"Right," growled Tal, dropping his sword. "That's it."
"Don't do it!" warned Mallion, lowering his sword and reaching for Tal. He was much too slow.
Tal was already halfway to the redbearded man, the audience scattering in his wake. Red was ready for the attack. Their fists struck home simultaneously, each cracking the other's jaw. The crowd went momentarily silent at the sickening collisions. Tal tasted blood and felt loose teeth in his jaw.
"Help him!" yelled Quickly from the stage door.
Instead, most of the groundlings scattered. Those few who fried to interpose themselves between the fighters soon regretted it and stepped back holding a bloody nose or bruised ribs.
Tal grabbed his opponent's beard and smashed his nose flat with a head-butt. Hot blood sprayed his face as the man shot a knee into Tal's stomach. Breathless, Tal let go and staggered back.
All around him, people were shouting, grabbing, or fleeing. The actors poured out onto the stage and into the yard. Quickly kept bellowing for order, but more brawlers joined the fray every second.
"Look out!" Chaney shouted from nearby.
Tal ducked just in time to let another big man fly over him, into the crowd. Despite the chaos, Tal smelled something on his new assailant that reminded him of the bearded man. They both had the same musky odor almost hidden by a faint smell of smoke. It seemed familiar, but Tal had no time to ponder it. Redbeard and his friend easily shrugged off the hands that tried to restrain them.
"Not bad," spat Red, grinning madly at Tal. Blood poured over his mouth and soaked his beard. "Maybe he is a hunter after all."
Rusk, thought Tal. Before he could ponder the idea, Red's companion was upon him.
Long brown sideburns flared from the man's cheeks, emphasizing his lupine features. He snarled as his long fingers encircled Tal's neck and thrust his thumbs into Tal's throat.
Tal tried to rip the hands away, but the man was far stronger than he looked. His fingers dug into Tal's throat, even as Tal strained to pull them away.
"This is how Rusk killed the old woman," said the stran-gler. "Maybe I'll do the same for you."
Maleva, thought Tal. Could they have killed Maleva?
Tal punched the man and felt ribs crack, but Red kept his inhuman grip. Tal punched again, feeling his own strength wane as his lungs ached.
The strangler gasped suddenly and loosed his grip. Tal pushed him away and caught his breath as his assailant turned to face his new opponent. Chaney darted away, unwilling to face the big man after his sneak attack. The big fellow clutched his back and pursued him.
Tal went after him, but Red stepped in the way. "Not so fast, Black Wolf."
"Who the hell are you?" growled Tal. Confusion and anger swirled in his mind. "You killed Maleva?"
"Oh, no," said Red. "She was the Huntmaster's. But maybe I'll get to do the daughter."
Tal's eyes flashed red, and heat surged in his brain. He acted without thought, lashing out and feeling flesh part under his suddenly clawed fingers. He lunged to bite out the man's throat, but Red blocked him with an arm. Tal's teeth sank deep into the man's flesh-far deeper than he imagined possible.
Red howled in pain, and Tal felt something buffet his back. Heedless, he slashed over and over at Red, tearing his arms to ribbons with huge claws. His mouth opened wide to scream at the man, but only an incoherent snarl came out.
"Get away!" shouted a woman.
Tal glimpsed a muscular woman pulling at Red, trying to lead him into the crowd. The strangler was at her side, staring at Tal in alarm and confusion.
"Look at him!" said the strangler.
Tal's vision blurred. He could see no clear details, but his eyes picked out the slightest movement: the pulse in the strangler's neck, the muscles in the woman's hands as she clutched the wounded man.
"Help me," said the woman, shouldering the wounded man.
The strangler obeyed, only too glad to flee from whatever he saw when he looked at Tal. His reaction stunned Tal more than the fight. What was happening to him?
The yard was a maelstrom of sounds, but Tal could pick out every voice. Chaney was shouting his name, as were most of the players. The man who'd taunted him from the gallery was yelling, "Get away! Get the hells away from him!"
A hundred other voices shrieked or panted for breath as players and spectators alike fled the scene of mayhem.
"Tal!" shouted Chaney again.
His voice was coming closer, and Tal turned to spot him. As their eyes met, Chaney stopped dead, staring at Tal's face.
Chaney, Tal tried to say. Again, no words took form. His mouth felt all wrong.
"Tal?" Chaney said. His eyes fell to Tal's hands.
Tal looked down to see two enormous claws where his hands had been. Even as he watched, the black hairs and claws shrank away, leaving only his own human hands.
"It's too soon," muttered Tal. "It's still light, and the moon-"
"No time for that," said Chaney. "We've got to get out of here."
He took a step toward Tal, then hesitated, afraid to come closer. The look of fear on his friend's face was even more horrible than the blood on his hands.
The yard was almost empty now, except for the players who stood well away from Tal and Chaney. Their faces were masks of fear and revulsion. Mallion bit his knuckle to stop a scream, while Sivana kept her eyes on the stage floor. Ennis gaped like a blowfish.
"Let's go," said Chaney. "This way, before the Scepters get here."
Dumbly, Tal nodded and followed Chaney onto the stage. All the other players moved away as they passed. Tal held his bloodied hands away from his body as if afraid they might turn on him at any moment.
Outside, the crowd had spread nervously around the playhouse. As Chaney and Tal emerged, someone cried, "They're the ones!"
Four city Scepters stepped forth, batons in hand. After one look at the blood on Tal's hands and face, they dropped the clubs and drew their swords.
"Get on the ground!" shouted one of them. In a lower voice, he ordered one of his men to summon help. That Scepter sheathed his sword and ran for reinforcements.
"Run for it," said Chaney.
Even as he spoke, another quartet of Scepters arrived from the opposite direction. There was no way to escape without a fight.
"No," said Tal. "It's over."
He put himself down on the street. Reluctantly, Chaney lay down beside him as the Scepters cautiously approached.
Chapter 15
Tarsakh, 1372 DR
Ronan's face was lily pale. Brigid and Karnek supported him on either side, practically carrying him along the street. Darrow led the way, while Sorcia lagged behind to watch for any sign that the Scepters were following.
"We're going the wrong way," said Karnek. "I thought you knew this city."
"In there," said Darrow, indicating a vacant alley as they approached the Oxblood Quarter. "We'll wait until sunset, then circle back."
"He's still bleeding," protested Brigid.
"You want to draw a big red line between us and the playhouse?" asked Darrow. "Here, lay him down, behind that pile of skins."
"Who put you in charge?" demanded Karnek. He and Brigid lowered Ronan to the ground.
"Rusk did," said Sorcia.
It wasn't strictly true, but Darrow was glad she had said it. Then he wondered why. Sorcia did nothing without a reason.
"He said nothing about leading the hunt," said Brigid. "He told you only to lead us to Uskevren."
She pulled the bloody tunic away from Ronan's ruined abdomen. Through the ragged wounds, Darrow glimpsed Ronan's glistening intestines. The sight would have made him retch a year earlier, but he had seen far worse since he'd started running with the pack.
"It wasn't a hunt," said Darrow. "Rusk said nothing about fighting him. Great Malar! Uskevren is the one who took off Rusk's arm. What were you trying to do down there?"