The Halls of Stormweather s-1

by Philip Athans

  "Master Talbot!" called Eckart from the hallway.

  "Help me!" cried an unfamiliar voice from the closet. "They're still out there!"

  Tal began to rise but paused, sensing something strange about the room. The curtains flapped at the open window, raising goose bumps on his naked flesh. That was odd, for he wasn't one to sleep in the nude.

  Tal threw his feet over the side of the bed. Standing, he slid in some nasty slickness on the floor, crashing down beside it.

  His head hit the floor beside the torn and bloody face of Alale Soargyl. Tal had slipped in the man's scattered guts.

  Tal screamed, the voice from the closet screamed, and Eckart screamed from the hallway. Tal was the first to stop, scrambling through the horrid mess toward the hallway door. He found the portal blocked by a heavy chest pulled from the foot of Tal's bed. Crammed into the corner behind it was another dead body, or most of one, its remaining features unrecognizable.

  Tal screamed again. So did the man in the closet. Eckart had never stopped.

  Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, Tal shoved the chest away from the door to let Eckart in. His manservant took one look at Tal and began to scream again, but Tal quickly clamped a big hand over his mouth. His arms were bathed in blood, and he felt the stickiness all over his naked body. It was on his legs, his chest, his arms, even his face.

  "Let me think," said Tal, but a horrible realization had already taken shape in his mind. At last he knew the nature of his mysterious attacker back in the Arch wood. He understood now why he had been followed to the city.

  "Fetch Chaney," said Tal, taking his hand from Eckart's mouth. "No one else, and I mean it. You don't want to be the one to describe this to my father, do you?"

  Eckart demonstrated a certain amount of iron as he calmed himself. He plucked a handkerchief from his vest and dabbed hastily at the bloody handprint over his mouth. "No, sir," he said emphatically. "I should not desire that."

  *****

  "I know some men from the Stag who'll take care of the bodies for a few coins," offered Chaney.

  "Yes," said Tal, "but how much for their silence? And for how long?"

  "True," agreed Chaney. "Once they realized who you were, there'd be no satisfying them."

  "Cale would know what to do."

  "What Cale knows, your father knows."

  "Sometimes I'm not so sure of that," said Tal. "But eventually my father must know. I can't afford a cure with my own money. Even if I could, there isn't a priest in Selgaunt who wouldn't tell father later."

  "I thought a cure worked only before you actually… you know. Changed."

  "That I don't know," sighed Tal. "I don't know anything about being a werewolf." He'd washed himself soon after Eckart had left to find Chaney, but he still felt unclean. "Maybe I should just turn myself in."

  "Don't be a fool!" said Chaney. "If nothing else, think of the harm it would cause your family."

  "I've just killed two men!" countered Tal. "The third one's still locked in my closet. How much more harm can I cause?"

  The lone survivor of the night's massacre had been eager to tell his story, though it was hard to make out the details through his terrified babbling. He was a lockpick who prided himself on working for only the wealthiest employers.

  Alale Soargyl offered him and his hulking companion two hundred fivestars each to beat Tal into submission, then hold him as Alale threw a few punches of his own.

  They'd broken into the tallhouse and found their way to Tal's bedroom, where they had planned to lie in wait. Instead, they'd found a monster.

  "What if it's not your fault?"

  "How can that be?"

  "What if someone did this to you on purpose?" said Chaney.

  Tal considered that suggestion. "That's too fantastic," he said at last. "Even if the attack on our party was planned, how could they know who would survive?"

  "Maybe they didn't care which of us it was," suggested Chaney. "Or maybe we were all supposed to die."

  "The old woman knew I'd been attacked by a werewolf," said Tal. "But was she part of the plot? Or was she just trying to help?"

  "She had to be in on it," said Chaney. "It's too big a coincidence that she'd find you out there in the woods."

  Tal nodded. It was all too convenient.

  "The important thing is that we put you someplace safe tonight. Too bad the closet's already occupied."

  "That wouldn't be enough, anyway," said Tal. "I need a strong cell. And in case I get out…"

  "It takes an enchanted sword to slay a werewolf," said Chaney. "You'd be safe as long as you didn't run into a wizard or someone with a magical weapon."

  "There's that big, solid cage at the theater," said Tal.

  "And you can trust Quickly to keep things quiet." Chaney was brightening, even if Tal was full of despair.

  "There's the sword, in case I get out."

  "You won't get out," said Chaney. "I mean, it won't get out. You said yourself you don't remember anything from last night. That proves it's not you. It's… you know. The thing. The wolf. It."

  "But if it does get out," said Tal, "I need someone I can trust to take care of it. I need you there with the sword."

  "Listen," said Chaney, "Eckart and I can take care of things here. You go talk to Quickly."

  "I'm serious, Chaney. I need you there tonight, and I need your promise that you'll kill it if it gets out of the cage."

  Chaney sighed. "I'll be there."

  "Promise."

  "I promise."

  *****

  "You're a what?"

  "A were-"

  "No, no, I heard you the first time," said Quickly. She bit the tip of her thumb and turned away to pace beside the big steel cage. "Do you suppose we could work it into a play? Of course, we'd be limited to a few shows each month, and-"

  "Quickly!" exclaimed Tal. "This is a serious problem, not an opportunity to…" He saw from the sly look on Quickly's face that she'd been putting him on. "Can I count on you to keep this quiet?"

  "You know you can, lad. I'll cancel today's shows and put out word that half the cast is down with river fever. That should keep the other half from snooping about tonight." She gave Tal a comrade's hug. "We'll see this thing through, just you and me."

  "And Lommy!" cried a voice from the dark rafters. Tal looked up to see two pairs of yellow eyes peering down. "And Otter!"

  "Eavesdroppers!" scolded Quickly.

  Tal hesitated a moment. "Chaney, too," added Tal. "He'll be here before nightfall. We'll need him in case the cage doesn't hold."

  "What do you expect he can do about it?"

  "We need the sword, Quickly."

  Even the false cheer at last drained from her cheeks. "You can't mean it, Tal. There must be another way."

  He shook his head. "I'd rather die than kill again. Even Alale didn't deserve what he got. Imagine if I woke up at Stormweather tomorrow morning."

  "The cage will hold," affirmed Quickly, grabbing one of its bars and pulling. It didn't budge.

  "Let's hope so."

  *****

  Chaney arrived an hour before moonrise with assurances that he'd taken care of the problems back at the tallhouse. He'd also done something he assured Tal would keep Eckart quiet for a while, but he wouldn't reveal what it was.

  "In you go," said Quickly. Lommy and Otter had lowered the cage to the ground, and Tal stepped inside. Quickly locked the door and set the key on a prop table, well away from the bars.

  "You want us to turn our heads or anything?" asked Chaney.

  "Would you if I said 'yes'?" asked Tal.

  "Well, no," admitted Chaney. Quickly laughed, but Tal could see the tension on both their faces. He thought of the tasloi peering down from above.

  "No matter what happens," he called up to the darkness, "you two stay up there."

  Lommy and Otter squeaked their assent.

  "Well," said Chaney, "I don't plan to stand the whole time." He found a couple of chairs
for himself and Quickly, then eased himself comfortably into the better one.

  "The sword!" said Tal suddenly. "Don't forget the sword."

  "Right, right," said Chaney in a tone that convinced Tal that he hadn't forgotten it.

  "You'll never find it on your own," said Quickly. "I'll show you where it is." She led him down the narrow stairs to the small prop room under the stage.

  Tal found himself wishing one of them had stayed. He looked up toward the ceiling, but there was no sign of Lommy or Otter. He stopped himself from calling out to them. They were probably more frightened than he was and had run off to avoid witnessing his horrid transformation.

  A muffled thump came from the prop room.

  "Chaney?" called Tal. "You haven't been drinking already, have you?" He tried to keep his tone light, but a new fear crept into his heart. "Chaney? Quickly?"

  Neither of them answered.

  He tried again. When no one replied, he fell silent, gripping the bars of his cage. Time oozed at a gelid pace.

  Tal heard two pairs of footsteps rising from the prop room stairs. "Come on, now," he said weakly. "Stop kidding around, you two." The echo of his voice made him fall silent, and he watched as two people emerged from the stairs. They weren't Chaney and Quickly.

  The intruders each wore long, gray cloaks, the hoods pushed back to reveal their faces. Tal immediately noted the family resemblance. Feena had her mother's determined jaw and slightly upturned nose.

  "What have you done with my friends?" demanded Tal. He'd meant to sound intimidating, but he failed to conjure his father's voice.

  "They are well," assured the old woman in the voice Tal remembered from his confined convalescence. She turned to her daughter and gestured toward Tal in his cage. "Does this reassure you?"

  "Yes, Mother. Perhaps I was hasty."

  "There is hope for you, young Uskevren," said the old woman, "but only if your faith is strong."

  "What are you talking about?" demanded Tal. "Who are you?"

  "My name is Maleva. I am a servant of Selune."

  "The goddess of the moon," said Tal.

  Maleva nodded, then gestured to the young woman beside her. "This is Feena, my daughter and acolyte. We pulled you from the brambles of the Arch Wood and tried to cure you of your affliction. Now we offer you one last chance to escape the curse of the beast."

  "But there's a price," said Tal suspiciously.

  "There is indeed a price," agreed Maleva. She produced a crystal flask from beneath her cloak. A thick, pearlescent liquid glowed within the container. As Tal watched, the stuff seemed to move, undulating like a jellyfish. "This is moonfire. I have traveled far for the privilege of offering it to you."

  "It can give you control over the beast," said Feena, "but only if you have not hunted and devoured your fellow men."

  Tal felt a heavy sigh escape his chest. "Well, that's where we have a problem. You see-"

  "I have seen," interrupted Feena. "While mother traveled to the city of Ordulin to beg a fraction of moonfire from Dhauna Myritar, I followed you here, to Selgaunt. In the past two nights, you have slain no one."

  "You must have nodded off," said Tal. "This morning there were two dead bodies in my room." He realized suddenly how easy it would have been to lie, but something about the strange women made him blurt the truth.

  Maleva's faint smile told him that he had passed a little test. "We were not the only ones to follow you," said Maleva. "Rusk slew the men who watched over you, then tracked you to your home."

  "Rusk…" said Tal slowly. "That's the name I heard the night I was attacked."

  "Rusk is a servant of the Beastlord" said Maleva, "a priest of the god Malar. We children of Selune are charged with checking the atrocities of his kind. It is he who led the attack on your hunting party. Now he claims you as his disciple."

  "He's the werewolf who mauled me?" ventured Tal. The women nodded.

  "He rarely ventures from the wood," said Maleva, "but something brought him…"

  A beam creaked noisily from the rafters above. At the sound, Maleva and Feena stepped back as one, clutching the talismans they wore about their necks, their voices chanting two different spells.

  Harsh laughter boomed from the rafters. It wasn't a sound Lommy could have mimicked.

  Feena raised her talisman like a shield. A pair of eyes surrounded by stars blazed on the amulet. Before Feena could finish the words to her spell, a great dark figure crushed her to the ground.

  It was a huge man, bigger even than Tal. His leather jerkin was open to expose thick gray hair on his muscular chest and arms. A beaded headband kept his unruly locks at bay and held the bronze image of a ragged claw upon his forehead. His mustache grew down either side of his broad mouth, while grizzled stubble covered his cheeks and throat.

  He crouched growling over Feena, who moaned and shook her head dazedly. Rusk turned his blazing blue eyes on Tal and made a savage smile.

  With a flash, a blue-white blade of light appeared in Maleva's hands. Without a word, she raised the weapon high. Rusk whipped around to face her and spat a single word: "Stop!"

  Tal saw Maleva's arms tremble, but her conjured blade was fixed fast above her head. Rusk stood, towering over the old woman.

  "Your powers are weak," he declared, balling a fist scant inches from her grimacing face. "Strength lies only within the heart of the beast."

  Rusk punched Maleva in the stomach hard enough to lift her feet from the floor. Her paralysis broken, she fell back hard. Tal heard the crack of her skull on the wooden floor.

  "Stop it!" he shouted from the confines of the cage. Real anger empowered his voice, making a weapon of it.

  Rusk turned back again. "Don't worry, brother wolf. I am saving them for your first true hunt."

  "Let them go," said Tal. He felt powerless within the cage, but he couldn't silently watch Rusk murder the women. He hoped he could buy enough time that Chaney could recover from whatever Maleva and Feena had done to him. He hoped Rusk's melodramatic manner ran true.

  "Oh, that I will," agreed Rusk ominously. He turned to Feena, who was crawling across the floor toward Maleva. Again he spoke a prayer to Malar, the Beastlord, god of hunters. To Feena he said, "Take your mother and flee."

  Feena obeyed so quickly that Tal knew Rusk's words carried the power of the Beastlord. She dragged Maleva toward the back stage door.

  "You, my cub," said Rusk, turning again to Tal, "have disappointed me. You ran like a hart last moon, but you must learn to be the hunter as well as the hunted."

  "Then teach me," said Tal, hoping to buy a few more minutes. Too much, however, and the moon would be upon him, too. He hoped he was a better actor than he thought, and he prayed that Rusk was not the most discerning audience.

  Rusk's grin told Tal that the man did not yet trust him. "This is your last chance, little brother."

  Tal winced at the phrase. He wanted no relation to this monster.

  "You must do better than one miserable cat before you can join the great hunt," snarled Rusk. "This is the last time I will show you."

  "What about the moonfire?" ventured Tal. "Shouldn't we take it? The old woman said it would give us control of-"

  "A lie!" spat Rusk. "It is a trick to place you in thrall of their mewling, feeble goddess. It saps the power of the beast and bends your will to theirs. Tonight they shall be our prey."

  "I should have known." Tal made fists of his hands, a stone of his face. He paused as long as he dared for dramatic effect. "I never trusted them."

  Rusk glanced sidelong at Tal.

  Tal clenched his teeth and thought of all the attempts to control his life: his mother, his father, even Maleva and Feena. He summoned his father's voice. "I'll take the old bitch first," he thundered. "She tried to tame me with her potions, but now she'll feel my teeth on her throat."

  Rusk leered and watched Tal closely.

  "Let's stand beneath the naked sky," rumbled Tal. "Let the moon come. We'll wash it in blood."
>
  Tal nodded toward the table, and Rusk found the key. He put it in the cage lock but then paused. "I'll tear out your heart if you run from me," he warned.

  "No more running," said Tal. "It's time to hunt."

  Satisfied, Rusk opened the cage. Tal walked past him, out onto the stage. Rusk followed closely, watching for any sign of weakness. The floor lamps cast unsettling shadows on the faces of both men.

  Tal paced the length of the stage, his real anxiety making it easy to appear restless and eager. As he walked across one of the trapdoors, a plan began to form in his mind.

  "The moon is coming," rumbled Rusk. "Can you feel it?"

  Tal noticed the pressure on his ears and eyes. "Yes," he said. "It's like a storm."

  "That's it!" encouraged Rusk. "Open your heart to it. The beast sends you strength and courage."

  Tal stood squarely on the trapdoor. He couldn't open it himself. Glancing at the open galleries, he peered for some sign of Lommy or Otter. "Open, heart!" cried Tal. "Open your depths to the beast!" He hoped the tasloi understood.

  Rusk raised his arms toward the sky. "Malar, Beastlord, Master of the Hunt, hear my prayer and bestow your blessing on my acolyte. Give us your-"

  The trapdoor opened, and Tal vanished into the small prop room.

  "No!" screamed Rusk. He pounced toward the closing door. His fingers slipped into the crack and prevented the door from closing. "Fool! Weakling! I'll kill you!"

  Tal heard wood popping as Rusk pushed against the trapdoor. He found what he wanted, then ran to another trapdoor across the dark prop room. He pulled the lever and rose back onto the stage.

  "Here I am," Tal called from behind Rusk. He raised the enchanted sword and spoke the words. Hot flames whooshed along the long sword's blade.

  Rusk began chanting another spell. Tal rushed to strike him before it could be completed, but he saw the effects before he reached his foe. The man's fingers grew long and thick. The nails extended into sharp, bony knives.