Black Wolf s-4

by Dave Gross

  Perron suddenly shifted to a flurry of high cuts. When Tal deflected them and riposted with a thrust, Perron beat Tal's blade so hard it struck the floor. His own sword nearly found its target before Tal recovered with an awkward full-center parry.

  Tal nearly laughed. Perron wasn't a small man, but he couldn't beat Tal in a contest of strength. Still, if that was how he wanted it…

  Tal met the next attack with his own, lunging forward even as Perron came at him. The wooden blades cracked as they came together. The top foot of Tal's snapped away, and the splintered remainder ran through Perron's guard and into his mask. Tal felt the thick, sickening impact as his shattered blade passed through the wicker bands and into his cousin's face.

  Horrified, Tal let go of the blade. It stuck fast through the mask.

  Perron fell to his knees and clawed at his mask, but it wouldn't come off. A trickle of blood ran out from under his bib, down the front of his white armor.

  Tal reached out to help, but someone got in the way. He couldn't see who it was, because all the faces in the room whirled about more quickly than he could recognize them. An oceanic roaring filled his ears, and he heard distant voices shouting his name and "get away!" Then he felt hands pulling him, and he had no more strength to resist them.

  *****

  Later, they called it an accident. In the hours after the event, Tal heard Master Ferrick's opinion. He knelt as the swordmaster lectured him for nearly two hours after the others had left. Tal's knees hurt, and his legs turned numb, but he did not complain. He deserved far worse and knew it would come later.

  When he was dismissed, Tal bowed one last time to the master, recovered Perivel's sword from where he'd left it in the dressing room, and walked quietly down the stairs for the last time.

  It was an hour after noon. The street was hot, and the Warehouse District stank of fish and tar. Tal headed west on Larawkan, stamping his feet to force some feeling back into them. The rhythm of hitting the cobblestones soon became hypnotic as Tal imagined the punishments he had yet to face.

  There was no way Thamalon would protect him from whatever just retribution the Karns demanded. Even his mother was unlikely to stand long between him and the righteous anger of her family. Even after paying the temple for healing Perron's mangled face, there was the matter of the eye. Regenerative magic was neither common nor cheap. This would mean the end of Tal's relative freedom in the tallhouse. It was just the excuse Thamalon needed to cut off his stipend and force him back to live at Storm-weather Towers, where they could keep an eye on him.

  Tal noticed that people where scurrying out of his path. He looked back, expecting to see a drover trying to regain control of a panicked ox or perhaps a captive griffin breaking out of its chains on its way to the Hulorn's Palace, but there was nothing frightening back there. The people were avoiding the huge thundering dolt who was muttering to himself.

  "Wonderful," he said aloud. "Let's frighten everyone in Selgaunt."

  He tried to relax and walk in a way that didn't suggest he was on his way to a murder. Once he even forced a smile at a pair of young women, but they took one look at him and crossed to the other side of the street.

  As he turned onto Alaspar Lane, Tal heard a whistle from an ivy-laden trellis. Crouched behind it was Chaney Foxmantle.

  "Over here!" hissed Chaney. "Hurry!"

  Tal hurried to join his friend, and together they peered around the foliage to look toward Tal's residence.

  Standing a block away from the tallhouse were two men in Uskevren livery. Tal did not recognize them, but he was becoming increasingly unfamiliar with the house guard since he visited Stormweather so rarely. They stood a respectable distance from the tallhouse, but their frequent glances left no question about their business. They were waiting for Tal.

  "I deduced from their arrival that the Old Owl wanted a word," said Chaney, "and I thought maybe you'd like the option to postpone it."

  "You are a gentleman and a scholar," said Tal.

  Despite his black mood, he was happy to see Chaney. Only now that they saw each other only a few times a month did he realize how inseparable they had once been.

  "Don't forget devilishly handsome and irresistible to women."

  "Let's get out of here," said Tal. "I should check in at the Realms."

  After Ferrick's blistering lecture, Tal was not ready to hear more of the same from Thamalon. They faded from Alaspar Lane and headed for the anonymity of streets less traveled. Winding their way through lanes and alleys, they eventually came to the Wide Realms Playhouse.

  From a distance, the Wide Realms looked like part of a larger structure. It was surrounded by other businesses, including a bath house, a scribner's, and several buildings shared by artisans who could not afford their own establishments. Some of them worked on commission for Quickly, making costumes or props for the players. In return, they were some of the Wide Realms's most frequent customers.

  Unlike the opera audiences on the other side of town, the playhouse crowd didn't mind mingling with the common folk. Most of them were laborers and tradesmen, gaining admittance to the grounds for a mere five pennies. For a silver raven, they could sit in one of the galleries, sheltered from the sun. Those willing to part with more silver or even a golden fivestar could sit in the balconies behind the actors or on the stage itself, to be seen by all. Some of the more dissolute young nobles were becoming regular attendees, though they were apt to fall asleep when they weren't heckling the players for the amusement of their companions. Tal's brother, Tamlin, was one of these. Thankfully, he had not yet appeared at one of this season's productions, and Tal was hopeful that his brief interest was now a past fancy.

  They walked past the main entrance to find the stage door open. They crossed through the backstage clutter, following the sound of voices from the stage beyond.

  "Let me play the prince," cried a muffled voice, "or I'll cut off your other head!"

  Waving Chaney back, Tal peered around the corner to see what was happening.

  The idiot half of the grotesque ettin's mask rested on Sivana's shoulder, Lommy's slender green legs poking out beneath the neck. On the floor by Sivana's feet was the vicious head, growling up at the heavens. Sivana swung a ridiculously large spiked ball and chain while lurching toward their opponent.

  The other actor was obviously Ennis Lurvin, a big man usually cast as a fool or a warrior. He was about Tal's size, so they were often cast as guards to stand on each side of a king's throne or given the same simple part to play alternately. He brandished a glowing sword, the favorite prop of all the actors. Upon command it would light up, burst into flame, or ring with celestial music. It was also kept quite sharp since the previous winter and not to be used recklessly. Tal was not concerned about the sword, however. What attracted his attention was the mask Ennis wore, a fresh creation of papier mache that Tal had never seen before.

  It was the gigantic head of a savage wolf.

  "Grulok not afeared of werewolf of Selgaunt!" yelled Sivana in a deep, silly voice. She stalked forward as Lommy pulled the handle that made the mask's eyes roll and the tongue loll.

  Tal could bear no more. He rushed forward and knocked the wolfs head off Ennis. "What in the Nine Hells are you doing?"

  Lommy peeked out from the ettin's gaping mouth and peeped in surprise, his tiny voice muffled by the mask. Sivana smiled nonchalantly and lifted the ettin's head off of the tasloi, who scampered up the back wall to disappear into the balcony. "Just goofing off, Tal. We were thinking of doing a children's play next month."

  "Who told you?" demanded Tal. "Was it Quickly?"

  "Told us what?" said Sivana. Ennis's face had turned from a shocked pale to a deep scarlet. Tal knew Sivana was lying.

  "It was supposed to be a secret!" Tal shook the big wolf mask at her.

  "It's still a secret," said Sivana, abandoning the pretense. "Nobody outside the playhouse knows."

  "Nobody inside the playhouse was meant to know, either."
>
  "You told Quickly, Otter, and Lommy, but not the rest of us?"

  "I needed the cage, so I had to tell Quickly. Lommy and Otter live here." Tal let out an enormous sigh. "I can't believe she told you."

  "Don't blame her," said Sivana. "She let it slip one night. You know how she talks in her sleep."

  "I knew it!" said Chaney, storming onto the stage. When everyone looked blankly at him, he explained, "You know, the stories about all you players sleeping with all the other players." Still, everyone just stared at him. At last he shrugged. "I felt left out."

  "I just haven't gotten to you yet, darling," said Sivana, patting Chaney on the bottom. He brightened at once.

  Tal would not let them change the subject. "Quickly had no right to tell you."

  "It's not as if we wouldn't have figured it out. You're missing only when the moon is full, and you're always missing when the moon is full. There's one coming up soon, isn't there? I can tell, because you're always cranky a few days before."

  "You don't know what you're talking about," growled Tal. "I thought you were my friends."

  "We are your friends," said Ennis. The big man's voice cracked, and he looked near to crying. His childlike fear of confrontation made the other players teasingly call him Quickly's Puppy. "Come on, Tal," he pleaded. "You know you can trust everyone here. We're like family."

  Tal choked on his reply.

  "Maybe not the best analogy you could have picked," said Chaney, grimacing.

  "What are you children carrying on about?" Quickly emerged from one of the trapdoors to the Abyss below the stage. She held a bulging sack in both hands while clamping her pipe between her teeth. "If you've got so much energy, you can help repaint the rest of these masks."

  All eyes turned to Quickly, then back to Tal to see how he'd react. He crushed the wolf's head mask in his hands and flung the fragments on the floor at Quickly's feet.

  The pipe fell from Quickly's mouth, and she let the sack of masks slip through her hands onto the stage floor. "Tal…" she began.

  Tal whipped around and stalked off the stage. He had thrown open the back door by the time Chaney caught up with him. He let the little man through before slamming the door behind them.

  Chaney took one look at Tal's face and shut his mouth tight. They walked quickly and in silence for several blocks before Tal cooled off enough to speak.

  "I might as well go to Stormweather and get it over with."

  "You want me to come along?" asked Chaney.

  "No, there's no telling how long Thamalon will want to bellow at me this time. Besides, you annoy him."

  "Want to meet up later? I'll fetch Feena, and we…"

  "No!" said Tal. "The day's been bad enough without another lecture."

  "What makes you think she'll lecture you? Maybe she can-"

  "Dark and empty, I said no!"

  "Take it easy, Tal. It's me. I'm just trying to help."

  "You can help by leaving me alone," snapped Tal.

  "Sure, sure," said Chaney, holding up his hands and retreating. "Whatever you say."

  Tal seethed, furious at… he didn't know what. Tha-malon, Quickly, Rusk, maybe-or himself. By the time he realized he owed Chaney an apology, his friend was gone. After all of the day's reversals, he hoped at least that Chaney would remain his friend.

  Tal pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Then he turned west and headed to Stormweather alone.

  Chapter 11

  Black Blood

  Summer, 1371 DR

  Darrow did not escape the People of the Black Blood. He had run less than five miles from the lodge before the wolves dragged him to the ground. In the panic that seized him upon first seeing his pursuers, he dropped his useless sword and begged for his life. His screams for mercy did nothing to save him from the ripping claws of the werewolves. Nor did his blubbering pleas stop the hungry mouths from feasting on his body. Only as his lifeblood seeped into the soft ground of the Arch Wood did salvation arrive.

  It came in the form of a silver wolf. The three-legged beast chased the other predators from the kill, then sat beside Darrow's dying body and looked down into his face. As Barrow looked up at the big wolf, it shifted back into the form of Rusk, the Huntmaster.

  "The Hunt is over," he declared. Then with a chant to Malar, he pressed his burning hands on Barrow's gaping wounds and sealed them. He cast spell after spell, until at last Darrow could breathe.

  "Why?" Darrow whispered "Why did you save me?" Rusk chuckled deep in his chest. "Because I have use for you."

  *****

  During his first month among the People of the Black Blood, Darrow was everyone's servant. He fetched wood and water, cleared the fanged circle, and scraped the hides of deer and boars for crude tanning. If someone told him to do a task, he made himself useful.

  At night he huddled in a corner of the lodge while most of the pack roamed their territory. A simple smoke hole served as a chimney for the fire pit, which was flanked by two rows of rough-hewn timbers supporting the sod roof. Various pack members had carved their names or marks in the wood over the years. Others with some talent had engraved scenes of humans and wolves hunting together. One depicted a passionate embrace between a dire wolf and a woman. Darrow found the image at once revolting and compelling.

  The Huntmaster's inner sanctum was divided from the rest by an old tapestry depicting scenes of wolves and humans hunting and living together as an antlered god held his cloak to form the night sky above them. Even when Rusk was away, Darrow did not dare part the fabric to peer inside.

  When the werewolves returned to sleep away the daylight, Darrow went outside to perform his chores alone. He hated the smell of the lodge when the pack was there. The smoke stung his eyes, and the odor of so many dirty bodies reminded him of his father's pigsty. Even as a boy he knew he wanted nothing to do with farm life, and this was far worse. He was living among monsters.

  Soon he learned that he had become one of them.

  After his first transformation, Darrow was sick for days. He remembered little of what occurred those three nights, but the days were full of exhausted cramps and bloody retching. No one tended to him in his misery, not even Rusk, who had saved his life. He was too afraid to ask questions, and no one offered any answers.

  "At least I'm still alive," he told himself. But he did not know why or for how long.

  A few days after his change, Rusk answered one of those questions. He led Darrow a short distance from the lodge, where they sat on a grassy knoll.

  "Tell me about the Malveens," he said.

  Darrow nodded, eager to be useful. "What would you like to know?"

  "Everything," said Rusk. "Start with what they want with Talbot Uskevren."

  *****

  Despite Rusk's interest in Darrow, the other werewolves did not accept him as one of their own. Even as the days grew long and the nights warm, the pack spoke to him when necessary, but never in anything approaching the rough camaraderie they enjoyed among themselves. They were a community unto themselves, albeit a savage one. Among the men and women were a few children. They frightened Darrow more than any others, for they had never known a life apart from the Hunt. How much more monstrous than their parents would they become?

  "What do you and Rusk talk about?" asked Sorcia one day.

  Rusk had not forbidden him to tell, but Darrow sensed it was best not to reveal too much. "The city," he said.

  Sorcia must have detected his reluctance, for she let the subject drop. "Rusk usually leads us throughout the forest this time of year," she said, "but now all he does is talk with you and pore over those scrolls. What's in them, I wonder?"

  "I wouldn't know," said Darrow.

  That was the truth. Rusk had never shown them to him, and he had never asked about them. Unless Rusk was secretly illiterate, Darrow could not imagine what was taking him so long to finish them. Perhaps they contained spells the Huntmaster could not comprehend, or maybe he did not like what he read in the scrol
ls.

  Sometimes Rusk spent hours watching the night sky through the clearing above the fanged temple. He rose before dusk to observe the long shadows that fell from the teeth, comparing their patterns to drawings in the Black Wolf Scrolls. Whatever he saw there often sent him into a quiet rage. The other People could smell his displeasure and avoided him at those times, and Darrow soon learned to discern the almost imperceptible sourness. Before his transformation, Darrow would never have detected such a faint odor. Now it was almost overpowering, a warning to stay clear of the Huntmaster.

  It was increasingly clear that Darrow's submissive behavior had planted him firmly at the bottom of the pack hierarchy. Ronan's bullying the night he was transformed was only a harbinger of the abuses that followed. They pushed past him at the lodge entrance and stared him down around the fire when he dared to speak.

  Sometimes Darrow looked up to see Rusk watching him after another member of the pack had cowed him, and he felt ashamed. Other times, Sorcia shook her head as Darrow stepped aside for Ronan or one of the other big night-walkers.

  Despite the hazing, Darrow tried to feel like one of the pack. His routine shifted gradually from day to night, when he would sit around the fire working leather and fur, cutting tough strips for laces, and sewing his own rough clothes. The lodge held communal tools for cutting firewood and repairing the building itself, but the People had few personal belongings.

  The exceptions were weapons and mates. Most of the females chose a single male companion, though a few remained independent or concealed their affairs. At first, Darrow assumed that Sorcia was Rusk's mate, but she never entered his sanctum, and he never saw them go off alone.

  If they had been partners, it would have soon become obvious, for there was no modesty among the People. As many as four or five pairs would copulate among the sleeping pack some mornings. Darrow turned his back when it happened, but the lovers' moans made him restless and keenly uncomfortable. When at last he fell asleep, he dreamed of stealing into House Malveen, taking the key, and opening the gate to Maelin's cell. When they escaped together, she could prove her gratitude without the coercion of a cell.