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.
Chapter 13
Winter, 1372 DR
The Year of Wild Magic
The pack settled in for the winter. The snow limited their ranging, but they continued to hunt in all but the most violent weather. In case game was scarce, they also had plenty of salted meat and vegetable stores from the northern communities. It was both tribute and thanks for the hunting they had done for the northern settlements in the tendays before the Feast of the Stag.
The werewolves remained in the lodge most days. They tended chores for only a few hours each day, stitching clothes, mending weapons, and repairing the lodge itself.
The pack included only six children under thirteen. They ran with the adults soon after they could walk, and few of them survived to make their rites of adulthood at thirteen. Those who did were strong and cunning. Despite his growing acceptance by the pack, Darrow knew he was still less dangerous than some of these cubs of ten years or younger.
The pack spent less time on work than they did amusing themselves with simple games and stories. Darrow earned more esteem among the pack by teaching them a game of stones he learned as a boy. He carved the triangular grid on several planks to pass around, and soon everyone was playing "Barrow's Stones."
He also found himself a popular storyteller. Even though he had no gift for it, he could reconstruct bards' tales the others had never heard before, and he remembered a few plays he had seen in Selgaunt. He even recalled seeing Talbot Uskevren perform on one or two occasions, though he didn't find the young man remarkable at the time.
"Why did Rusk not bring him back to us?" asked Morrel.
"Have you seen him clap lately?" remarked Sorcia. Since their ignoble retreat from Maleva's cottage, the white elf disparaged the Huntmaster at every opportunity.
Morrel ignored Sorcia. "More importantly, why did he want him in the first place? I know it has to do with the Black Wolf prophecy, but what the hell is that?"
"Don't you listen?" said Brigid. She lowered her voice and mimicked Rusk's resonant baritone. "The Black Wolf will lead us in the wild hunt across all the land to reclaim our rightful territory."
"Enough of that," snapped Morrel.
"Afraid he might hear you?" asked Sorcia.
"I'm not the one mocking the word of Malar," he said. "Rusk knows something he can't tell us yet. It's a test of our faith in him, and in the Beastlord."
Sorcia raised her eyes toward the ceiling.
"What is the Black Wolf?" asked Darrow. "The way he says it it sounds like it's something everyone knows about."
"You know how you learn to change without the moon?" said Brigid.
Darrow nodded.
"That's part of it," she said. "You learn to control your transformations even when the moon is completely dark; you're one step closer to the Black Wolf."
"It's also part of who we are," added Morrel. "Some nightwalkers are really just beasts. They have no code, no community. Most of them are slaves to the moon-they don't have the Black Blood like us. Others are tamed to join the herd. That's what the Selunites do. They cut off your balls to make you gentle."