'Maybe,' said Tal. He'd known only a little about Malar before his recent studies, and what he'd learned since was little help.
The god of hunters was worshiped more widely in the country, especially the farthest wilderness. Like sailors who prayed to cruel Umberlee to spare them from her mighty wrath, farmers and herdsman made offerings to the Beastlord so that he might spare them from wild animals and monsters. City dwellers had little use for the ancient god. Among urban churches, the Beastlord was considered a primitive god. Powerful, to be sure, and older than most of the other dark gods, Malar's name was rarely spoken in civilized places. When it was uttered, it was by the lips of huntsmen who wished only for a fine trophy to bring home from their jaunt in the country.
Tal thought back to the night of his own hunting trip, when beasts raged out of the darkness to scatter the young men and women from Selgaunt. He had thought they were owlbears at first, but later he learned it was Rusk and his pack who had slain his fellows and inflicted him with their curse. What monsters they must be, to hunt humans like mere animals, to eat their kill.
They were cannibals.
More than any other aspect of his curse, it was that thought that most horrified Tal. It was a dire thing to kill a man, but the thought of preying on other humans was repellant to Tal. He loved fencing, and yet during the brief period in which he thought he'd killed a man, he considered putting an end to his own life lest he murder again.
The thought gave Tal pause. He could kill, if need be. He was sure of that. Should someone threaten his friends or family-even, gods help him, his annoying brother or overbearing father-he'd feel no qualms about cutting the offender into parts.
At least, that was his theory. Except for maiming Rusk in self-defense, Tal had yet to prove he could kill. He knew it was too much to hope that the silverback werewolf had crawled away to die. He must have made it back to his lair in the Arch Wood by now. Cheney's warning about going after him when Rusk was surrounded by his pack carried weight with Tal, but he hated the idea of just waiting to learn whether Rusk would return to trouble him.
Tal had learned this much through his readings, and they had discussed it before.
'Anyway, they call him a lot of things,' said Tal. 'Especially different kinds of dangerous animals: big cats, wolves, bears-you name it. Most often it's the Beastlord or the Black-Blooded Pard. The way Feena said it, though, I don't think all this necessarily has to do with Malar.'
'But Rusk is a priest of Malar. What else could it mean?' Chaney looked sadly into his empty mug. Tal took the hint and raised a finger to the barkeeper, who nodded back.
'I don't know,' admitted Tal. 'It has to be something that wasn't in the books I found, probably something to do with Selune.'
'Just because Maleva worships Selune doesn't mean this Black Wolf heresy comes from her sect,' said Chaney. 'Selune and Malar both figure in those werewolf stories, right?'
The conversation paused long enough for the skinny young barmaid to replace Chaney's ale and receive four pennies, a penny tip, and a half-hearted wink in return. As she sauntered away, Chaney peered into his purse before cinching the strings and tucking it back into his green jacket.
'Spend all your allowance already?' Tal took a sip of his own ale, still nursing his first mug.
Chaney looked up at him, an odd quirk on his narrow lips, as if Tal had made a joke but blundered the punch line. 'Yeah,' he said, plucking at his well-worn jacket. It was a once-fine garment of worsted silk, but it had seen far better days. The piping at cuff and collar was slightly frayed, and the patch on one elbow was slightly too dark. 'Shouldn't have bought that new wardrobe.'
'You really ought to retire that thing,' suggested Tal.
'What, my lucky jacket?' said Chaney. He took a long drink of his ale and clapped the half-empty mug on the table. 'So, you were saying something about Selune. If this Black Wolf business is to do with the moon goddess, then why didn't Maleva tell y6u more about it?'
'Aha!' said Tal, 'That I can answer. If it is a heresy, you wouldn't expect it to be published anywhere, would you? The temple would suppress it.'
Chaney nodded thoughtfully. 'All right, that makes sense. So where do you find out what it means? Go back to Maleva?'
'No good,' said Tal. 'If she was willing to tell me, she would have done it already, but she said something about the high priestess of Selune in Yhaunn.'
'Dhauna Myritar,' said Chancy, 'the one who gave her the moonfire potion.'
'Right. Maybe she'll be willing to tell me things that Maleva held back.'
'Maleva and Feena living so close to the Arch Woods,' said Chaney, sitting up straight, 'it makes me think they've got some special grudge against Rusk and his pack.'
Tal nodded. The same thought had occurred to him.
'If that's true, then wouldn't they be experts on werewolves?'
'Say 'nightwalkers,' ' said Tal, looking around. 'And keep your voice down.'
' 'Nightwalker' and 'lycanthrope' sound pretentious,' said Chaney. 'I don't know why you're so defensive about the word.'
'I'm not defensive.'
Chaney arched a dubious eyebrow.
Tal held up his palms and shrugged. 'All right, maybe a little defensive.'
'If Maleva's some werewolf expert, maybe she knows something this Dhauna Myritar doesn't. Or maybe Maleva lied about getting the moonfire from Myritar. Or maybe Maleva's the one who put all the conditions on giving it to you.'
'Maybe Myritar would sell it to me,' said Tal. He did not feel hopeful, but he was curious about this high priestess. 'There's only one way to find out,' said Tal. 'You talked me out of werewolf hunting, but how about a short trip to Yhaunn?'
'You haven't been there before, have you?' asked Chaney.
'Once, when I was really young,' said Tal, 'but I don't remember it well. There are bridges and ladders and things all between the buildings by the docks, right.'
'That would be the stiltways,' said Chaney. 'The whole place is a little seedier than Selgaunt.'
'Sounds great to me,' said Tal. 'Want to come with me? I bet the nightlife is something else.'
'I don't know,' said Chaney. 'It's kind of a bad time for me to run off. You've got plenty of time on your hands until the spring productions start up, but I've got some things-'
'That's all right,' said Tal, waving away his friend's excuses. Chaney went on the ill-fated hunting trip under protest, feeling far more at home in the city than out in the wild. It was asking a lot to invite him back out on the road so soon afterward. Tal would have felt better with Chaney to watch his back, but he didn't want to twist his arm. 'It's probably best that I go alone anyway.'
Thamalon will have a fit if you go without a guard.'
'Only if you tell him that I went,' said Tal.
'You don't think he'll send someone to look for you if you're gone that long?'
'You can imitate my handwriting, can't you?'
'I haven't done that in years,' said Chaney. 'I'd need to practice.'
'Fine, I'll leave you some samples. Check in with Eckert every couple of days. If there's an invitation from Storm-weather, just write an excuse. If it's Mother, write that I have a previous social engagement. If it's Thamalon, say I'm meeting a merchant from Turmish about importing musical instruments.'
'They believe that crap?'
'Works every time,' said Tal. 'Well, maybe they don't believe it, but they leave me alone if I make the effort to concoct an excuse.'
'How are you going to keep Eckert quiet? He can tell the Old Owl that you left town without mentioning the werewolf business.'
'I'll deal with Eckert,' said Tal, 'but there is something else you can do for me.'
