Rusk turned back again. "Don't worry, brother wolf. I am saving them for your first true hunt."
"Let them go," said Tal. He felt powerless within the cage, but he couldn't silently watch Rusk murder the women. He hoped he could buy enough time that Chaney could recover from whatever Maleva and Feena had done to him. He hoped Rusk's melodramatic manner ran true.
"Oh, that I will," agreed Rusk ominously. He turned to Feena, who was crawling across the floor toward Maleva. Again he spoke a prayer to Malar, the Beastlord, god of hunters. To Feena he said, "Take your mother and flee."
Feena obeyed so quickly that Tal knew Rusk's words carried the power of the Beastlord. She dragged Maleva toward the back stage door.
"You, my cub," said Rusk, turning again to Tal, "have disappointed me. You ran like a hart last moon, but you must learn to be the hunter as well as the hunted."
"Then teach me," said Tal, hoping to buy a few more minutes. Too much, however, and the moon would be upon him, too. He hoped he was a better actor than he thought, and he prayed that Rusk was not the most discerning audience.
Rusk's grin told Tal that the man did not yet trust him. "This is your last chance, little brother."
Tal winced at the phrase. He wanted no relation to this monster.
"You must do better than one miserable cat before you can join the great hunt," snarled Rusk. "This is the last time I will show you."
"What about the moonfire?" ventured Tal. "Shouldn't we take it? The old woman said it would give us control of-"
"A lie!" spat Rusk. "It is a trick to place you in thrall of their mewling, feeble goddess. It saps the power of the beast and bends your will to theirs. Tonight they shall be our prey."
"I should have known." Tal made fists of his hands, a stone of his face. He paused as long as he dared for dramatic effect. "I never trusted them."
Rusk glanced sidelong at Tal.
Tal clenched his teeth and thought of all the attempts to control his life: his mother, his father, even Maleva and Feena. He summoned his father's voice. "I'll take the old bitch first," he thundered. "She tried to tame me with her potions, but now she'll feel my teeth on her throat."
Rusk leered and watched Tal closely.
"Let's stand beneath the naked sky," rumbled Tal. "Let the moon come. We'll wash it in blood."
Tal nodded toward the table, and Rusk found the key. He put it in the cage lock but then paused. "I'll tear out your heart if you run from me," he warned.
"No more running," said Tal. "It's time to hunt."
Satisfied, Rusk opened the cage. Tal walked past him, out onto the stage. Rusk followed closely, watching for any sign of weakness. The floor lamps cast unsettling shadows on the faces of both men.
Tal paced the length of the stage, his real anxiety making it easy to appear restless and eager. As he walked across one of the trapdoors, a plan began to form in his mind.
"The moon is coming," rumbled Rusk. "Can you feel it?"
Tal noticed the pressure on his ears and eyes. "Yes," he said. "It's like a storm."
"That's it!" encouraged Rusk. "Open your heart to it. The beast sends you strength and courage."
Tal stood squarely on the trapdoor. He couldn't open it himself. Glancing at the open galleries, he peered for some sign of Lommy or Otter. "Open, heart!" cried Tal. "Open your depths to the beast!" He hoped the tasloi understood.
Rusk raised his arms toward the sky. "Malar, Beastlord, Master of the Hunt, hear my prayer and bestow your blessing on my acolyte. Give us your-"
The trapdoor opened, and Tal vanished into the small prop room.
"No!" screamed Rusk. He pounced toward the closing door. His fingers slipped into the crack and prevented the door from closing. "Fool! Weakling! I'll kill you!"
Tal heard wood popping as Rusk pushed against the trapdoor. He found what he wanted, then ran to another trapdoor across the dark prop room. He pulled the lever and rose back onto the stage.
"Here I am," Tal called from behind Rusk. He raised the enchanted sword and spoke the words. Hot flames whooshed along the long sword's blade.
Rusk began chanting another spell. Tal rushed to strike him before it could be completed, but he saw the effects before he reached his foe. The man's fingers grew long and thick. The nails extended into sharp, bony knives.
Tal's sword glanced off Rusk's terrible new claws. The scraping vibration made his teeth ache. In his rush to strike the first blow, he opened his guard far too wide.
Rusk swept a backhanded slash across Tal's belly, ripping through fabric and flesh. Tal gasped at the pain and tried to restore his guard.
The beast man pressed the attack, slashing furiously with both gigantic hands. Tal felt a horrible looseness in his guts as he struggled to sustain a defense, parrying left and right as he backed across the stage.
Even through the pain, Tal felt another keen sensation. The hairs all over his body pricked up, and his joints ached. The transformation was starting.
Rusk felt it also, and he stopped to howl at the sky. Tal felt a wild scream rising in his own breast, but he fought to keep it down. Rusk lowered his eyes to meet Tal's. He approached slowly, savoring the fear he saw in his prey.
Tal retreated until he ran out of stage. The pain in his belly sprang to agonizing life. He wondered briefly if he'd live long enough to die as a wolf. Part of him hoped he would die first.
Then he noticed the springboard.
A mad grin stretched across Tal's face. Win or lose, he would finish this fight on his own terms. Clutching the flaming sword in both hands, he ran toward his enemy.
Rusk braced for a headlong attack, his god-granted talons spread before him in a shield of blades. Tal hit the springboard with both feet and flew high above Rusk's bony shields, flipping forward as he guided the sword in a great overhead arc.
Rusk moved just in time to save his skull. The sword swept past the werewolf's cheek to cleave through the meat and bone of his shoulder.
Tal collapsed heavily before his enemy, defeated. He felt his guts spilling through his belly but didn't even have the strength to clutch at them. He raised his head to face his death.
He looked up just in time to see Rusk's severed arm fall away from his body. The arterial spray was black in the yellow light.
Rusk's agonized howl was deafening as Tal fell backward onto the stage. Their blood mingled in a widening pool.
Tal's second convalescence was much more painful than the first. Maleva and Feena returned in time to save his life, but they had yet to use Selune's power to heal him properly. When they returned to his tallhouse the next day, they found Chaney and Eckert at his side.
After they'd mended his wounds, Maleva produced the moonfire. Tal had already told Chaney and Eckart his story. The servant was especially quiet this morning, still angry at having spent the night trussed and locked in the closet beside the captured lockpick. His cold glare followed the unrepentant Chaney wherever he went.
"At last," said Chaney, admiring the vial of moonfire. "Here's the solution to all your trouble."
"No," said Tal. "I don't want it."
Feena's eyebrows jumped, but Maleva seemed nonplussed.
"But sir," said Eckart, breaking his silence at last, "how else can you put an end to this curse?"
"That stuff won't work for me unless I pledge myself to Selune. Right?"
"That is true," replied Maleva evenly.
"I can't see you as a priest," said Chaney with a little whimsy.
"Neither can I," agreed Tal.
"There are many ways to serve Selune," said Maleva. "All that is required is devotion."
"You mean obedience."
Maleva inclined her head with a little smile.
"The difference between you and Rusk is only the purpose you intend for me. You both demand my obedience."