'He didn't quit,' said Tal. 'Pietro sold Arryn Kessel one of those weird paintings of his and said Radu was just out of town on business.'
Like most others in Selgaunt, Tal had little use for the peculiar Pietro Malveen, but he admired Pietro's older brother and hoped one day to challenge him to a match at Ferrick's. First he would have to earn that right, however, and the prospect of testing his skill against that of Ferrick's best student drove him more than any other force to hone his skill.
He had little hope of besting Radu Malveen at the blade, he knew, but Tal consciously tried to imitate the older man's cool grace. Some might consider him aloof, but most of the other students were young and shallow in comparison, a good fifteen years younger than Radu.
'Can you two save the gossip for another time?' said Feena impatiently. 'It's not as if I know anything about your little social circles.'
'Sorry,' said Chaney.
Tal nodded. 'All right, when do we begin learning to ride the moon?'
'The next full moon,' said Feena. 'But there are things I can show you before then. Breathing's the first thing.'
'I think he's got that one licked,' said Chaney. This time it was Feena who kicked him under the table. 'Ow! Between the two of you, I won't have a leg to stand on.'
'Actually,' said Tal, 'Breathing is one of the first things Master Ferrick taught us. Breathing and balance.'
'That's good,' said Feena. 'It's probably similar to what we'll be doing.'
Chaney opened his mouth to make another jest, but one dire glance from Feena shut it again.
'What are the two halves of balance?' asked Feena.
'The red and the white,' said Tal. 'Aggression and passivity, anger and calm, force and acceptance.'
Feena looked impressed. 'Then you understand that Malar is the red, Selune the white.'
'Motion and stillness,' said Tal, nodding.
'Good and evil,' offered Chaney.
'No,' said Feena and Tal at once.
'Malar is evil,' corrected Feena. 'That is, evil in the sense that we understand it. His followers are cruel and often wicked. But for what we're discussing, it's not a question of good or evil. It's the light and the darkness, the moon and the shadow.'
'And you want both of them inside of you,' said Tal. 'Right?'
Feena nodded, not in response to his question but in silent appraisal of all he had said. 'I think this just might work,' she said.
'I hope so,' said Tal, 'because otherwise I'm going to have to charge you for the room and board.'
Chapter 9
Greengrass, 1371 DR
They reached Rusk's lair the next morning. There was no sign of the lodge at first. Instead, Darrow saw thirteen colossal stone fangs curving inward to form a wide circle among the trees. Most of the fangs were twice the height of a man, but three had broken off at various points. On all of them were carvings of wolves, wildcats, boars, and other predators-including spear-wielding human hunters.
At the center of the ring was a ragged pit filled with cinders and bone fragments. Beside the fire was a low stone altar, its scarred face stained with blood. All around its edge was carved the symbol of Malar: a ragged claw. At its base were scattered weathered skulls of every sort of prey, including humans and elves.
They had walked around the lodge without noticing it, leading their horses along an old, worn path. It had been built in the side of a low hill in the Arch Wood, reinforced with stones and timbers, and covered with a sod roof, now overgrown with thistles and a few young trees. The only sign of its location was its entrance, a heavy leather flap painted with images of men and wolves hunting stags through a great forest.
The hunters left Balin's carcass near one of the great stone fangs and retired to their lodge to sleep away the daylight. Darrow noticed that some of them had never transformed into humans and wondered whether they were true wolves. They were much larger than the animals he'd seen testing the borders of his father's farm. Dire wolves, they called such beasts. One alone could take down a steer, while a pack could destroy a herd.
Radu chose a place for his tent and left Darrow to set camp while he searched for a nearby stream. Before he finished his work, Darrow spied an intruder. An old man emerged from the forest bearing a bundle of twigs under his arm and a crude rake over his shoulder. When he spotted Darrow, he nodded affably but did not approach. Instead, he set the twigs near the fire pit and began clearing the winter's detritus from the circle.
Radu returned from his ablutions and retired to his tent without a glance at the old man. Curious about the newcomer but too tired to pester him, Darrow followed his master's example and slept at the foot of the tent.
He awoke hours later to the sound of more new arrivals. Foresters and hunters, farmers from the edge of the Arch Wood or the outskirts of Highmoon, and far travelers who arrived wearing backpacks and an inch of road dust- they trickled in throughout the day to make camp around the lodge. Some set up fires and cooked dumplings or cakes to trade with other visitors. Others brought hares to roast or hedgehogs to bake in the banked coals. A minstrel strummed the yartar while her companion chanted the chronicle of Yarmilla the Huntress. Someone produced a small keg of ale and three wooden tankards, which the people passed from hand to hand.
As the sun descended behind the trees, the hunters emerged from the lodge to greet the visitors as the dire wolves padded around the edges, sniffing at them. The hunters clasped arms with the visitors, but Darrow saw that the newcomers held the hunters in high regard. After the friendly greetings, most of the hunters slipped into the woods singly or in pairs or trios. The rest remained to listen to news of births and deaths and the hardships of the past winter.
Darrow guessed that Radu was inside the lodge, so he went for a look. Before he could peer inside, a big bearded man came out and shoved him away from the door. Darrow stepped aside to let him pass, but the man pushed him again, forcing him onto the ground.
The man stepped close to loom over Darrow. He smelled of animal musk and wood smoke. He wore only leather breeches, and his bare feet were dirty and heavily callused. Dark red hair covered his body so thickly that it formed tufts on his forearms.
Darrow kept his eyes on the ground. The aggressor sniffed, spat on the ground near Darrow's hand, then kicked some dirt on him before walking away. Darrow heard laughter but did not look up.
Instead, he got up and slapped the dust from his trousers. Suddenly he realized the white elf was standing just behind him. She had clothed herself in fringed leather breeches and a beaded vest that did little to conceal her supple body.
'Welcome to the lodge,' she said. Her tone held just enough irony that Darrow couldn't tell whether she was mocking him or sympathizing. 'Looking for your master?'
'Yes.' Darrow glanced once more inside the open lodge door, then strolled away. He felt the eyes of the nightwalk-ers and their pilgrims upon him as he walked with Sorcia.
'They've been talking all afternoon,' Sorcia said. 'What little I overheard was… intriguing.'
Darrow shrugged, unwilling to discuss his master's business with a stranger. Sorcia's blue eyes sought his own, and he looked back with what he hoped was confidence rather than defiance. She had tied back her white hair with a leather thong, and Darrow saw that her flesh was not completely white after all. Her long, tapering ears were faintly pink, as was the translucent flesh of her wide eyelids. Faint blue veins showed through her skin at her throat and between her white breasts.
'Is it frightening to be outside your pen?' she asked, arching a pale eyebrow.
Darrow ignored the bait. 'Who are all these people?' he asked, indicating the newcomers.
'They are the Huntmaster's followers,' said Sorcia, 'pilgrims for the High Hunt. We hunt for them in winter, so they pay homage to the Lord of the Hunt each season.'
