Mistress of the Night - Don Bassingthwaite [124]
"You've beaten shadow mastiffs, Selunite," he called, "but do you think you can take Shar's faithful?"
The Sharrans managed a weak rattling of weapons. Bolan scarcely seemed to notice. By his voice and the eyes that glared out from his unmoving face, he was half mad. Ceramic flasks and little pouches hung from a harness that crisscrossed his chest. The metallic stink of alchemy drifted off him. Feena dropped down into a defensive crouch. Bolan reached up to his harness with both hands and plucked off flasks.
"Specially created for Selunites," he said, "and for werewolves. Powdered silver ground into alchemist's fire!"
Feena growled. The other Sharrans flinched back, but Bolan stepped forward.
"Untested, it's true-but I've had so little opportunity." His arms swept back, ready to throw the flasks. "You'll be the first to experience my creation!"
"No!"
To the side of them, the doors of Moonshadow Hall swung open. Julith stood between them, a helmet on her head, a shield on her arm, and a mace at her side. Selune's symbol was in her hand.
"By the Moonmaiden," she shouted, "she shall not!"
Feena smelled the clean white breeze of the moon goddess's magic as it roared between priestess and dark priest. The flasks in Bolan's hands-all of the flasks that festooned his chest-shattered in a cascade of quiet popping noises. Feena saw an instant of horror in his eyes,
Then the gooey liquid that coated his hands erupted into white flame. His chest burst into flame as well-or at least those patches of it that didn't steam with acid or melt under the bite of vile poisons. Pouches caught fire and flared up in thick, greasy smoke. Bolan screamed in agony, whirling around and around.
"Shar, have mercy! Mistress of the Night, save me!"
The cultists leaped away from him as he danced. Smoke and flame spun a trail behind him.
"No! No! No-"
Something burst and burned in a puff of deep violet flame. Bolan gasped and choked on it, then clutched at his throat with blazing hands. He staggered once more and pitched over onto his back.
The Sharrans-and Feena-stared as the mingled fires of a dozen alchemical preparations consumed the fallen priest.
But the defenders of Moonshadow Hall were rushing through the gates, clergy and acolytes armed for battle and with prayers on their lips. A few of the cultists scattered with Selune's followers in pursuit. The others were surrounded in a matter of moments.
"Feena, we've won!" called Julith. The dark-haired priestess strode across the abandoned battering ram like the Moonmaiden's own warrior. "The Sharrans who reached the roof are dead or captured. We've won!"
"No," Feena growled. "There's one more Sharran to find." She held up her hand and roared, "A mace! Someone give me a mace!"
A priestess spun and tossed one to her. Feena snatched the weapon out of the air. The blessing of Selune clung to it. She growled in satisfaction.
"Stay close," she ordered Julith. "We need to find Variance."
–– - --
There was a growl from the shadows ahead. Keph froze in alarm as one of the shadow mastiffs seemed to detach itself from the darkness. It paced toward him, growling.
"You… you stay back!" he said.
The mastiff didn't stop. Keph felt sweat run cold down the sides of his face. His arms ached from the strange weight of the book of black slates. His head pulsed with the effort of resisting its dark force and the mad whispers within. Moonshadow Hall was close. He could see the steady glow of magical moonlight above the intervening buildings-the priestesses had all but lit up the night.
He was so close to being done with Variance, too, so close to giving her the cursed book. He tried moving to the side of the street but the shadow mastiff matched his movements.
"What is it?" Keph demanded. "What do you want?" He held out the book. "Look-I'm on Variance's business.