roses. He inhaled.

“Does my scent please you, my
lord?” Her curly black hair hung in locks before her bright blue eyes.

“It does.” He took her hand and
guided her to the divan, stealing glances at her slim, womanly body in white. Her
blue eyes stared back at him, and they were as warm as her hand.

“I . . .” She broke off.

Sensing her awkwardness, he stepped
in. “I didn’t expect to see you. Not after . . .”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I know you did
only what you had to. If killing an innocent man will spare Felgrad, then . . .
I suppose I understand. I don’t like it, but I see there was no other choice.”

“And Giorn?”

“If he was with Saria, and . . . and
you
feel
for me . . .”

“I do.”

She smiled, and there was relief in
that smile. Color rose in her cheeks, and she lowered her eyes.

“Niara . . .” He put a hand on her
shoulder, but for some reason he wasn’t comfortable with it.

She sidled closer to him. They were
both very self-conscious.

“Raugst,” she said.

He leaned in closer. Her smell
intoxicated him. His heart beat faster. He had not expected this, for her to
seek him out. And she had come here, to him, alone at night, for more than to
issue an apology.

He leaned in closer.

She tilted her face up and kissed
him. He kissed back.

They embraced awkwardly at first. Then,
slowly, they relaxed, exploring each other’s bodies as if for the first time,
and in a way it was. At last, as if seized by a frenzy, he tore at her clothes,
and she tore at his.

He lifted her in his powerful arms
and carried her off to bed, slamming the door shut behind them.

Giorn smelled roast mutton. His mouth watered. Someone had
made a bonfire in the park near the Temple to Illiana, and refugees had
gathered there for warmth and food. A priestess occupied a makeshift platform
and alternately preached and read from the Books of Light. The people listened
raptly, their faces ashen. Their beloved king had died and Vrulug the wolf-lord
was marching north, his full might gathered. Most thought the end was truly at
hand, and Giorn did not know if they were wrong. He had a plan, but it was a
fragile, desperate thing, and it depended more on the loyalty Thiersgald’s
soldiers felt to the Wesrains than anything else.