Black Wolf

Chapter 6

Tarsakh, 1371 DR

Tal endured the self-imposed captivity of another moon before winter began loosening its icy grip on Selgaunt. Frost still bit those who overslept their hearthfires, and some mornings revealed a light sheet of snow on the streets, but by noon the sun and traffic had cleared the cobblestone streets, and the smell of freshly turned earth rose from every garden in the city.

Before trying to slip unnoticed into the library at Stormweather, Tal and Chaney visited the booksellers at the market and in the city's shops. They searched for anything to do with werewolves, Selune, and the phrase that continued to trouble his thoughts: the Black Wolf. Eventually Tal found a few volumes that dealt with lycan-thropes, or nightwalkers as Feena had called them.

When he bought more than one book at a shop, the package came back across the counter with some curious looks from the seller.

"It's research for a play," Tal explained. He made a claw and menaced Chaney. "Grr!"

"Help!" cried Chaney in a credible falsetto.

The shopkeepers laughed politely, but the querulous looks vanished into smiling nods.

Once he was sure that Thamalon was away from home, Tal visited his father's library. It was one of the most eclectic in Selgaunt. If the Old Owl kept an entire shelf of tomes on elven lore, Tal figured he was bound to have a few volumes on religion. He discovered volumes ranging from The Speculum of Selune to The Visage of the Beast, yet none explained the overheard reference that Feena refused to discuss. Worse yet, they were all written in the elliptical manner of sages who fancied themselves poets. Tal briefly considered taking some of it back to the Wide Realms for a dramatic reading the next time the company needed a few laughs.

"It's pretty boring stuff," he told Chaney later. They had found a quiet corner at the Black Stag, a tavern close to the playhouse.

"But useful, right?" Chaney sat with his back to the wall, scanning the room each time newcomers arrived. Whenever Tal teased him for his paranoid habits, Chaney reminded that twice he'd spied a pickpocket creeping up on Tal. "The Black Wolf is another name for Malar."

"Maybe," said Tal. He'd known only a little about Malar before his recent studies, and what he'd learned since was little help.

The god of hunters was worshiped more widely in the country, especially the farthest wilderness. Like sailors who prayed to cruel Umberlee to spare them from her mighty wrath, farmers and herdsman made offerings to the Beastlord so that he might spare them from wild animals and monsters. City dwellers had little use for the ancient god. Among urban churches, the Beastlord was considered a primitive god. Powerful, to be sure, and older than most of the other dark gods, Malar's name was rarely spoken in civilized places. When it was uttered, it was by the lips of huntsmen who wished only for a fine trophy to bring home from their jaunt in the country.

Tal thought back to the night of his own hunting trip, when beasts raged out of the darkness to scatter the young men and women from Selgaunt. He had thought they were owlbears at first, but later he learned it was Rusk and his pack who had slain his fellows and inflicted him with their curse. What monsters they must be, to hunt humans like mere animals, to eat their kill.

They were cannibals.

More than any other aspect of his curse, it was that thought that most horrified Tal. It was a dire thing to kill a man, but the thought of preying on other humans was repellant to Tal. He loved fencing, and yet during the brief period in which he thought he'd killed a man, he considered putting an end to his own life lest he murder again.

The thought gave Tal pause. He could kill, if need be. He was sure of that. Should someone threaten his friends or family-even, gods help him, his annoying brother or overbearing father-he'd feel no qualms about cutting the offender into parts.

At least, that was his theory. Except for maiming Rusk in self-defense, Tal had yet to prove he could kill. He knew it was too much to hope that the silverback werewolf had crawled away to die. He must have made it back to his lair in the Arch Wood by now. Cheney's warning about going after him when Rusk was surrounded by his pack carried weight with Tal, but he hated the idea of just waiting to learn whether Rusk would return to trouble him.

Tal had learned this much through his readings, and they had discussed it before.

"Anyway, they call him a lot of things," said Tal. "Especially different kinds of dangerous animals: big cats, wolves, bears-you name it. Most often it's the Beastlord or the Black-Blooded Pard. The way Feena said it, though, I don't think all this necessarily has to do with Malar."

"But Rusk is a priest of Malar. What else could it mean?" Chaney looked sadly into his empty mug. Tal took the hint and raised a finger to the barkeeper, who nodded back.

"I don't know," admitted Tal. "It has to be something that wasn't in the books I found, probably something to do with Selune."

"Just because Maleva worships Selune doesn't mean this Black Wolf heresy comes from her sect," said Chaney. "Selune and Malar both figure in those werewolf stories, right?"

The conversation paused long enough for the skinny young barmaid to replace Chaney's ale and receive four pennies, a penny tip, and a half-hearted wink in return. As she sauntered away, Chaney peered into his purse before cinching the strings and tucking it back into his green jacket.

"Spend all your allowance already?" Tal took a sip of his own ale, still nursing his first mug.

Chaney looked up at him, an odd quirk on his narrow lips, as if Tal had made a joke but blundered the punch line. "Yeah," he said, plucking at his well-worn jacket. It was a once-fine garment of worsted silk, but it had seen far better days. The piping at cuff and collar was slightly frayed, and the patch on one elbow was slightly too dark. "Shouldn't have bought that new wardrobe."

"You really ought to retire that thing," suggested Tal.

"What, my lucky jacket?" said Chaney. He took a long drink of his ale and clapped the half-empty mug on the table. "So, you were saying something about Selune. If this Black Wolf business is to do with the moon goddess, then why didn't Maleva tell y6u more about it?"

"Aha!" said Tal, "That I can answer. If it is a heresy, you wouldn't expect it to be published anywhere, would you? The temple would suppress it."

Chaney nodded thoughtfully. "All right, that makes sense. So where do you find out what it means? Go back to Maleva?"

"No good," said Tal. "If she was willing to tell me, she would have done it already, but she said something about the high priestess of Selune in Yhaunn."

"Dhauna Myritar," said Chancy, "the one who gave her the moonfire potion."

"Right. Maybe she'll be willing to tell me things that Maleva held back."

"Maleva and Feena living so close to the Arch Woods," said Chaney, sitting up straight, "it makes me think they've got some special grudge against Rusk and his pack."

Tal nodded. The same thought had occurred to him.

"If that's true, then wouldn't they be experts on werewolves?"

"Say 'nightwalkers,' " said Tal, looking around. "And keep your voice down."

" 'Nightwalker' and 'lycanthrope' sound pretentious," said Chaney. "I don't know why you're so defensive about the word."

"I'm not defensive."

Chaney arched a dubious eyebrow.

Tal held up his palms and shrugged. "All right, maybe a little defensive."

"If Maleva's some werewolf expert, maybe she knows something this Dhauna Myritar doesn't. Or maybe Maleva lied about getting the moonfire from Myritar. Or maybe Maleva's the one who put all the conditions on giving it to you."

"Maybe Myritar would sell it to me," said Tal. He did not feel hopeful, but he was curious about this high priestess. "There's only one way to find out," said Tal. "You talked me out of werewolf hunting, but how about a short trip to Yhaunn?"

"You haven't been there before, have you?" asked Chaney.

"Once, when I was really young," said Tal, "but I don't remember it well. There are bridges and ladders and things all between the buildings by the docks, right."

"That would be the stiltways," said Chaney. "The whole place is a little seedier than Selgaunt."

"Sounds great to me," said Tal. "Want to come with me? I bet the nightlife is something else."

"I don't know," said Chaney. "It's kind of a bad time for me to run off. You've got plenty of time on your hands until the spring productions start up, but I've got some things-"

"That's all right," said Tal, waving away his friend's excuses. Chaney went on the ill-fated hunting trip under protest, feeling far more at home in the city than out in the wild. It was asking a lot to invite him back out on the road so soon afterward. Tal would have felt better with Chaney to watch his back, but he didn't want to twist his arm. "It's probably best that I go alone anyway."

Thamalon will have a fit if you go without a guard."

"Only if you tell him that I went," said Tal.

"You don't think he'll send someone to look for you if you're gone that long?"

"You can imitate my handwriting, can't you?"

"I haven't done that in years," said Chaney. "I'd need to practice."

"Fine, I'll leave you some samples. Check in with Eckert every couple of days. If there's an invitation from Storm-weather, just write an excuse. If it's Mother, write that I have a previous social engagement. If it's Thamalon, say I'm meeting a merchant from Turmish about importing musical instruments."

"They believe that crap?"

"Works every time," said Tal. "Well, maybe they don't believe it, but they leave me alone if I make the effort to concoct an excuse."

"How are you going to keep Eckert quiet? He can tell the Old Owl that you left town without mentioning the werewolf business."

"I'll deal with Eckert," said Tal, "but there is something else you can do for me."

Two days later, Tal was ready for his journey. Traveling to Yhaunn and back would take no more than a tenday. That left Tal a comfortable margin before the next full moon, when he would need to confine himself to the cage once more. If he needed more time, he could ride hard and make the return trip in only three days.

He wore a heavy woolen jacket over a simple blue tunic and his leather riding breeches and long boots. Over it all he threw a heavy gray cloak with ties rather than an expensive clasp. With Perivel's big long sword in a simple leather scabbard and a plain bundle of clothes and rations slung over his shoulder, he looked more like one of the Hulorn's outriders than a young noble of one of Selgaunt's richest families.

He said his farewells to Eckert and left the tallhouse at dawn. Chaney awaited him outside.

"Ugh," said Chaney by way of greeting.

"I thought I'd have to go looking for you," said Tal. "Sorry to get you up so early."

"You didn't," said Chaney. "Long night. Don't ask."

Tal suppressed a laugh but honored his friend's request. Chaney had probably drunk too much, gambled too much, or dallied too long with one of the tavern wenches he favored-probably all three. A few months before, Tal would have been at his side, indulging in the same wild behavior and providing the muscle to back up Chaney's barbed witticisms.

They walked up Alaspar Lane, turned west on Densar's Alley, and snaked around side streets before heading north on Galorgar's Ride. Passing beneath the fabulous water horses carved on the Klaroun Gate, they stepped onto the High Bridge. The wide span joined Selgaunt with Over-water, on the far bank of the Elzimmer River. To each side of the road were crammed tiny shops and ramshackle alehouses, the first and last effort by the petty merchants to separate travelers from their coins. Even at this early hour, the bridge was noisy with haggling voices and the rumble of cartwheels.

Beyond the High Bridge lay Overwater, a bustling staging ground for caravans and passenger carriages to the capital city of Ordulin. Tal had briefly considered booking such passage, but the convenience was outweighed by two other concerns. It was simple enough to give a false name when hiring a carriage, but there was always a chance that one of the other passengers would recognize an Uskevren. Moreover, the carriages traveled at a leisurely pace, taking five days for a journey that would take a lone rider only two.

Halfway across the High Bridge, Tal smelled grilled sausages and fresh bread as he and Chaney passed a tiny bakery beside the eastern rail. Far below, boatmen poled their barges across the Elzimmer, ferrying goods and passengers to the caravan staging area in Overwater or out into Selgaunt Bay.

"You want something to eat before setting off?" asked Chaney. He eyed the sausages greedily.

"Eckert made breakfast," said Tal, "but you go ahead."

"Ah…" Chaney made a show of searching for his purse. "Don't you have any change left?" The day before, Tal had given his friend a big leather purse containing more than a hundred gold fivestars.

"You said you wanted a really good horse."

"For that much, it had better have wings," warned Tal. Still, he chuckled and put a pair of silver ravens in Chaney's hand. "Get me one of those little loaves with the cheese inside."

"Um, why don't you get the food?" said Chaney, returning the triangular coins and looking over Tal's shoulder.

Tal followed his glance and spied a short, pot-bellied man standing beside a shallow alley between a fishmonger's shop and a cartwright's shack. The man was shorter than Chaney but with fish-white skin and thinning hair that formed a laurel around his head. He ignored Tal and impatiently crooked his finger at Chaney.

Tal.turned back to Chaney. Trouble?"

"No," said Chaney, but he glanced at Perivel's sword over Tal's shoulder. "I just need a word or two with this fellow."

"I hope she was worth it," joked Tal.

"Believe me," said Chaney, "she wasn't."

Tal sighed. He knew it was more likely a gambling debt than an offended brother or husband. "Need some money?" he offered.

"It's not that," said Chaney. "Don't worry. Won't be a minute."

He hurried across the cobbled street and disappeared into the alley with the short man, who put his arm around Chaney's slim shoulders in a patronizing gesture that Tal instantly disliked. He strained to hear what was happening, but the din of the traffic was too great.

He looked at the triangular silver coins in his hand, then slipped them into his jacket pocket and strode over to the cartwright's. He stood as close as he could without revealing himself to the alley's occupants. While he wanted to respect Chaney's privacy, he knew that some of the boaters lingered near the bridge to collect the reward for murdered bodies dropped from the High Bridge. It was already daylight, but Tal did not like the look of the man who had summoned his friend.

He cocked his head to listen and could barely make out some murmured words. Then he heard a painful gasp followed by hoarse coughing and retching.

Tal ran around the corner.

The space between the two little buildings was cluttered with junk. Stinking pots offish heads and offal lined the wall of the fishmonger's. At the far end was the stone bridge railing, rising three feet above street level.

Chaney was pressed up against the cartwright's shack. Two big men held his arms fast. One of them was bald, with an elaborate web of gold hoops and chains linking his left ear with his left nostril. It was the latest fetish among Selgaunt's elite, but Tal doubted this bruiser had bought it originally. More likely, some foolish young nobleman was walking around with a torn earlobe and nostril. The other big man was a hairy brute whose patchy beard barely concealed the network of scars that had ruined his face.

In the hammy grip of his captors, Chaney looked more thin and fragile than ever. The pot-bellied man dealt the beating. His eyes never left Chaney's as he spoke in a harsh whisper.

"… too late," he was saying. He grunted as he delivered another punch to Chaney's gut. Around his hands he wore hard leather strips studded with iron. "What made you think-?"

The man's rough voice cracked as he felt himself suddenly lifted from the slick cobblestones and hurled six feet away, where he smashed into the fishmonger's waste pots.

The men holding Chaney released him and took a step toward Tal, hesitating when they saw the big sword in his pack. Tal grinned back at them and tossed the sword and pack aside. The bald man raised his fists and stepped forward.

Tal was faster, stepping into the attack and batting away the man's guard with his left arm. His right fist flattened the man's nose and snapped his head back against the shack wall. Stunned, the big man sank to one knee. He shook his head, sending streamers of blood across both cheeks. The nose-ring fell away to dangle from his ear alone.

The other bruiser stepped between Tal and the pot-bellied leader, who shook fish guts from his arms.

"Stay out of this," he warned, glowering at Tal. "It's nothing to do with you."

"Go back, Tal," said Chaney. He remained where the brutes had held him and looked shaken but not seriously hurt.

The scar-faced man gave his boss a hand up, but he slapped it away and struggled back to his feet on his own. He was soaked from the waist down. "Listen to your friend."

"Chane," said Tal, "you know I can't just stand by and let-"

"Please, Tal," pleaded Chaney. "We're just going to talk."

"That's right," agreed Potbelly. "We're just having a little philosophical discussion."

Tal hesitated. He knew he was making things worse for Chaney, but he couldn't stand the thought of letting him suffer a beating.

"Then talk," said Tal, "but touch him again, and we'll find out whether you can swim."

"On second thought, maybe this does involve you," sneered the man. He glanced at his henchman and nodded at Tal. When they hesitated, he shouted, "Get him!"

By the wall, Chaney slapped a hand over his eyes.

Tal made a quick feint toward Baldy. When the bald man obligingly flinched, Tal turned quickly and kicked Scarface in the stomach. The man doubled over with a whoosh of breath.

Baldy threw his meaty arms around Tal's shoulders. He was even stronger than he looked, lifting Tal off the street. Tal shot an elbow into his gut, and the man relaxed his grip for an instant, only to shift it into a choke hold. Tal felt his eyes bulge from the sudden, crushing pressure. He shifted his weight to pull the man forward, but Baldy had his feet firmly planted and kept his hold.

Scarface staggered forward, still winded but recovered enough to slam his fist into Tal's sternum. He raised his fist for another blow, then fell over backward to reveal Chaney standing behind him, a heavy wooden spoke clutched in both hands.

Tal shoved Baldy backward, forcing him against the fishmonger's wall. The bruiser kept his hold, but then Tal jerked his head backward. The man's head cracked against the wall once, twice, and finally a third time before he sank to the street.

Tal staggered away, rubbing his throat and gasping. He looked for Potbelly, but the pale little man had made his escape. Near the street, Chaney peered back toward the city before turning back to Tal.

"We had better get out of here before the Scepters show up," he said.

He tossed his improvised club aside and threw Tal his pack. They emerged from the alley and headed north. Only a few questioning glances from the nearest merchants followed them.

"Listen, Ghane," said Tal. "I'm sorry-"

"Couldn't be helped," said Chaney. "After all, I can't expect my bodyguard to stand aside while some creep roughs me up, can I?"

Tal made a weak smile. Chaney had called him his bodyguard since Tal first defended him against bullies some ten years before, when they were boys.

"Of course, I can hardly stroll back through town unattended now," said Chaney. "You got enough money for another horse?"

Four days later, Tal and Chaney rode past the high walls of Castle Narnbra and descended into the port of Yhaunn. The midday sun shone through a light shower of rain, but it was still clear enough for a grand view of the city. It was set within a vast rock quarry whose gray cliff walls rose up to the encircling walls.

From the vantage of the castle entrance, Tal could see some of the city's most famous buildings, including the graceful spires of Glassgrafter's Hall and the four domes of Ordulin's Manshion, a huge and famous rooming house. Not far from Orgulin's was a tall, round tower that could only be Moonshadow Hall. Its soaring walls were adorned with bas-reliefs of graceful winged devas and other celestial beings. They were miniscule at this distance, but Tal thought he recognized the shapes of owls in place of gargoyles above the seven gates to the temple. The building reminded Tal of an overgrown playhouse, with its multiple entrances and a central courtyard open to the sky.

Elsewhere, the city seemed impossibly crowded by small houses. Some of them were so narrow that two could fit into Tal's Selgaunt tallhouse, which he considered rather cozy. The buildings were especially dense near the harbor, where the stiltways rose four stories above the street. The bustling market district was a dizzying conglomeration of shops and alehouses linked by rope bridges, ladders, swings, ramps, and even more improbable connections above street level. The waterfront was open to Yhauntan Bay, a gray expanse filled with trading cogs and barges.

After they secured lodging at Orgulin's, Tal immediately ordered hot baths and refreshments brought to their room. While waiting for the tubs, Tal composed a brief note of introduction and paid one of the inn's boys to deliver it to Moonshadow Hall.

Within an hour, two pairs of house boys arrived and set a couple of deep wooden bathtubs before the fireplace. With precise economy, they filled the tubs with hot water from the cauldron above the fire. As the boys worked, a maid set out a warm jug of brandy with two small cups, as well as dishes of candied fruit, spiced lamb, seeded bread, and pickled onions. Then she arrayed the clean clothes neatly while Tal and Chaney stripped off their travel-sodden garments and handed them over for laundering. The servants left with the dirty laundry and a coin for each of them.

Tal and Chaney stepped into the hot water with hisses, then sank down to their chins with sighs of contentment. For a long time, they let the heat dissolve the knotted muscles and cold aches of the journey while they sipped warm liquor and nibbled from the tray between them in contented silence. Only after Chaney had refilled their cups for the second time did Tal broach the subject that had been troubling his mind since they left Selgaunt.

"Who were those men on the bridge?" he asked. He was surprised that Chaney hesitated before answering, since he'd had the past three days to formulate an excuse for his latest predicament.

Chaney slowly slipped under the surface of the water. He remained submerged so long that a faint, irrational anxiety plucked at Tal's imagination. Before he became concerned enough to grab his friend by the hair and pull him out, Chaney raised his head out of the water. Rather than answer the question, he grabbed a bar of soap and began lathering his hair.

Vexation paced along the back of Tal's mind, but he did not repeat himself. Instead he followed Chaney's example and scrubbed himself clean with a lavender-scented bar before leaning back to soak up the heat again. The warmth gradually reached his bones as he tried to empty his mind as Master Ferrick had taught. The meditation was much easier while sitting in a hot bath, he soon discovered. He had almost pushed away the question of Chaney's trouble when a house boy returned with his reply.

Tal gave him a penny and broke the wax seal to read the note.

"That was quick," said Chaney. "Will she see you?"

"It doesn't say," said Tal. "But I have an audience tonight with someone, if I want it."

"You probably have to impress some functionary first."

"Probably," said Tal.

"Want me to go with you?"

"No," said Tal.

He folded the vellum sheet and exchanged it for his glass on the small table between the bathtubs. Both he and Chaney sipped their drinks and settled back into the silence that had fallen over them since the fight at the High Bridge. Tal wanted to know more about Chaney's problem, and he felt it was only fair to tell him since he had confided everything in his friend. Still, while he felt compelled to intervene when it came to blows, he would not stoop to nagging Chaney.

While he waited for Chaney to share his secret, however, Tal would drag his friend no further into his own private affairs. Maybe it was petty, he realized, but maybe it was prudent. If Chaney were mixed up with hard criminals, not just a few cheated gamblers or a gentleman's loan gone sour, then Tal had to consider how to limit his own involvement. Despite his relative independence from Thamalon and the rest of his family, he knew better than to invite real trouble back to Stormweather.

He only hoped Chaney was not in real trouble, and he wouldn't know until Chaney confided in him.

Tal was surprised to find that Dhauna Myritar was a short, plump woman of perhaps sixty or as many as eighty years. She had brown skin and eyes of no particular color, with laugh lines that reminded Tal of Mistress Quickly and perhaps also Maleva.

The high priestess wore her fine blue and silver gown as comfortably as a fishwife would an old shawl. It was all bustles and lace with a fantastical collar that rose high above the top of her head. In her coifed hair she wore a silver tiara of six crescent moons surrounding one perfect disk in the center. It should have looked ridiculous on her, but somehow it did not.

"May Selune guide your steps in the night and bring them to the new dawn," she greeted him. She had an air of comfortable formality, as though she'd said the words a hundred thousand times but still meant them honestly.

She handed the bright ceremonial scepter to one of the three young novices attending her before dismissing them from the room. It was a small, comfortable antechamber, thickly carpeted and appointed with furnishings that looked more appropriate for a gentleman's lounge than a temple. The servants had left a decanter of wine so white it was nearly silver, and the high priestess gestured for Tal to pour her a glass.

He obliged with practiced grace learned more from the stage than a courtier's habit, careful to hand it to her delicately and say, "Your grace."

"Thank you, Talbot," she said. She sat back and put her slippered feet up on a stuffed footstool. "You may call me 'Dhauna' when we're alone. Why, I feel as though I know you already. Oh, don't look so surprised. You are not stupid, and you needn't pretend to be."

"No," said Tal. "Of course Maleva told you about my problem."

"Oh, much more than that," she said.

She drained half of the wine from her glass in one smooth motion. Far from seeming crude, the gesture was natural and homey. Tal thought more than ever that she reminded him of Maleva.

"I see," said Tal, not knowing what else to say.

"To be honest, I expected you much sooner. Or else I expected you to go rushing off in search of Rusk. Revenge!" She lifted her glass like a sword.

Tal just stared at her. Each time she opened her mouth, she flabbergasted him anew.

"Actually," he admitted, "a friend of mine talked me out of that."

"Good friend," she said, finishing her glass and raising it for a refill. Tal poured again. "You'll need good friends if you plan to keep your curse a secret. But you can't keep it that way forever, you know."

"Yes," said Tal. "That's why I'm here. I want to know more about-"

"You want to know more about moonfire and why you can't buy any," she said. This time he was not surprised. "That part is simple. It won't work for you. You could drink a barrel of the stuff-if it weren't a sacrilege, that is-and the best it might do is cure your sniffles or maybe make you glow in the dark for a while."

"But Maleva said-"

"Maleva said it would control your shapechanging for seven moons."

"Right."

"But only if you worship Selune."

"Yes, that was the deal."

"It wasn't a deal, Talbot. Mind if I call you Tal?" She was sipping on her wine now, but her cheeks were already pleasantly flushed. "She was explaining how it works. It suppresses the call of the moon if you are a worshiper of Selune."

"Oh," said Tal. "That's not exactly the way she put it."

"That is exactly the way she put it," said Dhauna. "It's just not exactly the way you heard it. Drink some wine. You look confused."

"Thank you," he said, following her example and draining half his glass in one smooth draught. He frowned to think he'd come all this way only to hear the high priestess of Selune tell him the same thing Maleva had already told him.

"Now you look sad. I like you the other way better. Drink some more."

At that, Tal laughed softly. Dhauna's banter took the edge off his disappointment far better than more wine could ever do.

"You're welcome among the faithful," she said in a less frivolous tone. "You truly are, and not just because the ratio of women to men is approaching eight to one. In fact, I think you will find eventually that your place is among us."

Tal shook his head gently, but she spoke again before he could comment.

"Just not yet," she said gently, reaching over to pat him on the knee. The gesture seemed far more friendly than patronizing.

"No," Tal agreed. "It's not that I mean any disrespect."

"I know," said Dhauna. "You're just a bit of a hot-head, a little too young, a little too wild. Our job is to see that you have a chance to grow out of it."

Tal wasn't sure whether he liked the sound of "our job," but he already knew he liked Dhauna Myritar and wanted to hear what she had to say. He had not done a particularly good job of listening to advice from Maleva and Feena.

"I do need help," said Tal.

"Then I'll send you someone," said Dhauna. "It will take some tune to arrange, but soon. In return, you must provide room and board, and you must listen and take what she says seriously."

"She?"

"One of our initiates," said Dhauna. "As you might have noticed, most of our clergy are women."

"Chaney would like it here," said Tal.

"So would you," said Dhauna. Before he could protest, she added, "Just not yet."

They smiled at each other.

"There is one thing that Maleva didn't tell me," he said as she sipped some more wine. "I overheard her daughter say something about a Black Wolf heresy."

Wine spurted from Dhauna's nose. She caught most of it in the glass, which she set aside.

"Your grace, I didn't mean-"

"It's all right," she said, mopping her chin with a handkerchief drawn from her sleeve. "I should have expected that. Just don't mention it openly, not here. After all, it is a heresy."

"Of course."

"You know what heresy means? It means it's untrue. Still, it's a big lie that comes from some little truths. Did you tell Maleva when you were born?"

"Yes, she asked me that. The time, too."

"Were you born during a new moon?"

"I don't know. She didn't say anything more about it."

Dhauna sighed.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, it means either you were born under a black moon or you weren't. We don't know, since Maleva enjoys being mysterious. That works well with the people where she lives, but it's annoying to civilized people like you and me."

Tal chuckled.

"That wasn't a joke," she said, frowning.

Tal wiped the smile from his face, but he felt a blush rise to his cheeks.

"But that was," said Dhauna, shaking her head mirthfully. "Don't be so gullible."

"You don't seem very much like a high priestess," said Tal.

"You don't seem very much like a werewolf," she replied. "Not tonight, at any rate."

"About the Black… thing… business," he prompted.

"If you were born during a black moon, a new moon, then it might be easier for you to learn how to ride the moon. That's our poetic and mysterious way of saying, learn how to control the change."

"Why didn't Maleva tell me about that?"

"Well," said Dhauna, "perhaps she was trying too hard to persuade you to join the temple."

"That can't be it. She was really trying to help me. I can't believe she would just leave out telling me that I can control the change."

"You haven't proven that you can," said Dhauna. "Not everyone succeeds at it, especially those bitten by wolves, boars, and the other savage beasts. Those who suffer the benign lycanthropy have it much easier."

"Benign lycanthropy?"

"Werebears, for instance," said Dhauna. "They are not as susceptible to the call of the Huntmaster."

"You mean Malar, don't you?"

She nodded.

"He's also called the Black Wolf, isn't he?"

"Sometimes my attendants listen at the door," she said. "Don't embarrass me."

"Sorry."

"The temple of Selune does not actively oppose the Beastlord," she said. "We're not friendly with his followers, and some of our clerics take it upon themselves to defend folk against lycanthropes-with our blessing, naturally- but we concern ourselves primarily with other evils."

"Like Shar and Mask," suggested Tal. He had read that the clerics of Selune were especial enemies of the goddess of darkness and the god of thieves.

"Exactly," she agreed. "There are so many dark gods, and we of Selune's faithful must devote our energies to thwarting the minions of her foes."

"And Malar is not one of her foes."

"No," said Dhauna. "Not in the same way."

Tal had a glimmer of insight, a half-formed idea that dissolved even as he tried to make it take shape. Somehow he realized that he had almost grasped a hidden truth, but it had slipped away. Its passing left another, lesser question.

"Maleva is not in good standing with the temple, is she?"

"No," allowed Dhauna. "Even though we are old friends, she has chosen a different path."

"Because she wants to oppose Malar."

This time Dhauna's sigh was full of weary resignation. 'The matter is more complicated than you know, for reasons that I won't share with you."

Tal thought about what she had said. "You said Svon't.' "

"I did."

"One of the Old Chauncel-the old families who run Selgaunt-one of them would have said 'can't.' "

"But that would have been a lie, Tal."

He smiled. Perhaps he had not found all the answers he had hoped for, but he trusted this Dhauna Myritar, and through her he trusted Maleva more than ever, despite her mysterious ways.

"Thank you," he said, standing up to bow to the cleric. "May I visit you again some day?"

She rose and offered him her hand, raising one sly eyebrow. "Are you already considering joining us?"

"No," he said, "but perhaps we could sit and drink some wine."