by David Gross
“Agreed,” said Rusk, to Darrow’s surprise.
Were his promises of claiming the city as the People’s territory lies? Or was he lying now? Darrow realized he had deluded himself into thinking Rusk had taken him into his confidence. He was just as much a servant as he was when he served the Malveens.
“One more thing,” said Stannis. “Whatever happens when you face Talbot, it will be unpleasant for him? It will hurt his father?”
“You can consider him dead,” said Rusk.
“That isn’t as good as tormented,” complained Stannis, “but it is something. Very well. He is indeed in the city jail. I have made arrangements for his petition for bail to be delayed until you wish him freed.”
“Excellent,” said Rusk. “Then all that is left is to flush him out of hiding tomorrow night.”
“ ‘Too bold to hide,’ ” quoted Darrow. When the others looked at him, he explained, “The Uskevren family motto.”
Rusk laughed. “Indeed,” he said. “Let us pray it proves a part of the greater prophecy.”
He turned to leave, beckoning Darrow to follow.
“Tut!” clucked Stannis. “Are you not forgetting something, dear Darrow?”
Darrow froze, fearing the worst. He was nearly right.
“You forgot to return my key.”
“Of course, Lord Malveen.” Darrow produced the key and returned it to the vampire, careful to avoid touching his cold, black fingers. “How forgetful of me.”
“Indeed,” agreed Stannis, gazing thoughtfully at him.
Darrow held his tongue until he and Rusk were out of the Malveen brothers’ hearing. Before they returned to the warehouse, he stopped and sniffed for any scent of the spawn before daring to speak.
“Huntmaster,” he said, “I have a boon to ask.”
Rusk raised an eyebrow.
“Their hostage,” he said. “They’ll have no more use for her once you’ve dealt with Uskevren. Let her join the pack.”
“What have you done to earn this favor?” demanded Rusk.
“I have been loyal,” said Darrow.
“Do you suggest that others have not?” His tone hinted at a test. Darrow knew he must not fail it.
“Sorcia,” he said. “She is trying to turn the others against you. She says you are mad.”
Rusk nodded. “She is not the only one, is she?”
“She’s the only one who says it,” said Darrow, “but others are beginning to believe her. They are beginning to doubt you.”
“Do you doubt me?” He fixed his eyes on Darrow’s face.
Darrow took a breath before answering. He could not lie, but he feared telling the truth. “I sometimes … doubt the prophecy, Huntmaster, but I will follow you through it, no matter what happens.”
“You betray the others to me, yet you swear you remain loyal when they will not.” A smile slowly formed on Rusk’s face. “I will consider your boon. First, however, I have a task for you. I do not trust your former masters, yet I know how much you fear them. Do you have the courage to turn against them?”
Darrow thought of Maelin and her gratitude upon her rescue. “I do, Huntmaster.”
Tracking by scent was virtually impossible in the city. Chimney smoke, nightsoil, cooking fires, and a thousand other pungent odors foiled Darrow’s senses. Darrow could never have discerned his own footsteps among the clamor of voices and the rattling carriages that passed along the street. He relied solely on sight to follow Radu through the streets of Selgaunt.
Fortunately, Radu made no effort to hide himself as he left House Malveen and took Larawkan Street out of the Warehouse District. He turned onto Vandallan Lane soon after entering central Selgaunt. It was less congested than the main thoroughfare but still provided ample cover for Darrow, who stayed well behind Radu, matching speed with carts or small clusters of pedestrians whenever possible. They provided even better cover than the brush in woods, since they moved with him. Darrow saw more clearly than ever how much the city and the wild had in common.
Darrow followed Radu west through the Central District, then north, skirting the eastern border of the Oxblood Quarter. The streets narrowed and the crowds thickened, as did the smell of livestock, tanning acids, and dyes.
As they crossed into the Oxblood Quarter, Darrow lost sight of Radu. He approached the spot where he’d last seen Radu, careful not to blunder into an ambush. He knew better than anyone that his former master was not to be underestimated. From that point, there were three likely places for Radu to have disappeared: a leather goods store, a butcher’s shop, and the alley between them.
Darrow walked past the alley with his face turned away, toward the street. He turned at the next alley. The other side opened into a filthy yard shared by the nearby shops. The mingled chemical and animal smells made Darrow’s head pound, but the walls muted the clamor of the streets. He cocked his head and listened. At first he heard nothing and wished he could take wolf form before the moon rose. Then he heard a stifled cry from another alley across the yard. Keeping low, he crept nearer.
“… see you there,” said a wavering male voice.
“Who gave you the money?” asked Radu.
Darrow heard the clink of heavy coins in a bag. He peeked around the corner. A slender, balding man of forty or fifty years stood in the middle of the alley. His long, thin face was pale with fright, and his hands trembled as he gripped a big leather satchel.
His resemblance to Maelin was slight. They had the same prominent eyelids and narrow nose, but her mother must have contributed everything else, including her strong will. If his personality matched his looks, Darrow understood why fiery Maelin could not bear to acknowledge her father.
“Lady Shamur,” said Eckert. “She also sent a message to Lord Uskevren in Ordulin. He should return tomorrow.”
Radu nodded. Darrow couldn’t see his face but knew from experience that it betrayed no emotion.
“What of the cleric?”
“She came to the tallhouse. She seemed agitated about something, but she wouldn’t say what. I told her nothing about the arrest. When she asked after Master Talbot, I said he was spending the evening at Stormweather Towers.”
“Very good,” said Radu. “Give me the money.”
“Where is Maelin?” said Eckert. He clutched the bag of coins against his chest.
“You will see her soon.”
“The sending said this would be the last task.”
“It will be,” promised Radu, drawing his sword.
“Wait!” the thin man dropped the satchel.
Radu struck before it hit the ground, and Eckert gasped. Before he could touch the wound beneath his heart, Radu’s sword licked out again, piercing him high on the left breast. The third stroke cut through Eckert’s hand and pierced his heart.
Radu plucked a handkerchief from his sleeve and used it to wipe his blade clean as Eckert stood silent and gaping. Radu dropped the bloodied cloth as he watched the man sink to his knees. At last he sheathed the weapon and picked up the bag.
Darrow ducked into a cellar stairwell. When he heard the faint jingling of the coins recede across the yard, he peeked out and saw that Radu was gone. He hurried to the dying man’s side, but a woman was hurrying toward him from the street side of the alley.
“Get away from him!” snapped the woman. She flung open her blue cloak and put a hand on the silver talisman that hung from a chain around her neck.
“Don’t!” said Darrow. He kept his hands away from his sword, snatched Radu’s discarded handkerchief, and pressed it against the thin man’s bloody chest. “I didn’t do this.”
“Maelin …” gasped Eckert. A sickening wheezing came from the man’s chest, and a mist of blood sprayed from the sucking wound. Blood pooled on the ground beneath him, soaking Darrow’s breeches at the knees.
“Get away, I said!” She pushed Darrow away, intoning a prayer to Selûne as she pressed her bare hand against the thin man’s chest.
Silver light surg
ed within her hand, then spread across the thin man’s chest. Darrow watched as she said the prayer again, and more radiant energy passed from the cleric to the wounded man. At last, the blood stopped pouring from the man, and his breathing became steady.
“Will he live?” asked Darrow.
“Depends on what he has to tell me about what we just saw,” said the woman angrily. She fixed her blue eyes on Darrow. “The same goes for you, nightwalker.”
“How did you know—?”
The woman cast another spell, this time summoning a blade of white light to her empty hand. “Where is Rusk?” she demanded.
“Listen,” he said, backing up and holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. “We can help each other.”
“I’m listening,” she said. “Make it good, and make it quick. I’ll probably kill you anyway.”
“You don’t need to kill me. I—”
“Maybe not,” interrupted the woman, “but I might want to. Now talk.”
CHAPTER 16
BEHIND BARS
Tarsakh, 1372 DR
Even before Tal became accustomed to locking himself into a cage three nights of every month, he was no stranger to barred cells. He needed the fingers of both hands to count the number of times he and Chaney had been hauled into jail for public disorder.
Usually it was Chaney’s fault. When faced with a belligerent drunk who disliked nobles slumming in his tavern, Tal usually responded by buying the man another tankard of ale. After a few repetitions of the trick, the drunk usually passed out harmlessly or staggered out to be sick in the alley. Sometimes a match of arm wrestling would do, and once Tal won over an entire crew of rowdy Chessentan sailors by winning a contest in which he and their strongman took turns lifting a barmaid-laden table, adding a new girl to the load with each attempt.
Unable to respond with feats of strength, Chaney relied on his sharp tongue when challenged. He especially liked insulting the other young nobles who frequented the cheap alehouses, since they were more likely to provide fair sport for his quick wit. They were also less likely to turn to fisticuffs, at least when Tal was nearby. Given enough ale, however, and even men smaller than Chaney would resort to violence. Even though he never threw the first punch, Tal was always ready for it. When he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he liked the thrill of combat, especially the admiration of the bystanders when he won against a fair opponent—or six lesser challengers.
He missed those brawling days over the past year. Since the wolf emerged, Tal had stayed out of taverns for two reasons: to avoid another “accident” like the one that maimed Perron and to avoid finding himself in jail when the moon was full.
As it would be tonight.
Chaney paced, turning sharply at each corner of the cell. Even with his short legs, it took him only four steps in each direction.
Tal rested his chin against his folded arms, staring out through the barred window that slanted up to the narrow alley outside. Street-filtered runoff still trickled down the short shaft to pool on the stone floor. Despite the dirty water, Tal was grateful for the relatively fresh air. The previous occupant of the cell had left a noisome puddle of vomit beneath the cot.
The only other occupant in this block of the jail was an old man with a long wispy beard. Tal recognized him as one of the homeless drunks who begged for coppers in the Oxblood Quarter. There was less money there but more charity than in Central Selgaunt, where the Scepters were poised to run off beggars and thieves alike.
“I never thought I’d say this,” Chaney said without breaking his stride, “but I can’t wait to see Eckert.”
“You always say that when we’re waiting for bail.”
“Sure, but I never expect to say it. Hm?”
Before this past year, Tal’s servant made a habit of checking the jail when Tal hadn’t returned home in the morning. If the tallhouse funds were insufficient for bail, it meant a trip to Stormweather to fetch a larger amount from Lord Uskevren. For the first time in his life, Tal dreaded his father’s not being told of his predicament more than another night in jail.
“Let’s hope he didn’t choose last night to run off with the silver to marry a widow,” said Chaney.
His banter did nothing to cheer Tal. Their recent arrest was far worse than any of their previous visits to the city jail. If Tal’s attacker died last night, there was no chance a magistrate would allow bail, even if Thamalon were willing to pay it. Even if the charge was short of murder or attempted murder, Tal was sure the Old Owl would wash his hands of his wayward son this time.
“At least this time it wasn’t your fault,” said Tal, trying lamely to respond with a jest.
“Everyone will think it was anyway.” Chaney sounded genuinely regretful.
“I thought you liked being thought a scoundrel.”
“Only when it impresses the ladies,” said Chaney with a smile.
“Let’s hope it impresses the magistrate enough to get us out of here before dark.”
“That’s right,” said Chaney, as if he had not yet considered the problem of the moon. “We’ve got to get you home before curfew.”
Tal realized that Chaney was making a great effort to put on a brave face. As bad as it was for Tal to transform while in jail, it would be far worse for anyone locked up with him. Tal glanced at the other prisoner before speaking again in a quiet voice. “I’ll get them to put me in another cell.”
“How? You think they’ll fall for the old ‘I’m sick’ routine?”
“Not likely, all things considered.”
“We could stage a fight,” suggested Chaney.
“We … could,” said Tal slowly. He looked at Chaney and worried about hurting his smaller friend. “We’d have to make it look real.”
“Or you could just let me have it once or twice,” said Chaney. “I might not be a big strapping lad like you, but I won’t break.”
“I just don’t like the idea of hitting you. Usually, I’m fighting other people who’re trying to hit you.”
“Hard for me to complain about that,” said Chaney.
“Besides, there’s what happened last night. Punching you once or twice is one thing …”
“… and pulling my guts out is quite another,” Chaney finished for him. He kept his eyes on the floor and continued his circuit of the cell.
They were both silent for a while.
“Maybe we can break out,” said Tal. He gripped the bars and pulled with all his might.
The old drunk saw his efforts and hooted. “Have to be a lot stronger’n you look to bend those bars, me lord.”
Tal sneered at the old man and kept pulling. The drunk laughed until he coughed, pointing at the ludicrous sight. The laughter stopped with a sudden hiccup when the old fellow saw the bars bend, ever so slightly.
Encouraged, Tal pulled harder. No matter how he strained, the iron bars would bend no farther. When it felt like he would tear a ligament, Tal let go. The bars flexed back into their original positions, looking as straight as ever.
“I know you’ve been getting stronger,” said Chaney, “but dark and empty, Tal! Those are almost as thick as the bars on Quickly’s cage.”
“Been practicing, have you?” The old man scratched under his beard and whistled through a gap in his brown teeth.
“I hate being in here,” said Tal, lowering his voice and turning his back on the old drunk.
“I thought you’d be used to that by now, with all the time you’ve been spending in the cage at home.”
“It’s not the same,” said Tal. “When I lock myself up, it’s my choice. I can’t stand it when someone else decides for me.”
“Oh, please,” said Chaney. “I thought you were done with all that everybody-wants-me-to-be-what-they-want-me-to-be whining.”
“Whining?”
“Yeah, whining, crying, belly-aching … whatever. I’ve put up with it ever since we met, but I don’t want to hear it now—not when we’re both locked in this stinking cel
l and you’re about to turn all teeth and claws and fur and all kinds of horrible man-eating things.”
“I don’t whine,” said Tal, trying not to think about the other part of what Chaney said.
“Of course you do,” persisted Chaney. “That’s why Sivana and Ennis were making fun of you with the wolf mask. All you saw was the wolf bit, because you were so afraid of your secret getting out. Well, that’s not going to be a problem after tonight, is it? What’s really ridiculous is all your complaining about not getting your way all the time.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” said Tal. “Everything I do, Thamalon criticizes because it’s not what he would do. Even after everything that happened this winter, Mother still looks down her nose at the playhouse. And don’t get me started about Tamlin and—”
“Oh, spare me. You have more freedom than anyone I know,” said Chaney. “Thamalon let you have the tallhouse, didn’t he? And no matter what she says about the playhouse, your mother hasn’t stopped you from acting. You can’t say they’re making you do what they want. All you can do is complain that they don’t approve of the choices that they let you make for yourself.”
“How’s that any different from you?” said Tal. “You don’t even talk about your family, and I’ve never seen you spend any time at the house.”
Chaney stared at Tal, incredulous. “There’s a reason for that, you lunkhead.”
“And I suppose it’s better than my reasons for avoiding Thamalon.”
Chaney laughed at him. “You could say that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know how I’m always saying my father disowned me?”
Tal nodded.
“I wasn’t speaking metaphorically.”
Tal cocked his head, confused.
“He threw me out three years ago,” said Chaney. “Drew up legal documents to make sure I never have any claim on the family money. He had the Scepters drag me out of the house and into the street, where a magistrate read the pronouncement.”
“What are you talking about? I thought—I mean, where do you get your money?”