Sharon Shinn - Dark Moon Defender

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Shinn, Sharon - Dark Moon Defender

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DARK MOON DEFENDER

Sharon Shinn

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

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Shinn, Sharon - Dark Moon Defender
CHAPTER 17 
CHAPTER 18 
CHAPTER 19 
CHAPTER 20 
CHAPTER 21 
CHAPTER 22 
CHAPTER 23 
CHAPTER 24 
CHAPTER 25 
CHAPTER 26 
CHAPTER 27 
CHAPTER 28 
CHAPTER 29 
CHAPTER 30 
CHAPTER 31 
CHAPTER 32 
CHAPTER 33 
CHAPTER 34 
CHAPTER 35 
CHAPTER 36 
CHAPTER 37 
CHAPTER 38 
CHAPTER 39 
CHAPTER 40 
CHAPTER 41 
CHAPTER 42 
CHAPTER 43 
 
Dark Moon Defender
 
Other Ace Books by Sharon Shinn
 
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Shinn, Sharon - Dark Moon Defender

mystic and rider

the thirteenth house

dark moon defender

archangel

jovah's angel

the alleluia files

angelica

angel-seeker

wrapt in crystal

the shape-changer's wife

heart of gold

summers at castle auburn

jenna starborn

Viking / Firebird Books by Sharon Shinn

THE SAFE-KEEPER'S SECRET

THE TRUTH-TELLER'S TALE

THE DREAM-MAKER'S MAGIC

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Shinn, Sharon - Dark Moon Defender

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Shinn, Sharon - Dark Moon Defender

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

Penguin Group (NZ), Cnr. Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand

(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 21%,

South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand. London WC2R 0RL, England

This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used

fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely

coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party

websites or their content.

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Shinn, Sharon - Dark Moon Defender

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not

participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

ACE is an imprint of The Berkley Publishing Group.

ACE and the "A" design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First edition: October 2006

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publicatior. Data

Shinn, Sharon. Dark moon defender / Sharon Shinn.

p. cm.

ISBN 0-441-01430-5

1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Moon worship—Fiction. 3. Cults—Fiction. 4. Convents—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3569.H499D37 2006 813'.54—dc22 2006013756

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For Joe

Because you, too, have had to fight so hard, and because you love the books

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Shinn, Sharon - Dark Moon Defender

GILLENGARIA

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Dark Moon Defender

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Shinn, Sharon - Dark Moon Defender

CHAPTER 1

Top

The woman lay facedown on the floor of the hut, her long brown hair spread in bloody tangles across the

dirt. She had stopped moving, so it was possible she was dead. She had never cried out, never begged for

mercy—never said a single word, not for the entire two hours they had had her. Kelti had found that

almost as unnerving as the torture, the fact that she did not answer, did not speak.

This was his first time to go hunting mystics, and he was afraid he would disgrace himself by being sick.

Rostiff toed the lifeless woman with one hard boot. "Is she still breathing? Someone feel for a pulse."

None of the other three men moved, so Rostiff jerked his head in Kelti's direction. "You do it."

Kelti knelt beside the battered body and gingerly pushed through the dark hair to find the back of her

neck, then slid his fingers around the bruised column of her throat. There—a steady, sluggish rhythm

that seemed more obstinate than anything. I am harder to kill than you think. Kelti shivered a little. For

her sake, he wished the woman had chosen to be a little less stubborn. The sooner she died, the sooner

she would be out of her misery. There was no chance she would be spared.

"She's alive, Captain," he said, and pushed himself to his feet.

"Then let's wake her up again," Rostiff said.

From over in the corner came the sound of a strangled sob. Everyone else ignored it, but Kelti glanced

over. Huddled on the ground, wrapped in a tight a ball of misery, was the woman who had led them to

the mystic. Poor woman living on a small plot of land, didn't appear to have a husband or son or any

kinfolk to help her manage, and it was clear she was barely able to scrape together enough food to

sustain her body. Always a reward for turning a mystic over to the Lestra's men, so she'd eagerly made

arrangements with them yesterday morning when she spotted them in the village. But, like Kelti, she had

probably had very little experience with inquisitions. She had not expected the interrogation to be so

brutal or last so long.

One of the other men came forward with a bucket of water and dumped it on the mystic's head. She

stirred and coughed, then lay still again. But Kelti, watching closely, could see the movement of her ribs.

Still breathing.

The stupid fool.

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Shinn, Sharon - Dark Moon Defender

Rostiff sank to a crouch beside her and rolled her over. Even by candlelight, it was easy to see that her

face was a mesh of cuts and bruises and that blood stained the entire front of her plain gown. Her hands

were tied before her with a thin silver chain set with moonstones. It wasn't a binding that would hold an

ordinary person—the chain was so delicate that even a woman could snap it in two—but the moonstones

burned the skin of mystics and muted their power. Made them helpless. Stole their magic.

Stole their lives.

"Let's try this again," Rostiff said, putting his face down next to the young woman's. He was a big man

and hard in every way. His face was severe and bony, his bunched muscles were tough, and his

personality was absolutely unyielding. Until this evening, Kelti had viewed him with an awe so great it

bordered on worship. Had wanted to earn his respect. Now he was ashamed of himself for being so

horrified at Rostiff's actions. Wasn't this the job of the men who served the Pale Mother? Hadn't they

been chosen by the Lestra to seek out and destroy mystics wherever they might be found? Was this not a

holy calling, blessed by the moon goddess herself?

Then why did it feel so terrible to watch this young woman being slowly murdered?

"All I want from you is two names," Rostiff said in a reasonable voice. He had pulled his dagger out

again and held it just under the mystic's left eye. With no effort at all, he could open the flesh on her

cheek—or blind her on one side. Tell him what he wants to know, Kelti thought miserably. "Two names

of two of your sorcerous friends, and where they might be found. That's it. Two names, two locations.

Then I'll let you go."

The mystic had had her eyes closed, but now she opened them. They were a muddy green, unremarkable

in color, and pain had dulled whatever brilliance they might normally possess. At the moment, she didn't

even seem to be able to focus, for she did not look at Rostiff, looming over her so menacingly. Instead,

her gaze wandered to the others in the room—to the two veteran soldiers standing behind Rostiff,

looking im-passive and even bored with the whole evening. To a younger soldier standing to the right of

Kelti, his face eager, his body tense, a man excited by his first taste of blood. To Kelti. He held his

breath as she held his gaze. Almost he thought she might say something—whisper a message to him, beg

him to intercede on her behalf. He came a step closer. She blinked and looked away.

Rostiff leaned closer. "One name," he said in an intense whisper. "One name, one location, and your

death will be quick."

At that exact moment, the door to the hut blew open and a rush of darkness swirled in. Astonished, Kelti

fell back. He sensed the other men in his party drawing their blades and dropping into fighting stances.

Two men had burst inside and now crouched just inside the doorway, armed for battle.

"I'm Cammon, and I'm right here," said one, shaking back his ragged hair. "That's one mystic's name.

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Shinn, Sharon - Dark Moon Defender

Good enough?"

With a shout, Rostiff lunged across the room, driving his sword straight for the intruder's heart. Kelti

was frozen in place, but the other three soldiers launched themselves right behind Rostiff, blades

winking in the insufficient candlelight. Two more bodies to lie on the floor this night, Kelti thought, and

watched to see how quickly the mystic was cut down.

But the man who called himself Cammon danced away from Rostiff's sword. And danced away again as

Rostiff sliced and hewed the air. Kelti stared, amazed. No one could outlast Rostiff for more than a few

rounds, even the fiercest soldiers in the Lestra's brigade. But this young man—almost a boy, Kelti's age,

perhaps, and slim as a girl—parried and ducked away and evaded every single blow Rostiff tried to land.

His companion, meanwhile, had made short work of the eager young soldier so entranced at the sight of

mystic blood, and was now engaged in a furious duel with the two veteran fighters of the Lestra's staff.

Kelti took a step forward, certain he should go to his companions' aid, far from certain where he could

enter the battle. Blades were flying so swiftly, so mercilessly! One of the older men took a sword to the

heart and dropped to the dirt with a choked cry. The other one loosed an oath and redoubled his attack,

striking so hard and so often that Kelti was dazzled at the swordplay. But the stranger was simply too

good. More thrusts and grunts and oaths, then a single fluid dart of silver, and the third soldier fell.

The swordsman pivoted quickly, taking in the scene with a single glance. He was burlier than his

companion, maybe five or six years older, fair-haired, clean-shaven, and alight with righteousness. His

gaze came to rest on Kelti—assessed him as being of no immediate threat—and then went on to take in

the motionless mystic on the floor, the weeping woman in the corner, and the heated but inconclusive

battle still under way between Cammon and Rostiff. He charged forward, bloody sword upraised, and

entered the fray at Cammon's side. Kelti held his breath, afraid to watch, afraid to hope for one outcome

or another. Rostiff snarled out a string of taunts and curses, but the fair-haired swordsman did not

answer. Cammon fell back as the other men wove their swords together in a complicated pattern of

threat and rescue, keeping his own weapon ready but not as if he thought he'd need it.

Indeed, he did not. A rush—a clash—a great cry of anguish—and Rostiff crumpled to the ground on top

of one of the other corpses.

Kelti could not move or speak. Four bodies on the floor. And the mystic still lives.

The ferocious young soldier spun around one more time, as if looking for new adversaries, but his

companion shook his head. "That's all of them," Cammon said. "There aren't any reserve soldiers on the

road, either."

The other man pointed the red tip of his sword in Kelti's direction. "What about him? Will he be a

problem?"

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