"I'm not sure either," said Stalker. "But it was definitely some kind of animal;"
"Like a wolf?" said Hawk suddenly.
Stalker looked at him, and nodded grimly. "Yes; like a wolf."
"This is ridiculous," said Gaunt. "There are no wolves in Haven. And anyway, how could a wolf have got into my house, past all my wards and defenses?"
"Quite simply," said Hawk. "You invited him in."
"Oh, my God," said Lady Elaine. "A werewolf;"
"Yes," said Hawk. "A shapeshifter. It all makes sense now, if you think about it. What kind of murderer kills sometimes with a knife and sometimes like a wild animal? A man who is sometimes a wolf. A werewolf."
"And there's a full moon tonight," said Fisher.
"You've had some experience in tracking down werewolves, haven't you?" said Dorimant.
"Experience," said Hightower bitterly. "Oh, yes, Hawk knows all about werewolves, don't you, Captain? How many this time, Captain? How many more of us are going to die because of your incompetence?" His wife put a gentle hand on his arm, and he subsided reluctantly, still glaring at Hawk.
"I don't understand," said Gaunt. "Are you seriously suggesting that one of us is a werewolf?"
"Yes," said Hawk flatly. "It's the only answer that fits."
They all looked at each other, as though expecting to see telltale fur and fangs and claws.
Dorimant looked at Gaunt. "Can't your magic tell you which one of us is the werewolf?"
Gaunt stirred uncomfortably. "Not really. There are such spells, but they're rather out of my field."
"There are other means of detecting a werewolf," said Hawk.
"Oh, of course," said Gaunt quickly. "Wolfsbane, for example. A lycanthrope should react very strongly to wolfsbane."
"I was thinking more of silver," said Hawk. "Do you have any silver weapons in the house, sir sorcerer?"
"There's a silver dagger somewhere in my laboratory," said Gaunt. "At least, there used to be. I haven't used it in a long time."
"All right," said Hawk patiently. "Go and look for it. No, wait a minute. I don't want anyone going off on their own. Fisher and I will come with you."
"No," said Lord Hightower flatly. "I don't trust you, Hawk. You were involved with a werewolf before. How do we know you didn't get bitten and become infected with the werewolf curse?"
"That's crazy!" said Fisher angrily. "Hawk's no werewolf!"
"Take it easy," said Hawk quickly. "Lord Hightower is right. Until we can prove otherwise, no one is above suspicion. Absolutely no one."
Hightower stiffened slightly. "Are you suggesting;"
"Why not?" said Hawk. "Anyone can become a werewolf."
"How dare you," said Hightower softly, furiously. "You of all people should remember what good cause I have to hate shapeshifters."
For a moment, nobody said anything.
"Why don't you come with me, Rod," said Gaunt quietly. "I'm sure I'll feel a lot safer with an old soldier like you along to watch my back."
"Of course," said Hightower gruffly. "You come along too, Elaine. You'll be safer with us."
Lady Elaine nodded, and she and her husband followed Gaunt out of the parlor and into the hall. The door closed quietly behind them.
"A werewolf," said Dorimant slowly. "I never really believed in such creatures."
"I wasn't sure I believed in vampires," said Fisher. "Until I met one."
"Werewolves are magical creatures," said Stalker. "And there's only one of us left with magical abilities. Interesting, that, isn't it?"
Hawk looked at him. "Are you suggesting that Gaunt; ?"
"Why not?" said Stalker. "I never did trust sorcerers. You heard how those people died in the Hook, didn't you?"
Hawk and Fisher looked at each other thoughtfully. Fisher raised an eyebrow, and Hawk shrugged slightly. He knew she was thinking of the succubus. Hawk tried to consider the point dispassionately. He'd assumed the succubus had been responsible for the deaths in the Hook, but they could just as easily have been the result of a werewolf on a killing spree. And Gaunt was an alchemist; he'd know about poisons. They only had his word that Blackstone's wine hadn't been poisoned. In fact, if the sorcerer was a werewolf he could probably have tasted poisoned wine and not taken any harm from it. And perhaps most important of all, Gaunt had been one of the last people in the parlor with Katherine;
Hawk scowled. It all made a kind of sense. He glanced at the closed parlor door and wondered if he should go after them. No, better not. Not yet, anyway. Hightower could look after himself, and it wasn't as if there was any real proof against Gaunt; Hawk sat back in is chair and silently cursed his indecision. He was a Guard, and he couldn't make a move without some kind of proof.
Lord and Lady Hightower waited impatiently in the library while Gaunt searched his laboratory for the silver dagger. Gaunt had politely but firmly refused to let them enter the laboratory with him. Lady Elaine understood. All men liked to have one room they could think of as their own; a private den they could retreat to when the world got a little too hard to cope with. Lady Elaine watched her husband pacing up and down, and wished she could say something to calm him. She'd never seen him so worried before. It was the werewolf, of course. Ever since Paul's death, Roderik had been obsessed with finding the creatures, and making them pay in blood. Despite his endless hunts he'd never found but one, and that one escaped, after killing three of his men. Now he finally had a chance to come face to face with a werewolf, and the odds were it was going to be one of his friends. No wonder he was torn;
Elaine sighed quietly. She was starting to feel some of the pressure herself. The unending heat was getting to her, and she jumped at every sudden noise. She was tired and her muscles ached, but she couldn't relax, even for a minute. It wasn't just the deaths. They were upsetting, of course, but it was the horrid feeling of helplessness that was most disturbing. No matter what anyone said or did, no matter what theories they came up with, people kept dying. No wonder her head ached unmercifully and Roderik's temper kept shortening by the minute. Elaine sighed again, a little louder this time, and sat down in one of the chairs. She tried to look calm and relaxed, in the hope that Roderik would follow her example, but he didn't.
Elaine hoped they'd got it right this time, and that the killer really was a werewolf. Roderik needed so badly to kill a werewolf. Perhaps when he saw the creature lying dead and broken at his feet he'd be able to forget about Paul's death and start thinking about his own life again. Perhaps;
Roderik suddenly stopped pacing, and stood very still. His shoulders were hunched and his head was bowed, and Elaine could see a faint sheen of sweat on his face. His hands were clenched into fists.
"Why doesn't he hurry up?" muttered Roderik. "What's taking him so long?"
"It's only been a few minutes, my dear," said Elaine. "Give the man time."
"It's hot," said Roderik. He didn't look at her, and didn't even seem to have heard her. "So damned hot. And close. I can't stand it. The rooms are all too small;"
"Rod?"
"I've got to get out of here. I've got to get out of this place."
Elaine rose to her feet and moved quickly over to take his arm. Roderik looked at her frowningly, as though he knew her face but couldn't quite place it. And then recognition moved slowly in his eyes, and he reached across to gently pat her hand on his arm.
"I'm sorry, my dear. It's the heat, and the waiting. I hate being cooped up in here, in this house."
"It's only until the morning, dear. Then the spell will be gone and we can leave."
"I don't think I can wait that long," said Roderik. He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes tender but strangely distant. "Elaine, my dear, whatever happens, I love you. Never doubt it."
"And I love you, Rod. But don't talk anymore. It's just the heat upsetting you."
"No," said Roderik. "It's not just the heat."
His face twisted suddenly and his eyes squeezed shut. He bent sharply forward, and wrap
ped his arms around himself. Elaine grabbed him by the shoulders to stop him falling.
"Rod? What is it? Do you have a pain?"
He pushed her away from him, and she staggered back a step. Hightower swayed from side to side, bent almost double. "Get out of here! Get away from me! Please!"
"Rod! What's the matter?"
"It hurts; it hurts, Elaine! The moonlight's in my mind! Run, Elaine, run!"
"No! I can't leave you like this, Rod;"
And then he turned his shaggy head and looked at her. Elaine's eyes widened and her throat went dry. He growled, deep in his throat. The air was heavy with the smell of musk and hair. Elaine turned to run. The werewolf caught her long before she got to the door.
In the parlor, Stalker poured himself another glass of wine, and looked thoughtfully at the clock on the mantelpiece.
"They're taking their time, aren't they? How long does it take to find one dagger and some herbs in a jar?"
Hawk nodded slowly. "Not this long. We'll give them a few more minutes, but if they're not back then, I think we'd better go and take a look for ourselves."
Stalker nodded and sipped at his wine. Fisher continued to pace up and down before the closed parlor door. Hawk smiled slightly. Fisher never had cared much for waiting. Dorimant was sitting slumped in a chair, as far away from Katherine as he could get. His hands were clasped tightly together in his lap, and every now and again he would look quickly at the tablecloth covering Katherine's body, and then look away. Hawk frowned. Dorimant wasn't holding together too well, but you couldn't really blame him. The tension and the uncertainty were getting to everyone, and the night seemed to be never-ending. It was only to be expected that someone would start to crack. Hawk looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and chewed worriedly at his lower lip. Gaunt was taking too long.
"All right," he said sharply. "That's it. Let's go and find out what the hell's happening. Everyone stick together. No one is to go off on their own, no matter what."
Stalker reached for his sword before getting to his feet. Hawk started to say something, and then decided against it. If the others had been attacked, he was going to need Stalker's expertise with a sword to back him up. Hawk headed for the door, and Fisher opened it for him. He smiled slightly as he saw she'd already drawn her sword. He drew his axe and stepped cautiously out into the hall. The library door stood slightly ajar, and the hall was empty. Hawk crossed over to the library, the others close behind him. He pushed the library door open. Lady Elaine Hightower lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Her throat had bee torn out. There was no sign of Gaunt or Roderik.
Hawk moved cautiously forward into the library, glaring about him. Fisher moved silently at his side, the lamplight shining golden on her sword blade. Stalker and Dorimant moved quickly in behind them. Hawk moved over to the laboratory door, and felt his hackles rise as he realized the door was standing slightly ajar. Gaunt would never have left that door open, for any reason; A wolfs howl sounded suddenly from inside the laboratory, followed by the sound of breaking glass and rending wood. Hawk ran forward, kicked the door open, and burst into the laboratory.
The werewolf threw himself at the succubus's throat, and they fell sprawling to the floor, snarling and clawing. They slammed up against a wooden bench and overturned it. Alchemical equipment fell to the floor and shattered. Hawk looked quickly at the pentacle on the far side of the room. Its blue chalk lines were smudged and broken. Gaunt lay unmoving on the floor, not far away. Hawk hurried over to crouch beside him, keeping a careful eye on the werewolf and the succubus as they raged back and forth across the laboratory. Fisher and Stalker stood together in the doorway, swords in hand, guarding the only exit. Dorimant watched wide-eyed from behind them.
The succubus tore at the werewolf with her clawed hands. Long rents appeared in the werewolfs sides, only to close again in a matter of seconds. The succubus's eyes blazed with a sudden golden light and flames roared up around the werewolf. But the sorcerous fire couldn't consume him. He threw himself at her again, and his fangs and claws left bloody furrows on her perfect skin. The succubus's head snapped forward, and she sank her teeth into the werewolf's throat. He howled with rage and pain, and flung her away. They quickly regained their balance and circled each other warily.
Fisher lifted her sword and started forward from the doorway, but Hawk waved her back. Cold steel was no de fence against a werewolf, let alone an enraged succubus. Gaunt stirred slowly beside him, and Hawk took the sorcerer by the shoulder and turned him over. He had a few nasty cuts and bruises but otherwise looked unharmed. Hawk shook him roughly, and the sorcerer groaned and tried to sit up.
The succubus screamed, and Hawk turned just in time to see the werewolf rip out her throat with one savage twist of his jaws. Horribly, the succubus didn't die. She stood where she was, backed up against the laboratory wall, and blood ran down her chest in a steady stream. The werewolf hit her again, and blood flew on the air, but still she didn't die. And then Gaunt said a single Word of Power, and she slumped forward and fell lifeless to the floor. The werewolf sniffed warily at the unmoving body, and then turned to snarl at Fisher and Stalker, still blocking the only door.
"I had to do it," said Gaunt. "She was bound to me. She couldn't die until I let her go. I couldn't bear to lose her, but I couldn't let her suffer;" Tears ran down his face, but he didn't seem to notice them.
Hawk grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to his feet. "The silver dagger," he hissed. "Did you find the silver dagger?"
Gaunt shook his head dazedly. "No; not yet."
"You have to find it!" said Hawk. "We'll try and keep the beast occupied."
"Yes," said Gaunt. "The dagger. I'll kill the creature." His eyes suddenly focused, and he was back in control of himself again. He looked hard at the werewolf, crouched beside the dead succubus. "Who is that? Who wore the mark of the beast?"
"Hightower," said Hawk. "Lord Roderik Hightower. I recognize what's left of his clothes."
Gaunt nodded slowly and moved away to start searching through the drawers of a nearby table. The werewolf turned his shaggy head to watch Gaunt, but made no move to attack him. The werewolf's fur was matted with drying blood, and his claws and teeth had a crimson sheen.
"How?" said Dorimant shakily. "How can Roderik be the werewolf? He hates the creatures; one of them killed his son;"
"Exactly," said Hawk. "He hated them so much he spent all his time leading expeditions to track them down and kill them. In the end, it became an obsession with him. That's why the army made him resign. As I understand it, he only found one werewolf, but it seems one was enough. The creature must have bitten him."
"And whoever feels a werewolf's bite, shall become a wolf when the moon is bright," said Fisher. "The poor bastard."
"Ironic," said Stalker. He hefted his sword, and the werewolf snarled soundlessly at him.
"But why did Roderik want to kill all those people?" said Dorimant. "They were his friends."
"Werewolves kill because they have to," said Hawk. "When the moon is full, the killing rage fills their mind until there's nothing left but wolf. God knows how Hightower managed to hide it this long. Maybe he just went off and locked himself up somewhere safe until the full moon was past and his madness was over."
"And then we trapped him here," said Fisher. "With a fresh supply of victims, and no way out;"
"It's not your fault," said Stalker. "You couldn't have known. In the meantime, it's up to us to stop him, before he kills again."
"Stop him?" said Hawk. "There's only one thing that will stop a werewolf, and Gaunt isn't even sure he's got one. The best we can hope to do is slow the beast down."
"Let me talk to him," said Stalker. "I've known Roderik on and off for more than twenty years. Maybe he'll listen to me."
He lowered his sword and stepped forward. The werewolf crouched before him, watching him unblinkingly. The beast stood on two legs like a man, wrapped in the tatters of a man's clothing, but his stance wasn't in
any way human. His body was long and wiry and covered with thick bristly hair. The hands were elongated paws, with long curved claws. The narrow tapering muzzle was full of teeth, and blood dripped from the grinning jaws. The werewolf's eyes were a startling blue, but there was nothing human in their unwavering gaze. He growled once, hungrily, and Stalker stopped where he was.
"Why didn't you come to me?" said Stalker quietly. "I would have helped you, Rod. I'd have found someone who could take the curse away from you."
The werewolf rose slowly out of his crouch and padded forward. His hands flexed eagerly.
"He can't hear you," said Hawk. "There's nothing left now but the beast."
The werewolf sprang forward, and Stalker met him with his sword. The long steel blade cut into the werewolf's chest and out again, and didn't even slow him down. He knocked Stalker to the ground and dashed the sword from his hand. Stalker grabbed the werewolf by the throat with both hands, and fought to keep the grinning jaws away from his throat. The werewolf's quick panting breath slapped against his face, thick with the stench of fresh blood and rotting meat. Fisher stepped forward and thrust her sword through the werewolf's ribs. The beast howled with pain and fury. Fisher pulled back her sword for another thrust, and then cursed as the wound healed itself in seconds. Hawk moved in and swung his axe double-handed. The heavy blade sank deep into the werewolf's shoulder, smashing the collarbone. The werewolf tried to pull away, but Stalker held on grimly, digging his fingers into the beast's throat. Fisher cut at the werewolf again and again. The beast sank his claws into Stalker's chest. Hawk pulled out his axe for another blow, and the werewolf broke Stalker's hold and jumped back out of range. A jagged wound showed clearly in the beast's shoulder, but it didn't bleed. There was a series of faint popping sounds as the broken bones reknit themselves, and then the wound closed and was gone.
We're not going to stop him, thought Hawk slowly. There's not a damn thing we can do to stop him;
The werewolf lowered his shaggy head and sprang forward. Hawk and Fisher braced themselves, weapons at the ready. Stalker looked to where he'd dropped his sword, but it was too far away. The werewolf went for his throat. Stalker ducked under the werewolf's leap and gutted the beast with a dagger he snatched from his boot at the last moment. The werewolf crashed heavily to the floor, screaming in an almost human voice. He lay helpless for a moment as the wound healed, and Stalker dropped his dagger, leant over the beast, and taking a firm hold at neck and tail, lifted the werewolf over his head. The beast kicked and struggled but couldn't break free. Stalker held it there, his muscles creaking and groaning under the strain. Sweat ran down his face with the effort, but he wouldn't let the beast go. As long as the werewolf couldn't reach anyone, he was harmless. Pain ran jaggedly through Stalker's arms and chest from the weight of the beast, but he wouldn't give in. He wouldn't give in. Hawk and Fisher watched in awe. This was the Stalker they'd heard about, the legendary hero who'd never known defeat.
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