Black Wolf

Chapter 16

Tarsakh, 1372 DR

Even before Tal became accustomed to locking himself into a cage three nights of every month, he was no stranger to barred cells. He needed the fingers of both hands to count the number of times he and Chaney had been hauled into jail for public disorder.

Usually it was Charley's fault. When faced with a belligerent drunk who disliked nobles slumming in his tavern, Tal usually responded by buying the man another tankard of ale. After a few repetitions of the trick, the drunk usually passed out harmlessly or staggered out to be sick in the alley. Sometimes a match of arm wrestling would do, and once Tal won over an entire crew of rowdy Chessentan sailors by winning a contest in which he and their strongman took turns lifting a barmaid-laden table, adding a new girl to the load with each attempt.

Unable to respond with feats of strength, Chaney relied on his sharp tongue when challenged. He especially liked insulting the other young nobles who frequented the cheap alehouses, since they were more likely to provide fair sport for his quick wit. They were also less likely to turn to fisticuffs, at least when Tal was nearby. Given enough ale, however, and even men smaller than Chaney would resort to violence. Even though he never threw the first punch, Tal was always ready for it. When he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he liked the thrill of combat, especially the admiration of the bystanders when he won against a fair opponent-or six lesser challengers.

He missed those brawling days over the past year. Since the wolf emerged, Tal had stayed out of taverns for two reasons: to avoid another "accident" like the one that maimed Perron and to avoid finding himself in jail when the moon was full.

As it would be tonight.

Chaney paced, turning sharply at each corner of the cell. Even with his short legs, it took him only four steps in each direction.

Tal rested his chin against his folded arms, staring out through the barred window that slanted up to the narrow alley outside. Street-filtered runoff still trickled down the short shaft to pool on the stone floor. Despite the dirty water, Tal was grateful for the relatively fresh air. The previous occupant of the cell had left a noisome puddle of vomit beneath the cot.

The only other occupant in this block of the jail was an old man with a long wispy beard. Tal recognized him as one of the homeless drunks who begged for coppers in the Oxblood Quarter. There was less money there but more charity than in Central Selgaunt, where the Scepters were poised to run off beggars and thieves alike.

"I never thought I'd say this," Chaney said without breaking his stride, "but I can't wait to see Eckert."

"You always say that when we're waiting for bail."

"Sure, but I never expect to say it. Hm?"

Before this past year, Tal's servant made a habit of checking the jail when Tal hadn't returned home in the morning. If the tallhouse funds were insufficient for bail, it meant a trip to Stormweather to fetch a larger amount from Lord Uskevren. For the first time in his life, Tal dreaded his father's not being told of his predicament more than another night in jail.

"Let's hope he didn't choose last night to run off with the silver to marry a widow," said Chaney.

His banter did nothing to cheer Tal. Their recent arrest was far worse than any of their previous visits to the city jail. If Tal's attacker died last night, there was no chance a magistrate would allow bail, even if Thamalon were willing to pay it. Even if the charge was short of murder or attempted murder, Tal was sure the Old Owl would wash his hands of his wayward son this time.

"At least this time it wasn't your fault," said Tal, trying lamely to respond with a jest.

"Everyone will think it was anyway." Chaney sounded genuinely regretful.

"I thought you liked being thought a scoundrel."

"Only when it impresses the ladies," said Chaney with a smile.

"Let's hope it impresses the magistrate enough to get us out of here before dark."

"That's right," said Chaney, as if he had not yet considered the problem of the moon. "We've got to get you home before curfew."

Tal realized that Chaney was making a great effort to put on a brave face. As bad as it was for Tal to transform while in jail, it would be far worse for anyone locked up with him. Tal glanced at the other prisoner before speaking again in a quiet voice. "I'll get them to put me in another cell."

"How? You think they'll fall for the old 'I'm sick' routine?"

"Not likely, all things considered."

"We could stage a fight," suggested Chaney.

"We… could," said Tal slowly. He looked at Chancy and worried about hurting his smaller friend. "We'd have to make it look real."

"Or you could just let me have it once or twice," said Chaney. "I might not be a big strapping lad like you, but I won't break."

"I just don't like the idea of hitting you. Usually, I'm fighting other people who're trying to hit you."

"Hard for me to complain about that," said Chaney.

"Besides, there's what happened last night. Punching you once or twice is one thing…"

"… and pulling my guts out is quite another," Chaney finished for him. He kept his eyes on the floor and continued his circuit of the cell.

They were both silent for a while.

"Maybe we can break out," said Tal. He gripped the bars and pulled with all his might.

The old drunk saw his efforts and hooted. "Have to be a lot stronger'n you look to bend those bars, me lord."

Tal sneered at the old man and kept pulling. The drunk laughed until he coughed, pointing at the ludicrous sight. The laughter stopped with a sudden hiccup when the old fellow saw the bars bend, ever so slightly.

Encouraged, Tal pulled harder. No matter how he strained, the iron bars would bend no farther. When it felt like he would tear a ligament, Tal let go. The bars flexed back into their original positions, looking as straight as ever.

"I know you've been getting stronger," said Chaney, "but dark and empty, Tal! Those are almost as thick as the bars on Quickly's cage."

"Been practicing, have you?" The old man scratched under his beard and whistled through a gap in his brown teeth.

"I hate being in here," said Tal, lowering his voice and turning his back on the old drunk.

"I thought you'd be used to that by now, with all the time you've been spending in the cage at home."

"It's not the same," said Tal. "When I lock myself up, it's my choice. I can't stand it when someone else decides for me."

"Oh, please," said Chaney. "I thought you were done with all that everybody-wants-me-to-be-what-they-want-me-to-be whining."

"Whining?"

"Yeah, whining, crying, belly-aching… whatever. I've put up with it ever since we met, but I don't want to hear it now-not when we're both locked in this stinking cell and you're about to turn all teeth and claws and fur and all kinds of horrible man-eating things."

"I don't whine," said Tal, trying not to think about the other part of what Chaney said.

"Of course you do," persisted Chaney. "That's why Sivana and Ennis were making fun of you with the wolf mask. All you saw was the wolf bit, because you were so afraid of your secret getting out. Well, that's not going to be a problem after tonight, is it? What's really ridiculous is all your complaining about not getting your way all the time."

"You don't know what it's like," said Tal. "Everything I do, Thamalon criticizes because it's not what he would do. Even after everything that happened this winter, Mother still looks down her nose at the playhouse. And don't get me started about Tamlin and-"

"Oh, spare me. You have more freedom than anyone I know," said Chaney. "Thamalon let you have the tallhouse, didn't he? And no matter what she says about the playhouse, your mother hasn't stopped you from acting. You can't say they're making you do what they want. All you can do is complain that they don't approve of the choices that they let you make for yourself."

"How's that any different from you?" said Tal. "You don't even talk about your family, and I've never seen you spend any time at the house."

Chaney stared at Tal, incredulous. "There's a reason for that, you lunkhead."

"And I suppose it's better than my reasons for avoiding Thamalon."

Chaney laughed at him. "You could say that." "What are you talking about?"

"You know how I'm always saying my father disowned me?"

Tal nodded.

"I wasn't speaking metaphorically." Tal cocked his head, confused.

"He threw me out three years ago," said Chaney. "Drew up legal documents to make sure I never have any claim on the family money. He had the Scepters drag me out of the house and into the street, where a magistrate read the pronouncement."

"What are you talking about? I thought-I mean, where do you get your money?"

Chaney laughed. "Mostly from you. You're pretty quick to pay wherever we go or to let me stay at the tallhouse when we've been out late."

"But I don't always pay," said Tal, "and you haven't been wearing the same set of clothes for three years, that lucky jacket aside. You've got money coming from somewhere, right?" "Well," said Chaney, "for a while my Aunt Verula was slipping me a little now and again, but the old man found out, and there was a big row. I've been totally cut off for about two years."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me." "I must have told you a hundred times. You laughed, like it was a joke."

"I thought it was a joke." "Did you now?" said Chaney dubiously. "Of course I did. What else?"

Chaney shrugged and plucked a long straw from the cot. "I figured you didn't want to hear about my problems," he said. "You've always been so wrapped up in your own." "What are you saying?" demanded Tal. "That I'm so self-centered I don't care about what's happening to my friends?"

"No," said Chaney. "You care all right. You just care more about yourself."

"That's a rotten thing to say about someone who's supported you over the past three years."

"You didn't even know you were doing it! Besides, I don't need your charity. I can get by on my own, thanks very much."

"Sure, that's why you've leeched off me instead of getting a proper job. At least I work at the playhouse. What do you do?"

"I don't think you want to hear what I do," said Chaney. "It might offend your honorable sensibilities. After all, you didn't ask too many questions when I took care of the little problem with Alale Soargyl last year, did you?"

"I didn't ask because… well, because…"

"Because you didn't want to get your own hands dirty," said Chaney. "You like to talk about how you're different from the rest of the Old Chauncel, but when it comes to getting your hands dirty, you're glad to leave it to others. You're just like your father."

Before he knew what he'd done, Tal backhanded Chaney, knocking him into the cell bars.

Shame burned his face, but anger still buzzed in Tal's head. He stepped close and grabbed a handful of Chaney's shirt, easily lifting the smaller man off the floor.

Chaney remained limp, and Tal hesitated. Before Tal realized the ruse, Chaney shot his knee into Tal's groin. The pain shot flares through Tal's already spinning head. He glared through a red haze and growled at Chaney before slamming him against the bars. He both felt and heard the cracking of ribs.

"What's going on in there?" yelled a guard through the cellblock gate.

"Help!" cried Chaney. "He's gone berserk-he'll kill me!"

Tal felt dizzy and confused. What was he doing? Murdering his best friend for a few criticisms? He had to calm himself, or else what happened at the theater might make the moonrise redundant.

"Nice try, Foxmantle," called the guard. "I been to the playhouse once or twice." He slammed the shutter closed.

Tal gently lowered Chaney to the floor, then helped him to the cot.

"Great gods," said Tal. "I'm sorry, Chane."

"Just my luck," gasped Chaney, gingerly lying down on the straw tick mattress, "the guard thinks you're a great actor."

"You were baiting me on purpose, you idiot! Weren't you?"

Chaney grimaced through the pain. "Maybe."

"You really had me fooled," said Tal. "Not that it's any excuse…"

"Yeah," said Chaney. "Tricked you real good."

"It was very realistic," said the old drunk from across the aisle. "Especially the rib cracking."

"You shut up," said Tal.

"Why should I?" said the old man. "Until you manage to bend those bars, I'll say anything I like. Ratbreath. Maggot-eater. Arse-licking son of a-"

Tal showed his teeth and growled. The old man shut up.

"Here," said Tal, rolling his shirt into a pillow. "Let's get you comfortable."

"Just let me rest," said Chaney. He waved his hand at the other side of the cell. "Go, over there. Leave me alone a while."

"I can't tell you how sorry I am," said Tal.

"Yeah," said Chaney. "Me neither."

Chaney remained quiet for the rest of the afternoon. Tal spent his time brooding by the narrow window. Several times he resolved to apologize again, but when he started to speak, Chaney turned his face away.

"Lover's spat" cackled the drunk. "Always the worst. Ye'll be sleepin' on the floor tonight."

Tal no longer answered the taunts. The old man nattered on without encouragement, secure in the safety of his own cell.

Tal reached through the barred window. With a stretch, he could barely put his fingers on the cobblestones of the alley. There was plenty of room for Chaney to slip through, if Tal could pull out two of the bars. Unfortunately, they were set deeply into the stone casement, not just bolted to the wall. Tal,put both hands on one, then walked up the wall on his knees. Firmly braced, he pulled outward with all his strength.

The bars did not even bend. After a few minutes, Tal dropped back down to the floor.

"It's getting dark," he observed after catching his breath. Chaney didn't answer. It was hard to tell by looking into the alley just how close it was to dusk. Tal began to pace, just as Chaney had done earlier. With his longer stride, he could take only three steps in each direction.

"Would you stop that?" asked Chaney at last.

"Sure," said Tal. He tested the cell door for the hundredth time, hoping it would prove weaker than the window bars.

"You can stop that, too," said Chaney. "I've got a headache."

Tal sighed and let go of the door. Then he cocked his head. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" said Chaney. He rose from the cot and gently felt his back with both hands.

"Someone just called my name," he said, moving to the window. He heard it again.

"Here!" he shouted through the barred window. "I'm over here!"

Feena dropped to her hands and knees beside the low opening.

"There's no bail coming," she said breathlessly.

"I know," said Tal. "I didn't expect the magistrate to allow it."

"But he did," said Feena. "Eckert got money from your mother-but we'll discuss that later. First, we get you out of here."

"There's no time," said Tal. "Go to the guards and make them let Chaney out of this cell."

"No time for that, either. Stand back," said Feena. "But-" Tal thought better of protesting and took a step back. Behind him, Chaney began muttering a string of prayers to Tymora, goddess of luck.

Feena grasped a bar in both hands and pushed. Tal expected to see her cast a spell for inhuman strength or to turn the metal bars molten hot. But instead of invoking Selune, Feena shook her head violently, like a horse tossing its mane. She grimaced and stretched her neck as if it hurt. "It's no good," said Tal. "I've tried that-" Feena's eyes flashed red.

"Look out!" cried Chaney, but Tal was transfixed by the sight. Feena's fair freckled skin was now covered in downy russet fur. Her bared teeth were growing long and narrow in her elongating jaws.

"Get back," warned Chaney. "It's a werewolf disguised as Feena!"

"No," said Tal. He put his hands on either side of Feena's and pulled as she pushed. "It's her, all right. I can smell her."

"But if she's changing, then when will you-?" He stopped as he saw Tal's face, which was covered with fine black fur.

"Pull!" said Feena. Her voice had fallen half a register. "But concentrate on the bar. Don't think about anything else, Tal. Listen to me! Pull the bar. I'll help you break the bar."

"Dark and empty!" said Chaney. "Am I the only one here who doesn't turn into a wolf?"

"I don't," offered the drunk from across the aisle. "Shut up, both of you," snarled Feena. They obeyed, watching as the transforming werewolves strained to break the window bars. Tal and Feena bristled with fur, and rough claws jutted from their fingers. Tal's legs were changing shape, bending back in wolf fashion to end in clawed pads. He kicked away his useless boots, and his trousers fell after them.

"The bar, Tal!" roared Feena. "Pull the bar!"

Tal tried to answer, but his words became an inarticulate growl. His upper body was still human except for a thickening black pelt, but it was growing broader by the second. Tremendous muscles twitched and wriggled beneath his skin, still transforming as they struggled to break the bars.

The bar came away with a clatter of stone. Before Tal could put his hands on the next, Feena was already pushing. Her face was more wolf than woman now, but she could still speak.

"Pull!"

Together, they ripped the second bar from the wall. There was still too little space for Tal's big form to pass through. Feena grabbed the third bar, but Tal turned toward Chaney.

His face was almost completely unrecognizable now, with a long lupine snout and blazing red eyes. His own long hair formed a shaggy mane that blended with the fur of his sloping shoulders. Panting, he reached toward Chaney.

"The bars, Tal! You have to pull at the bars!" Feena repeated. "Come back to the window!"

With a yelp, Chaney tried to dart away. He was too slow, and the werewolf's clawed hands gripped him by the arms.

"Help me, Feena!" Chaney called.

"Tal!"

Chaney struggled but could not resist the powerful hands that lifted him from the floor and swung him around to the window. In one graceful gesture, Tal shoved Chaney through the narrow aperture and into the alley with Feena.

Behind him, Tal heard the guards calling out. The drumming pulse in his head scrambled the meaning of their words, but the clinking of their keys told him they were coming through the door. His shirt had torn, but it twisted uncomfortably at his shoulders. He ripped it away as easily as he might shred a leaf.

Outside, Chaney scrambled to his feet. He cradled his injured ribs, then turned to try to help with the bars.

"Run," said Tal. His voice was barely understandable, deep and stony as a dry well. "Ruuun!"

"Go!" said Peena.

She put her hands on the next bar, and Tal's joined hers. As they struggled with the bars, Chaney limped to the end of the alley. He paused only until he saw them break away the third bar. At the sound of guards running toward the alley, he bolted at last, finding cover in the twilight shadows.

The guards were inside the jail block now. "Get the crossbows!" shouted one as his companion fumbled with the key to Tal's cell.

"Silver bolts!" ordered another from the relative safety of the outer door.

At last, Tal and Feena broke the fourth bar away. Wielding it like a baton, Tal banged it against the cell door. The guards leaped back, and the one with the keys dropped them as he shouted in alarm. Tal threw the window bar at them, then jumped up into the open window.

Feena grasped his arms and pulled, but Tal's broad shoulders could not pass through the window. He struggled to squeeze himself through the narrow gap. The ragged holes left by the bars scraped at his flesh, cutting him even through his fur.

Tal wriggled and twisted, gaining only a few inches before the twang of a crossbow sounded behind him. He felt something slap his thigh and fought harder to push through the cell window.

Tal's struggling caused Feena to lose her grip. She fell back onto the alley floor. As her shadow fell away from Tal, moonlight spilled onto his face. It felt like cool water, washing him from head to feet. As the sensation ran through his body, he felt all his flesh shift and remold itself. His hands became paws scratching for traction on the stone alley floor, and his slenderer trunk barely slipped through the window, leaving wet patches of bloody fur behind.

As a wolf on four legs, Tal stood nearly as tall as Feena in her half-wolf form. She bowed her head and shifted completely back to human shape just as the reinforcements blocked the alley's mouth.

Tal turned to snarl a warning at the guards. There were four of them, three aiming crossbows with silver-tipped bolts. Feena›was talking to them, but Tal could not understand her words. He perceived the barest motion of the Scepters' weapons and smelled the sour fear in their sweat. Then he smelled something strange, a clean white energy emanating from Feena. It blew like a cool breeze to engulf the bowmen. As it washed over them, they stood stock still.

Feena said a word to Tal, and though he could not understand it, he thought the command was "run." Human language was strange to his ears, but it was becoming clearer as his blood slowed. Then Feena crouched low, transforming from woman to half-wolf to full wolf in a matter of moments. She wriggled out of her fallen clothes. Only the silver talisman of Selune remained secure on a chain around her neck.

When she stood on four paws, Feena butted Tal's flank with her narrow head before rushing out the alley through the legs of the paralyzed guards. The gesture said more clearly than words, "Run with me."

Together, they fled the alley. Pedestrians scattered at the sight of two wolves-all but one.

A man gazed at them from the street corner. Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore the rough woolen breeches and leather jerkin of a laborer. Thick mutton-chop whiskers gave the man a wild appearance, but Tal smelled a familiar scent on him. It was more than an animal scent. There was a familiar aura about the man, and Tal knew immediately he was like Tal and Feena-a werewolf.

Tal moved toward the man, growling. The stranger backed away, but Feena butted Tal again before he could close.

No, she was saying. This way.

Tal wanted to pursue the strange werewolf, to chase him off or fight him-he wasn't sure which. He ignored Feena and rushed forward. The stranger turned to flee, but two legs would never outrun four. Tal was almost upon him when Feena bit his flank.

Irritation more than anger spun him around to bite back, but the russet wolf was nimble. She slipped away before his teeth could catch her. Tal paused, torn between pursuing the stranger and chastising Feena. He turned toward the stranger, who was almost a street away.

Feena nipped him again, then ran away before he could bite back. This time he pursued her.

She was fast, but his legs were longer. He was almost upon her when she turned suddenly to run down a side street. His claws scraped on the cobblestones as he skidded to a halt before rejoining the pursuit.

People scattered before the wolves, and twice they ran past startled clusters of city Scepters. Once a bolt pierced Tal's shoulder, and he yelped as he rolled to break it loose. It came away easily, leaving an angry mark that soon healed over. It was no more harm than a mosquito bite.

Feena called to him in the wolf's voice, and he followed. His desire to punish her distracting attacks had faded, but he felt an urgent need to escape all the motion in the city. Dimly he knew that those crossbows could do more than sting, but even more he wanted wide spaces. In the city there were walls and buildings at every turn. He felt confined by the boundaries, harried by all the commotion wherever they ran.

At last, Feena led them to the city gates. The guards took one look at the running wolves and pushed open the gates, as one might open the shutters to free a bat caught in the house. Tal could smell their fear subside as he and Feena ran through the opening, leaving the city behind.

Beyond the walls of Selgaunt, they ran through grassy fields, heedless of the road. Feena nipped at Tal again, more playfully than before. He chased her again, but not for retribution. His anger and confusion were gone now, and he felt only joy at the wide freedom of the open land and the cool light of the radiant moon.

The chase continued until they were far out of sight and scent of the city. Still Feena led Tal along, nipping or butting him, or just feinting an approach before dashing away. Before long he learned the patterns of her play, and at last Tal caught her by the scruff of her neck. He held her tightly but without drawing blood, bearing her down to the ground.

Feena stopped struggling, at last laying her head down between her paws. Her scent was a strange blend of her human odor and animal musk. The combination evoked an uncomfortable but pleasant sensation in Tal. He released his grip and snuffled at her, drinking the smell of her. Rather than quench his desire, it inflamed him all the more.

Feena nuzzled him and licked his face. Their scents mingled, forming a heady blend of odors both male and female, human and wolf…

Tal's sudden passion was equal parts panic and desire. He wanted Feena, more than he'd ever wanted a woman- but not like this, not as wolves. Thoughts wrestled with emotions in a confusing tumble. He turned and walked away from Feena, trying not to look back.

He sat and listened for the sea, less than a mile away. It was but a black line on the horizon, discernable only by the reflection of the moon. Tal's ears pricked up to hear the faint susurrus of the waves. The constant rhythm soothed him, and gradually his racing heart slowed. He imagined himself floating gently on those waves, the water carrying him without filling his lungs. Slowly, slowly, he felt the wind in his fur become the breeze on his skin.

He looked down to see human hands, human legs. He looked up to see Selune shining full and bright above him. Behind her trailed the shards, sparking fragments of light. Feena had told him they were the goddess's servants, forever attending their Lady of Silver.

Warm hands touched Tal's shoulders. He turned to see Feena kneeling behind him. The moonlight washed away all but a few of her freckles and left her eyes big and dark.

"We're safe out here," she said. "No one will find us."

The warmth of her hands was thrilling and comforting at once. She stroked his shoulders gently, then pressed her hands against his back, leaning close. Tal could feel the warmth of her body only inches from his own skin.

"Thank you," he said. The words sounded feeble even as they left his lips.

"Are you cold?" she asked. Her lips were close to his ear, and he smelled her breath. Before he could answer, she added, "I am."

He turned and opened his arms to her. She nestled against his chest as if they were familiar lovers. Her artless gesture stole away his breath.

"I didn't want… I didn't know…"

He never finished whatever he was about to say. Feena pulled his face down to hers and stopped his lips with a long, warm kiss. It set his heart running once again, and he feared the wolf would overcome him once again. When their lips parted, their twined bodies were still human.

"I want," she said. "And I know."

She looked into Tal's eyes for assent, but he gave it with his lips.

They said no more that night, and when Selune passed her greatest height and descended gracefully to the far horizon, they fell asleep on the soft grass, their human bodies twined together.