Black Wolf s-4

by Dave Gross

  Rusk, thought Tal. Before he could ponder the idea, Red's companion was upon him.

  Long brown sideburns flared from the man's cheeks, emphasizing his lupine features. He snarled as his long fingers encircled Tal's neck and thrust his thumbs into Tal's throat.

  Tal tried to rip the hands away, but the man was far stronger than he looked. His fingers dug into Tal's throat, even as Tal strained to pull them away.

  "This is how Rusk killed the old woman," said the stran-gler. "Maybe I'll do the same for you."

  Maleva, thought Tal. Could they have killed Maleva?

  Tal punched the man and felt ribs crack, but Red kept his inhuman grip. Tal punched again, feeling his own strength wane as his lungs ached.

  The strangler gasped suddenly and loosed his grip. Tal pushed him away and caught his breath as his assailant turned to face his new opponent. Chaney darted away, unwilling to face the big man after his sneak attack. The big fellow clutched his back and pursued him.

  Tal went after him, but Red stepped in the way. "Not so fast, Black Wolf."

  "Who the hell are you?" growled Tal. Confusion and anger swirled in his mind. "You killed Maleva?"

  "Oh, no," said Red. "She was the Huntmaster's. But maybe I'll get to do the daughter."

  Tal's eyes flashed red, and heat surged in his brain. He acted without thought, lashing out and feeling flesh part under his suddenly clawed fingers. He lunged to bite out the man's throat, but Red blocked him with an arm. Tal's teeth sank deep into the man's flesh-far deeper than he imagined possible.

  Red howled in pain, and Tal felt something buffet his back. Heedless, he slashed over and over at Red, tearing his arms to ribbons with huge claws. His mouth opened wide to scream at the man, but only an incoherent snarl came out.

  "Get away!" shouted a woman.

  Tal glimpsed a muscular woman pulling at Red, trying to lead him into the crowd. The strangler was at her side, staring at Tal in alarm and confusion.

  "Look at him!" said the strangler.

  Tal's vision blurred. He could see no clear details, but his eyes picked out the slightest movement: the pulse in the strangler's neck, the muscles in the woman's hands as she clutched the wounded man.

  "Help me," said the woman, shouldering the wounded man.

  The strangler obeyed, only too glad to flee from whatever he saw when he looked at Tal. His reaction stunned Tal more than the fight. What was happening to him?

  The yard was a maelstrom of sounds, but Tal could pick out every voice. Chaney was shouting his name, as were most of the players. The man who'd taunted him from the gallery was yelling, "Get away! Get the hells away from him!"

  A hundred other voices shrieked or panted for breath as players and spectators alike fled the scene of mayhem.

  "Tal!" shouted Chaney again.

  His voice was coming closer, and Tal turned to spot him. As their eyes met, Chaney stopped dead, staring at Tal's face.

  Chaney, Tal tried to say. Again, no words took form. His mouth felt all wrong.

  "Tal?" Chaney said. His eyes fell to Tal's hands.

  Tal looked down to see two enormous claws where his hands had been. Even as he watched, the black hairs and claws shrank away, leaving only his own human hands.

  "It's too soon," muttered Tal. "It's still light, and the moon-"

  "No time for that," said Chaney. "We've got to get out of here."

  He took a step toward Tal, then hesitated, afraid to come closer. The look of fear on his friend's face was even more horrible than the blood on his hands.

  The yard was almost empty now, except for the players who stood well away from Tal and Chaney. Their faces were masks of fear and revulsion. Mallion bit his knuckle to stop a scream, while Sivana kept her eyes on the stage floor. Ennis gaped like a blowfish.

  "Let's go," said Chaney. "This way, before the Scepters get here."

  Dumbly, Tal nodded and followed Chaney onto the stage. All the other players moved away as they passed. Tal held his bloodied hands away from his body as if afraid they might turn on him at any moment.

  Outside, the crowd had spread nervously around the playhouse. As Chaney and Tal emerged, someone cried, "They're the ones!"

  Four city Scepters stepped forth, batons in hand. After one look at the blood on Tal's hands and face, they dropped the clubs and drew their swords.

  "Get on the ground!" shouted one of them. In a lower voice, he ordered one of his men to summon help. That Scepter sheathed his sword and ran for reinforcements.

  "Run for it," said Chaney.

  Even as he spoke, another quartet of Scepters arrived from the opposite direction. There was no way to escape without a fight.

  "No," said Tal. "It's over."

  He put himself down on the street. Reluctantly, Chaney lay down beside him as the Scepters cautiously approached.

  Chapter 15

  Double Dealing

  Tarsakh, 1372 DR

  Ronan's face was lily pale. Brigid and Karnek supported him on either side, practically carrying him along the street. Darrow led the way, while Sorcia lagged behind to watch for any sign that the Scepters were following.

  "We're going the wrong way," said Karnek. "I thought you knew this city."

  "In there," said Darrow, indicating a vacant alley as they approached the Oxblood Quarter. "We'll wait until sunset, then circle back."

  "He's still bleeding," protested Brigid.

  "You want to draw a big red line between us and the playhouse?" asked Darrow. "Here, lay him down, behind that pile of skins."

  "Who put you in charge?" demanded Karnek. He and Brigid lowered Ronan to the ground.

  "Rusk did," said Sorcia.

  It wasn't strictly true, but Darrow was glad she had said it. Then he wondered why. Sorcia did nothing without a reason.

  "He said nothing about leading the hunt," said Brigid. "He told you only to lead us to Uskevren."

  She pulled the bloody tunic away from Ronan's ruined abdomen. Through the ragged wounds, Darrow glimpsed Ronan's glistening intestines. The sight would have made him retch a year earlier, but he had seen far worse since he'd started running with the pack.

  "It wasn't a hunt," said Darrow. "Rusk said nothing about fighting him. Great Malar! Uskevren is the one who took off Rusk's arm. What were you trying to do down there?"

  "Rusk said to test him," said Karnek. His tone changed from defiant to defensive.

  He surrendered his own tunic to Brigid, who folded it before pressing it against Ronan's abdomen. Ronan gasped.

  "He said 'take his measure,' " said Darrow, "not provoke him into eviscerating you."

  "What were we supposed to learn by watching him strut about and play at fighting?" Brigid had lost none of her anger, but she sounded uncertain.

  "Keep your voice down," hissed Sorcia, watching the alley entrance.

  "Don't tell me what to do, bitch," said Brigid.

  The big blonde woman was almost twice the size of the pale elf. Darrow had little doubt of which one would win in a straight fight.

  "Stop it, both of you," he said. "What's important is to get back without being seen. The last thing we need is to cross Lord Malveen."

  "I'm not afraid of Malveen," said Karnek.

  He had never even seen the strange vampire whose home they claimed as their lair in the city. Rusk planned to face him after sunset, which was soon approaching. The rest of the pack awaited their return in the abandoned warehouse.

  "Then you're more stupid than I thought," said Darrow.

  *****

  When darkness came, they crept out of the alley. Ronan was too weak to walk, but his bleeding had subsided. The trauma left him muttering and confused, but he might survive the night if Rusk could heal him in time. They kept to side streets when possible, but Darrow abandoned stealth for the broader avenues when traffic seemed light. When passing other pedestrians was unavoidable, Darrow raised his voice in slurred song, hoping observers would mistake them for a group of drunks carrying their frie
nd home. It was a thin ruse, but Karnek joined him in it, and at least Brigid stopped complaining until they reached the warehouse district. There they fell silent and crept through the shadows until they reached House Malveen.

  The looming edifice was much as Darrow remembered it. The shape of the piled cargo had changed, but there was still so much that the inner court was completely obscured from the street. They wound their way through the narrow alleys of crates and barrels to the main building.

  Inside, the rest of the pack awaited them.

  "Where's Rusk?" demanded Brigid. Beside her, Karnek carried the unconscious Ronan in his arms.

  Several fingers pointed to the west door. Only Darrow had been beyond it, and even he had been forbidden to enter. Rusk did not want the rest of the pack within the bounds of Stannis's wards.

  "We have to wait," said Sorcia.

  "He'll die," protested Brigid.

  "Then he dies," said Sorcia. "He did it to himself."

  "I'll go," said Darrow. "Lord Malveen's minions might let me pass."

  "And if they don't?" asked Sorcia.

  "Then I'll have to kill them, won't I?"

  Sorcia was unimpressed by his bravado, but Brigid and Karnek both gave him a long look. He saw something resembling respect in their eyes.

  Darrow did not tell them that he was betting Stannis had not changed the wards that allowed his servant access. Even if Rusk told the vampire that Darrow still lived, Lord Malveen would hardly consider Darrow a threat worth refreshing the wards for.

  At least, that was his gamble. He walked through the door to the River Hall before he could change his mind.

  To his relief, Darrow set off no wards while passing into the outer reaches of the River Hall, but Stannis had not left the door unattended. Two dark figures crawled down from the ceiling, where they had been lurking in the shadows. One hissed at him.

  "I bring tidings for Lord Malveen," said Darrow.

  He hoped the monsters recognized him and assumed he was still one of the master's servants. The vampire spawn stared at him through slitted eyes, but they slunk back toward the promenade. Darrow followed. Soon he heard Rusk's low voice and the familiar, breathless sound of Stannis Malveen. Their conversation paused when they heard him approach. Darrow joined them at the end of the grand pool.

  "What a pleasant surprise!" cooed Stannis.

  The vampire had not changed in the year since Darrow left his service, though there were a few new additions to the furnishings in the River Hall. Stannis draped himself in a damp crimson cloak the size of a tapestry, and he reclined on a new, larger fainting couch whose legs bowed under his weight.

  Stannis rolled onto his back and pressed his rubbery fingers together. The tip of his brown-black tail switched back and forth.

  "My brother let me believe you met with an unfortunate accident when you escorted him to the Arch Wood last spring."

  "It was no accident, my lord," said Darrow with a bow. Such gestures made it easier for him to disguise his revulsion at his former master's appearance.

  "However have you kept such splendid manners while living amongst the beasts, my dear boy?"

  Stannis dipped a hand into a large basin beside the couch and withdrew a writhing sea worm. He slipped it through his veil of golden chains. With an awful sucking sound, the worm vanished like a pink tongue.

  In the past year, Darrow had done many things that would have horrified him before. Still, Stannis made his blood run co,ld.

  "Where are my manners?" Stannis said. "Here I am, basking in the pleasure of your company when I am not the only one who would enjoy it. I believe another of our guests would be most eager to see you again, my courteous boy. You recall Maelin?"

  "I thought…"

  Darrow only now realized how much he had hoped against reason that she was still alive. The sudden joy was muddied by the realization that she remained a captive. The guilt Darrow felt at leaving her behind returned as an overwhelming pressure on his chest. Again his emotions shifted, and a frail hope occurred to him. If he could free her, perhaps he would deserve freedom also.

  "I mean," Darrow continued, "I presumed she was meant to be one of your brother's sparring partners."

  "Oh, yes," said Stannis, "she was indeed. But after he was so careless with my favorite servant, I decided to keep her for myself. Petty of me, I know, but Radu must be reminded that he is not the only one who can be cruel. Besides, I knew she might prove useful once again, as your new master's return proves."

  "That's what I wish to discuss," said Rusk.

  "As well as the matter of my permission for your 'People' to lair within my property," said Stannis. His tone indicated he did not take the uninvited arrival of more than a dozen werewolves lightly.

  "You were the one who sent-" began Rusk.

  "Of course, Lord Malveen," interrupted Darrow. He made his apology to Rusk with a quick glance. "We did not wish to disturb you during the day, yet we also did not wish to draw attention to your home. So we took shelter where you were so gracious as to house our Huntmaster last year, counting on your generosity to forgive our presumption."

  "You haven't been in the woods all this time, have you? I think you spent the winter at court in Ordulin, practicing your courtesies for all the fine ladies." Stannis waved toward a cabinet, and one of his spawn emerged from the shadows to fetch a decanter and goblets.

  "What happened at the playhouse?" asked Rusk at last.

  "Ronan is hurt and needs your help," said Barrow.

  Rusk glowered at him, awaiting an explanation. Darrow decided to leave the details for the others to explain.

  Rusk rose ominously from his chair to tower over Darrow. "Where is the Black Wolf?"

  Darrow realized his mistake at once. He should never have returned without locating Talbot Uskevren after the fight.

  "The Scepters were summoned," said Darrow. "He was probably arrested."

  A vein pulsed in the center of Rusk's brow. "Find him."

  "If I might suggest an alternative," said Stannis, raising one finger. The digit swayed like the tendril of an anemone in the current. "There is a much more expedient way to determine whether young Uskevren is in the local jail."

  "Very well," said Rusk. "I want to know before dusk tomorrow. The night of the Black Wolf is almost upon us. I want him flushed out, not locked up. Come, Darrow. Let's see what our friend has done to Ronan."

  "Might I detain your young friend for a while?" asked Stannis. His emphasis on the word "your" held just a hint of bitterness. His golden eyes fell upon Darrow.

  When Rusk hesitated, he added, "I promise not to do anything unseemly to him."

  "Very well," said Rusk with only the barest hint of reluctance.

  Perhaps he thought it fitting punishment for Darrow's bungled scouting mission. He stalked back to the warehouse, growling at the spawn who did not get out of his way quickly enough.

  "You have pleased me," Stannis said to Darrow, "and you shall have a reward. Go down and have your visit. No doubt you have many tales to share. You do remember the way?"

  "I do, my lord," said Darrow.

  Stannis made a show of removing the prison key and handing it over.

  "Be sure to leave enough time to come back and repeat them all for me. I have been so dreadfully lonely."

  *****

  Maelin was the only occupant of the cells beside the baiting pit. Her confinement had transformed her every bit as much as Darrow's year in the woods had changed him. Where once her face was flush with life, blanched flesh now stretched taut over hollow cheeks. Her hair had grown to touch her shoulders, but it was limp and dirty. Even her eyes seemed to have faded in the darkness, and she looked at Darrow for long seconds before recognition filled them.

  "So you aren't dead after all."

  "Nor you," said Darrow. Her listless greeting was disappointing, but he knew it was because she was on the brink of despair. "I thought you'd have faced Radu by now."

  "Stannis wouldn't let hi
m," said Maelin. "I begged him to let me fight back when I still had a chance."

  "You never had a chance," said Darrow. "Even if you could beat Radu, Stannis would never let you go. He needs you to get to the Uskevren."

  "Don't say that," said Maelin. "I can't bear to believe it. At least if there was a chance…"

  She tried to raise her hands, but even the simple gesture was too much. Her arms hung lamely at her sides as she leaned against the back wall of the cell. It seemed much bigger than Barrow remembered, but so did her cot, her clothes, and everything else around her shriveled body. Whoever-or whatever-had tended her in his absence had obviously taken no pains to keep her well fed.

  "I'm going to get you out of here," he said. He watched her face, knowing the promise would give her hope.

  She raised her head to look at him. Her mouth widened, and her body convulsed. It was all the strength she had to laugh.

  "I'll help you," he said. "The whole pack will help you."

  Maelin's silent laughter continued until it turned into a wracking cough. When she had recovered, she asked, "Pack of what?"

  Darrow told her.

  *****

  When Darrow returned from the baiting pit cells, Stan-nis was nowhere to be seen. Briefly he debated waiting, knowing that Stannis would be displeased if he crept away without sharing the "gossip" of his past year. Then he realized he still had the key to the cells. He clutched it tightly and returned to the warehouse.

  The vast, cluttered room was filled with angry voices. The pack stood around Ronan's body.

  "All goes as planned," bellowed Rusk. His body surged with magical strength, and Darrow realized at once how he had dealt with the disobedient Ronan.

  "What do you mean?" said Brigid. "Was Ronan's death as planned? He worshiped you, and you took his life!"

  "He threw his life away!" thundered Rusk. Then he lowered his voice. "Ronan was a good hunter, but he should not have tried to face the Black Wolf. None shall face him but I. There can be no mistakes."