Mistress of the Night - Don Bassingthwaite [118]
The bird let out a screech and flung its wings wide. Lightning flashed in a crackling burst that seemed to hit Keph from every angle at once, lifting him off his feet even as it knocked him across the floor to crash into tall stools set before one of the other tables. Brilliant flashes lit his vision-for a moment it seemed as if he couldn't close his eyes. His hair stood on end. The sweat that had soaked his clothes puffed away into rank steam.
The falcon's eyes, glowing bright blue, were fixed on him. Keph ground his teeth. He couldn't hide from the bird. He couldn't get past it. How was he supposed to deal with something that was faster than he was?
The same way Lyraene and the Sharrans had dealt with Quick: brute force. Attack the weapon, not the wielder. His hand closed on the leg of one of the stools. It was good, heavy wood. The seat of the stool was even heavier.
Keph surged to his feet and charged at the falcon, stool raised.
Lightning crashed against him, another thin, stinging stream. Keph sucked in his breath at the pain, but didn't stop. The falcon screeched again, spreading its wings. Before it could unleash another powerful burst, he twisted around and swung the stool with all of his strength and weight.
The heavy wood smashed into the bird with a crunch and swept it off its perch. It hurtled across the room to crash against the far wall with a metallic clatter. Keph darted after it. One wing bent back, its entire side bashed in, the thing lay on its back, struggling to right itself. Lightning crackled in wild arcs across its battered copper feathers. Keph spun the stool around in his grip. Holding it upside-down by two legs, he drove the broad wooden seat down against the construct.
Metal crumpled and screeched. He hit the bird again. Blue sparks spurted out in a final cascade. Keph lifted the stool and peered underneath. The falcon lay against the floor like a broken toy. It wasn't moving.
Keph dropped the stool and staggered to the table with the coins and the silk-swathed object. He reached out and twitched the silk aside.
***
Shouts and screams echoed through Moonshadow Hall as Feena, most of her weight on Julith's shoulders, stumbled out into the cloisters. An acolyte racing through the cloisters nearly ran them down.
"What news?" Julith asked.
"There's no sign of the guard yet," the girl replied, gasping for breath. Her voice was very nearly hysterical. "There's something happening over in the Stiltways!"
"A distraction," groaned Feena with dreadful certainty. The guard would go there first, trusting thick walls and Selune's might to give Moonshadow Hall a chance to hold out on its own for a time. "No help from the guard."
"Carry that message, girl!" Julith said. "We must have faith in Selune. Let all her servants hold their ground."
The acolyte plunged on along the cloisters. Julith twisted her head around and Feena caught fear in her eyes.
"Are you sure about this, Feena?" she asked. "Yes," said Feena.
Her head was swimming. Her vision was blurred and fading. Her legs felt numb, cold, and heavy. She knew that if she looked back the way she and Julith had come-if she'd been able to look back-she would have seen a steady trail of bright red blood. She needed more than healing. Tyver had given her a clue.
"Do you know what will happen?" whispered Julith.
Feena managed a grin and said, "No."
A shudder wracked her. She didn't even have the strength to cough anymore. Her throat felt like it was filling with blood again. Julith turned away, her face grim.
"Ready, then?" she asked. "Last few paces."
Feena's heart fluttered with agony as they staggered together across the cloister and through the gate of the waning crescent. Moonlight, the last of her spell, still sparkled on the grass of the courtyard. More light winked in and out above, conjured by Selunites only to be blotted out by shadows called by the Sharrans-by Variance or Bolan.
Feena could make out arrows and stones littering the ground. At least some of the Sharrans' attacks had reached over the temple walls. The sacred