Dave Gross - Black Wolf

Voorla kicked Radu away then tried to grasp his maimed arm with his missing hand. Unable to grip his wound, the troll fell to its knees and cradled his ruined limbs, desperately whispering to them. Darrow imagined he was praying for them to rebind themselves faster. For the first time since meeting the troll, Darrow felt something other than fear of it: Voorla looked piteous.

Radu stood and stabbed his sword into the sand. He paused to slap the sand from his breeches before walking toward the fumbling troll.

On his knees, the troll was the same height as his opponent.

"Voorla gnagt veek nogu, Malveen."

"Voorla acknowledges your superior skill, my brother," translated Stannis.

"Eent moku ngla foma," said the troll.

"He humbly requests your mercy."

Radu nodded, walking behind the troll. Voorla sank to his haunches. He stared at the pit, perhaps longing for his hand. As the bone blade entered the back of his skull, white light burst from Voorla's eyes and mouth. His green flesh turned ashy gray then dull white as his life and body alike were consumed by an insatiable, unholy power. Within seconds, his body withered to the barest, crumbling skeleton, which then collapsed into powder that mingled with the stained sand of the pit.

In Radu's hand, the bone blade had turned black as sin.

Darrow wrenched his gaze from the awful scene to look at the others. There was no way to discern Stannis's reaction under his golden veil, though his glowing eyes were fixed on Rusk. The Huntmaster tried maintaining an aloof indifference, but he could not disguise his revulsion at the effects of the bone blade.

Stannis began the applause, which Darrow obediently joined. In the pit, Radu watched as the bone blade slowly returned to its original white as its smooth surface absorbed the dark stain. With a gesture, Stannis opened the baiting pit gate for his brother, who joined them in the gallery.

"Well done, my brother," said Stannis. "Not only do you thrill us with your skill, but you set my heart at ease upon your journey far from home." He turned to Rusk. "Not that he should have need of self defense while in your company, Huntmaster"

"No," agreed Rusk, his eyes fixed upon the white dagger.

"Good," said Stannis. "Then I will not worry about his traveling alone."

"I am not traveling alone," said Radu. He indicated Darrow with a slight nod of his head. "He will come with me."

"What? But how shall I get along without him?" protested Stannis. "I have become quite dependent on his company. Despite a few… human flaws… I need him for those tasks- that prove too subtle for my minions."

"All the more reason he should come with me."

"You gave him to me," said Stannis petulantly. "You called him unreliable."

"All the more reason he should not remain here, where he might draw suspicion to the house."

Stannis paused, then tried another tack. "What possible use do you have for him in the woods?"

"He will set camp, prepare my meals…"

Stannis sighed. "You are determined, I see. I suppose there is nothing more to be said."

"No," said Radu.

No one said another word as they left the arena.

Spring rains had left the ground soft, and Darrow wished again that they had stayed to the roads. Their horses left a trail of black divots, and the effort was sure to tire the beasts soon. Before it did, they came to the edge of the Arch Wood. There a carpet of fir needles and the deep clutch of roots made the ground firm. Rusk led Radu and Darrow slowly into the forest.

"How far?" asked Radu.

During the past three days, Radu Malveen had not spoken a word. Darrow had considered making conversation with Rusk, but the cleric was brooding about his severed arm. His healing spells had sealed over the raw stump but left it ugly. Something other than his wound was troubling him. Several times he had halted their progress, dismounted, and sniffed the air. Each time, he turned to scowl back the way they came, as if someone were following them. None of them saw any sign of pursuit, so they continued on their journey.

To Radu's question, Rusk grunted and dismounted. Dar-row's roan shied away from the big savage. Even Radu's Calishite stallion tossed its head until the swordsman mastered it with the barest tightening of his legs. None of the horses liked Rusk until he had cast a spell to befriend the muddy brown dray horse that would bear him.

Rusk moved away from the horses, holding his head high to snuffle for a scent. His hairy jaws worked as if he were drinking the wind, tasting it.

"You don't know where they are," said Radu. Darrow heard the impatience in his master's voice. He remained still and kept his eyes from Radu.

Rusk scowled at the accusation. They're roaming," he said. "If we go to the lodge, we might have to wait tendays for their return. You don't want to wait tendays out here. Give me the scrolls now, and I'll hunt for them alone."

Radu did not answer at first. Darrow knew that Radu and his hideous brother were suspicious of Rusk's claims. Even if he had a pack at his command, would they still obey a maimed leader?

Finally, Radu said, "Take us to the lodge now." Darrow saw the tension coil in Rusk's shoulders. It made the thick gray hair on his arm ridge up. Without another word, Rusk mounted his horse and grudgingly led them northwest. Radu followed, and Darrow knew better than to break the silence.

They traveled until dusk, when the fat horns of the waning moon appeared beyond the dappling canopy. Behind them trailed the shards, tiny motes said to be Selune's handmaidens.

Darrow looked to Radu for a sign that it was time to erect the master's tent. It was the master's habit to leave all the menial tasks to Darrow, who was now driver, cook, drudge, and fetch. In the months since Darrow had stumbled upon the Malveen family secret, he was grateful enough for his life that he did not complain. The thought of revealing the truth about Stannis Malveen never crossed his mind, nor did hope of escape. Besides, when he was honest with himself, Darrow realized that he enjoyed being in the service of a man so powerful and dangerous. If he stayed loyal and kept his wits about him, Darrow could profit very well indeed.

Despite the growing darkness, Radu did not seem ready to camp. He looked to Rusk, who cocked his head in an attitude of concentrated listening. Darrow followed his example but heard nothing except the hush of the gentle evening breeze.

Then he realized the forest had become quiet.

Rusk jumped from his horse, slapped its flank, and crouched low over the ground. All the while he intoned a low chant.

Darrow looked to Radu, but the master was gone. His stallion pawed the forest floor. Without a lead to follow, Darrow slipped as quietly as he could to the ground and put his back against a big tree. His horse needed no encouragement to trot away.

Rusk finished his spell with a brief touch of the holy symbol on his brow. His muscles bulged and rippled as infernal strength flowed through his limbs. Throughout the incantation, he never took his eyes from the northeastern shadows.

Darrow drew his long sword and stared at those shadows. Something was approaching, he knew, even though he saw and heard nothing. Maybe Rusk smelled it, but all Darrow smelled was moist loam and tree bark.

The attack came from above, slamming Darrow to the ground and knocking his sword away. A hard root cut into his cheek as nails raked his back. Hot breath spilled over the back of his neck as a living weight pressed him to the ground. He tensed for the pain of teeth tearing into his flesh, but then the weight was gone.

Darrow scrambled for his sword, but bright motes danced in his vision, and his fingers clutched only cool soil and thistles. Then a sound like a dozen angry dogs dropped from a tower exploded around him.