"A stag," called a man, "with his great horns and swift legs."
"My hunters are swifter still. You must choose better."
"The owlbears, with their sharp beaks and talons."
"The claws of my hunters are more keen. Is there no prey worthy of my hunters?"
"A man," called Radu from outside the circle, "with his weapons and his wits."
Darrow turned to see his master already mounted, the lead to his own horse secured to his saddle. Then he realized what Radu had been discussing with Rusk when he saw his own horse tethered to Radu's saddle. Without Stannis present to object, Radu had finally disposed of him.
"That prey is fit and worthy of my hunters," responded Rusk. He turned his eyes to Darrow, and the entire congregation rose to form their own circle among the stone teeth, blocking his escape.
"The prey may take whatever weapons he desires," declared Rusk. He pointed directly up. "The hunt begins when the moon touches the highest vault of heaven. It ends when the land has swallowed her up again."
"Wait!" cried Darrow. He realized his words were useless, but he could not stop himself. "I'm not worthy of your Hunt, but he's the greatest swordsman in Selgaunt." He pointed at Radu, then immediately dropped his hand as their eyes met. He was desperate indeed to draw the ire of Radu Malveen.
"The prey has been chosen," declared Rusk.
"No," called a deep voice from the congregation.
A man with a big, solid belly stood forth, his muscles round and hard as stones. The silver in his black hair and beard marked him as a veteran, if not one of Rusk's generation. Darrow saw that his objection carried weight among the other pack members.
"The lamb is right, Rusk. The other city man is far worthier prey than this cringing whelp. Show us that your city dealings are truly over."
Among the pack rumbled murmurs of assent.
Ronan stepped forth from the pack. "Bloodmaster, your return brings us great joy. It is an occasion deserving of great honor and sport. Listen to Gorland. Let the hunt be of worthier prey."
Rusk looked down at Ronan, then back toward Gorland who had first spoken. "Is this how you honor my return?"
Neither of the men replied, but the crowd stirred restlessly, watching for any sign of weakness. Darrow realized that they could easily turn on Rusk.
"If you prefer to hunt that man," he said to Gorland, "then bring him before me."
The big man smiled and nodded to the Huntmaster. He had the look of a man who knew he'd just won much respect among his fellows. The smile remained as he walked over toward Radu.
The swordsman removed his gloves as he watched Gorland approach. He wore the expression of a man tired of waiting for his driver to open the carriage door.
Gorland raised his arm to take Radu by the shoulder. To Darrow's eyes, Radu merely stepped backward while flicking one hand toward the big fellow. Everyone heard the rasp of steel, once as it left the scabbard, then again as it returned. The sounds were so close together as to seem like one prolonged sigh.
"Ah!" said Gorland.
He stopped and stood still, his arm still raised to grasp a shoulder that had suddenly moved six feet away. He shook his head as though perplexed or stunned, then clutched at his face. His hands came away slick with blood. Twin torrents descended from his ruined eye sockets, filling his gaping mouth.
The horses stood calmly by, unaware of the violence so close to them.
"Does anyone else question my selection?" From the advantage of the stone altar, Rusk looked over his followers. His gaze lingered on Ronan, who lowered his face and stepped back. When he was satisfied of no further challenges, Rusk called out to Radu. "Go, now."
He watched Radu Malveen ride slowly out of the firelight and into the dark forest. Then he leaped from the altar and strode over to Darrow.
"Give us a good hunt," Rusk said. "Elude us until dawn, and all honor is yours. You may ask any boon, and it shall be granted."
"But if you catch me?" asked Darrow. He tried to compose a brave face before the assemblage of hunters, but fear cracked his voice.
"Then we will honor you another way," said Rusk with a toothy smile.
Chapter 10
Kythorn, 1371 DR
Tal sat cross-legged in his cage. The cool basement air raised goosebumps on his flesh, for he wore only a kilt borrowed from the playhouse wardrobe. It was loose enough to fall away when his hips grew long and narrow, but for now it provided a slight modesty. His hands lay open upon his thighs, and his head drooped slightly as he held his eyes closed and listened.
"Now lean back and float. Let the water hold you up. You can still hear the surf as the waves gently carry you deeper."
Feena sat on a stool near the cage. He had asked her to stay farther back, but she had ignored his request. Whatever else she might be, the cleric was not afraid of him in any form.
Tal tried to let his mind drift with the imaginary currents. Feena had decided that water was the best focus for him after listening to his descriptions of his previous transformations.
"The sea is a reflection of the moon," she explained, "moving with Selune's own passage, just as you do, just as everyone does."
"Every nightwalker, you mean."
"No, every living creature responds to the moon in some way. Men are simply less sensitive to her passing. That makes it harder for you to learn to ride the moon."
Tal began to object, but then he realized the truth of what she was saving.
"Is that why most clerics of Selune are women?" he asked.
"Part of the reason," Feena answered, nodding. "It's easier for a woman to learn how to ride the moon. For you, who haven't felt the passage of the moon all your life, it helps to think of something like the tide. Imagine yourself as part of the sea, ebbing and flowing with the moon."
And so he tried exactly that as he and Feena sat in the basement of his tallhouse, but he found it far harder than he had expected. Troubling thoughts continued to intrude on his meditation. Some of them were the lingering suspicions he harbored about Feena's motives for helping him, and Dhauna Myritar's for sending her to Selgaunt when she and Maleva lived so far away. It made sense to send someone who had fought against nightwalkers for so long, but he suspected the greater appeal was the opportunity to study one closely.
The thought made him feel paranoid and ungrateful at the same time, but it was hard to set aside his doubts.
Even worse were his concerns about Chancy, who had had become increasingly scarce since the journey to Moon-shadow Hall and Feena's subsequent return to Selgaunt. Feena joked that he was jealous that Tal had given her the guest room that Chaney had occupied so frequently before. Tal suspected the truth involved Chaney's criminal associates. He no longer deluded himself into thinking that his friend's problems were confined to a gentleman's wager or a social dispute. Somehow he had gotten himself into real trouble with Selgaunt's underworld, and Tal's interference had only made things worse. Finally, Tal's persistent questions had driven off his only close friend.
"You aren't focusing," said Feena. "You'll drown if you let yourself become distracted."
"Drowning" was the word Tal used to explain the helpless sensation he felt the first several times he underwent the change. It was an apt description, agreed Feena, but the trick was not to resist the sensation of an intruding force. It was the draw of the moon, and it was as much a lure as an invasion. Those who let it pull them only so far from their own minds could establish equilibrium. They could remain conscious during the transformation and afterward, and with training retain control of their animal selves.
"When the waves wash over you, don't struggle. The goal is not to swim but to float. Try not to listen to my words, just hear them and imagine floating on the sea. Think of the vast, dark water gently rocking you."