Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses) (60 page)

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Authors: Sharon Shinn

BOOK: Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses)
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Quickly she rose to her feet and shook out her ruined skirts. No need to check the guard whose cloak she had stolen. His head had been practically severed; he was definitely dead. She followed the bloody trail to the other four guards, kneeling beside each one and feeling for a pulse. Absent in every case. She tried not to look too closely, but it was impossible not to get some sense of how each one had died. Three appeared to have received wounds straight to the heart. The other was so bloody she thought he, too, had been sliced across the jugular, after sustaining gashes on his face and hands and arms. A warrior. Just not quite good enough.
 
 
The freighter was also dead, though there was no weapon in his hand or near his body. Not a fighter, not like the others. Had probably never in his life lifted a weapon to another man. Ellynor felt a fierce rush of bitter sadness at the life that had ended here so brutally, so pointlessly. This man had done nothing but try to earn a living, provide a service, carry out his commissions. He had died because Ellynor was foolish, because Ellynor loved a man she could not have.
 
 
He had died because the Lestra was evil.
 
 
That thought came from nowhere and filled her mind with a momentary blackness that had nothing to do with the Dark Watcher’s presence. Hate and fear and fury flooded Ellynor’s heart, and her hands clenched at her sides with her overwhelming desire to strike out. The Lestra was evil, the convent a source of violence and intimidation and despair.
 
 
But not everyone inside its walls was vicious, was tainted. Not Deana, not Astira, not Lia, not some of those laughing novices too young to understand the path they followed. The guards—some of them, like those here tonight—they were cruel and ruthless, but not all of them. Ellynor would not believe it of all of them. Hadn’t that boy Kelti run away? Wasn’t Daken unhandy with a weapon? Surely there were some—new recruits, young boys fresh from their fathers’ farms—who would be horrified to learn how their senior officers dealt in torture and death.
 
 
And surely the Pale Mother herself was not so terrible. She was playful and vain and fickle and careless, but sometimes kind and always beautiful, and Ellynor could not bring herself to hate that charming, inconstant face.
 
 
It was not the goddess who was to be hated and despised. It was the woman who had taken it upon herself to speak for the Silver Lady.
 
 
It was the Lestra who burned mystics and sent her guards out hunting men. It was the Lestra who was responsible for tonight’s deaths—and near deaths.
 
 
Ellynor hurried back to Justin, dropping beside him in the mud. Still breathing. His skin still warm to the touch. No more blood seeping out past the makeshift bandages.
 
 
Alive. Alive. Alive.
 
 
For now.
 
 
She bowed her head so low that her forehead almost touched Justin’s. Some of her hair had escaped its habitual knot, and a few locks tumbled over her shoulder, coiling on Justin’s chest. She had taken his hands in hers, and she squeezed his fingers just for the pleasure of feeling his living flesh against her skin.
 
 
Great Mother,
she prayed.
Dark beautiful lady. I am the daughter of the daughter of the hundreds of daughters of Maara. I call upon you now to redeem the promise you made to the women of the Lirrens. Give this man one night. Keep him alive one night. Hold him in your hands for one night. I must leave him, but I will return for him, and I beg you to keep him safe until that hour. Guard him with your body. Strengthen him with your love. Shield him with your darkness. Let no harm come to him. Let him live.
 
 
Ellynor felt the night rustle and gather around her as the trees conferred and the clouds debated. The owls and the mice paused in their ceaseless game of chase and escape. Not far away, a wolf raised a liquid cry of woe and warning. A possum trotted by, an ungainly ghost; the branches overhead dipped and released a spray of water as some night bird settled in.
 
 
Invisible hands, tangible and warm, settled over Ellynor’s fingers where they rested on Justin’s chest. A shadow swirled around her, not quite holding a shape, faceless, incorporeal, but crackling with energy. Ellynor sucked in her breath, awe and wonder momentarily striking her motionless. She felt as if she had been drawn into a bear’s cave or a wolf’s lair, someplace hidden, safe, and sheltered.
 
 
She lifted her hands but Justin still breathed. The Black Mother’s palms still lay pressed against his chest.
 
 
Shakily, she came to her feet, almost stumbling from weariness and a sense of marvel. “You will keep him safe, won’t you?” she whispered, almost stammering the words. “No one will see him, no one will come upon him and do him harm? I will be back by dawn if I can—you will not leave him alone for a minute, will you? Someone will guard him this whole time?”
 
 
There was no answer, but a slow prickle of danger spider-walked down Ellynor’s spine. Slowly, carefully, she turned to scan the road behind her. For a moment, even her night vision could make out nothing on the path or under the trees, but then she saw it, pacing forward with a slow, menacing step.
 
 
A raelynx. The goddess’s own creature, seldom found anywhere outside the borders of the Lireth Mountains. Even in the darkness, Ellynor could make out its red fur, its tufted ears, its grace and power and utter ferocity.
 
 
It stalked right by her and settled next to Justin in the mud, lending its own body heat to the fallen man. Guarding Justin from anyone who might happen upon him in the night.
 
 
It took an effort of will for Ellynor to swallow. “Thank you, Mother,” she whispered. “I will be back by morning.”
 
 
She bent to strip a cloak from one of the fallen soldiers and wrap it around her shoulders. She was suddenly cold, she who never noticed the chill, and she felt herself shaking from the combined effects of fear and rage and magic. She randomly chose one of the soldiers’ horses, a young bay mare that looked both sturdy and swift, and led the rest of them deeper into the forest, looping their reins over low-hanging branches. No need to ask again; she was sure the Dark Watcher would make sure no passersby happened to catch a glimpse of these animals. She did not have the strength to pull the bodies from the road, but somehow she trusted the goddess to handle this detail as well. She would send her buzzards and vultures to pick the bodies clean by daybreak, or she would disguise them with an opaque sorcery. Ellynor would trust her to take care of it all.
 
 
“Keep him safe,” she whispered one last time, then threw herself into the saddle and kicked the horse forward into a headlong canter. “Mother, I beg you, keep him alive.”
 
 
She heard, or maybe she only thought she heard, a whispered promise in return.
Daughter, I will.
 
 
CHAPTER 29
 
 
ELLYNOR raced through the night as if outrunning the end of the world, as if a great chasm was opening behind her, splitting the earth the instant her horse’s hooves lifted from the ground. She had picked her mount well, or else the goddess had given her this one last gift and lent the bay mare speed and strength to outdistance the dawn. They flew through the forest, stumbling over no fallen logs, tripping in no muddy sinkholes. When there were hazards, Ellynor could see clearly enough to guide the horse past them, but mostly their way was smooth.
 
 
Finally—out of the dark, tangled overgrowth of woodland and onto the flatter, easier open road. Ellynor crouched low over the horse’s neck, urging her on to greater speed, murmuring encouragement, offering praise. The horse never faltered and never broke stride. The miles passed, blurred by tears and motion. The stars, usually so quick to dance through their rotations, crept slowly across the night sky, as if dragging their sparkling feet, holding back the march of dawn.
 
 
The waning moon watched her from its half-closed eye as if afraid of what it might see below.
 
 
She had been running for more than two hours when Ellynor finally saw Neft taking shape on the horizon. A few dark buildings bulked up against the night sky; torches and lamplight offered a fitful, wavering illumination. Every shape grew clearer as she pounded closer. She could start to identify the few places she knew on the outskirts of town—a tavern, two ramshackle houses, a freighting office, a shop. It might not have been as late as she had thought—certainly not midnight yet. A number of pedestrians were still abroad, as well as a few other travelers on horseback. Up ahead of her a man was slowly guiding a wagon and team toward the stables on the edge of town.
 
 
She clattered past all of them, slowing the horse only slightly and earning a couple of surprised glances. Where would the magistrate Faeber be at this hour? Justin had told her he frequented the taprooms, but she had no idea how many of those could be found in Neft. Still, she would go to the first one she could find, and start asking for him. Eventually someone would be able to tell her where he was.
 
 
There was no one else she could trust. There was no one else in Neft she
knew
, except Paulina Nocklyn, who lived in the Gisseltess house with the woman who was kin to the Lestra. No hope there.
 
 
It must be Faeber. She must be able to find him.
 
 
She envisioned a long, panicked night of running from tavern to tavern, begging strangers for aid, rousing all kinds of suspicion that might harm Justin in the long run. But the Black Mother was still watching out for her—or maybe, just maybe, the Silver Lady felt twinges of remorse and sympathy.
Someone’s
divine hand tugged on Ellynor’s shoulder just as she turned the mare down a short street lined with a collection of unkempt buildings.
Someone
convinced her to fling herself from the saddle in front of the second building and push her way through the swinging door into a warm, well-lit, spicy-smelling room.
 
 
It was such a contrast to the cold and dark of her journey that, for a moment, Ellynor stood frozen at the threshold, unsure of what to do next. Whom to approach, what to say. More than a few people had looked up at her entrance and now surveyed her with interest. She realized she must look a fantastic sight—her hair wild, her hands bloody, her muddy white robes only partially covered by a large, dirty cloak that she had clearly borrowed or stolen. If she had ever hoped to accomplish this part of the mission unobserved, she had just lost her last chance.
 
 
A medium-sized, somewhat rumpled man was crossing the room on his way from the bar to a table in the back. He glanced at Ellynor, set down a pitcher of beer, and came up to her with a quizzical smile.
 
 
“You look like someone who’s run into a whole bunch of different kinds of trouble,” he said, and his voice was rumbling and kind. “You trying to find someone? Or some
thing
?”
 
 
“I need the magistrate,” Ellynor said, trying to sound calm.
 
 
He didn’t look entirely surprised. “I’m Faeber,” he said.
 
 
Oh, surely that was the work of the Pale Mother! She delighted in unexpected gifts. “I have to talk to you. It’s urgent,” Ellynor said. “Can we step outside?”
 
 
Not hesitating, he nodded and escorted her out the door. Ellynor knew everyone in the tavern was watching by now, but at least no one would be able to overhear their conversation. As soon as the door swung shut, she said baldly, “Justin’s been hurt. I need someone to help me bring him to safety. In secret,” she added.
 
 
Faeber’s face showed instant concern. “Hurt! How? Where is he?”
 
 
She watched his face for any faint change in expression, hoping he could be trusted as much as Justin believed. “He’s on the road leading out of the forest that surrounds the Lumanen Convent,” she said slowly. “Five guards attacked him this afternoon and almost killed him. But he’s still alive.”
 
 
Now Faeber looked astonished. “
Five
guards? And he’s the one who’s not dead?”
 
 
She brushed that aside as of no importance. “There was another man with him, a freighter from town. He may have accounted for one or two.”
 
 
“No,” said Faeber positively. “I know Jenkins, and he’s never held a sword in his life. Justin fought off
five men
? Killed them all? Who
is
that boy?”

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