Fortunately, Cale did not object to the use of his familiar name, though his eyes narrowed slightly.
'Good day, Master Talbot,' he said. Then he was gone.
Chaney waited until the gaunt man was out of sight. 'Erevis, is it? Whatever happened to 'Mister Pale*?'
'Shut up, Chane,' said Tal. 'He might hear you.'
Tal walked along the wall of blades with a purpose. While there were dozens from which to choose, only one held any interest to him.
When he was ten, Tal worshiped his uncle Perivel, whom he had never met. Thamalon's older brother had perished the night the Uskevren's rivals tore down the original Stormweather Towers. He died defending the house against other members of the Old Chauncel, who had come to punish Aldimar Uskevren for trafficking with pirates. In a nation of powerful merchants, there was no greater form of treason than to steal from your neighbors.
Among his other youthful glories, Perivel had ridden out after bandits in his day. After one foray, he returned with the head and sword of a notorious ogre chieftain whose forces had virtually halted commerce from the Dale- lands. He often carried the monstrous blade for show, but it was too big for even the Great Bear to employ.
Two thick iron bolts held the big sword up on the dueling hall's southern wall. At its broadest, the blade was wider than Tal's hand was long. The dull gray metal never rusted nor did it gleam with an ever bright enchantment. It had a place of honor, away from the other swords. To each side, big kite shields bearing the horse at anchor guarded its flanks.
'You can't be serious,' said Chaney when he saw where Tal's eyes came to rest. 'Thamalon will kill you.'
'Nobody else uses it,' said Tal.
'Nobody else can lift the damned thing.'
Ignoring his friend, Tal took the huge weapon into his hands. It was every bit as heavy as it looked. He liked the feeling. Its grip was too short for a bastard sword, at least for someone with Tal's big hands, yet it was much heavier than any long sword he'd ever held.
'That's not a sword,' said Chaney. 'It's a plough with airs above its station.'
'Hmm,' grunted Tal. He hefted the blade in one hand, then extended it toward the heart of an imaginary foe. The point dipped, causing Tal to drop his shoulder to compensate.
'Imperfect!' quipped Chaney in a poor imitation of Master Ferrick, their sword instructor.
Tal grinned. 'A little more weight in the pommel would do the trick.' He handed the big sword to Chaney, who wilted under its weight.
'Great gods!' said Chaney. 'Why not just use a lamppost?'
'I like it,' said Tal, taking the blade back.
He turned to one of the practice dummies, its surface marred by thousands of cuts, and whirled backward to deal a mighty slash to the target. To his surprise, the blade cleaved through both the sturdy wicker exterior and the iron post that held it up. The mutilated dummy listed heavily to one side, its spine severed.
'Nine Hells!' cursed Chaney. 'Remind me never to piss you off when you've got that thing.'
Tal gazed appreciatively at the sword and made a low whistle. 'Must be enchanted after all,' he said.
'Or maybe the wolf has made you a lot stronger.' He seemed to like that thought and considered it further. 'You have been looking rather buff lately, and your beard shows up by noon each day. That has to be something to do with the wolf. In fact, maybe it's taking over your body a little bit every night, and eventually you'll-'
'Chaney?' said Tal.
'Yes?'
'Remember never to piss me off when I have this thing.'
'Right, right. But think about it! When that lunatic comes back, you can lop off his other arm.'
'What makes you think he'll come back?'
'I don't know. Whatever made him come after you in the first place, I suppose.'
Tal grunted. 'Well, you're right, but I'm not going to wait until he comes looking for me. It's about time we organized another hunting trip.'
He adjusted his grip and flipped the blade. It made a low whoosh as the blade whirled in a nearly perfect circle. Tal caught the grip neatly, bending at knee and elbow.
'Be careful with that thing!' protested Chaney. 'You might be nigh invulnerable, but I might get cut in half.'
'Don't worry,' said Tal. He wrapped Perivel's sword in an old padded practice jacket and tied the sleeves to form a crude handle. 'I'd never cut you by accident.'
'That's reassuring,' said Chaney.
Tal clapped Chaney affectionately on the shoulder. He had never so much as slapped his smaller friend in jest. Since they met as boys, Tal had designated himself Chaney's chief protector, defending him whenever the smaller man's sharp tongue got them both into trouble.
'Let's get out of here,' said Tal. 'I'm ready for a nap.' He strode out of the dueling hall.
'You've been up only an hour or so…' said Chaney, following him. 'Oh, I guess you didn't sleep well, huh?'
Tal nodded. 'It's weird. It's like I'm dreaming, but I wake up feeling like I've been running all night.'
'Maybe you have.'
'In that little cage? There's no room.'
'I mean, maybe you've been pacing all night, trying to get out.'
'Not me, remember,' insisted Tal. 'The wolf.'
'Right, the wolf.' Chaney's tone revealed that he wasn't as convinced as Tal was about the division between man and beast.
They turned onto the grand hall and saw the house guards posted at the main entrance. Tal gave Chaney a look that meant no more wolf talk. The guards gave Chaney an altogether different look, but they stood aside as Tal and Chaney donned their cloaks and stepped out into the cold winter air. They remained silent until they emerged from the courtyard of Stormweather Towers and stepped onto Sam Street, heading west.
'You serious about going after Rusk?' asked Chaney, glancing back to make sure they were out of earshot from the Uskevren guards.
'Of course,' said Tal. 'Why wouldn't I be?'
'I was just thinking of the last hunting trip,' said Chaney glumly.
He was one of only a few of the young nobles who had escaped in time when Rusk and his pack attacked their camp. Tal had not been so fortunate, but at least he survived. Nearly a dozen other minor nobles and servants had never emerged from the Arch Wood after that night.
'This time I know what I'm facing,' said Tal. 'Besides, I almost beat him last time.'
'You would have bled to death if Maleva hadn't woken when she did. A few seconds longer, and no healing spell in the world would have saved you.'
'You could be more encouraging, you know,' complained Tal.
'I could, if I wanted you dead. Don't forget that Rusk isn't the only werewolf out there. He had a whole pack with him.'
'True,' said Tal reluctantly, 'but he seemed to want me to join his pack, not just to kill me. I want to know more about that.'
'Maybe he changed his mind after you cut off his arm,' said Chaney. 'I know I would.'
Tal frowned and nodded. 'All right, so hunting for him in the woods might not be the best idea. I still want to know what he wanted with me. Maleva won't tell me anything.'
'You really think she knows more than she's telling?'
'I'd bet on it,' said Tal.
'Then why don't you take her up on her offer?'
Tal squinted down at him. 'Join her temple and become some sort of candle-lighting acolyte?'
'Just for a little while,' said Chaney. 'Just until they give you the stuff that lets you control when you change.'
'I don't think it's that easy,' said Tal. 'Besides, it's one thing to refuse to join a following. It's a different business to join one under false pretenses. I've already got one curse to deal with.'
