by Dave Gross
Irritation more than anger spun him around to bite back, but the russet wolf was nimble. She slipped away before his teeth could catch her. Tal paused, torn between pursuing the stranger and chastising Feena. He turned toward the stranger, who was almost a street away.
Feena nipped him again, then ran away before he could bite back. This time he pursued her.
She was fast, but his legs were longer. He was almost upon her when she turned suddenly to run down a side street. His claws scraped on the cobblestones as he skidded to a halt before rejoining the pursuit.
People scattered before the wolves, and twice they ran past startled clusters of city Scepters. Once a bolt pierced Tal's shoulder, and he yelped as he rolled to break it loose. It came away easily, leaving an angry mark that soon healed over. It was no more harm than a mosquito bite.
Feena called to him in the wolf's voice, and he followed. His desire to punish her distracting attacks had faded, but he felt an urgent need to escape all the motion in the city. Dimly he knew that those crossbows could do more than sting, but even more he wanted wide spaces. In the city there were walls and buildings at every turn. He felt confined by the boundaries, harried by all the commotion wherever they ran.
At last, Feena led them to the city gates. The guards took one look at the running wolves and pushed open the gates, as one might open the shutters to free a bat caught in the house. Tal could smell their fear subside as he and Feena ran through the opening, leaving the city behind.
Beyond the walls of Selgaunt, they ran through grassy fields, heedless of the road. Feena nipped at Tal again, more playfully than before. He chased her again, but not for retribution. His anger and confusion were gone now, and he felt only joy at the wide freedom of the open land and the cool light of the radiant moon.
The chase continued until they were far out of sight and scent of the city. Still Feena led Tal along, nipping or butting him, or just feinting an approach before dashing away. Before long he learned the patterns of her play, and at last Tal caught her by the scruff of her neck. He held her tightly but without drawing blood, bearing her down to the ground.
Feena stopped struggling, at last laying her head down between her paws. Her scent was a strange blend of her human odor and animal musk. The combination evoked an uncomfortable but pleasant sensation in Tal. He released his grip and snuffled at her, drinking the smell of her. Rather than quench his desire, it inflamed him all the more.
Feena nuzzled him and licked his face. Their scents mingled, forming a heady blend of odors both male and female, human and wolf…
Tal's sudden passion was equal parts panic and desire. He wanted Feena, more than he'd ever wanted a woman- but not like this, not as wolves. Thoughts wrestled with emotions in a confusing tumble. He turned and walked away from Feena, trying not to look back.
He sat and listened for the sea, less than a mile away. It was but a black line on the horizon, discernable only by the reflection of the moon. Tal's ears pricked up to hear the faint susurrus of the waves. The constant rhythm soothed him, and gradually his racing heart slowed. He imagined himself floating gently on those waves, the water carrying him without filling his lungs. Slowly, slowly, he felt the wind in his fur become the breeze on his skin.
He looked down to see human hands, human legs. He looked up to see Selune shining full and bright above him. Behind her trailed the shards, sparking fragments of light. Feena had told him they were the goddess's servants, forever attending their Lady of Silver.
Warm hands touched Tal's shoulders. He turned to see Feena kneeling behind him. The moonlight washed away all but a few of her freckles and left her eyes big and dark.
"We're safe out here," she said. "No one will find us."
The warmth of her hands was thrilling and comforting at once. She stroked his shoulders gently, then pressed her hands against his back, leaning close. Tal could feel the warmth of her body only inches from his own skin.
"Thank you," he said. The words sounded feeble even as they left his lips.
"Are you cold?" she asked. Her lips were close to his ear, and he smelled her breath. Before he could answer, she added, "I am."
He turned and opened his arms to her. She nestled against his chest as if they were familiar lovers. Her artless gesture stole away his breath.
"I didn't want… I didn't know…"
He never finished whatever he was about to say. Feena pulled his face down to hers and stopped his lips with a long, warm kiss. It set his heart running once again, and he feared the wolf would overcome him once again. When their lips parted, their twined bodies were still human.
"I want," she said. "And I know."
She looked into Tal's eyes for assent, but he gave it with his lips.
They said no more that night, and when Selune passed her greatest height and descended gracefully to the far horizon, they fell asleep on the soft grass, their human bodies twined together.
Chapter 17
Betrayals
Tarsakh, 1372 DR
Uskevren is still in the city," Darrow told the cleric. "Exactly where, I don't know."
"Don't know or won't say?" she demanded.
Something about her blue eyes seemed disturbingly familiar. Suddenly he realized that this had to be Maleva's daughter, sent to Selgaunt to watch over Talbot Uskevren. If she had not yet learned of her mother's death, Darrow didn't want to be the one to tell her. After witnessing Maleva's powers, Darrow would have feared her daughter even if she weren't wielding a blade of holy light.
"What I do know is that Stannis Malveen has this man's daughter locked up," Darrow told her. "He's been blackmailing him for information on Talbot Uskevren."
"To what end?" asked the cleric.
"I'm not sure," said Darrow. She raised her weapon. "He changes his mind! At first it sounded like he wanted revenge because of some old quarrel with Tha-malon Uskevren. Later, he was making a deal with Rusk to get at Talbot."
"You're coming with me," she said. "You can explain all this to Talbot yourself."
"I can't," he said. "If I'm gone too long, they might kill her. Besides, I think Talbot is in jail."
"What?"
"That's why this one was meeting Radu, I think. They were going to make it look like he was robbed of the bail money."
"Tonight's the full moon," said the cleric, looking at the sky.
"I know," said Darrow. "You have to get your friend out of his cell."
"First you will help me carry Eckert back to the tall-house."
Darrow considered the likelihood of escaping once the cleric had brought him back to the tallhouse, where Uskevren family guards would no doubt keep him for questioning. While he had little doubt the cleric could reduce him to a tidy pile of ashes if she desired, he would never have a better chance to escape her than now, when she was concerned for Eckert's life.
He turned and ran.
"Hold it!" she yelled after him.
He clenched his teeth and kept on running, fearing with every step that he would feel the first pangs of paralysis or the searing heat of divine fire.
*****
Darrow hastened back to House Malveen. His mind was filled with conflicting hopes and schemes. He did not trust Rusk to follow through on his promise of demanding Maelin's freedom. Even if he asked, and even if Stannis consented, there was still Radu to consider. The calculating swordsman would never permit such a loose end to dangle from these mad schemes he had opposed from the start. If he could slay them all, he would no doubt kill every member of the pack to keep his brother's plots secret.
He thought about defecting to the side of Talbot and his allies, but Maleva's daughter would be unlikely to trust a werewolf after learning of her mother's death, much less help him. There was no guarantee that Talbot would lift a finger to help the daughter of his faithless servant, either.
Most confusing of all was the question Darrow had never dared to ask himself over the past year. Why did he care at all whether Maelin lived? Her only
overtures to him had been coerced by her situation, and they could hardly be genuine. She was not the most beautiful woman Darrow had ever seen and definitely not the most charming. The closest he could come to answering his own question was to say he did not like to see her confined. He wanted to meet her outside of her captivity, to hear her thank him for placing himself in such danger on her behalf. Beyond this vague fantasy, Darrow's obsession remained a confounding mystery.
The pack was listless in the confines of the Malveen warehouse. Some of them had cleared a place for Ronan's corpse to lie. They would take it back to the Arch Wood, where they would leave it exposed to the elements, returning his essence to the land he once roamed.
Brigid and Karnek squatted around the cold fire pit Rusk had made two winters past. They spoke quietly, and occasionally one or two of the others would join them, usually after a few words with Sorcia.
The others paced the floor or clambered over the stacks of lost cargo, chasing rats or breaking open dusty crates to examine their contents. No one could sleep.
An hour after sunset, Morrel returned with the news that a red-haired werewolf had helped free Talbot from his prison cell.
"Feena," said Rusk, with mingled ire and admiration.
He glanced at Barrow to see his reaction. If he saw one, he did not comment on it.
"They'll go into hiding," said Morrel. "We must track them down."
"Yes," said Rusk, "but they will not go far. Our host has seen to that. When he goes to his servant, he will hear that his family has refused to aid him. He will have nowhere left to turn, except to me."
"You mean to Malar," said Morrel.
Rusk waved his hand irritably. "That's what I said."
*****
Hours later, Rusk returned to the River Hall to confer with the Malveens. Darrow began to follow him, but Rusk pushed him back from the door.
"You won't be needed this time," he said.
"You'll ask about Maelin?" said Darrow.
"I have not forgotten," said Rusk, closing the door behind him.
Darrow turned to rejoin the pack, but Sorcia stood in his way. No one else was nearby.
"Do you truly believe he'll free your captive princess?" asked Sorcia.
"Why wouldn't he?"
"Because he knows you for the simpering toady you are," she said. "The only reason he lets you live is to feed his dwindling pride."
"Then why does he let you live?" asked Darrow. "He hears your whispers. He knows you question his every move."
"Yes," said Sorcia, "and so I make him stronger, so long as he can keep his place."
"Somehow, I doubt he would see it that way."
"You think you know his mind?" Sorcia asked. "What do you think he's saying to Stannis now? Is he begging permission to take your sweetheart into the pack?"
"One day you'll eavesdrop on the wrong conversation," warned Darrow.
"What makes you think I overheard you? Rusk told us all about your pathetic request. No one laughed louder than he."
"You lie," said Darrow.
"Do I?" said Sorcia. "I bow to your greater experience."
She sauntered away, glancing once over her shoulder to see Darrow standing alone by the door to the River Hall.
He clenched his fists to calm the trembling, but it did no good. His skin felt prickly cold, and he could not tell whether fear or anger was the cause. If what Sorcia said was true, he could not bear to return to the pack.
He turned back to the door and felt the latch. It was not locked. With one last look around to see that he was alone, Darrow slipped into the western wing of House Malveen and closed the door silently behind him.
He sniffed for any scent of Stannis's minions, but they were nowhere near. They must be attending the vampire and his guest on the grand promenade, he figured. His chances of approaching them undetected were practically nil, unless he ascended to the upper floors. He circled around to the servants' quarters and climbed the stairs, moving cautiously to keep the sagging floors from creaking. It took him over twenty minutes to reach the balcony at such a deliberate pace. He was rewarded with the sound of Rusk's laughter.
"For all his eccentricities, I appreciate your brother's friendship," he said. "Yet I admire your pragmatism, Radu. We are more alike than you might think."
Darrow peered over the edge of the balcony. Below him, Rusk sat comfortably in a leather chair beside the counting table. Radu stood behind it, his hands folded behind his back.
Undeterred by Radu's silence, Rusk continued in a more serious tone, "You should be more friendly. Our alliance was most profitable for your uncle, years ago. Perhaps you would like to return the baiting pit to its original purpose?"
"Mere sport is not worth such a risk," replied Radu.
"How could it be more risk than acquiring opponents for your private duels?" said Rusk. "And how can you collect wagers from an uninvited audience?"
"Bloodsport is still illegal in Selgaunt," said Radu. "And every member of an audience means another tongue to wag."
"And are you not adept at severing wagging tongues?"
"You forget that we do not own this property. Our family legacy… it is forbidden to us."
"Only because you let them forbid you," said Rusk. "You are too cautious, Radu. You should be bold, take chances."
"My mother was bold," said Radu. "And so were you, the night you lost that arm."
"A mistake I shall soon mend," said Rusk amiably. "You are correct, Radu. One can be too bold, and I know you wish only to protect your family. It is one of the things we have in common."
"Your pack?"
"Indeed," said Rusk. "I watch over them as if they were my own children."
"Even Darrow?"
"Sometimes children must be punished."
*****
Darrow had heard more than enough. He crept away even more cautiously than before, slowly making his way to the other side of the grand promenade. There he listened for Rusk and Radu to leave the River Hall. When he was sure they were gone, he descended to the ground floor and slipped across to the portrait gallery.
He pressed the picture frame and went through the secret door, descending the stairs without the benefit of light. Soon he heard screams. They chilled the marrow in his bones, for he knew there was only one captive remaining in the cells. With fearful anticipation, he crept past the stands and peered over the edge of the baiting pit.
The cell gates were open, and Darrow spied Maelin through the bars of her cell. She lay across her bed, arching her back in agony while screaming her throat raw. On the other side of the cell floated Stannis, though the angle allowed Darrow to see only a fraction of his hulking body.
"I am beginning to enjoy our conversations," purred Stannis. "How good of you to give me cause to incorporate these delightful enchantments. It has been so long since I have employed them on someone other than my minions, whose screams are as street water compared to the fine wine of your delicious-"
Maelin cut him off with a searing string of obscenities. "You sick, demented monster! Just kill me and get it over with!"
"Charming to the end," said Stannis.
Whatever arcane terms he uttered, Darrow could not make out. The effects were immediate and clear, as Maelin shrieked and writhed against the unseen pain inflicted by the vampire's magic.
"Do not fret, my delicate princess. Your knight shall join you soon enough. Once he has served his purpose, you will have the chance to scream together before you dance with my brother. Perhaps he will let you face him together, like the elves. Not that you will provide much challenge in your present condition."
The thought of attacking Stannis never entered Dar-row's mind. He hoped to hide long enough for the mad vampire to grow tired of torturing Maelin, then slip down and free her from her cell. He crawled along the railing of the baiting pit to find a hiding place. Before he did, a feral hiss signaled his discovery. He looked up to see one of the vampire spawn clinging to the ceiling. The thing was c
ompletely hairless, with flesh as dark and rubbery as its sire's. Its mouth opened wide and round, revealing dozens of tiny, pointed teeth. Darrow froze, transfixed by the creature's hypnotic eyes.
"What's that?" called Stannis. "Has one of my cats found a mouse?"
A new surge of fear snapped Darrow out of his paralysis. He closed his eyes against the spawn's gaze and scrambled to his feet. He ran half-tumbling over chairs and couches as he fled for the exit. Behind and above him, the vampire's spawn pursued him.
As he reached the steps, he heard Stannis call out once more. "Fetch it, my loves. Bring it back to me, and I shall punish it."
Darrow felt an unearthly chill upon his back, and the stench of undying flesh filled his nose. He transformed as he ran up the steps, falling down to four legs by the time he reached the top. On four legs he gained ground on his pursuer, racing across the grand promenade, heading toward the warehouse.
The door was open, and beyond it stood Rusk, awaiting him. The pack was at his back, and all eyes were upon Darrow. Their expressions spoke more clearly than words that he was no longer one of them.
He stopped so suddenly that he skidded across the hall, his nails carving deep scratches into the parquet floor. With the pack before him and vampire spawn behind, he fled up the stairs. He hoped his pursuers would hesitate before following, but their howls were too close behind. He had nowhere to go but up, unless…
Darrow ran into the first bedroom he reached, dashing across the room to leap against the boarded window. The impact cracked the wood but did not break it. Shifting into half-wolf form, he slammed the door shut. As he shoved the bed against it for support, a hairy fist crashed through and reached awkwardly for the lock.
Darrow turned his attention to the boarded window, smashing it with both his fists. It broke away in seconds, but so did the door behind him. Taking a few steps back to run, Darrow hurled himself through the broken boards, feeling their splintered ends tearing his flesh as he burst out of the darkness of House Malveen and into the pre-dawn light.