worshipers. At last, Rusk welcomed the newcomers to the Lodge. He promised that the People of the Black Blood would continue to feed them in times of famine, so long as they kept faith with Malar, the Black Wolf, Master of the Hunt.
After the prayers, the congregation fell silent to listen to their Huntmaster. Darrow heard only the crackling of the bonfire and the susurrus of the wind until Rusk filled the temple with his powerful voice.
'Tonight, as spring gives way to summer, we celebrate the High Hunt,' said Rusk. He put his hand on something concealed beneath his cloak. 'This year's Greengrass feast is most auspicious, for with it comes the result of my own long hunt. The Black Wolf Scrolls are returned to their rightful place!'
Rusk lifted a bone scroll case above his head for all to see. It was carved from the femur of some enormous beast and capped at each end with golden images, one a leopard, the other a wolf. In the firelight, its surface wriggled with glyphs and carvings.
After a moment of stunned silence, the congregation whooped and howled.
'Now the unsullied words of the hunter-prophets shall be revealed to me, and I shall master the forgotten wisdom of our forebears and teach it all to you, my hunters, my followers, my pack!'
The cheering grew deafening, and Darrow wished he understood what it meant. He thought the Malveens refused to give Rusk the scrolls and wondered why they had changed their minds. If the scrolls were false, he prayed silently that he would be far away by the time Rusk discovered the forgery.
'What better way to celebrate this momentous event than with a High Hunt?' thundered Rusk. Still excited by his proclamation, the crowd quieted just enough to hear his words. He spoke again, half-chanting the words, 'Who shall hunt our prey?'
'We will!'
All of the People of the Black Blood rose to their feet, as did a few young men and women among the pilgrims. Those who still wore clothing flung it away. Half of them stretched and bent, their limbs twisting and reshaping themselves. Thick fur sprung from their flesh, until a dozen wolves hunkered among the seated pilgrims.
'You are the foremost, the natural hunters,' called Rusk. 'Lead the way for those who have yet to master their skills.'
Rusk barked out a string of ancient words, an infernal invocation to Malar. His eyes blazed red, and flames leaped from the bonfire to enshroud him in ruddy light. With a violent gesture, he flung the magical energy toward the People who remained in human form.
They screamed as the red power entered their ears and mouths. Their bodies jerked and transformed until they, too, stood as wolves among the pilgrims.
Only four pilgrims remained standing. At a nod from Rusk, other pack members handed them long spears.
'I see a mighty host of hunters before me,' called Rusk. 'What prey is fit and worthy of their prowess?'
'A great boar,' called a woman among the pilgrims, 'with his long tusks and strong shoulders.' The rhythm of her words told Darrow that the response was canon.
'No,' said Rusk. 'These hunters are stronger, and their teeth sharper.'
'A stag,' called a man, 'with his great horns and swift legs.'
'My hunters are swifter still. You must choose better.'
'The owlbears, with their sharp beaks and talons.'
'The claws of my hunters are more keen. Is there no prey worthy of my hunters?'
'A man,' called Radu from outside the circle, 'with his weapons and his wits.'
Darrow turned to see his master already mounted, the lead to his own horse secured to his saddle. Then he realized what Radu had been discussing with Rusk when he saw his own horse tethered to Radu's saddle. Without Stannis present to object, Radu had finally disposed of him.
'That prey is fit and worthy of my hunters,' responded Rusk. He turned his eyes to Darrow, and the entire congregation rose to form their own circle among the stone teeth, blocking his escape.
'The prey may take whatever weapons he desires,' declared Rusk. He pointed directly up. 'The hunt begins when the moon touches the highest vault of heaven. It ends when the land has swallowed her up again.'
'Wait!' cried Darrow. He realized his words were useless, but he could not stop himself. 'I'm not worthy of your Hunt, but he's the greatest swordsman in Selgaunt.' He pointed at Radu, then immediately dropped his hand as their eyes met. He was desperate indeed to draw the ire of Radu Malveen.
'The prey has been chosen,' declared Rusk.
'No,' called a deep voice from the congregation.
A man with a big, solid belly stood forth, his muscles round and hard as stones. The silver in his black hair and beard marked him as a veteran, if not one of Rusk's generation. Darrow saw that his objection carried weight among the other pack members.
'The lamb is right, Rusk. The other city man is far worthier prey than this cringing whelp. Show us that your city dealings are truly over.'
Among the pack rumbled murmurs of assent.
Ronan stepped forth from the pack. 'Bloodmaster, your return brings us great joy. It is an occasion deserving of great honor and sport. Listen to Gorland. Let the hunt be of worthier prey.'
Rusk looked down at Ronan, then back toward Gorland who had first spoken. 'Is this how you honor my return?'
Neither of the men replied, but the crowd stirred restlessly, watching for any sign of weakness. Darrow realized that they could easily turn on Rusk.
'If you prefer to hunt that man,' he said to Gorland, 'then bring him before me.'
The big man smiled and nodded to the Huntmaster. He had the look of a man who knew he'd just won much respect among his fellows. The smile remained as he walked over toward Radu.
The swordsman removed his gloves as he watched Gorland approach. He wore the expression of a man tired of waiting for his driver to open the carriage door.
Gorland raised his arm to take Radu by the shoulder. To Darrow's eyes, Radu merely stepped backward while flicking one hand toward the big fellow. Everyone heard the rasp of steel, once as it left the scabbard, then again as it returned. The sounds were so close together as to seem like one prolonged sigh.
'Ah!' said Gorland.
He stopped and stood still, his arm still raised to grasp a shoulder that had suddenly moved six feet away. He shook his head as though perplexed or stunned, then clutched at his face. His hands came away slick with blood. Twin torrents descended from his ruined eye sockets, filling his gaping mouth.
The horses stood calmly by, unaware of the violence so close to them.
'Does anyone else question my selection?' From the advantage of the stone altar, Rusk looked over his followers. His gaze lingered on Ronan, who lowered his face and stepped back. When he was satisfied of no further challenges, Rusk called out to Radu. 'Go, now.'
He watched Radu Malveen ride slowly out of the firelight and into the dark forest. Then he leaped from the altar and strode over to Darrow.
'Give us a good hunt,' Rusk said. 'Elude us until dawn, and all honor is yours. You may ask any boon, and it shall be granted.'
'But if you catch me?' asked Darrow. He tried to compose a brave face before the assemblage of hunters, but fear cracked his voice.
'Then we will honor you another way,' said Rusk with a toothy smile.
Chapter 10
Kythorn, 1371 DR
Tal sat cross-legged in his cage. The cool basement air raised goosebumps on his flesh, for he wore only a
