"Tell us more about these quarrels," said Rusk. "Leave nothing out, and everyone listen well. We will have a new High Hunt this summer, and we must learn all we can about our prey."
"Why go to the city to hunt?" asked Ronan.
"Because it is the will of Malar," said Rusk.
From her place across the fire, Sorcia snorted. A few of the others nodded. They, too, doubted the wisdom of ranging not only far from home but also into the walled confines of Selgaunt.
Rusk counted the disapproving voices with flicks of his eyes before speaking again. "On the night of the Black Wolf, we shall hold a High Hunt for a new Huntmaster."
The rest of the pack murmured and shifted uncomfortably.
"That is all you must know for now."
"We have faith in you, Huntmaster," said Morrel, standing, "but we are too few to venture into the city. Even you, our mightiest hunter, did not return unscathed. Perhaps we should gather the other People."
Darrow had heard tales of other convocations of People of the Black Blood scattered throughout the world. Not all of them wore the form of wolves when they hunted, but all could change shape, and all embraced the truth of the Black Blood. They were the Hunter's chosen, set above the other creatures of the world.
"The honor is for our pack alone," Rusk said. "Malar spoke to me, not to the other pack leaders. His will is clear to me. We will go to the city on the moon after Greengrass, and there we will hold the High Hunt among the gathered herd. But our prey will be no lamb-it will be the Black Wolf himself."
"But…" Morrel stood, struggling for the words. "Are you not the Black Wolf?"
"I was," said Rusk, "and I am. Mine is the spirit of the Black Wolf, but the vessel runs apart from us. We must fetch it back when Malar casts his cloak against the sky."
"But how…?"
"All will be revealed in time," said Rusk. "For now, let us hear more of the new Black Wolf, for soon he shall be our prey."
On the appointed day, Rusk led them south. He took only the best hunters, leaving behind a half dozen adults to defend the children at the lodge.
They made no effort to avoid Maleva's territory. Darrow considered asking the Huntmaster whether he intended to force a confrontation, but he decided it was better not to remind Rusk of their retreat last time they encountered the cleric of Selune. Darrow would be glad never to see her again, but he had a sinking suspicion that Rusk wanted her to face the full strength of the pack.
They took wolf form for speed. Darrow was proud to be among those who did not require Rusk's magical compulsion to transform. It was easier at night, especially under the gibbous moon. Rejoined the cluster of strongest wolves around Rusk, half expecting one of Rusk's favorites to warn him off. None of them did.
Sorcia ran nearby, as did Ronan, Morrel, Brigid, and a few more of the best hunters. Darrow thought Rusk continued to favor him in part to counteract Sorcia's influence. Whatever the white wolf whispered among the rest of the People, Darrow reported to Rusk. Sometimes he worried whether the other pack members suspected his role in keeping the Huntmaster apprised of such gossip. He was certain Sorcia suspected him, but that did not stop her from continuing her subtle efforts at subversion.
They traveled fast, resisting the lure of game trails and fresh scents. Those who traveled out of sight called out their positions. The mournful sound would once have terrified Darrow, but now he found it comforting. It meant friends were nearby. His own voice joined the reply when it was their turn to howl.
By midnight they neared the edge of the wood, running along a wide clearing that ended in a thin screen of trees. Beyond them, Darrow remembered, lay the first of the farmsteads. The muscles in his back and shoulders began to tense, and his mane bristled in anticipation of an attack.
He did not have long to wait.
A huge bird descended silently toward the pack, blotting out the moon and the stars with its passage. It was a gigantic owl with a wingspan over three times Darrow's height. The wolves flinched as they sensed its presence then turned to look at it as it screeched, passing them.
It was the perfect distraction.
A shower of arrows fell among the pack, many sprouting from the wolves' bodies. Darrow felt fire crease his ribs and tried to dance away from it. The arrow had only grazed him, but the pain was sharp and persistent.
"Silver!" he wanted to yell, but all he could do was bark a general warning. It was redundant, as all the wolves could now smell the human scent nearby.
A second volley fell on the nearest cluster of wolves. A wolf called Corvus yelped and thrashed on the ground, then lay still.
Rusk ran for the edge of the wood with four wolves following close behind. Darrow ran after them in time to see five archers retreating from the tree line. They did not panic, nor did they fall back far, for they had an ally.
A lion the size of a cottage covered their retreat.
Its pelt was incandescent, as white as the swollen moon. The moonlion's mane was a brilliant corona, and its eyes were blue flames. Its open mouth looked like a cavern full of swords. With a thunderous roar, it ran toward the oncoming wolves.
Darrow hesitated, cowed by the sight of the colossal beast. Ahead of him, Rusk paused only long enough to see that a dozen more wolves had emerged from the forest. Then he rushed toward the lion. At first he looked awkward on his three legs, but he was still nimble enough to dart away to avoid the monstrous lion's pounce. Even from his safe distance, Darrow felt the vibration as the lion's immense mass hit the ground.
The wolves ringed the giant lion, darting in to bite at its flanks when they dared. Ronan's teeth caught the lion's thigh, and the creature roared as it whirled around to slash at him. Ronan barely escaped the scythelike claws, leaping away as they formed deep furrows in the earth where he had crouched an instant earlier.
Rusk and Morrel took advantage of the lion's distraction, wetting their fangs before retreating. The lion's blood was black under the moonlight. Darrow saw that its tiny wounds closed almost as quickly as they appeared.
Rusk must have noticed it as well, for he broke off to leave the rest of the pack harrying their foe. The great sil-verback rose up on his hind legs, smoothly transforming into human form. He stood naked except for the bronze talisman of Malar.
Pointing at the archers, he chanted a prayer to Malar. Red light flashed from his hand to strike the men. Three of them loosed their arrows, while two stood paralyzed by Rusk's magic.
"You," he shouted at the wolves nearest him, including Darrow. "Kill them all."
Eight nightwalkers and dire wolves broke off at his command, but the archers also heard. They adjusted their aim and shot at their attackers. Two wolves went down, and Brigid shied away with an arrow through her hind leg.
Darrow ran under the legs of one of the men, knocking him to the ground. Before he turned back to bite the man, Sorcia was already at the archer's throat. Her muzzle was dark with blood.
The other wolves had already dispatched the moving archers. Darrow and Sorcia leaped on the paralyzed archers, knocking their rigid bodies to the ground.
"Get away from them!" snapped a woman's voice.
Without daring to look toward the woman, Darrow sprinted out of the way just in time to avoid the searing ray of silver light that washed over the other wolves. Two of them vanished in a red mist, while the other three yelped and ran for the woods.
Like Darrow, Sorcia had not hesitated to flee at the sound of Maleva's voice. After avoiding the initial attack, she turned toward the cleric. Darrow wanted nothing to do with the terrible magic she cast, but he couldn't leave Sorcia to face her alone. He ran close behind, cursing her silently.
They would have hit her before she could invoke her goddess again, but a powerful compulsion made Darrow veer away at the last moment. He saw that the magic had the same effect on Sorcia.