Mistress of the Night - Don Bassingthwaite [0]
Dave Gross
The Priests 02 - Mistress of
the Night
By
Prologue
Month of Kytkom, the Year of Rogue
Dragons (1373 DR)
The black wood screens that lined the Fane of Shar on Shade Enclave had been oiled and polished over long centuries until the reflections of those who passed them flickered like specters in their ancient surface. Legends whispered among the faithful claimed that the wood of the screens came from trees that had grown in a mountain valley so deep that light touched its floor for only minutes each day, around a clearing where Shar herself had once danced alone in the shadows.
In fact, Variance Amatick knew, they had been carved by a once-famous artisan from perfectly ordinary wood and had originally graced the temple of another god entirely. An account of the looting of that rival temple and of the rededica-tion of the screens to the glory of Shar resided in the vaulted archives beneath the Fane. Variance saw no good reason to dispel the legends, though.
They served Shar at least as well as-and perhaps better than-the truth.
Variance's own dim reflection rippled along the wood of the screens as she strode through the Fane. Gray-black skin, black hair, a black mantle over black clothes embroidered in the darkest shades of purple-her reflection might have been her shadow. She might have been her shadow.
"Mistress of the Night," Variance whispered, touching the symbol she wore beneath her mantle, "guide me in what I must do."
She found the man she sought in one of the rooms that lay behind the Fane's great altar. He and the seven men and women who sat with him around a broad table littered with papers looked up in surprise as she entered. Variance bent her head.
"Rivalen Tanthul," she said humbly, "Flame of Darkness, Singer after Twilight. Father Night, I ask your permission to leave Shade Enclave at once."
Surprise crossed Rivalen's face, momentarily furrowing skin as gray-black as Variance's own. The others at the table-two of them shadow-skinned as well, but the rest pale humans-glanced at the high priest. He gestured in dismissal and they rose silently and without question to file out of the room. When the last of them had closed the door, Rivalen rose and waved Variance to one of the vacated chairs.
"You wouldn't interrupt me without serious cause, vigilant sister," he said. His voice was rich, but not displeased. "And I know you wouldn't seek to leave your charge unless the cause was even more serious. What's wrong?"
Variance stepped forward, but didn't sit down. She drew a deep breath. "At the time of the fall of Netheril," she said, "there existed in the town of Sepulcher a remarkable temple to Shar."
"The House of Mystery," said Rivalen. "I remember it." He seated himself and leaned forward, fingers steepled under his chin, to look at her intently. "What about it?"
"Among the mysteries within the House, there was reputed to be an ancient text, The Leaves of One Night."
Rivalen's eyebrows rose. "I've never heard of it."
A trace of irritation had entered his voice. Variance inclined her head. She waited. After a moment, the high priest bent his head in turn.
"The Dark Goddess does not surrender her secrets lightly," he said. "Vigilant sister, I am rebuked." He smiled thinly and abandoned formality. "What of this text?"
Variance spread her hands and said, "It was lost-like so much of the empire while our city sheltered in the Plane of Shadow. It is referred to only sparingly in our own archives and not at all outside of them. I had thought it vanished for all time, if it was real at all."
"But it is real, isn't it?" Rivalen guessed. His smile grew wide and genuine. "And it has been found?"
"I… I hear it," said Variance. "Here-" she touched her temple, then the symbol of Shar under her mantle-"and here. The Mistress of the Night wishes that what once was lost be returned to her possession."
"It will be." Rivalen stood up. "What do you need?"
"Nothing." She lifted her mantle to reveal a satchel of black leather, packed for a journey. "Except your permission