Black Wolf s-4

by Dave Gross

  Rusk stood amid the wolves, looking from face to face as if seeking any signs of further defiance. Where his gaze went, wolf heads dipped or turned away. Only when he turned to the white wolf did his inquisition meet with a steady return gaze. Rusk's eyes moved on, seeking something they had not yet found.

  Where is Radu? wondered Darrow. He hoped his master had not fled. Somehow, he knew the man was nearby, as invisible as on the night Rusk had first invaded House Malveen. He prayed to Mask, the Lord of Shadows, to keep him hidden from the beasts until he chose to strike. He prayed to Tymora, Lady Luck, to give him the chance to save himself as well.

  "Bloodmaster…" called a weak voice. The wolf Rusk had thrown away was now a naked young man. Blood bubbled from one nostril, and his ruptured lungs wheezed as he spoke. Like the wolf he had been, his back was twisted halfway around, his legs lying useless below him. "Grant mercy, please… heal me."

  Rusk went to him and knelt, placing his hand on the young man's head. "Fraelan," he said, "why did you attack your master?"

  "We didn't know… it was you."

  "You beg mercy and lie to me? I'll leave you for the scavengers!"

  "You do smell like the city, Rusk," said a sweet voice. Darrow looked where the white wolf guarded his sword. Now the wolf was an elf who sat careless of her nakedness. Except for her dirty hands and feet, her skin was ghostly. Her faintly blue eyes were almost white except for the startling black pupils.

  Rusk ignored the elf and took Fraelan's face in one hand.

  "Who was it?"

  Tears made trails on the young man's dirty face. He hesitated only a few seconds. "Balin," he whispered.

  Rusk nodded, as if it were the answer he wanted to hear. "Now you have earned mercy," he said, pressing his forehead against Fraelan's. "I grant you mercy. Malar grants you mercy."

  "No," gasped Fraelan. "Please… heal-"

  Rusk's whiskery mouth covered the younger man's. Fraelan clutched weakly at Rusk, but the big man held him firm and drew out the crippled man's last breath. Darrow felt a chill watching the deadly kiss. As Fraelan's strength waned and vanished, Rusk lowered him gently to the ground. He rose to face the pack then. Darrow saw new power in the cleric's face. The scratches his pack had caused him were gone, and his muscles rippled with new strength. The symbol of Malar gleamed red in the twilight shadows.

  "Now," said Rusk, "where is Balin?"

  The wolves all turned in the same direction. The forest trembled, and the saplings parted as the monster approached.

  Growing up a farmer's son, Darrow was not surprised by large pigs. They were dangerous animals, even when raised as livestock. One had killed his cousin and had begun eating the boy before Darrow's uncle could fend him off with a spear. He'd summoned help from his neighbors before slaughtering the beast that night. The wild boars hunted for festivals often dwarfed their domestic cousins, and Darrow had seen some large enough for a big man to ride, if he dared. When he came to Selgaunt and saw the colossal boar's head mounted above the bar in the Black Stag inn, he thought it must be the biggest boar in all Faerun. They called it Demon and said it had killed more than a hundred and thirty men who dared to hunt it, including all but two of the twenty who had finally brought it down with spears and magic. Its long tusks were as thick as a dock worker's forearm. They curled awry, giving the vast red face a mad expression. Its eyes were tiny black stones, almost invisible in the expanse of bristling red fur. A man could put a fist in one of Demon's flaring nostrils, and its mouth was big enough for a man's head, as the city gallants sometimes proved after a few pints of ale. Darrow wouldn't have done that for a hundred fivestars.

  The boar that came out of the Arch Wood that night could have been Demon's big brother.

  It walked toward Rusk, stopping only a few feet away. As Darrow watched, the giant boar transformed. Its flesh rippled and contorted, reforming into the figure of a man even taller and much heavier than Rusk. His prominent tusks and low brow betrayed his ore parentage.

  "A coward hides behind the pack," said Rusk. "A challenger stands alone against the Bloodmaster."

  "I am the Bloodmaster now," said the half-ore. "You stayed too long in the pen, Rusk. You've become one of the sheep."

  "Malar speaks to me," shouted Rusk, "not you. I was Huntmaster before you were born, and I'll be the Blood-master long after you're dead."

  "Malar pisses on old cripples," Balin said, pointing at Rusk's stump. "I am the strongest hunter now, and I lead the People of the Black Blood where we belong, in the wild. Run now, and I'll let you live with your sheep."

  "Malar tests me, yes, but I need only one hand to slaughter a pig."

  Darrow couldn't tell who moved first. Balin lunged for Rusk, but the cleric leaped to the side, leaving the half-ore skidding in the dirt. Walking almost casually away from Balin, Rusk sang another prayer. It drew the power of his god into his hand, which grew to nearly twice its size and sprouted wicked talons.

  Across the clearing, Balin rose slowly to his feet. His form shifted again, this time halting halfway between boar and half-ore. His previously massive limbs were now as thick as battering rams, his fists like the heads of sledgehammers.

  The pack watched but did not interfere. Those in the clearing moved aside for the combatants.

  Balin charged. Rusk waited until the last instant, then dropped low and kicked hard at the wereboar's left leg. There was no satisfying crack, but Balin crashed into the brush instead of his enemy. Rusk slashed Balin's exposed buttocks with his monstrous hand. While the wereboar recovered, Rusk strode into the center of the clearing again and waited.

  "You are slow and stupid," he said. "My only mistake has been to let you live among us."

  Balin's reply was rough snorting and another charge. This time, he kept his body low to avoid a trip. Rusk vaulted over Balin, but not before the wereboar lifted his tusks to tear a deep gash in the cleric's leg. The wound made him stumble and fall in Balin's wake. Before Rusk could recover, Balin turned to charge again.

  This time, Balin threw himself on Rusk, who couldn't get away in time. Rusk's howl was cut off as the bigger man's weight crushed him, but Balin screamed too. They rolled together on the ground, leaving a trail of blood.

  Like a bear, Balin hugged his opponent, trying to squeeze his breath away. Rusk's arm was pinned between them, but he jerked and pushed as if reaching into his enemy. Soon they were both smeared in blood, and Balin's screams turned to squeals. Still his arms continued to crush the cleric, who had no breath to scream.

  Rusk transformed, his body shifting from man to half-man to silver-gray wolf. His half-tunic was pinned beneath Balin's massive arms, but his boots and trousers fell away, tangling his legs.

  Balin's hug pinned the slender foreleg of Rusk's wolf form helplessly, but now Rusk's long jaws were at the were-boar's throat. They snapped once and caught, and there they held. Blood gushed down the gray wolf's muzzle. Together, Balin's two wounds drained away his life. In death, the wereboar's body shifted one last time to leave a huge boar's corpse on the ground. The wolf rolled away from it, more red than gray.

  The white elf ran to Rusk and began licking at the blood. Darrow turned away, disgusted, but a perverse fascination made him look again. Two wolves joined the elf, whining sympathetically as they tried to soothe their master's wounds.

  As his breathing slowed, Rusk shifted back into his human shape. He cuffed the nearest sycophants. "Get away," he barked.

  All obeyed except the elf, who pressed herself against Rusk, laying her head against his bruised ribs. Rusk grabbed her by the hair, jerking her head back and forcing her to look up at him.

  "Balin was a simpleton and a coward," Rusk said. "I wonder who encouraged his ambition."

  The elf's face remained impassive. She did not struggle in her master's grip.

  Rusk stared into her face a little longer, then shoved her away. "Bah," he said. "The challenge is done. I am the Bloodmaster. Does any deny it?"

  He did not deign to
look around. Every member of the pack looked to the ground. Darrow noticed the elf glancing up at Rusk, a faint smile on her lips.

  "Impressive," said Radu. He stood at the edge of the clearing, holding the reins of his stallion. The other two horses were nowhere to be seen. "Impressive, yet puzzling."

  "What do you mean?" said Rusk.

  "You defeated this brute," said Radu, gesturing at Balin's bloody corpse, "yet you say Talbot Uskevren sliced off your arm."

  Rusk's eyes blazed at the reminder. He worked his jaw but said nothing.

  "Was that the name of your prey in the city, Bloodmaster?" The elfs tone was humble, thought Darrow. A trifle too humble.

  "Silence, Sorcia," said Rusk.

  "Yes, Bloodmaster," said Sorcia contritely.

  Her eyes turned to the ground until Rusk looked away, then they turned to Radu. Darrow took the opportunity to collect his sword, sheathing it as quietly as he could to avoid attracting the attention of the monsters that surrounded him.

  "Our guests have brought us a gift," said Rusk, "a gift from the Beastlord himself. We have the scrolls of Malar."

  Darrow glanced at Radu, hoping his master would not correct Rusk before his followers. Stannis had permitted Rusk to bring only a fraction of the Black Wolf Scrolls. Rusk had howled when he saw the torn fragment, but he dared not challenge the Malveens in their home. Now, with his pack looking on, Rusk might not take another humiliation so mildly. Probably Radu could kill any one of them, maybe even most of them. But he'd never kill them all before one of them tore Darrow to pieces. Of that he was sure.

  Perhaps Tymora smiled on Barrow then, for Radu merely gestured for Darrow to take the reins of his horse. Darrow obeyed, grateful to stand apart from the werewolves.

  "To the lodge," commanded Rusk. At last the Bloodmas-ter permitted himself a smile at his victory. After his dangerous quest in the city, he was home among his people. He gestured to Balin's corpse and added, "Don't forget the meat."

  Chapter 8

  The Audition

  Tarsakh, 1371 DR

  Impious shadow of the king who was," bellowed Presbart as the baron. His soldiers pointed their swords at Tal's heart. "Release the scepter stolen from his tomb!"

  "I wear the crown by acclamation true," replied Tal, leaping back onto the crenellated wall. "Deny my claim and hasten your own doom." On the rhyming syllable, he struck a guard's blade from his hand.

  The weapon skittered across the stage and shot through the surrounding rails, sending Sivana and Ennis diving out of the way. Ennis managed to flatten himself, causing even more laughter among the other players.

  Tal winced at the accident and smiled a weak apology. The distraction almost caused him to miss the incoming attacks. He parried one blade and leaped over the other. When the guard swung again, he leaped up to stamp on the blade, trapping it on the wall. His kick missed the guard's face by less than an inch, and the man flipped backward to lay still.

  "Your reign was not ordained, O faithless prince," declared Presbart, brandishing his own sword.

  The first guard grabbed a spear from the back wall and thrust at Tal's head. Tal parried easily, then bound the spear's shaft with his sword and thrust it into the baron's sword, blocking them both.

  Tal leaped from the battlement to arch over both men. He twisted gracefully to land facing them from behind. Still distracted by his earlier blunder, he neglected to bend his knees to cushion the blow. The impact of his body sent a booming echo through the trapdoor room below.

  Before his foes could turn around, Tal thrust his blade under the arm of the guard, who cried out, clutched his heart, and fell to the floor. The baron dropped his sword and ran to hide behind the stage right pillar. Tal followed, slashing first on one side, then the other, as the cowardly baron dodged.

  "In faith, I am a prince no more than thou," said Tal, "As this, my final answer to your base demands will… oh, dark and empty. What's the line?"

  "That's enough," said Quickly from the floor. Her big arms were crossed over her chest, and she gnawed on the stem of her unlit pipe.

  "I almost had it," said Tal, walking to the edge of the stage. "The sword going off the stage threw me. We should probably reverse that so it goes backstage."

  Quickly nodded. "Right. Show Mallion what to do."

  "You're giving the part to him?"

  Mallion was the most beautiful man in the Wide Realms troupe, and he knew it. Even at nearly thirty, he looked only a few years older than Tal and the other young players. They all teased him for spending so much money on skin creams, hair tonics, and eye cosmetics, but his flawless complexion and rich black curls garnered him a flock of adoring admirers after each performance. Worse yet, in Tal's opinion, he really was a fine actor with tremendous range. His elocution was second only to Presbart's rolling phrases, and he was one of Tal's few rivals for physical scenes.

  Behind Quickly, Mallion buffed his nails on his chest. Beside him, Sivana flicked his ear and shot Tal a sympathetic wink. With Mallion and Tal, she was one of the most accomplished stage fencers in the company. Of them, only Tal had any real weapons training, but Sivana's lithe, androgynous figure made her a better foil for the slender Mallion. Both of them squeezed together would barely make one Tal.

  "He's better for it, Tal. You know that." Quickly beckoned him down from the stage. He leaped the rail and landed heavily on the ground. Walnut shells left by last night's groundling's crunched under his feet. "Besides, one more vault like that one and you'll go straight through to the Nine Hells."

  "I can fall into a roll, instead," he said. "Or we could move the wall to curve around there, and…"

  "I've made up my mind, Tal, my lad You're good, especially at the swordplay, but Mallion makes the better villain."

  As if to prove the point, the handsome actor leered menacingly behind Quickly. Without looking, she poked him in the chest with a beefy elbow.

  "Oof," he said with exaggerated injury. Then he smoothed his neat beard in a gesture that made Tal think of a cat cleaning itself.

  "What about me?" said Tal. Hearing the whining in his own voice made everything that much worse.

  "I was thinking of Maeroven," said Quickly.

  Tal rolled his eyes. He didn't want to play the bumbling cook. "But I played the nurse in The Curse of Brynwater Abbey" he complained. "People will start expecting me to wear a dress every time I get on stage."

  "You should have thought about that before you perfected her voice," said Quickly.

  Tal wasn't so distracted that he didn't catch the change in her tone. He was about to suffer a tweaked nose.

  "What voice is that?" he asked innocently.

  Both Mallion and Sivana were hiding their faces. They'd told her about Tal's Mistress Quickly imitation, which he was careful to do only well out of the troupe leader's hearing.

  "You know the one," said the brawny woman, slapping him on the bottom. " 'No, no, that's all wrong! Say it with guts. With guts!'"

  Now the entire company broke into laughter. Sivana actually fell onto her back, kicking the empty air. She shook her head back and forth, sweeping the hard packed ground with her hair, which was black this month. No one could agree on its natural color, which was the source of speculation even among the majority of the company, whom she'd taken to bed.

  "That's not it," said Tal. "It's more like, 'What's the matter with you street buskers? Leave your spines backstage? Stand up straight and tell me that!' "

  The laughter turned to wails and gasps, and even Quickly herself was fanning herself with one meaty hand.

  "You're a good play, Tal," said Quickly with another sharp swat to his buttock. "Glad you understand about the part."

  He did understand, but Tal still felt a strong pang of disappointment. For months he'd been pestering Quickly to give him a role in which he could show off all he'd learned at Master Ferrick's. Despite all his auditions, he always ended up with a supporting role, usually a comic foil or a character with a peculiar voice
. He had no one to blame but himself for the latter, since he'd been mimicking the butts of his jokes since he was a small boy.

  Quickly turned to address the company at large. "All right, you bunch of street buskers…" She paused for the laugh. "Back here tomorrow, in costume by noon. Don't forget your wands for the jig."

  Half the company moaned at the reminder. Since last summer, Quickly began adding a jig to the end of the tragedies. She said it was to give people a lift after all the death and despair. Sivana joked that it was to scare the audience out of the playhouse so the players had a fair chance to get a seat at the alehouses before the places were filled. Tal liked the absurdity of showing the dead princes and queens dancing merrily after their death scenes, shaking their skull-topped wands for the audience. It was a reminder that nothing was real on the stage.

  "Hey!" called a voice from the first balcony. Chaney hoisted a pair of leather tankards and set them on the railing. "I brought you something from the ale cart."

  Tal scrambled up a beam to the middle gallery. He was nowhere as nimble as Lommy, but he was becoming quite the climber thanks to all the time he spent helping Quickly repair the thatched roof after the winter storms. It gave him a workout as well as an excuse to avoid the tallhouse, where Thamalon had been sending him messages. Tal refused to read them. He was still angry about Thamalon's lecture about Larajin.

  "Thanks," he said to Chaney, taking the tankard and draining it in one long draught.

  "Nice one! I thought you were taking it easier these days."

  "Special occasion," said Tal, wiping the foam from his upper lip.

  "So I see. You were pretty good up there, but I did worry you'd go right through that floor."

  "That's ridiculous. It's an excellent floor. I reinforced it myself only last month."