The War of the Moonstone: an Epic Fantasy (40 page)

Not everyone participated in the celebration following
Raugst’s crowning, but there was one man in particular that held himself
conspicuously apart from the festivities. He was a tall, gaunt, bearded man,
wearing a wooden device on his right hand that suggested fingers he did not
have, and whose right leg was stiff and unbending, as though braced. But what
was most striking about him were his eyes—his dark, deep-set eyes that seemed
to burn as they beheld Raugst. And when Niara placed the crown on Raugst’s head
and smiled down at him with that horribly,
grotesquely
familiar smile, the tall man clenched his left fist so tightly that blood was
seen dripping from it to the flags below.

By his side stood another man,
shorter, rounder and older, and his expression too was grim. At length a
messenger ran up to him, whispered in his ear, and the man nodded.

Turning to the taller man, he said,
“It’s time. Everyone is in place. Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready for this for a
long, long time.”

The tall man turned about and, side
by side with his companion, vanished into the crowd. Blood dripped from his
hand as he went.

Fria had not attended the crowning. Raugst had not seemed to
expect her to. Indeed, whenever he looked at her lately and saw that she was
meeting his eyes, he would glance away. He was ashamed, she supposed, surprised
that he could feel such a human emotion.

Well,
let him feel shame
, she thought, as she brushed her hair and watched from
Kragt’s bedroom window as Raugst’s carriage, escorted by many riders, rolled in
through the gates in the wall surrounding the castle. The westering sun turned
a rich, dark golden color, and Fria knew night would be upon them soon. So
would Vrulug. In the distance, she could still hear the throbbing of the
wolf-lord’s drums. Every time they pounded, she winced, but at least her fear of
Vrulug was lessened by the knowledge of what she would do tonight. She would
slay Raugst and so end Vrulug’s hold on Thiersgald. Perhaps then there would be
some
hope for the city.

Raugst’s carriage rolled to a stop
before the castle’s main steps, and the man himself, if man he could be called,
emerged from the interior, looking breathless and pleased with himself, as he
righted the crown on his head, which had become askew. Fria smirked.
You won’t be smug much longer.

Then
she
emerged—Niara. Fria’s blood burned hot when she saw the
priestess shamelessly step down from the carriage, taking Raugst’s hand as she
did so, then straightening her dress and tucking a strand of hair back behind
an ear. Somehow it had gotten dislodged.

Such
flagrant
blasphemy! Fria saw several of the soldiers giving Raugst
and Niara wary glances, and she did not blame them. She could not
believe
that witch’s gall. And Raugst’s!
Oh, Fria would dearly love to expose them both. That would be an amusing death.
But her plan was faster and more expedient, and she did appreciate that Niara
would partake of the feast and the resulting doom that night. Fria pictured it,
imagining the treacherous high priestess clutching her throat, eyes bulging, rolling
around on the floor until the poison consumed her utterly.

Fria’s smile withered. She felt her
lower lip trembling and bit it.
Niara,
how could you? How could you make me do this?
She tried not to think about
it as she brushed her hair and watched the carriages of various generals and
nobles arrive. As the worthies emerged, she reflected that it was a shame they
would have to die, too. Then again, most of them were those that had turned
against King Ulea. They deserved what they got.

The nobles passed inside, and Fria
waited, brushing her hair, having handmaidens help her into her dress and apply
her face-paint.

“It’s time, my dear,” Kragt said,
entering.

“I’m ready.”

He looked nervous, eyes darting,
sweat trickling down from his hair. When she embraced him, he was hot to the
touch.

“Having second thoughts, my lord?”
she asked.

He chuckled, but even his chuckle
sounded edgy. “Not at all. I will be
king
.”

The handmaidens screeched in
horror. He growled at them, and they shrank away. One fainted.

“Curse these wenches!” he snarled. “I
should slit their throats.”

Fria stroked his chest, his arms,
soothing him. “They won’t talk, my lord. There are too many intrigues in
this
house for servants to take sides.”

At that, he actually smiled. “Yes,
I suppose there are at that. Besides, they can’t inform against someone who
will be their king soon. Come. We have an interesting evening ahead.”

He offered her his arm, and she
accepted it. Together, they strolled through the corridors of the castle and
down to the feasting room, where the nobles already gathered about the long
table. The lights were low, the candles in their ornate candelabras flickering
fitfully. The nobles appeared tense. As they should, she thought. They had
sided with Raugst against their king, and now that Vrulug’s host was all but
breathing down their door they wondered if they had done the right thing. Well,
after tonight they would wonder no more. About anything.

She was seated, to her disgust,
next to the traitorous witch herself, Niara.

The High Priestess smiled at her,
and Fria noted that the witch’s cheeks were flushed. She even
smelled
of sex. Had she no shame? And to
think, just weeks ago she had come to Fria complaining of Raugst’s advances,
demanding that he repent his sins and be locked away. Just what was her game? Fria
supposed she would never know. Dimly she remembered a time when she had been a
child and had fallen out of a tree Meril had convinced her to climb; Niara had
kissed her wounds and held her while she cried. Her kisses had helped with the
pain. That time seemed very long ago.

“Well met, dear Fria,” Niara said.

“Yes. To you, as well, I suppose.” Again
she pictured Niara departing Raugst’s chambers in secret. “It’s a pleasant
night.”

“Is it?” Niara frowned. “Vrulug is
almost here.” As if Fria might not be aware of it!

“I thought you might be looking
forward to that,” Fria said.
Then you and
Raugst can quit sneaking around.

Niara glanced at her strangely, and
silence fell between them. Fria forced herself to hold her tongue and tried to
make more civil conversation as the first course was served, then the second. She
helped herself to the wine, needing the fortification. Before long she felt a
pleasant tingling, and the world grew fuzzy and more bearable. All except for
Raugst, who sat smugly at the head of the table, his horrid crown resting on
his villainous head. Fria wanted to wrench it away and dash it to the floor,
and it was only with effort that she restrained herself.

“Lovely steak,” Niara said, taking
a bite.

Fria looked sideways at her. “Yes,”
she said. “I suppose.” She had not even been paying attention to the food.

The men talked about what strengths
Vrulug possessed, and what numbers of what troops he had, and Fria found it all
quite dull. No one seemed to be making any sort of effort to include the women
in the conversation, not even Kragt, which irritated Fria most of all. Here she
was, the only other person in the room slated to survive the evening, and Kragt
was
still
trying to curry favor with
the others! It made her furious.

Her fury made her all the more
resentful of Niara’s pathetic stabs at conversation, but, by and by, Fria relaxed.
She took deep breaths and tried to focus on Niara’s words, to exist in the
present and not in her head. The whore was saying something about the ceremony,
something about the selection of music, then the style of dresses worn by the
priestesses, and how she had been forced to guess what was appropriate and what
was not since she’d never been to a coronation ceremony before, at least in
Felgrad . . .

Fria stifled a yawn.

Niara paused. “Have
you
ever been to a coronation ceremony?”

Fria just stared. Then, slowly, she
chuckled. “Listen,
witch
,”—Niara
flinched—“you can make all the pretty words you want, but you and I both know what’s
true and real lies under.”

“And what, dear Fria, lies under?”

Fria narrowed her eyes, aware that
one was rolling left. “Don’t call me ‘dear’.
I
put you in the dungeon, remember?” When Niara went slightly pale,
Fria nodded. “That’s right, I remember. It wasn’t my finest hour, I admit, and
I’m ashamed of it. Or at least I was. Now I wish Raugst had never let you out. But
I guess he had to. You and he are . . .
together
.”

Stammering, the priestess said,
“W-what are you t-t-talking about?”

“You know very well, witch, and
don’t try to deny it. Oh, it doesn’t offend me, a priestess having earthly
passions. I knew what you felt for my brother, and I knew what he felt for you.
That’s
what offends me. How dare you
dishonor him! How dare you engage in trysts with that abomination you crowned
today.” She spoke in a hissing whisper, too low for those around to hear over
their conversation, but quite loud enough, and virulent enough, for Niara to
understand.

“I . . .” Niara opened and closed
her mouth, evidently failing to find the right words.

Fria sneered. “Yes, I know all
about Raugst. I know exactly what he is. And I know you’re a traitor to your
kind, a traitor to my brother.”

Sadness filled the witch’s face. Sadness!
Fria was contemptuous.

“Giorn . . .” Niara whispered. Her
shoulders slumped.

“So you don’t deny it?”

“No. I . . . I denied him before. But
now . . . no.” She raised her eyes to meet Fria’s good one. “Yes, Fria, we
loved each other,” Niara whispered. “We loved each other very much. It pains me
a great deal that I’m able to find solace in another’s arms, and especially Giorn’s
enemy. I don’t deny it.”

Fria blinked. Something strange
rose inside her, and she wasn’t sure what it was. Pity? Remorse? She wasn’t
sure. But she did know that she believed Niara. The priestess truly had loved
Giorn and truly did miss him.

Fria shook it off. “You should have
thought of that before you took up with that
thing
.” She nodded toward the crowned demon at the head of the
table. He was making some joke about border women, and the men were laughing
coarsely.

Tears—actual tears!—built up in
Niara’s eyes. Impatiently, she brushed them away. “I know it,” she said. “But .
. . but you don’t understand, Fria. He’s not a bad man. He’s not! He’s—”

“Please! He’s a liar and a demon,
and you know it. And you’ve
sided
with him.”

The priestess’s eyes were very
earnest. “No. Fria. You don’t understand. He’s changed. Raugst has
changed
.” She leaned forward and spoke
in a heated whisper: “He’s
goodly
now.”

Fria stared at her open-mouthed. Finally
the baroness shook her head and barked a laugh. “He’s got you under some sort
of spell, doesn’t he? It must be.” She could tell that Niara truly believed
what she was saying. If that was so . . .

She sat back, sipping at her wine. If
that was so . . .

“He’s
goodly
,” Niara repeated.

Fria continued to stare into her
wine. The
other
wine, the lethal
wine, would shortly be passed around. They were on the dessert course now. Kragt
had planned on using a stratagem of Raugst’s by proposing a toast at the end of
the meal using the poisoned wine.

Fria did not answer Niara, but
merely sat there, frowning. Finally Kragt caught her good eye and nodded,
indicating that the time was right and that she should forgo any further drinks,
then asked for a round to be poured—from a new bottle, of course. When everyone
had a glass of the deadly wine before them, Kragt said, “Let us toast to our
new king and queen and the victory that is sure to come!”

“Here here!” they shouted and
lifted their glasses.

Niara lifted hers.

Giorn felt something stir in his chest as he neared Wesrain
Castle, its towers blocking out the purple twilight sky. Old memories surfaced
in him and for a moment he heard Rian’s laughter, and Meril’s, and from
somewhere the smell of baking apples as Fria made them a treat. Giorn was
showing Rian and Meril a new trick he had trained the hounds to do, and the sun
shone, and Father watched from a high window, and all was right with the world.

Then Giorn heard the sound of
Borchstog drums, heard the vague rumble of thunder overhead, and the good times
vanished like smoke, as if they had never been.

Before him, the gates opened, and
with Duke Yfrin beside him and the duke’s men behind them, they rode onto the
grounds of the castle.
Home
, Giorn
thought, though he knew it was home no longer.
But soon
.

For the past day he had been going
around to the soldiers that had served as the Wesrain castle guard; their
leadership had been replaced by Raugst, but most of the rest were still the
same as when Giorn’s father had been alive, and they
hated
Raugst. Immediately after deposing Serit, Duke Yfrin had sent
out his agents to infiltrate Thiersgald and seek out the dissatisfied soldiers,
thus Giorn knew who to approach, and how. He had papers to show them, the
papers recovered from Serit’s belongings implicating Raugst in collusion with
Vrulug. The rest was easy. When they found out Giorn still lived and that he
had the support of the duke, that a demon sat the throne even as more demons
approached the city to sack it, the soldiery was only too happy to throw in
with Giorn.