Black Wolf

Chapter 12

Marpenoth, 1371 DR

In the months since his expulsion from Master Ferrick's, Tal began his own sword practice. There was no room in the tallhouse, so he used the backstage area at the Wide Realms.

At first he came in the mornings, when the building was deserted except for Lommy and the reclusive Otter. Within a tenday, Mistress Quickly complained that Lommy was missing his cues for opening the trapdoors or lowering the sun and moon from the heavens. One look at the bleary-eyed tasloi made Tal realize his mistake. The arboreal creatures were nocturnal by nature, and Tal had been disturbing their sleep.

He changed his schedule, returning to the playhouse a few hours after a performance. He practiced by himself while Lommy and Otter scampered about the mechanical works in the rafters. He didn't know what the tasloi were doing up there-maybe just chasing each other in play, or perhaps building new gods and comets to drop and swing from the ropes-but he liked the sound of them nearby. He liked to think they were glad of his presence, too.

Often he would stay until dawn, having exhausted himself with drilling, then hours of working out new fight scenes for plays that had yet to be written. Soon he found himself most alert at night, sleeping away the mornings before rising to a quick breakfast and a return to the Realms for rehearsals.

On full moons, Tal's routine was always the same. He ate a big dinner then had Chancy lock him in the cellar. During the transformation, Tal did his best to remain calm, meditating as Master Ferrick had taught him until the tidal dreams swept him out to oblivion. An hour after dawn, Chancy and Eckert would let him out. He stayed in the tallhouse for all three days, bidding Eckert to tell callers he was out carousing with Chancy in an alehouse somewhere.

In truth, Tal no longer frequented alehouses. He'd drink a cup of wine or a tankard of ale with Chancy in the tall-house, but he wouldn't drink more, and he wouldn't go anywhere where he might get into a quarrel. He didn't want to hurt anyone else.

Word of the accident at Master Ferrick's eventually reached the players. Mallion and Sivana were uncharacteristically sympathetic. Instead of the expected jokes, Tal received a surprising request one day in the cold month of Uktar.

The three actors stood among the vendors outside the playhouse. Most of them sold food and drink to the audience as they arrived. The smells of roast meat and baked dumplings mingled with the sweet autumn air. Brown leaves scratched along the cobblestones.

The three actors clutched cups of hot cider to warm their hands. The autumn air was still comfortable, but the playhouse doors were already open.

"Let's go back inside," suggested Tal.

"Actually," said Sivana, "we wanted a word with you alone."

That sounded ominous. Tal braced himself for some admonishment about recent rehearsals. Quickly had cast him as the mad king, a role most of the players-including Tal-thought should go to one of the more experienced actors. Quickly said the role demanded a voice by turns thunderous, and frail, and that Tal had proven he had the range. That was true enough, thought Tal, who had been expanding his repertoire of mimicry mostly through his mocking representations of the Hulorn and members of the Old Chauncel. On the other hand, Tal was far too young to express the emotional depth of a man driven mad by his children's betrayal.

At least, that was Tal's fear.

"We heard you weren't going to Master Ferrick's these days," said Mallion.

The sly, handsome actor was the one who usually got the roles Tal wanted. He rarely passed up an opportunity to point out Tal's shortcomings, usually in front of the other players. He did it in a tone of genial humor, but there was no doubt in Tal's mind that he also did it to make sure everyone realized that Mallion was the better actor.

Tal nodded, then sipped his cider. It was spicy and almost too hot to drink.

"You probably want to stay in practice, though," added Sivana. This month, her hair was blue and short. In The Wizard's Exile she played both sprite and ship captain, the latter with a false beard and a silk scarf on her head.

"So we were thinking," said Mallion, "maybe you could teach us what you know."

"Me?" said Tal, coughing on his cider. "I'm no teacher."

"You're the one who stages all the fight scenes these days," said Sivana.

"That's not the same as real fighting," Tal said. "I mean, I hope it looks convincing, but it's not the same at all."

"Wouldn't it look better if we all knew how to fight for real?" said Mallion.

"Maybe," Tal allowed. Then his suspicions arose again. "And maybe it would give you an advantage when Quickly casts Waterdeep next season."

"Please," said Mallion. "Sivana and I are getting those parts anyway."

"Don't be so sure about that," said Tal. "The four duels are the most important scenes."

"And who would believe either of us could beat an ogre like you?" said Sivana. She and Mallion together barely weighed more than Tal. "They've got to be the same size."

"Maybe she'll pick Ennis and me," said Tal.

It was a feeble argument, since big Ennis was both portly and homely, hardly a good choice for one of the romantic rivals. He usually played the foolish counselor or the cuckolded husband.

"Fat chance," said Mallion.

"We really want to learn," said Sivana.

"Why not go to Ferrick's yourself? You're both good enough to get in."

While neither of them had had proper training, they'd learned enough in the playhouse that their greatest challenge would be to break the bad habits they'd formed.

"We'd rather learn from you," she said.

Tal looked from Sivana's face to Mallion's, expecting to see one of them crack a smile and reveal the joke before they'd had their fun with him.

"Really?"

"Really," said Mallion. Sivana nodded.

"I'll have to think about it," said Tal. He liked the idea of having fencing partners, but the fear that he'd hurt someone again still turned restlessly in his belly. "When would you want to do it?"

"Right before rehearsals," said Sivana, "to warm up."

"I'll think about it," said Tal.

He didn't have to think for long. Within a few days, Mallion and Sivana had already learned the basic footwork and followed Tal's lead for an hour of vigorous exercise. When Chaney learned about it, he insisted on coming along. His lazy efforts provided the perfect bad example for the actors, yet he could get it right when Tal corrected him. Best of all, he didn't mind the criticism.

As Tal expected, the hardest part was breaking them of habitual posing and fancy but ineffective flourishes. Deep down, Tal knew that those were some of his own failings as a swordsman, but it was easier to see it in others. He corrected, gently at first, then with an increasing scolding he knew came from long familiarity with Master Ferrick's sharp, imperious commands. When Mallion complained that he worked them too hard, Tal knew he was starting to do a good job.

"Why don't you practice with us?" Sivana asked one afternoon. Chaney had just given Mallion the thrashing of his life, even through the padded armor and masks Tal insisted they wear. Now both men complained they were too tired to go on.

"Because you're not good enough yet," said Tal. It might have been true, but Sivana's eyes narrowed. She suspected the real reason.

"You're not going to hurt us, Tal."

"I'm not worried about hurting you," he lied.

"Then show me that parry you say I botched," said Mallion.

That sounded reasonable. There was no danger in demonstrating a parry. Tal agreed, inviting Sivana's attack and catching her blade, binding it, and parrying just barely outside her line of attack.

"You don't want to go too far," he said. "Otherwise, you have to move too far for the counterattack.

"Show me the counterattack," said Sivana.

"Not today," said Tal.

Despite his reticence, Tal wanted nothing more than to fence. More honestly, he wanted to fight. He loved the contest, the trick of outthinking his opponent, then driving home the determining thrust.

He just couldn't be sure he'd hold that thrust in check.

The feeling was strongest just before the full moon. Sometimes his arms craved impact and his legs wanted only to run after a foe and catch him. Sometimes he wished Rusk were not only alive but back in the city, rushing toward him. He felt his jaw clench and bite, wanting to feel a hot rush…

When such thoughts took hold, Tal shook his head so hard his hair stung his face. He stretched his arms as far as they would go, then let them hang loose at his sides, his fingers stirring in an invisible current.

Tal practiced with Perivel's blade only alone, at night. If Lommy was watching, he'd use one of the practice swords instead. But when the tasloi ran off to join his brother, Tal took the monstrous sword out of its canvas bag and fought imaginary foes with lusty abandon until he noted and corrected his own mistakes. Much as he chided Mallion and Sivana, he berated himself when he caught himself blurring the lines between real fighting and choreography. Perivel's sword should be used only for fighting, he decided. Not only was it too dangerous for play but it seemed made for killing. It had a purpose.

Tal found that he could wield the weapon with increasing ease, and he noted with satisfaction that his muscles had grown not only harder but sharper. The scars of Rusk's attack had flattened with his stomach. They were still visible through his thick body hair, but perhaps they were not so ugly anymore.

One night, Tal paused in his drill to stand before the mirror to admire himself, stripped to the waist and gleaming with sweat. He liked the way he looked and considered telling Quickly that he was willing go shirtless on stage again. Rehearsing the conversation in his mind, he realized how truly vain he had become-or how vain he had always been.

Even though he was alone, Tal flushed with shame. He didn't like to face his own failings, especially those that he despised in Tamlin, his conceited older brother. In some ways, the brothers were not so different.

One night in late Uktar, just before the Feast of the Moon, Tal paused in his solitary practice. Something he couldn't identify seemed out of place. He couldn't hear Lommy and Otter, but that was not unusual. Sometimes they were quiet, even at night. Then Tal realized he had just felt a brief coolness on his naked back and caught a fresh whiff of the pre-dawn air. A glance told him that both stage doors were still closed, but he realized that one of them had been open seconds earlier. An intruder had entered the playhouse.

To his relief, Tal saw Perivel's sword on the makeup table, where he'd left it. An assassin would have removed the weapon first, so maybe the intruder was merely a burglar. He would be a disappointed burglar, since Quickly removed the admission funds to a vault in her tallhouse each night. He'd be a regretful one, too, since Tal intended to find him.

Tal saw no one backstage, and he heard nothing unusual. His sense of smell had grown keen over the past ten months. When he sniffed the air, he detected only the usual odors of the Wide Realms: water reeds, lime, and horsehair from the thatched roof, oak beams and plaster from the walls, powder, greasepaint, and linen from the dressing tables, even nuts and orange rinds from the ground beyond the stage doors.

Despite the evidence of his senses, Tal was certain someone besides him and the tasloi was in the playhouse. Sword in hand, he stalked the unseen intruder, pausing every few moments to listen and sniff. He peered into the shadows between the larger props and scenery that lined the walls. Not even a rat emerged.

Tal looked over the backstage area again, hoping his threat would make the burglar nervous enough to break and run. No such luck.

Then Tal noticed one of the royal guards staring at him. Mallion always put the practice masks over the heads of the guards when practice was over. And now, four masks and a barefaced guardsman stood motionless against the wall.

The ruse amused Tal even as he pretended not to notice it. He feigned interest in the costume hampers while observing the masks out of the corner of his eye. None of them moved as he poked the baskets with the tip of his sword. He prepared to rush the intruder. He needed just a few more steps…

"Wait," said a muffled voice from the fourth mask. It was a woman. "I know you can see me."

Tal moved to stand between the intruder and the nearest outside door. "Show yourself," he said.

The woman came out from behind the mannequins. Beneath the practice mask, her clothes were all dark gray, from gloves to tightly laced boots. Tal could see nothing else about her except that she walked with a confident grace. Awfully sure of herself for a captured burglar, he thought.

"Who are you?" he said.

"An admirer," she said.

"A secret admirer, it would seem."

The woman inclined her head. Tal wondered whether the gesture came with a smile under the wicker mask. "I've been coming to the plays lately," she said. "You are very talented."

"Thank you," he said. "And you are very mysterious."

She made an elegant curtsey. Charmed by the gesture, Tal bowed in return.

"I'm fairly sure you're not here to kill me," he said, "and there's nothing worth stealing. But you know that, don't you? Why are you here?"

"I mean you no harm, Talbot."

"That's not an answer."

"I'm just here to watch you for a while, to make sure you are all right."

"Thamalon sent you, didn't he?"

She didn't answer. Perhaps Tal's guess was wrong, or perhaps Cale was involved. His father's butler was as mysterious as they come, and Tal had often suspected that the man had some sort of criminal connections.

"Perhaps I merely wanted to learn why you've disappeared from the rest of the city. You spend all your time here these days."

That was true. Except during the full moon, Tal went to his tallhouse to eat, bathe, and sleep before returning to the playhouse. His absences had begun to irritate Eckert, whose fussy reminders had been replaced by a moody silence. Perhaps this stranger had been sent to spy on him because Eckert had too little to report to Tal's father.

"I've been busy," he said.

"Busy fencing alone at night? Are you expecting a fight?"

That was a question Tal hadn't seriously considered before. Chances were good that Rusk wasn't dead, but Tal didn't expect him to come back to the city.

"It's best to be prepared if one comes unexpectedly," he said. "After all, you came to me, didn't you?" He nodded toward the practice swords and raised his own to point at the woman's head.

She put a hand on the hilt of one of the wooden swords. It was little more than a slightly curved staff with a cross-guard, its length marred with thousands of dents and scratches. "What will you give me if I hit you?"

Tal laughed, not just because he thought the woman couldn't hit him but because he admired her attitude. "You came to learn how I'm doing. I'll answer a question for each touch."

"Done!" said the woman. Before Tal realized she had the sword in hand, she lunged forward and stabbed at his foot. He withdrew it, but not before she grazed the tip of his boot.

"That was a touch!" she cried. She neglected to disguise her voice, but Tal still couldn't place it.

Annoyed by his own carelessness, Tal snapped at her. "Ask your damned question."

"Why are you so angry?"

"Because I should have been ready for you-"

"No," she said. "Why are you so angry all the time?"

"I'm not…" he began.

He kept up his guard as he considered both the question and the woman who asked it. For a moment he thought it might be his sister, Tazi, but she wouldn't disguise herself. Even more than Chaney, she could talk to Tal about anything. He decided there was no harm in answering, no matter who she was.

"I hate other people deciding my life for me," he said at last.

The woman beat Tal's sword lightly then cut over it and feinted. He withdrew out of range, keeping the tip of his blade near hers.

"Who does that?" She cut under Tal's blade, then again as he followed. "Your father?" Tal reversed and feinted, cutting under to attack her leg as she parried the false thrust. She barely managed to parry the real attack.

"You're good," Tal said, "but that's another question. I bet you won't hit me again."

He attacked her blade in a flurry of beats interspersed with feints. She retreated and he followed, crossing over to put her back in the corner. She saw what he was doing and dived to the ground, tumbling away from the trap.

Tal nearly struck her as she escaped, but he hesitated to hit her in the back. As she turned, she saw that she had been vulnerable.

"How gallant," she said, "not to strike a lady in the back."

"How do I know you're a lady?"

"You'll have to take my word for it," she said with a sudden attack at his wrist. Now his blood was up, and Tal's blade moved with time to spare.

"I think it's my turn for an answer." Tal stamped, but the ruse failed to shake her guard.

He tried a binding glide, but she caught it and withdrew as she parried, circling past the royal guards. She shoved one toward Tal and darted to the side, but he anticipated the trick and was already there. He rapped her lightly on the calf.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I didn't agree to answers."

"It's only fair," he said, moving closer. "Besides, that's my mask. I think I'll take it back now."

"No!" she said, putting both hands on the sword in an earnest guard.

This time Tal didn't hold back, attacking her blade with his full strength. Feeling the power of his blows, his opponent retreated and dodged to avoid taking his attack on her blade. She was as quick as he, but not nearly so strong.

When he came too close, she attacked his exposed head to make him parry. As he did, she threw her sword between his legs, almost tripping him as he lunged to follow. By the time he recovered his balance, she had the door open.

She was almost out of the playhouse when Tal caught the back of her tunic and pulled back hard, lifting her feet off the ground. She twisted around and kicked his knee hard, but he took it and snarled at the pain. He dropped the wooden sword, grabbed the front of her mask, and turned her to face him.

She punched him in the stomach. He didn't even grunt. She shot a knee at his groin, but he blocked it with his thigh.

"Don't," she said. Her voice was strong, not pleading.

"You owe me an answer, and I intend-" Tal stopped.

With his face so close to her mask, he could smell the woman's skin. She was very clean, as if she'd bathed just before coming out to spy on him. Tal smelled the ghost of bathing oils and beauty creams, and a more familiar scent beneath them.

He released the woman, leaving her mask in place. Even so close to its narrow slits, he saw only the vaguest image of her gray eyes looking back at him. Her lower face was obscured by the same cloth that muffled her voice.

An apology formed in his throat, but he swallowed it. Instead, he said, "You can keep the mask."

She stepped away, making sure the door was open and the way clear before she turned back to speak again.

"Thank you," she said. She seemed about to say something else, but then she turned and ran away.

"You can keep yours, too," she said when she thought she was out of range.

Now that he had the answer to his question, a hundred more bloomed in his mind as he listened to his mother go.