"I had to do it," said Gaunt. "She was bound to me. She couldn't die until I let her go. I couldn't bear to lose her, but I couldn't let her suffer;" Tears ran down his face, but he didn't seem to notice them.
Hawk grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to his feet. "The silver dagger," he hissed. "Did you find the silver dagger?"
Gaunt shook his head dazedly. "No; not yet."
"You have to find it!" said Hawk. "We'll try and keep the beast occupied."
"Yes," said Gaunt. "The dagger. I'll kill the creature." His eyes suddenly focused, and he was back in control of himself again. He looked hard at the werewolf, crouched beside the dead succubus. "Who is that? Who wore the mark of the beast?"
"Hightower," said Hawk. "Lord Roderik Hightower. I recognize what's left of his clothes."
Gaunt nodded slowly and moved away to start searching through the drawers of a nearby table. The werewolf turned his shaggy head to watch Gaunt, but made no move to attack him. The werewolf's fur was matted with drying blood, and his claws and teeth had a crimson sheen.
"How?" said Dorimant shakily. "How can Roderik be the werewolf? He hates the creatures; one of them killed his son;"
"Exactly," said Hawk. "He hated them so much he spent all his time leading expeditions to track them down and kill them. In the end, it became an obsession with him. That's why the army made him resign. As I understand it, he only found one werewolf, but it seems one was enough. The creature must have bitten him."
"And whoever feels a werewolf's bite, shall become a wolf when the moon is bright," said Fisher. "The poor bastard."
"Ironic," said Stalker. He hefted his sword, and the werewolf snarled soundlessly at him.
"But why did Roderik want to kill all those people?" said Dorimant. "They were his friends."
"Werewolves kill because they have to," said Hawk. "When the moon is full, the killing rage fills their mind until there's nothing left but wolf. God knows how Hightower managed to hide it this long. Maybe he just went off and locked himself up somewhere safe until the full moon was past and his madness was over."
"And then we trapped him here," said Fisher. "With a fresh supply of victims, and no way out;"
"It's not your fault," said Stalker. "You couldn't have known. In the meantime, it's up to us to stop him, before he kills again."
"Stop him?" said Hawk. "There's only one thing that will stop a werewolf, and Gaunt isn't even sure he's got one. The best we can hope to do is slow the beast down."
"Let me talk to him," said Stalker. "I've known Roderik on and off for more than twenty years. Maybe he'll listen to me."
He lowered his sword and stepped forward. The werewolf crouched before him, watching him unblinkingly. The beast stood on two legs like a man, wrapped in the tatters of a man's clothing, but his stance wasn't in any way human. His body was long and wiry and covered with thick bristly hair. The hands were elongated paws, with long curved claws. The narrow tapering muzzle was full of teeth, and blood dripped from the grinning jaws. The werewolf's eyes were a startling blue, but there was nothing human in their unwavering gaze. He growled once, hungrily, and Stalker stopped where he was.
"Why didn't you come to me?" said Stalker quietly. "I would have helped you, Rod. I'd have found someone who could take the curse away from you."
The werewolf rose slowly out of his crouch and padded forward. His hands flexed eagerly.
"He can't hear you," said Hawk. "There's nothing left now but the beast."
The werewolf sprang forward, and Stalker met him with his sword. The long steel blade cut into the werewolf's chest and out again, and didn't even slow him down. He knocked Stalker to the ground and dashed the sword from his hand. Stalker grabbed the werewolf by the throat with both hands, and fought to keep the grinning jaws away from his throat. The werewolf's quick panting breath slapped against his face, thick with the stench of fresh blood and rotting meat. Fisher stepped forward and thrust her sword through the werewolf's ribs. The beast howled with pain and fury. Fisher pulled back her sword for another thrust, and then cursed as the wound healed itself in seconds. Hawk moved in and swung his axe double-handed. The heavy blade sank deep into the werewolf's shoulder, smashing the collarbone. The werewolf tried to pull away, but Stalker held on grimly, digging his fingers into the beast's throat. Fisher cut at the werewolf again and again. The beast sank his claws into Stalker's chest. Hawk pulled out his axe for another blow, and the werewolf broke Stalker's hold and jumped back out of range. A jagged wound showed clearly in the beast's shoulder, but it didn't bleed. There was a series of faint popping sounds as the broken bones reknit themselves, and then the wound closed and was gone.
<em>We're not going to stop him</em>, thought Hawk slowly. <em>There's not a damn thing we can do to stop him</em>;
The werewolf lowered his shaggy head and sprang forward. Hawk and Fisher braced themselves, weapons at the ready. Stalker looked to where he'd dropped his sword, but it was too far away. The werewolf went for his throat. Stalker ducked under the werewolf's leap and gutted the beast with a dagger he snatched from his boot at the last moment. The werewolf crashed heavily to the floor, screaming in an almost human voice. He lay helpless for a moment as the wound healed, and Stalker dropped his dagger, leant over the beast, and taking a firm hold at neck and tail, lifted the werewolf over his head. The beast kicked and struggled but couldn't break free. Stalker held it there, his muscles creaking and groaning under the strain. Sweat ran down his face with the effort, but he wouldn't let the beast go. As long as the werewolf couldn't reach anyone, he was harmless. Pain ran jaggedly through Stalker's arms and chest from the weight of the beast, but he wouldn't give in. He wouldn't give in. Hawk and Fisher watched in awe. This was the Stalker they'd heard about, the legendary hero who'd never known defeat.
And then Gaunt stepped forward, a silver dagger gleaming in his hand. Stalker slammed the werewolf to the floor with the last of his strength. The impact stunned the werewolf for a moment, and Gaunt plunged the silver dagger into the beast's chest, just under the breastbone. Gaunt and Stalker stepped quickly back as the werewolf writhed and twisted on the laboratory floor. He scrabbled forward a few feet, and then suddenly coughed blood. It was a quiet, almost apologetic sound. The werewolf lay still and closed his eyes. The wolf shape stirred and shifted. The fur and fangs and claws slowly disappeared, and bones creaked softly as their shape changed. When it was over, Lord Roderik Hightower lay still on the floor, curled around the silver dagger embedded in his heart. Gaunt knelt down beside him.
"Why didn't you tell us, Rod?" he said quietly. "We were your friends; we'd have found some way to help you."
Hightower opened his eyes and looked at the sorcerer. He smiled slightly, and there was blood on his lips. "I liked being a wolf. I felt young again. Is Elaine dead?"
"Yes," said Gaunt. "You killed her."
"My poor Elaine. I never could tell her;"
"You should have told us, Rod."
Hightower raised an eyebrow tiredly. "You should have told us about your succubus, but you didn't. We all have our secrets, Gaunt. Some of them are just easier to live with than others."
Gaunt nodded slowly. "Why did you kill William, Rod?"
Hightower laughed soundlessly. "I didn't," he said quietly. And then he died.