find the berserker’s cave, and then we seal him in with rocks. We make it good and tight, so he can’t dig himself out. If we’re fast, we can get the cave sealed before he knows what’s happening.”
“And provided he doesn’t have a back way out,” Renati said.
“I didn’t say the plan was foolproof. No plan ever is. But the berserker’s insane; he doesn’t think like an ordinary wolf. Why should he worry about running when he thinks he can destroy anything on four legs or two? I’d say he’s found a nice warm cave with no back door, where he can curl up, chew on bones, and brood about how to kill the next one of us. I believe it’s worth the risk.”
“I don’t,” Renati told him. Her brow furrowed. “The storm’s too strong. It would be hard enough getting from here to there, much less finding the right cave. No. The risk is too high.”
“And what’s the alternative, then?” Wiktor asked. “Walt for the storm to pass and the berserker to hunt us again? We should take advantage of the fact that he’s just had a feast; he’ll be sluggish, with all that meat in his belly. I say we go now, or we risk the destruction of the pack.”
“Yes!” Franco agreed. “Hunt him now, while he thinks he’s safe!”
“I’ve decided. I’m going.” Wiktor looked around at the others. His gaze lingered for a few seconds on Mikhail, then moved away. “Franco, will you go with me?”
“Me?” His eyes had widened. “Yes. Of course I will.” His voice was unsteady. “I just hope I… don’t hold you up.”
“Hold me up? How?”
“Well… I didn’t mention it before. It’s nothing, of course, but… I have a stone bruise on my foot. You see?” He slipped off his deerskin sandal and showed the blue bruise. “My ankle’s a little swollen, too. I’m not sure when it happened, exactly.” He pressed the bruise, and winced a fraction too much. “But I can still go,” he said. “I won’t be as fast as usual, but you can count on me.”
“To be an utter ass,” Renati finished for him. “Forget Franco and his poor feet. I’ll go with you.”
“I need you to stay here. To take care of Mikhail and Alekza.”
“They can take care of themselves!”
Wiktor had already dismissed her. He looked at Nikita. “Any stone bruises on your feet?”
“Dozens,” Nikita said, and stood up. “When do we go?”
“It’s my ankle that’s giving me the trouble!” Franco protested. “See? It’s swollen! I must’ve stepped down wrong when we were-”
“I understand,” Wiktor told him, and Franco was silent. “Nikita and I will go. You can stay here, if that’s what you want.” Franco started to speak again, but he thought better of it and closed his mouth. “The sooner we go, the sooner we can get back,” Wiktor said to Nikita. “I’m ready now.” Nikita nodded, and Wiktor turned his attention to Renati. “If we’re able to find the berserker’s cave, and seal him in, we’ll want to stay long enough to make certain he doesn’t dig out. We’ll try to be back within forty-eight hours. If the storm gets too bad, we’ll find a place to sleep. You’ll take care of everything, yes?”
“Yes,” Renati said glumly.
“And you and Franco will stay away from each other’s throats.” It was a command. Wiktor looked at Mikhail. “You’ll keep them from killing each other, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Mikhail answered, though what he could do if Renati and Franco clashed he didn’t know.
“When I get back, I want you to have finished the lesson we started yesterday.” It was a reading about the destruction of the Roman Empire. “I’ll ask you questions about it.”
Mikhail nodded. Wiktor stripped off his robe and removed his sandals, and Nikita did the same. The two men stood naked, their breath coming out in misty plumes. Nikita began to change first, the black hair twining over his flesh like strange vines. Wiktor’s eyes glinted in the low light as he stared at Renati. “Listen to me,” he said. “If for any reason… we don’t come back after three days, you’ll be in charge of the pack.”
“A woman?” Franco yelped. “In charge of me?”
“In charge of the pack,” Wiktor repeated. A gray tide of wolf hair was sliding over his shoulders and streaking down his arms. His flesh looked slick and oily, and sweat glistened on his forehead as his eyebrows merged. Steam wafted around his body. “Do you have any objection to that?” His voice was getting hoarse, and his facial bones were shifting. Fangs pushed out between his lips.
“No,” Franco answered quickly. “No objection.”
“Wish us luck.” The voice was a guttural rasp. Wiktor’s flesh shivered, growing its thick, gray-haired hide. Most of Nikita’s head and face had already changed, the snout spewing a blast of steam as it lengthened with popping sounds that Mikhail had once thought hideous. Now the sounds of transformation were as beautiful as music played on exotic instruments. The two bodies contorted, flesh giving way to wolf hair, fingers and toes to claws, teeth to fangs, noses to long black muzzles; all accompanied by the music of bones, sinews, and muscles changing shape, rearranging themselves into canine form, and an occasional grunt from either Wiktor or Nikita. And then Wiktor gave a harsh whuff and he loped out of the chamber toward the stairway, with Nikita a few strides behind. Within seconds, the two wolves were gone.
“My ankle is swollen!” Franco showed Renati again. “See? I couldn’t get very far on it, could I?”
She ignored him. “We’ll need some fresh water, I think.” She picked up a clay bowl that had been left by the monks the water, filmed with dirty ice, was almost gone. “Mikhail will you and Alekza get us some more snow, please?” She handed the bowl to Mikhail. All they would have to do was climb the stairs and scoop up snow that was blowing in the windows. “Franco, will you take the first watch, or shall I?”
“You’re in charge,” he said. “Do as you please.”
“All right. You take the first watch. I’ll relieve you when it’s time.” Renati sat down before the fire, newly regal.
Franco muttered a curse under his breath; it wouldn’t be pleasant to go up into the tower, with all those glassless windows and the cold whirling in, but keeping watch was an important duty that everyone shared. He stalked away. Mikhail and Alekza went to scoop up a bowlful of snow, and Renati rested her chin on her hand to worry about the man she loved.
5
Sometime during the night, the storm snapped. It passed on leaving the forest covered with drifts eight feet high, the trees bent under arctic ice. A bone-throbbing cold followed the blizzard, and the day dawned white, the sun hidden behind clouds the color of wet cotton.
It was breakfast time. “God, it’s cold!” Franco said as he and Mikhail struggled across a white desert where green thicket used to be. Mikhail didn’t answer; it used up too much energy to speak, and his jaws felt frozen. He glanced back, about fifty yards, at the white palace; it was almost invisible against the blankness. “I curse this place!” Franco said. “Damn the whole country! Damn Wiktor, and damn Nikita, damn Alekza, and damn that damned Renati. Who does she think she is, ordering me around like a servant boy?”
“We’ll never find anything,” Mikhail told him quietly, “if you make all that noise.”
“Hell, there’s nothing alive out here! How are we supposed to find food? Create it? I’m not God, that’s for sure!” He stopped, sniffing the air; his nose stung with cold, and his ability to smell was hampered. “If Renati’s in charge, why doesn’t she find us food? Answer me that!”
There was no need to answer. They had drawn lots-the shortest twigs from the fire-for the task of finding breakfast. Actually Mikhail had drawn the shortest twig, and Franco the next shortest. “Anything alive out here,” Franco went on, “is buried in its hole, keeping warm. Like we ought to be doing. Smell the air. You see? Nothing.”
As if to prove Franco wrong, a hare with gray-tipped fur suddenly shot across the snow in front of them, heading for a stand of half-buried trees. “There!” Mikhail said. “Look!”
“My eyes are freezing.”
Mikhail stopped and turned toward Franco. “Aren’t you going to change? You can catch it if you change.”
“To hell with it!” Franco’s cheeks had grown red splotches. “It’s too cold to change. My balls would freeze off, if they haven’t already.” He reached down and checked himself.
“If you don’t change, we won’t catch anything,” Mikhail reminded him. “How hard would it be for you to chase
