Matt didn't answer. He sprinted on past her, out into the night. He heard Stegoman bellow something slurry after him and a shout from Sir Guy, but he kept on running. Somehow, he was certain he didn't dare let the wolf get away.
It was a fine night for a chase, with a bright, full moon and wide-open country. There wasn't a bit of cover for the wolf to hide in, except for an occasional clump of boulders. Matt ran at a jogging lope, keeping the moving dot of the werewolf in sight.
The wolf was running on three feet, but it showed no sign of weakening. Werewolves were supposed to have amazing recuperative powers. The wound from silver would be slow to heal, but fatigue was no problem; it would recoup as quickly as it tired.
Matt wasn't so lucky. He was already tired.
He stopped to catch his breath. Then the idea hit. He'd projected those townmen fifty feet, right after he arrived. If he could do it to them, he could do it to himself. He thumbed through an imaginary rhyming dictionary in his head.
Matt felt a slight jolt and was looking across a different section of the empty plain. As he turned, he could see a black dot limping along, far behind him.
Matt sighed. He'd overshot. Well, he hadn't exactly been specific. Maybe he could do better this time.
And he was. Thirty feet away, the wolf was suddenly slamming on brakes. It jarred to a stop six feet from him, snarling. Matt dropped to a crouch, knife out and ready.
With a snarl of fury, the wolf leaped in, feinting. It hopped to the side and leaped in at his face. Matt dodged to the left, swiping with the blade, but he missed the wolf by an inch. It landed and spun to face him, rage grating in its throat, stalking around him stiff-legged.
Now Matt was faced with a problem. He was pretty sure who the wolf really was, so he didn't want to kill it; but somehow he knew he didn't dare let it get away, either.
The wolf sprang, dodging out, then in again, in a series of dazzling leaps. Matt fell back, but teeth slashed his hand and claws raked his arm. The wolf danced about him, snarl rising to a high, manic pitch, never missing a chance to draw blood. And this with just three legs! Matt felt he'd underestimated the man under the fur. He swore, trying to keep the knife between himself and it; but as soon as he pointed the blade, the wolf was gone to the side.
It could keep this up all night. But Matt couldn't; his endurance was improving, but he was still mortal. He had to end it, and soon.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a tall cluster of boulders, cutting a swathe of inky shadow across the moon-silvered turf. He dropped back, retreating a foot at a time. The wolf's growl rose exultantly, and it pressed the attack. In and out, in and out, and Matt fell back and back. He stepped into shadow and readied his verse. Then the wolf leaped in after him, out of the moonlight. He called out,
The wolf howled in anguish as it fell, scrabbling in the dust. Its form blurred, seemed to lengthen, then to shrink in on itself, and a naked man lay writhing in the dust.
He saw the arm in front of his face and froze. Then he rolled up to his knees, staring up at Matt in horror and shame.
Matt scowled, feeling the fun go out of the night. "Good evening, Father."
The priest clapped his hands over his face, bowing his head. "Turn away! Do not look at me! I am a thing too foul for human sight!"
Matt's mouth hardened at the comers. He turned a little away, so that he wasn't looking directly at the priest. Might as well spare him as much embarrassment as he could.
Father Brunel dropped his hands, eyes widening, startled. He looked down at his midriff and saw a loincloth bound in place. He looked up at Matt. "I thank you," he said slowly. "But it can only cover my shame, not remove it."
Matt frowned, puzzled. "If it shames you, why didn't you guard against its happening?"
The priest rose slowly, shaking his head. "It is not so easily done, short of locking myself in my chamber when the moon rises - and I could not do that tonight."
"No, I mean about going were at all. Or can't you do anything to stop it?"
The priest managed a tight, ironic smile. "Aye - purge myself totally of all lusty wishes. But if there's even the thread of such a coveting left, I go were."
"And with Sayeesa nearby...?"
"Aye." Brunel's voice was tight and bitter. "Yet the princess commanded me to come."
"Okay, so you had to go were. But couldn't you have just run out across the moor and chased rabbits all night?"
Brunel shook his head. "When I am wolf, there is nothing of conscience, pity, or remorse left within me. All that's left are appetites."
Matt pursed his lips, digesting that. "Under those circumstances, doesn't your ... choice of vocation ... seem a little..."
"False?" Brunel shook his head, with a sardonic smile. "I fled to the Church for a purification, Lord Wizard. I sought to banish this hidden nature - for look you, 'tis a thing of evil, to be such a beast with no conscience; and evil must therefore begin it. So I bethought me of purification - if I could keep my heart clean, I would not turn wolf. What else could I do, not wishing to wreak anguish? Suicide's a sin. Nay, when I found what I was, I fled to the Church."
" 'Found what you were?' " Matt looked up sharply. "You didn't grow up knowing it?"
The priest frowned, puzzled; then his brow cleared with a rueful smile. "Why, did you think I was born thus? Nay; or, if I was, it did not show in my childhood. I was a peasant's son, like any other, playing with my fellows and doing children's work. I did not fear the full moon's light till I began to be a man."
Matt pursed his lips. "About thirteen?"
"Twelve, for me. 'Twas then the sight of a neighbor lass quickened first my blood and shot heat through my loins. But I had been raised by chapel, bell, and Book; so when I caught myself at the bare beginning of wondering what lay beneath her bodice, I spurned the thought and turned it from me. Yet 'twas a struggle to do so, a struggle that became more difficult; and at last I yielded, staring, and lay awake that night to dream of answers and of actions."
"A night with a full moon?" Matt suggested.
Brunel nodded. "I wakened suddenly in the moonlight. The house seemed strange and fearsome. I bolted from my bed and leaped out through the window. I noticed that I had four feet and fur; yet it seemed not strange at all. I scarce had space to think of anything, save to seize the lass, to taste her flesh, to roll my tongue over that fair body, and ... no!" He buried his face in his hands, fingers clenching in his hair.
"You're in the shadow." Matt clasped the priest's shoulder, shaking him. "You can't turn without moonlight, can you?"
Brunel swallowed thickly and shook his head. "And dawn transforms me back again. When the morning came and sunlight touched me with its blessed, healing wand, I became myself again, horrified at that which I had sought to do."