Dave Gross - Black Wolf

Rusk transformed, his body shifting from man to half-man to silver-gray wolf. His half-tunic was pinned beneath Balin's massive arms, but his boots and trousers fell away, tangling his legs.

Balin's hug pinned the slender foreleg of Rusk's wolf form helplessly, but now Rusk's long jaws were at the were-boar's throat. They snapped once and caught, and there they held. Blood gushed down the gray wolf's muzzle. Together, Balin's two wounds drained away his life. In death, the wereboar's body shifted one last time to leave a huge boar's corpse on the ground. The wolf rolled away from it, more red than gray.

The white elf ran to Rusk and began licking at the blood. Darrow turned away, disgusted, but a perverse fascination made him look again. Two wolves joined the elf, whining sympathetically as they tried to soothe their master's wounds.

As his breathing slowed, Rusk shifted back into his human shape. He cuffed the nearest sycophants. "Get away," he barked.

All obeyed except the elf, who pressed herself against Rusk, laying her head against his bruised ribs. Rusk grabbed her by the hair, jerking her head back and forcing her to look up at him.

"Balin was a simpleton and a coward," Rusk said. "I wonder who encouraged his ambition."

The elf's face remained impassive. She did not struggle in her master's grip.

Rusk stared into her face a little longer, then shoved her away. "Bah," he said. "The challenge is done. I am the Bloodmaster. Does any deny it?"

He did not deign to look around. Every member of the pack looked to the ground. Darrow noticed the elf glancing up at Rusk, a faint smile on her lips.

"Impressive," said Radu. He stood at the edge of the clearing, holding the reins of his stallion. The other two horses were nowhere to be seen. "Impressive, yet puzzling."

"What do you mean?" said Rusk.

"You defeated this brute," said Radu, gesturing at Balin's bloody corpse, "yet you say Talbot Uskevren sliced off your arm."

Rusk's eyes blazed at the reminder. He worked his jaw but said nothing.

"Was that the name of your prey in the city, Bloodmaster?" The elfs tone was humble, thought Darrow. A trifle too humble.

"Silence, Sorcia," said Rusk.

"Yes, Bloodmaster," said Sorcia contritely.

Her eyes turned to the ground until Rusk looked away, then they turned to Radu. Darrow took the opportunity to collect his sword, sheathing it as quietly as he could to avoid attracting the attention of the monsters that surrounded him.

"Our guests have brought us a gift," said Rusk, "a gift from the Beastlord himself. We have the scrolls of Malar."

Darrow glanced at Radu, hoping his master would not correct Rusk before his followers. Stannis had permitted Rusk to bring only a fraction of the Black Wolf Scrolls. Rusk had howled when he saw the torn fragment, but he dared not challenge the Malveens in their home. Now, with his pack looking on, Rusk might not take another humiliation so mildly. Probably Radu could kill any one of them, maybe even most of them. But he'd never kill them all before one of them tore Darrow to pieces. Of that he was sure.

Perhaps Tymora smiled on Barrow then, for Radu merely gestured for Darrow to take the reins of his horse. Darrow obeyed, grateful to stand apart from the werewolves.

"To the lodge," commanded Rusk. At last the Bloodmas-ter permitted himself a smile at his victory. After his dangerous quest in the city, he was home among his people. He gestured to Balin's corpse and added, "Don't forget the meat."

Tarsakh, 1371 DR

Impious shadow of the king who was," bellowed Presbart as the baron. His soldiers pointed their swords at Tal's heart. "Release the scepter stolen from his tomb!"

"I wear the crown by acclamation true," replied Tal, leaping back onto the crenellated wall. "Deny my claim and hasten your own doom." On the rhyming syllable, he struck a guard's blade from his hand.

The weapon skittered across the stage and shot through the surrounding rails, sending Sivana and Ennis diving out of the way. Ennis managed to flatten himself, causing even more laughter among the other players.

Tal winced at the accident and smiled a weak apology. The distraction almost caused him to miss the incoming attacks. He parried one blade and leaped over the other. When the guard swung again, he leaped up to stamp on the blade, trapping it on the wall. His kick missed the guard's face by less than an inch, and the man flipped backward to lay still.

"Your reign was not ordained, O faithless prince," declared Presbart, brandishing his own sword.

The first guard grabbed a spear from the back wall and thrust at Tal's head. Tal parried easily, then bound the spear's shaft with his sword and thrust it into the baron's sword, blocking them both.

Tal leaped from the battlement to arch over both men. He twisted gracefully to land facing them from behind. Still distracted by his earlier blunder, he neglected to bend his knees to cushion the blow. The impact of his body sent a booming echo through the trapdoor room below.

Before his foes could turn around, Tal thrust his blade under the arm of the guard, who cried out, clutched his heart, and fell to the floor. The baron dropped his sword and ran to hide behind the stage right pillar. Tal followed, slashing first on one side, then the other, as the cowardly baron dodged.

"In faith, I am a prince no more than thou," said Tal, "As this, my final answer to your base demands will… oh, dark and empty. What's the line?"

"That's enough," said Quickly from the floor. Her big arms were crossed over her chest, and she gnawed on the stem of her unlit pipe.

"I almost had it," said Tal, walking to the edge of the stage. "The sword going off the stage threw me. We should probably reverse that so it goes backstage."

Quickly nodded. "Right. Show Mallion what to do."

"You're giving the part to him?"

Mallion was the most beautiful man in the Wide Realms troupe, and he knew it. Even at nearly thirty, he looked only a few years older than Tal and the other young players. They all teased him for spending so much money on skin creams, hair tonics, and eye cosmetics, but his flawless complexion and rich black curls garnered him a flock of adoring admirers after each performance. Worse yet, in Tal's opinion, he really was a fine actor with tremendous range. His elocution was second only to Presbart's rolling phrases, and he was one of Tal's few rivals for physical scenes.

Behind Quickly, Mallion buffed his nails on his chest. Beside him, Sivana flicked his ear and shot Tal a sympathetic wink. With Mallion and Tal, she was one of the most accomplished stage fencers in the company. Of them, only Tal had any real weapons training, but Sivana's lithe, androgynous figure made her a better foil for the slender Mallion. Both of them squeezed together would barely make one Tal.

"He's better for it, Tal. You know that." Quickly beckoned him down from the stage. He leaped the rail and landed heavily on the ground. Walnut shells left by last night's groundling's crunched under his feet. "Besides, one more vault like that one and you'll go straight through to the Nine Hells."

"I can fall into a roll, instead," he said. "Or we could move the wall to curve around there, and…"

"I've made up my mind, Tal, my lad You're good, especially at the swordplay, but Mallion makes the better villain."

As if to prove the point, the handsome actor leered menacingly behind Quickly. Without looking, she poked him in the chest with a beefy elbow.

"Oof," he said with exaggerated injury. Then he smoothed his neat beard in a gesture that made Tal think of a cat cleaning itself.

"What about me?" said Tal. Hearing the whining in his own voice made everything that much worse.