Mistress of the Night - Don Bassingthwaite [120]
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Black as Shar's own darkness. A double handspan wide and high. As thick as four fingers held together. Tiles of slate as thin as fine porcelain and marked on the front with silver writing that Keph's mind refused to recognize. Hinged like a book, Variance had said, but in truth not so much hinged as caught along one side in an arrangement of silver rods and clasps that bore a resemblance to both a cage and the setting of an elaborate piece of jewelry.
Keph stared at the book. No wonder it had so completely fascinated his father. No wonder Variance should want it. He swallowed.
"Guide me through this, Selune," he muttered, "and you have my service!"
He reached down and picked up the book.
The instant his fingers closed on the slates, a dark force pulsed through him like a dragon's roar.
Variance gasped and staggered as the call that had tugged at her for more than a month faded. Bolan whirled.
"Mother Night, are you well?"
"Better," Variance breathed. Keph had The Leaves of One Night. She called out to the nearest shadow mastiff. "Seek the man who stood with me when I summoned you," she commanded the creature, pointing in the direction of Fourstaves House. "That way. Escort him to me!"
The beast growled and loped off. Variance drew a deep breath.
"Now, Bolan," she said, "we unleash our worst." She reached to her side and drew her chakram from her belt. "Mistress of the Night," she called, thrusting it high, "drive ice into the hearts of your faithful and let Moonshadow Hall be brought low!"
All around her, shadow mastiffs lifted their savage muzzles and let out a howl as terrible as night itself.
CHAPTER 17
The force within the black slates hammered at Keph like pounding waves driven before a storm. He gasped and staggered-but didn't let go. Strasus hadn't described the dark force and Keph knew his father would have! The old man thought of the book as some curiosity, some ancient artifact and nothing more.
"I spoke no lie when I said you had the potential to become one of Shar's priests," Variance had said. Was the power of the book something that reacted only to the potential of divine magic? Was it possible that even a wizard as powerful in the Art as Strasus Thingoleir had not felt the tide of darkness?
There were whispers within the darkness as well: slow, low, and powerful. He felt like he could almost make out the words within them-almost, but not quite. He strained and tried to catch what the whispers were saying. They swirled around him, a whirlpool that threatened to pull him under, to swallow him whole…
Almost like Variance's attempt to alter his memories. He clenched his teeth and thrust back against the whispers just as he had thrust back against the dark priestess.
"Get out!" he hissed. "Get out! I'm not listening to you!"
The force surged. It probed. He flung it back with all the strength of his will.
It retreated. Keph stood still and stared down at the book. It seemed heavier in his hands. His breath came in short gulps once more.
Another questing tendril of force caressed the edges of his mind. He slapped it away, then turned and stumbled out of Strasus's study. Carrying the book was like carrying a tub of water, a weight that shifted constantly and threatened to splash free at any time. Keph held it as close as he dared and made his way slowly back down the corridor of the north wing. He could feel the wards again. Instead of tugging at him, though, it was almost as if they brushed against him then shrank back like hair singed by a candle flame. Whispers swirled.
"No," he growled.
"Master Keph!"
Halfway up the grand staircase, the underbutler he'd encountered before stood and stared at him. There were other servants too, all in various stages of preparing for bed. Down in the entrance hall, the head butler, dressed in a night robe, was just emerging from the passage that led back to the servants' quarters. Some of the men were armed with knives and short swords. All of the servants were