Wisdom of the Fox

X

Three days after the monsters attacked Besant's village, the lookout in the watchtower blew a long blast on his horn and shouted, " A chariot approaches from the south!" A few minutes later, he added with some excitement, "It's Utreiz Embron's son, by the gods!"

Gerin was in the stables, fitting a new spoke to a chariot wheel. He dropped the knife with which he was making a final trim of the spoke. Raffo, who was helping him, said, "Well, we'll know one way or the other."

"That we will," Gerin answered, and hurried out into the courtyard.

Men were also bustling out from the keep itself: everyone in Castle Fox-everyone in Gerin's domain-had a vital stake in learning whether the Elabon Way had been reopened. Van caught the Fox's eye and said, "Wishing you luck, Captain."

"I'll take all I can get, thanks," Gerin said.

The drawbridge seemed to be crawling down. Gerin's hands folded into fists; his nails bit into his palms. At last, with a thump, the drawbridge met the ground on the far side of the ditch around the palisade. Utreiz's chariot thumped over it. Even before the warrior spoke, a great weight lifted from Gerin's heart, for he, his driver, and the other warrior in the car were all wreathed in smiles.

"Dyaus and all the gods be praised, we smashed 'em!" Utreiz cried. He tried to go on, but a great cheer from everyone in the courtyard drowned the rest of his words. Rihwin the Fox leaped up into the car and planted a kiss on the startled Utreiz's cheek. He had no designs on the other man's body; that was just a southern way of showing joy at good news. In the rougher northlands, though, it was best used with caution. "Get off me!" Utreiz said, and several other rougher things the hubbub mercifully muffled.

When the din died away a little, Gerin said, "Tell us all that befell. Maybe"-he glanced around pointedly-"we'll be able to hear you now."

"Aye, lord prince." Utreiz turned as if to push Rihwin out of the chariot, but Rihwin had already jumped down. Looking foolish, Utreiz resumed: "In one way, it was just as you said: Ricolf the Red and his men came up from the south to join us and Bevander against Bevon and his other two sons. Since they held the road, we had to sneak through the woods to the west to set up a common attack on the same day. We set out right at dawn, caught 'em by surprise worse than they did when they hit us and grabbed that stretch of road. Bevonis is dead. We caught Bevion; he offered me everything in the world not to let Bevander have him. Bevon, curse him, got away and holed up in his keep."

He had to shout the last part; cheering had erupted again. Through it, Gerin said, "Well done! The road is open, we have our men back from Schild's holding-"

"What's this, lord?" Utreiz asked, and Gerin realized he hadn't heard about Schild's cry for help.

He explained quickly, finishing, "You'd have been just as glad if the men I'd sent to Schild had stayed out a few days more, seeing as Rihwin was one of them. But all we have to do now is await Aragis' troopers." And hope they come, he added to himself.

"This splendid news calls for an equally splendid celebration!" Rihwin shouted, which raised more cheers from the warriors gathered in the courtyard around Utreiz. Even Gerin clapped his hands, not wanting to be thought a wet blanket. If his men felt like roistering where no fight impended, that was all right with him. But then Rihwin went on, "What say we break out the wine with which Schild was generous enough to buy our aid?"

Some of the troopers clapped again. Others-notably Van and Dragolooked to Gerin instead. "No," he said in a voice abrupt as an avalanche.

"But, my fellow Fox-" Rihwin protested.

Gerin cut him off with a sharp, chopping gesture. "No I said and no I meant. Haven't you had enough misfortunes with wine and with Mavrix, my fellow Fox?" He freighted Rihwin's ekename with enough irony to sink it.

Rihwin flushed, but persisted, "I hadn't intended to summon the lord of the sweet grape, lord prince, nor had I intended to do aught more with his vintage than sip it, and not to excess."

"No," Gerin said for the third time. "What you intend and what turns out have a way of being two different things. And I trust that gift of wine from Schild about as far as I'd trust so many jars full of vipers."

"What, you think the whoreson's out to poison us?" Van rumbled. " If that's so-" He didn't go on, not with words, but pulled his mace free and whacked the shaft against the palm of his left hand.

But Gerin shook his head and said, "No," yet again. Van looked puzzled. Rihwin looked as dubious as he had just before Gerin gave him an ass's ear in place of his own. Gerin went on, "What I mean is, I fear that Mavrix seeks a foothold in my lands." He explained how the Sithonian god of wine and fertility and creativity had repeatedly cropped up of late, finishing, "Given what's passed between the god and me-and between the god and Rihwin-these past few years, the less presence he has here, the happier and safer I'll feel. I didn't dare refuse the wine of Schild, for that would have offered Mavrix insult direct. But I shan't invite his presence by broaching those jars, either."

"I had not considered the matter in that light," Rihwin admitted after rather more thought than usual. "So far as men can, you may well have wisdom there, lord prince. But one thing you must always bear in mind: the lord of the sweet grape is stronger than you are. If it be his will that he establish himself in your holding, establish himself he shall, whether you will or not."

"I am painfully aware of that," Gerin said, sighing. "But what I can do to prevent it, I will. I'm on good terms with Baivers. Drink all the ale you please, Rihwin, and I'll say not a word. The wine jars stay closed."

"Sense, lord prince," Utreiz Embron's son said. Van nodded. After a moment, so did Drago. After a longer moment, so did Rihwin.

"Good," Gerin said. All the same, he quietly resolved to take the wine jars from the cellar-where they resided with the ale-and find a more secret place for them. Rihwin's intentions were surely good, but his actions lived up to them no more than anyone else's-less than those of a few people who crossed the Fox's mind.

The warriors trooped into the great hall, still loudly congratulating Utreiz. "It's not as if I won the fight all by my lonesome," he protested, much as Gerin might have in the same circumstances. Nobody paid any attention to him. He'd taken part in the victory and brought news of it, and that was plenty.

Seeing the invasion, servants hurried downstairs and into the kitchens. They quickly returned with ale (no wine; the Fox checked each amphora to be sure of what it held), meat from the night before, and bread to put it on. Some of the warriors called for bowls of the pease porridge that simmered in a big pot above the hearth.

The troopers made enough racket to bring people down from upstairs to see what was going on. Van caught Fand in his arms, planted a loud, smacking kiss on her mouth, and then sat down again, pulling her into his lap. He grabbed for his jack of ale. "Here, sweetling, drink!" he cried, almost spilling it down her chin. "We've beaten Bevon and his boys proper, that we have."

"Is it so?" she said. "Aye, I'll drink to that, and right gladly, too." She took the jack from his hand, drained it dry. Gerin wondered if she would have been so ready to toast a triumph over Adiatunnus-he, after all, was of her own folk, not just an Elabonian on the wrong side. The Fox shook his head. She'd never been disloyal to him that way. When Van kissed her again, she responded as if she meant to drag him upstairs in a moment-or possibly not bother with dragging him upstairs. But then she got off his lap to claim a drinking jack of her own and fill it full of ale.

Selatre came down into the great hall in the middle of that. She too got a jack of ale. Gerin stood to greet her, but hesitated to do so much as take her hand; she remained leery of publicly showing affection. Unlike many, she didn't assume her own standards applied to everyone: she watched Fand and Van with much more amusement than disapproval.

She sat down on the bench by the Fox. "I take it the news is good?" she said. Then she saw Utreiz. "Now I know the news is good, and what sort of news it is. We've beaten Bevon and his sons and taken back the full length of the Elabon Way, not so?"

Gerin nodded. "That's just what we've done." He gave her an admiring look. "You don't miss much, do you? Next time I have to ride out in a sweep against the monsters, I think I'll leave you in charge back here."

For the first time since they'd become lovers-maybe for the first time since she'd come to Fox Keep-Selatre got angry at him. "Don't mock me with things you know I can't have," she snapped. She waved to the crowd of noisy, drinking warriors. "The only use they have for women is to tumble them, or maybe to have them fetch up another jar of ale from the cellar. As if they'd pay heed to me!" She glared.

Taken aback at her vehemence, the Fox said slowly, "I'm sorry. I don't suppose I meant that altogether seriously, but I didn't mean to mock you with it, either." He plucked at his beard as he thought. "If you wanted to badly enough, you could probably bring it off. All you'd need to do is remind them that you'd once been Sibyl and give them the feeling your eye for what needed doing was better than theirs even now."

"But that would be a lie," Selatre said.

Gerin shook his head. "No, just a push in the right direction. There's a magic to getting people to do what you want that doesn't show up in any grimoire. It uses what a person has done and who he is to show that he-or she-is apt to do well, or to come up with the right answer, or whatever you like, the next time, too. That's what I was talking about here. You could do it. Whether you'd want to or not is another question."

"Some of me is tempted," she said in a small voice. "The rest, though, the bigger half, wants no part of it. I'm not fond of having people tell me what to do, so I don't think I have any business giving orders to anyone else, either."

"Good for you," Gerin said. "I never intended to be a baron, much less somebody who calls himself a prince. I just aimed at being a scholar, studying what I wanted when I wanted to do it." Self-mockery filled his laugh. "What you aim at in life and what you end up with are often two very different things."

That made him think of the jars of wine Schild had sent him. They still sat down in the cellar, sealed and innocuous, and he'd move them somewhere safer yet as soon as he got round to it. But with Mavrix immanent in that wine, who could say how much his own aims mattered?

The moons coursed through the sky, Tiwaz swiftly, Nothos so slowly that his phase seemed to change but little from day to day, Elleb and Math in between. Gerin paid them close heed for two reasons: to gauge the time when the four moons would come full in the space of three days, and to see how many days Aragis the Archer had left to fulfill the promise his envoys had made.

Golden Math was two days past first quarter when word came to Fox Keep that the monsters had attacked a village near the southern boundary of Gerin's holding. Cursing under his breath-why wouldn't things ever hold still long enough for him to catch his breath?-he readied a force of chariotry and set out to sweep the countryside. He had no great hope of sweeping it clean, but refused to sit idly by and let the creatures hold the initiative.

The sweep actually went better than he'd expected. His warriors caught three monsters feeding on a cow they'd dragged down in the middle of a meadow close by the road. With joyous whoops, they sent their chariots jouncing over the grass to cut the monsters off from the safety of the woods. The creatures were slow to flee, too, staying at the carcass for a last couple of mouthfuls of meat before they tried to get away. Thanks to that, the Fox's men were able to bring them all down with no loss to themselves.

One of the monsters still tried to crawl toward the woods despite having taken enough arrows to give it the aspect of a hedgehog. Van got down from the car he shared with Gerin and smashed in its head with his mace. Then he and some of the other men began the gory business of reclaiming shafts from the bodies of the creatures.

Raffo turned to Gerin and said, "Here's another way keeping the trees well back from the side of the road did you a good turn, lord prince. If you'd let them grow up close, as other barons do, those stinking things might have made good their escape."

"That's true," Gerin said. "After a while, you sometimes get to wonder whether something's more trouble than it's worth, but when you see the work you've spent pay for itself, it reminds you that you might have known what you were doing all along."

The war party reached the ravaged village a little before sunset. The serfs there had fought back as well as they could; they'd lost a man, two women, and some livestock, but they'd also managed to kill a monster. Gerin sent his troopers out on a short foray into the forest surrounding the village, ordering them to be back in the open before night took them. That was one command he was sure they'd obey-no one wanted to meet the ghosts away from blood and fire.

A deadfall of branches and sticks caught the Fox's eye. "There's a likely place," he said, pointing.

Van and Raffo both nodded. "Aye, you're right," Van added, and probed the brush with his spear.

With a scream, a monster burst out and hurled itself at him. He held it off with his shield, though its charge forced him back two steps. Among them, he and Gerin and Raffo made short work of the creature. "Female," Gerin noted.

"Aye, so it was. Mean enough, all the same," Van said, sounding embarrassed at having to give ground. He sighed. "They're all mean enough, and to spare."

Inside the deadfall, something yowled-two somethings, by the sound. Gerin stared in dismay at Van. "It had cubs," he said, as if accusing his friend.

"Aye," the outlander answered, and then, after a moment, "No reason we should be surprised, I suppose. The creatures must have been having cubs for the gods only know how long, down in their caves. They'll have kept right on doing it now that they're aboveground. This one will have been pregnant before she got aboveground, come to that."

"So she will," Gerin said. The outlander was right, of course, but that didn't take away the startlement. The Fox dug into the deadfall, scattering brush in all directions. After a moment, Van and Raffo pitched in to help.

They soon uncovered the monster cubs. Gerin stared at them in dismay. They looked like nothing so much as ugly, hairy babies. "What are you going to do with them?" Raffo asked, gulping a little. Oddly, that made Gerin feel a little easier: the driver didn't have the stomach just to kill them, either.

Van did. "Get rid of them," he said. "You know what they turn into."

"I don't know what to do," the Fox answered slowly. "Aye, I know what they turn into, but I'm still not sure how smart the monsters are. If they learn I'm slaying their cubs out of hand and understand that, it'll just make them worse foes of mine than they are already."

"Honh!" Van said, a noise of deep discontent. "How could they be?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to find out."

"Well, what will you do?" Van asked scornfully. "Take 'em home and make pets of 'em?"

"Why not? We have Fand back at Fox Keep…" Gerin murmured. Actually, the idea tempted him, tweaking his curiosity. If you raised a monster among men, what would you get? A monster? A pet, as Van had said? Something not too far removed from an ugly, hairy man, or, for that matter, an ugly, hairy woman? If he'd had fewer things to worry about, if he'd had more leisure, if he hadn't been certain all his vassals would scream even louder than Van had, he might have tried the experiment. As it was- "I know what we'll do."

"What's that, lord?" Raffo asked.

"Nothing," Gerin said. "Nothing at all. We killed the female in battle-well and good. We won't-we can't-take the cubs back to Castle Fox. You're right about that, Van. But I won't just slaughter them, either. I'll leave them here. Maybe beasts will get them, or maybe, if the monsters do have something in the way of family feeling, they'll take them and raise them up. I'll leave that in the hands of the gods."

He hadn't asked whether Van or Raffo approved. Now he looked to see if they did. Raffo nodded. Van still seemed unhappy, but finally said, "You have a way of looking for the middle road, Fox. I suppose you found it here. Let's go back."

When they returned to the village, they found the other chariot crews had also had good luck. They'd killed two monsters, the only serious injury they'd taken being to Parol Chickpea, who'd just recovered from his bitten buttock. Now he was gray-faced, and had a bloody rag wrapped around his left hand-he'd lost two fingers from it.

"How did that happen?" Gerin asked. "His shield should have protected him there. He's right-handed, so he doesn't have that hand out in the open the way I do."

"Just bad luck," Drago the Bear answered. "The monster he was fighting gave a good yank at his shield, and it broke away from the handgrip and lashing. Then the thing sprang at him, and he stuck out his arm to keep from getting its teeth in his neck instead. I hope he heals; he's lost a lot of blood."

Gerin made unhappy clucking noises. "Aye, he's a good fighter, and a long way from the worst of men." He kicked at the dirt, feeling useless. "Would that the gods had never let this plague of monsters loose on us. Every warrior, every serf even, we lose is one we can't replace."

"That's all true, lord, but the creatures are here, and we have to fend 'em off as best we can," Drago said. Gerin wished he could muster that same stolid acceptance for things he couldn't help.

The warriors started back toward the main road at dawn the next day. They left Parol Chickpea behind; he'd taken a fever, and was in no condition to spend a day in the chariot. "We'll do the best we can for him, lord prince," the village headman promised. With that Gerin had to be content. The serfs' herbs and potions were as likely to help Parol as any of the fancier doctoring techniques that came from south of the High Kirs. Unfortunately, they were also as likely not to help.

When the dirt track the chariots were following ran into the Elabon Way, Van pointed south and said, "More cars heading up toward us, Captain."

The Fox hadn't looked southward; he was intent on getting back to the keep. But his eyes followed Van's pointing finger. His left eyebrow rose. "Quite a few cars," he said in surprise. "I hope Bevon hasn't rallied and driven my men off the highway again." He let out a long sigh. "We'd better go find out." He tapped Raffo on the shoulder. The driver swung his chariot south. The rest of the cars in the war party followed.

Before long, Gerin realized he didn't recognize any of the approaching chariots. He also realized his band was badly outnumbered. If Bevon somehow had managed to pull off one victory, he might be on the point of another.

Then Van pointed again. "There in the second car, Fox. Isn't that tall, skinny fellow Aragis the Archer?"

"Father Dyaus," Gerin said softly. He squinted. "Your eyes are sharper than mine." Then he let out a whoop loud enough to make Raffo start. "Aye, it is Aragis-and see all the friends he's brought with him."

"A great whacking lot of them, that's for certain," Van said.

The more teams and chariots Gerin saw, the more thoughtful he grew. He started to regret that whoop of glee. Measured all together, his own forces comfortably outnumbered Aragis' army. But his forces were scattered over several holdings and doing several different things, which left him in a decidedly uncomfortable position here. If Aragis should decide to take advantage of his superior numbers here on the spot, affairs in the northlands would suddenly look very different, although Gerin would be in no position to appreciate the difference.

A bold front had served him well many times in the past. He tapped Raffo on the shoulder again. "Let's go down and give the grand duke proper greeting."

"Aye, lord prince." Raffo sounded a little doubtful, but steered the car toward the approaching host. The rest of the chariots in Gerin's war party followed. He heard some of his men muttering among themselves at the course he took, but no one challenged him. He had a reputation for being right. The next few minutes would show how well he deserved it.

He waved toward the oncoming chariots. Someone waved back: Marlanz Raw-Meat. A moment later, Fabors Fabur's son waved, too. Then Aragis also raised his hand to greet the Fox.

"Well met," Gerin called when he'd drawn a little closer to Aragis' force. "You're in good time, and here with more cars even than I'd looked for. Well met indeed. We were just out driving the monsters back from one of my villages, and slew several." And left two to an unsure fate, he added to himself. Aragis didn't need to know about that. He would surely have killed the cubs without a second thought.

"Good for you, lord prince," Aragis called back. "And not only have I brought my men and my horses and my cars, I have a present for you-two presents, as a matter of fact."

"Have you now, grand duke?" The Fox hoped he sounded fulsome rather than worried. An unscrupulous man, which Aragis had a reputation of being, might reckon a volley of arrows and a hard charge as presents.

But Aragis didn't order an attack. He reached down into the car and held up a large, tightly tied leather sack. "Here's one of them." Then he reached down again and lifted something else, something heavier. His lips pulled back from his teeth, partly from the effort and partly in a real smile. "And here's the other."

From his arms, Duren squealed, "Father!"

Gerin prided himself on seldom being at a loss. His pride suffered now, but he couldn't have cared less. "Duren," he whispered.

Aragis couldn't possibly have heard that, but nodded nonetheless. His driver reined in. He set Duren down on the stone surface of the road. The boy ran to Gerin's chariot.

The Fox jumped out of his car even though Raffo hadn't stopped it. He staggered a little when he landed, and then again when Duren ran into him full tilt. He picked up his son and squeezed him so tight against his own corseleted chest that he felt the air go out of the boy. "Father, why are you crying?" Duren demanded indignantly. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"That's why I'm crying," Gerin answered: "Because I'm glad to see you."

"I don't understand," Duren said.

"Never mind," Gerin told him. Aragis' chariot had come up behind Duren. The Fox turned to the hawk-faced grand duke and said, "You know I was afraid you'd taken the boy, or rather kept him after someone else-it would have been Tassilo, wouldn't it?-took him. I never thought to get him back through you. To say I'm in your debt just shows how little words can mean."

"You've yet to open your other gift," Aragis said. He handed Gerin the leather sack without more explanation.

When the Fox undid the knot in the rawhide lashing that held it closed, a foul stench escaped. He nodded; from the weight and heft of the sack, he'd expected it would hold a head. He looked inside, nodded again, and closed it. "Aye, that's Tassilo."

"I packed him in salt for some days after I-mm-took him apart," Aragis said. "I wanted you to be able to recognize him, to be sure he was dead."

Gerin picked up the sack and threw it into the grass by the side of the road. It bounced a couple of times and lay still.

"You gave him too easy an end, you ask me," Van told Aragis.

"I thought on that," Aragis admitted. "Still, though, while he kidnapped the boy, he didn't do anything worse while he had him. That may have been because he wanted to keep his value as hostage high, but whatever the reason, it's so. I let his end be easy on account of it."

"He's dead. That's all that matters," Gerin said. "No, not all." He squeezed Duren breathless again, then asked Aragis, "When did he come to you?"

"As the gods would have it, the day after I sent my vassals to you seeking common cause," Aragis said. "So any of the men here with me will attest." His driver and the other warrior in the car with him nodded, almost in unison.

"I see," Gerin said slowly. He wondered if the grand duke was telling the truth. Had he perhaps had Duren earlier, and contemplated using him against the Fox? Aragis was not a man to cross; no doubt his own vassals would support him. Duren wouldn't know, not exactly; fouryear-olds had very strange notions of time. Gerin decided to let it lie for now.

"How fare you here?" Aragis asked. "Your own men down further south were full of stories of hard fighting to hold the road open."

"That's true, but we won the fight," Gerin said, doubly glad Aragis hadn't had to try forcing his way through Bevon's men-and quadruply glad Aragis hadn't tried and failed. The Fox went on, "We've had a few other small things happening, too," and with that airy understatement explained his sweeps through his one holding and the one Schild had so urgently requested.

"You've had a busy time of it," Aragis said, a statement so selfevidently true that Gerin didn't even bother nodding. The grand duke added, "I was taking the omens before I set out, and the bird's flight warned me I'd best leave early rather than late, so here you see me now. Try as I would, I couldn't make sense of why, but I accepted the reading all the same."

"I think you did well," Gerin said, and told him of the near werenight due in a few days.

Aragis' eyes narrowed. "Is that a fact?" he said, then shook his head. "No, I'm not doubting you, Fox. Just that, with so many things closer to home to keep track of, I never thought to worry about the moons."

"Sometimes the things you most need to worry about aren't the obvious ones," Gerin said. For some reason that made him think, not of the untouchably distant moons, but of Elise, who'd given no signs-no signs he'd noticed, anyhow-of discontent until one day she was simply gone.

Aragis said, "I have a hard enough time worrying about the things that are obvious. The rest I leave to the gods and clever fellows like you." His voice rang sardonic, but only slightly. He didn't worry about the long run or the wide picture as much as Gerin did. In the short term, and over the limited space of the northlands, his methods worked well enough.

"Let's head up to the keep," Gerin said. "We'll wait out the moons there, if that suits you, and then do our best to smash Adiatunnus. If his lands aren't a sanctuary for the monsters, we'll stand a better chance of controlling them."

"I wonder if we'll ever be able to do that," Aragis said gloomily. "The damned Trokme's lands are nowhere near mine, but the stinking creatures plague me as bad as they do you, maybe worse. After we finish up here, I'll want you and yours to ride south and help me clear my hinterlands of 'em."

"That's why we made the pact," Gerin agreed, "though as you say I don't know if we'll ever be able to clear them completely now. Sometimes that strikes me as more a job for gods than for men."

"If prayer were the answer, every monster in the northlands would have died a hundred times by now," Aragis said.

"Isn't that the sad and sorry truth?" Gerin said. "But I wasn't thinking so much of prayer. The gods hear prayer for a double handful of thousands of different things every day. No wonder most of them aren't granted-grant one and a god rejects another in the granting. What's crossed my mind once or twice lately, though, is… evocation."

Aragis stared at him. So did his own men. He didn't blame any of them. The last time he'd been at all involved in evoking was five years before, when Rihwin summoned Mavrix to turn sour wine back into sweet. Rihwin hadn't intended to evoke Mavrix then, only to invoke him. When you let a god fully enter the material world, you ran a tremendous risk. Summoning the god was relatively easy. Controlling him once summoned was anything but.

"You have a reputation for not thinking small," Aragis said at last, "and I see it's well earned."

"Dyaus above, it's not something I want to do," Gerin exclaimed. " Why do you think I so want this alliance to succeed? If we can beat the Trokmoi and the monsters on our own, we won't have to think about calling on the gods. But if it comes down to a choice between losing the fight and trying one last great stroke to win it, which would you take?"

"Damn me to the five hells if I know." Aragis shook his head, as if Gerin had made him look at something he would sooner not have contemplated. "As you say, lord prince, let us hope the choice does not come down to that. Shall we ride on to your keep now, and ready ourselves for the fighting ahead?"

"I suggested as much a while ago, but we've been standing around here talking instead," Gerin said. He picked Duren up and started to set him in his own chariot.

"Wait, Papa, I have to piddle," Duren said. He started toward the bushes off to the side of the road. Gerin and Van both went with him, the one with drawn sword, the other with heavy spear at the ready. Wild beasts and worse dwelt in the woods these days.

When Duren was done, Van grabbed him by the feet and carried him back to the chariot upside down. He squealed laughter all the way. Hearing that laughter lifted years from Gerin's heart. He nodded to Aragis, who nodded back. It was good to know there were depths to which some men in the northlands would not sink.

Having Duren in the car with him bouncing up and down made the trip back to Castle Fox one of the more enjoyable journeys Gerin had ever taken. Even having his son ask "Are we almost there yet?" with great regularity didn't, couldn't, come close to taking the edge off his happiness, not today.

When they got back to Fox Keep late that afternoon, the castle was shut up tight against them. Gerin would have been furious to find it any other way: the lookout would have seen a great many chariots, far more than had set out the previous morning, and had better have assumed they were hostile. The Fox rode up close enough for the warriors on the palisade to recognize him and called, "We're all friends here-Aragis the Archer has brought his men north. And look!" As Aragis had before him, he held Duren high.

The men on the wall cheered themselves hoarse. The drawbridge came down quickly, heavy bronze chain rattling over the winch. Van asked quietly, "Where are we going to put all of Aragis' men? The keep won't hold the lot of 'em, and besides-"

"I won't want all of them inside at once until I have more of my own troopers here to balance the scale," Gerin finished for him. "I don't see how I can keep from feasting 'em tonight, but after that.. ." Now he let his voice trail away.

"Look sharp," Van said. "Here's Aragis coming up."

The grand duke said, "Lord prince, we are allies, but not yet certain of each other, although you've been too polite to speak much of that. We've brought canvas and such; if it please you, most of my men will sleep outside the keep. You need have no fear. We'll set a watch against monsters and such, as we did on the road north."

Gerin dipped his head. "I thank you. You've just made my life easier."

"I thought that might be so." Aragis' smile was pleasant enough, but something hard remained under the surface. "I might have made other plans, did I not need your aid in the south as much as you need mine here-maybe more."

"Indeed," Gerin said. "I understand what you're saying. Your grandson will rule mine, maybe, or mine yours, but if we fight now, we both go under. We'll be wise to bear that in mind all through this campaign."

"My grandson will have his own worries," Aragis said. "I can't untangle mine right now, let alone his. But as you say, Fox, remembering we need each other is the best way to keep from going to war too soon."

It was probably the only way that would hold Aragis in check, Gerin thought. The Archer, by all evidence, was ruthlessly effective in pursuing his own interests. Reminding him that Gerin was part of those interests seemed eminently practical. Nodding, the Fox said, " Shall we go into the keep together? You'll guest with me, of course."

"Apart from my men, you mean? Aye, of course," Aragis answered. One thing his nature made easy: Gerin didn't have to waste time with polite-sounding explanations. Aragis saw through to the essence of things and accepted them for what they were.

Some of the men on the palisade came down to greet the Fox and his companions. Others held their posts, bows ready. Hearing the commotion, servants came out from the great hall to see what was happening. So did Fand and Selatre.

Seeing Fand, Duren jumped out of the chariot and ran to her. She scooped him up in an embrace, said to Gerin, "Och, you got him back! Good on you there."

"First thing that's gone right in a while," the Fox said. Then he glanced toward Selatre and corrected himself: "No, the second thing."

Duren wiggled out of Fand's arms. He pointed at Selatre. "Who is that lady? I've never seen her before." He looked thoughtful, which made him look amazingly like a miniature, beardless version of Gerin. "Is that my mama come back?" he asked, hope lighting his face brighter than the sun. He'd barely been toddling when Elise left Fox Keep.

"No, it's not," Gerin said gently, and the sparkle died in Duren's eyes. His father went on, "But do you know who it is? That's the lady who used to be the Sibyl down at Ikos, the one the god spoke through. Her name is Selatre. She lives at Fox Keep now."

"My vassals spoke to me of this," Aragis said, without giving any hint of how he felt about it.

Duren studied Selatre, then asked the child's natural question: " Why?"

Gerin had always tried to be as straightforward with his son as he could. That wasn't easy now, but he did his best: "Because the earthquake-do you remember the earthquake?" Duren nodded, eyes wide. Gerin continued, "The earthquake knocked down Biton's temple at Ikos, and it let loose the monsters from underground there. Van and I were afraid the monsters would kill Selatre and eat her, the way they do, so we rescued her and brought her to Castle Fox with us when we came back."

"Oh," Duren said. "All right." After a moment, he asked, "Why were you and Van at Ikos?"

"To ask the god to tell us through the Sibyl where you were," Gerin answered.

"Oh," Duren said again. "But I was with Tassilo." By his tone, that was as much a fact of nature as trees' leaves being green.

"But we didn't know you were with Tassilo," the Fox reminded him. "And even if we had known it, we didn't know where Tassilo was."

"Why not?" Duren asked, at which point Gerin threw his hands in the air.

He said, "Let's bring up some of the good ale from the cellar, slay an ox and some sheep, and rejoice that we have enough bold warriors here now to take on the Trokmoi and the monsters." Or so I hope, at any rate, he thought. If we don't, we're in even more trouble than I reckoned on before.

"Nothing finer than a good sheep's head, all cooked up proper, with plenty of ale to wash it down," Drago the Bear declared. Baron though he was, he had a peasant's taste in food.

The Fox looked to the sky. With sunset near, all the moons were up: Tiwaz at first quarter near the meridian, then Elleb halfway between first quarter and full, and then, close together and low in the east, Math and Nothos. Gerin shook his head. Five years earlier, he'd paid attention to the motions of the moons mostly to let him gauge the time by night; seeing them crawl together now sent a shiver of dread through him. This stretch, surely, would not approach the horrors of the werenight, but how bad would it be? No way to know, not yet.

He said, "The blood of the beasts slaughtered for our supper will hold the ghosts at bay. If you like, grand duke, we'll do some of the butchering outside the keep, that your men's encampment may also gain the boon of blood."

"A good thought," Aragis said. "Do it." He was so direct, he even used words like soldiers, sending forth no more than he needed to carry out his plans.

"Might we not broach even one of the jars of wine we have from Schild to help us rejoice in this alliance?" Rihwin asked.

"No," Gerin and Van said in the same breath. Gerin pretended not to see the curious look Aragis sent him for quashing the question so quickly. He was heartily glad he'd taken those jars out of the cellar and hidden them deep under straw in the stables. To Rihwin, he went on, "Ale suffices for the rest of us, so it will have to do for you, too." Rihwin's pout made him look positively bilious, but he finally gave a glum nod.

Duren kept running around the courtyard and in and out of the great hall, as if making sure things hadn't changed while he was gone. Every once in a while, his voice would rise in excitement: "I remember that!" He'd been gone a quarter of a year, no small chunk of a fouryear-old's life.

Selatre came over to Gerin and said, "He's a promising boy."

"Thank you. I've always thought so," the Fox answered. "I just praise Dyaus and all the gods that he doesn't seem to have suffered badly in Tassilo's cursed hands. The minstrel must have reckoned he'd need him hale and not too unhappy as a hostage." That sparked a thought in him. He called his son over and asked, "How was it that you went away with Tassilo when he took you away from here?"

"He promised he'd teach me his songs and show me how to play the lute," Duren answered. "He did, too, but my hands are too small to play a big one. He said he would make me a little one, but he never did do that." And then, to the Fox's surprise, Duren started chanting what Tassilo had called the song of Gerin at his visit to Fox Keep. He did it better than he'd ever sung before he was kidnapped; in that, at least, the minstrel had kept his promise. It wasn't remotely enough.

One of the cooks came out and said, "Lords, the feast begins!" The warriors streamed into the great hall. Even with chairs and benches brought down from upstairs, it was still packed tight.

Fat-wrapped thighbones smoked on Dyaus' altar by the hearth. When a servant brought Gerin a jack of ale, he poured a libation to Baivers and the rest of the ale down his throat. A serving woman picked her way down the narrow space between benches, pulling rounds of flatbread from a platter piled high and setting one in front of each feaster in turn.

She would have gone faster had more than a few men not tried to pull her down onto their laps or to grab at her as she went past. One of them wound up with flatbread draped over his face instead of on the table before him. "I'm so sorry, noble sir," she said, very much as if she meant it.

A cook with a sheep's head on a spit carried it to the fire and carefully started singeing off the wool. "Oh, that will be fine when it's finished," Drago said. He thumped his thick middle. "Have to remember to save some room for it."

Servants with meat more quickly cooked-steaks and chops and roasted slices of hearts and kidneys and livers-came by and set the sizzling gobbets on top of the flatbreads. The feasters attacked them with belt knives and fingers. They threw gnawed bones down into the dry rushes that covered the floor. Dogs growled and snarled at one another as they scrambled for scraps.

Aragis the Archer raised his drinking jack in salute to Gerin, who sat across the table from him. "You're a generous host, lord prince," he said.

"We do what we can, grand duke," the Fox replied. "Once in a while, for celebration, is all well and good. If we ate like this every day, we'd all starve, serfs and nobles together, long before midwinter rolled around."

"I understand that full well," Aragis said. "Between war and hunger and disease, we live on the edge of a cliff. But by the gods, it's fine sometimes to step back from the edge and make life into what it was meant to be: plenty of food, plenty of drink-you brew a fine ale-and no worries, not for today." He raised his jack again, then drained it. A servant with a pitcher made haste to refill it.

Selatre turned to Gerin. Under the noise of the crowd, she said, " Surely there's more to life than a full belly."

"I think so, too," he said, nodding. "So does Aragis, no doubt, or he'd be content to stay in his castle and stuff himself. If you ask me, he'd sooner drink power than ale." But then, trying to be just, he added, "If you don't have a full belly, not much else matters. Years the harvest fails, you find out about that." He paused thoughtfully. " What civilization is, I suppose, is the things you find to worry about after your belly's full."

"I like that," Selatre said. Now she nodded. "Well said."

Van sat at Gerin's right hand, with Duren between them. He'd been talking with Fand, and missed Gerin's words. Selatre's brisk statement of approval caught his notice. "What's well said, Fox?" he asked.

Gerin repeated himself. Van thought it over-perhaps a bit more intensely than he might have at other times, for he'd emptied his drinking jack again and again-and finally nodded. "Something to that." He waved a big arm in a gesture that almost knocked a plate out of a servant's hands. "You Elabonians, you've a great many things past farming. I give you so much, that I do."

Fand rounded on him. "And what o' my own folk?" she demanded. " Sure and you're not with the southrons who call us woodsrunners and barbarous savages and all, are you now?"

"Now, now, lass, I said nothing of the sort. I didn't speak of the Trokmoi at all, just of the folk of my friend here," Van answered, mildly enough. Gerin breathed a silent sigh of relief; he'd seen trouble riding Fand's question as sure as rain rode a squall line. Then, to his dismay, the outlander, instead of leaving well enough alone, went on, "Though now that you ask me, I will say that, since I traveled the forests of the Trokmoi from north to south, I'd far sooner live here than there. More good things to life here, taken all in all."

"Would you, now?" In the space of three words, Fand's voice rose to a screech that made heads whip around. "Well, have some fine Elabonian ale, then!" She picked up her drinking jack and poured it over Van's head, then got up from the bench and started to stalk off.

Snorting and cursing and blinking because the stinging stuff ran down into his eyes, Van reached out a meaty hand and hauled her back. She squawked and swung at him. He blocked the blow with his other arm, slammed her down into her seat hard enough to make her teeth come together with a loud click. "Here, see how you like it," he said, and drenched her with his jack of ale.

She cursed him in Elabonian and the forest tongue, loudly and ingeniously. He just sat there grinning, which fanned the fires of her wrath.

"Go on, both of you, and dry yourselves off," Gerin said, uncomfortably aware a common role for a would-be peacemaker was taking arrows from both sides. "Van may say what he thinks-"

"I'd like to see anyone stop me," the outlander put in.

"Shut up, will you?" Gerin hissed at him before continuing, "-and you, lady, may agree or not, as you judge best. But if you drench someone, you shouldn't be surprised or even angry to get drenched in return."

He waited for her to flare back at him, but every once in a while logic reached her. This proved one of those times. "Aye, summat to that," she said, tossing her head so little drops of ale flew from her coppery hair. She looked warily at Van. "Quits for now?"

"Aye, for now." This time, the outlander got up first. Fand followed him. Gerin wondered if they'd look for a towel or the nearest bedchamber. He laughed a little. Even if Fand wasn't his woman any more, he still got involved in her quarrels.

After a while, Duren said, "Why aren't Van and Fand coming back?"

"I think they're probably making up their quarrel," Gerin answered, smiling.

"Seldom dull around this place, is it?" Aragis said. He was smiling, too, more than half in bemusement. "My keep is more, mm, sedate."

By which you mean anyone who doesn't think like you had best not let you know it, Gerin thought. But how the Archer ran his holding was his business. Duren curled up in the space Fand and Van had vacated and went to sleep. Gerin ruffled his hair and said, "Somebody finds it dull, anyhow." He stared down at the little boy, still hardly daring to believe he had him back again, then raised his jack to Aragis in salute. Returning Duren made up for a multitude of the grand duke's sins.

Presently Van and Fand did return. Fand looked rumpled. The outlander looked smug. They both looked surprised when they found Duren stretched out where they'd been sitting.

"Don't worry," Gerin said. "You can have your places back. I'll take him up to bed." He scooped up his son, who wiggled and muttered but did not wake.

Selatre drained her drinking jack, set it down, and brought a hand up to her mouth to cover a yawn. "I'm for my own bed," she announced. "I'll walk up with you, if that's all right."

"Your company is better than just all right, as you know very well," Gerin said. He lifted Duren up as high as he could, to keep the boy's dangling legs from catching any of the feasters in the head, and made his way toward the stairs. Selatre followed.

Duren sighed again when Gerin put him down in the bed they both used. Duren muttered something, but Gerin couldn't make out what it was. "He has the look of you," Selatre said.

The Fox nodded as he straightened up. "He has my coloring, certainly. I suppose his features are mostly mine, too." Gently, he pulled off his sleeping son's shoes and tossed them by the side of the bed. "After what happened, I hate to leave him alone, even for an instant."

"I don't blame you," Selatre said. "But if he's not safe here in your bedchamber, where can he be safe?"

"The way the world wags now? Maybe nowhere," Gerin said bleakly. " None of us is really safe these days." He took a couple of steps over to Selatre, put his arms around her, and kissed her. "We just have to do the best we can, that's all."

She nodded. "Do you think you could leave him alone long enough to come with me to my little chamber?"

He paused in some surprise before he answered: she hadn't invited him to her chamber before. After he'd given it to her, he'd stayed out of it, not wanting to infringe on the privacy he knew she craved. On the other hand, the two of them would need privacy from Duren now. She'd grown up with everyone sleeping and doing everything else in one big bed, but he hadn't. He slipped an arm around her waist. "I think I'll take that chance."

Afterwards, though, he quickly dressed and returned to his own room. Wanting to make sure Duren was safe was only part of that. Selatre's chamber lay on the south side of the hall, and its window faced south. Light from the moons streamed into the chamber and cast multiple shifting shadows. With what lay ahead, Gerin wanted to think about the moons as little as he could.

Golden Math came full first. That night passed well enough: Tiwaz was two days before full, ruddy Elleb and Nothos both one day before. All three of them had risen earlier than Math, and so their rays did much to diminish the one full moon's effect.

From the werenight of five years before, Gerin knew which of his men were vulnerable to taking beast's shape. The two he worried most about were Widin Simrin's son-who'd been just a boy at the time of the werenight-and Parol Chickpea. He wondered how Parol was, down in the serf village. Widin he locked away in the cellar with the ale; the youngster came through that first night unchanged.

He fretted more over Aragis' men than over his own, for they were an unknown quantity to him. He asked the Archer which of his men had the were taint, but Aragis was vague: "Lord prince, that's hard for me to answer, for my vassals were most of 'em at their own keeps the night of the werenight. The Trokmoi hadn't reached my lands yet, so we were still at ease. Afterwards, I had more urgent things to worry about than finding out which of my warriors had donned beast shape. I just didn't see the need."

Gerin looked down his nose at the grand duke. "Which means we're vulnerable now," he said in reproof as mild as he could make it. No, Aragis wasn't forethoughtful enough; when something had gone, he assumed its like would return no more.

As the next evening approached, the one on which Elleb and pale Nothos would be full and swift-moving Tiwaz and Math but one day to either side of it, he sent all of Aragis' men save the Archer himself, Marlanz Raw-Meat, and Fabors Fabur's son out to the tented encampment they'd made. If trouble broke out, he wanted it well away from the keep. To his relief, the only comment Aragis made was, "A sensible precaution, lord prince."

The Fox sent Widin Simrin's son to his shelter and mewed him up, saying, "If you don't change tonight, you probably won't tomorrow. But better safe-we'll enclose you then, too." Widin just nodded; he knew necessity when he saw it.

Tiwaz came up over the eastern horizon first, a day before full and not far from round. Then, as the sun set, Elleb and Nothos rose side by side. Gerin watched them from the palisade. No cries of alarm rent the air the instant the two full moons appeared, for which he gave hearty thanks. Golden Math soon followed. Because she moved through her phases more slowly than Tiwaz, her bright disk was even closer to a perfect circle than his.

When all four moons were in the sky and no screams of horror had come from within the keep or from the tents where Aragis' men sheltered, the Fox decided he could safely descend and eat supper. He' d been sensible enough to have plenty of ale brought up before he closed Widin in the cellar, so washing down his meat would not be a problem.

Aragis, who was already gnawing on beef ribs basted with a spicy sauce, greeted him with a wave and something not far from a sneer. " All quiet as the tomb here, lord prince. Seems to me you fretted over nothing."

Gerin shrugged. "Better to be ready for trouble and not have it than to have it and not be ready, as happened at the werenight of the four full moons."

"Can't quarrel hard with that, I suppose," Aragis admitted. He took another big bite from the rib he was holding; grease ran down his chin. "Your cooks do a fine job indeed; I give you that without any argument."

"Glad something here makes you happy," Gerin answered. He waved to one of the kitchen servants for some ribs of his own.

"Only thing that bothers me about sitting here some days eating your good food is that we could have been out campaigning already, striking at the Trokmoi and the monsters," Aragis said.

"They'll be there, grand duke, never fear," Gerin said. The servant plopped a round of flatbread on the table in front of him, then set atop it several steaming ribs. He tried to pick one up, scorched his fingers, and stuck them in his mouth. Aragis hid a chuckle behind a swig of ale.

"I thought you were the patient sort, lord prince," Fabors Fabur's son said slyly, a gibe enough to the point to make Gerin's ears heat.

"I don't know why everyone is praising the food to the skies," Marlanz Raw-Meat grumbled. "They've cooked it to death, and that after I told them and told them I like it with the juice still in it."

Gerin stared over toward the gobbet of meat Marlanz was attacking. It might have been lightly singed on the outside, but juice and blood from it soaked the flatbread on which it lay. If Marlanz wanted it cooked less, he should have torn it off a cow as the beast ran by.

Before he could say as much, Gerin looked from the dripping chunk of meat to Marlanz himself. His beard seemed thicker and bushier than it had moments before, his teeth extraordinarily long and white and sharp. His eyes gave back the torchlight with red glints of their own.

"Meat!" he snarled. "Rrraw meat!" The backs of his hands grew hairier by the heartbeat.

"Your pardon," Fabors Fabur's son said, his voice rising to a frightened squeak as he slid down the bench away from his friend. Aragis' eyes were wide and staring. Van started to draw his sword, then slammed it back into its sheath. Gerin understood that; he'd stopped his own hand halfway to the hilt of his blade. Unless struck with silver, werebeasts knit as fast as they were cut. He'd seen that, to his horror and dismay, during the werenight.

"Rrrraw meat!" Marlanz said again, and growled deep in his throat. His voice was hardly a voice at all-more like an angry howl.

"Give him what he wants," Gerin called quickly to the frightenedlooking cooks. "Raw meat, and lots of it."

The men used that as an excuse to flee the great hall. Gerin hoped one of them, at least, would be brave enough to come back with meat. If not, Marlanz was going to try getting it from the warriors and women with whom he'd sat down to supper.

A cook, staggering under the weight of the haunch he carried on a platter, came slowly out of the kitchens. He did not bring the meat out to Marlanz, but set it down between the hearth and Dyaus' altar and then retreated much faster than he'd advanced. Gerin found himself unable to complain. That the fellow had come back at all was enough.

The Fox rose and edged past Marlanz, whose tongue lolled from jaws that had stretched remarkably to accommodate the improved cutlery they now contained. "Good wolf," Gerin said in a friendly way, as if he were talking to one of the keep's dogs. He looked around for those dogs, and did not see them-they'd all run outside as Marlanz began to change. They wanted no part of him. Gerin didn't, either, but he had less choice.

Grunting, he picked up the platter and carried it over to Marlanz. He bowed over it as if he were an innkeeper serving up an elaborate repast at some splendid hostelry in the City of Elabon. Indeed, his concern for his client's satisfaction was even more pressing than such an innkeeper's: none of their guests was likely to devour them if displeased with his proffered supper.

Marlanz looked from the dripping haunch to Gerin and back again. He bent low over the meat and sniffed it, as if to make certain no flame had ever touched it. Then, not bothering with the knife that lay on the table by the platter, he began to feed. That was the only word that seemed appropriate to Gerin-Marlanz tore off bite after bite with his teeth, worked his jaws briefly, and gulped down the barely chewed chunks. Meat vanished from the bone at an astonishing rate.

Gerin hurried back to the kitchens. "That haunch may not be enough," he warned. "What else have you?"

A cook pointed. "There's but half a pig's carcass, lord prince, that we were going to-"

"Never mind what you were going to do with it," Gerin snapped. Some of the doctors down in the City of Elabon reckoned eating raw pork unhealthy. That, as far as the Fox was concerned, was Marlanz's lookout. He grabbed the split carcass by the legs and lugged it out into the great hall.

As he came up to Marlanz, he realized that the offal from the carcass would have served just as well in the noble's present condition. He did not, however, have the temerity to haul the meat back from the kitchens. Instead, he set it on the table in front of Marlanz, who began destroying it with the same wolfish singlemindedness he'd shown on the chunk of beef.

"He can't eat all that," Van said as Gerin cautiously sat back down.

"You have my leave to tell him as much," Gerin said. "Go right ahead." Van sat where he was; he was as bold as any man ever born, but a long way from a fool. Fand set a hand on his arm, as if to congratulate him for his good sense. That surprised Gerin, who would have expected her to urge the outlander into any fight that came along.

"I'd have tried fighting him, lord prince," Aragis said, his eyes shifting back and forth from Gerin to Marlanz. "Your way is better, though. You're sorry to lose so much meat, no doubt, but you'd be sorrier losing men hurt or killed against a werebeast that can't be slain-and one who's a good vassal when in his proper shape."

"That last weighed heaviest on my mind," Gerin said.

"For which I am in your debt," Aragis said, "and Marlanz will be when he comes back to himself."

Marlanz wasn't quite in full beast shape, as he would have been during the werenight of five years before; he seemed rather a man heavily overlain with wolf. That made Gerin wonder if he possessed the full invulnerability werebeasts had enjoyed then. Some experiments, he'd found, were more interesting to think about than to try. And, as Aragis had said, Marlanz was a good fellow-and certainly looked to be a good warrior-when fully human.

The Fox wondered if he was going to have to get more meat still to set before Marlanz. As a werebeast, he ate like a wolf. Little by little, though, Marlanz slowed. He glared around at the unchanged men and women watching him, then picked up what was left of the pig carcass with mouth and pawlike hands and carried it over to a dark corner of the great hall. There he set it down while he heaped up rushes beside it into a sort of nest. He lay down in that nest, turned himself around a couple of times to accommodate its shape to his, and fell asleep.

"I hope he sleeps well," Gerin said sincerely. "Come sunrise tomorrow, he'll be a man again."

Selatre giggled. "And wondering mightily, too, how he happened to end up on the floor beside half-no, less than that now-a dead pig."

"Maybe we'll call him Marlanz Pork-Ribs," Rihwin said blithely.

Fabors Fabur's son sent him a serious look. "Van of the Strong Arm might possibly do that and have it taken in good part. For anyone less imposing, such chaffing is liable to be unwise."

"I think you're likely to be right," Gerin said. He too gave Rihwin a severe look. Sometimes Rihwin paid attention to such signals, sometimes he didn't. Gerin hoped this was one of the times he did, because he might end up very sorry if he got Marlanz angry at him.

"I hope that will be our only excitement for the night," Selatre said. Even Van, an incurable adventurer, nodded; the horrors of the werenight must have burned themselves into his memory for good.

Gerin said, "I'll check and see how Widin is doing." He went down to the door of the cellar, rapped on it, and asked, "Are you all right in there, Widin?"

"Aye, and still in my own shape, too," his young vassal answered. "May I come out now?"

"I don't see why not," Gerin answered. "Marlanz Raw-Meat's long since gone were; if the fit hasn't hit you by now, I don't expect it will tonight." He unbarred the door and released Widin.

"What sort of beast is he?" Widin asked.

"Wolf, like most northern werecreatures," the Fox said. "Actually, he's about half wolf and half man right now. He's gone to sleep in the rushes, guarding some meat like a hound. Come upstairs to the great hall, and you can see him for yourself."

He led Widin upstairs. Widin gave the sleeping Marlanz a wide berth, and did not turn his back on him even for a moment. That struck the Fox as eminently practical. A trooper who'd drawn palisade duty came to the entrance to the great hall and said, "Lord prince, a warrior of Aragis' wants us to let down the gate so he can have speech with you."

"Is he in his own proper shape, with no beasts with him?" Gerin asked after a moment's thought.

"Aye, lord, he is," the sentry answered. "The moons are so bright, nothing could hide, neither."

"We'll let him in, then," Gerin decided. He walked out to the gate and told that to the men who worked the drawbridge, adding, "but we'll raise the bridge again as soon as he's across it into the courtyard here." That would mean more work for the men, but he did not want to leave the keep open and vulnerable to whatever lurked under two full moons and the other two nearly full.

Down rattled the drawbridge. As soon as Aragis' warrior had crossed it, the gate crew hauled it back up again. The fellow came over to Gerin and sketched a salute. "Lord prince, I'm Rennewart Forkbeard, one of Aragis' vassals, as your man said." He was middleaged, solid-looking, and wore his beard in the old-fashioned style his ekename described.

"What's toward in your camp out there?" Gerin asked. "You've had a man take beast shape, is that it?"

To his surprise, Rennewart shook his head. "No, it's not that. Oh, a couple of the lads are hairier than they have any business being, but they're all still their own selves, if you know what I mean. We aren't worried about 'em. No, the thing of it is, just a little bit ago we had a man walk into camp naked as the day he was born, and a deal bigger. He's not one of ours. We were wondering if he came from the keep here some kind of way, or maybe from your peasant village not far off."

"Why do you need to ask me?" Gerin said. "Why not just ask him?"

"Lord prince, the thing of it is, he won't talk-won't say a word, I mean," Rennewart answered. "Won't or maybe can't-I don't know which. We figured you'd know him if anybody did."

"Yes, I suppose I would," Gerin said, puzzled: his holding had a couple of deaf-mutes, but they lived in distant villages and had no reason to show up at Fox Keep in the middle of the night, especially naked. He plucked at his beard; his curiosity was tickled. "All right, Rennewart, I'll come out and look at him."

The walk from keep to camp was short enough that the ghosts did not much afflict him before he came to the area protected by the sacrifices Aragis' men had made. Most of them were awake, either on watch or aroused by word of the strange newcomer.

"We brought him into my tent, lord prince," Rennewart said, leading Gerin to it and holding the flap wide. "Here he is."

Gerin drew his sword before he went in, wary of a trap. But the inside of the tent was brightly lit by several lamps, and held only some blankets and, as promised, one naked man sprawling on them.

"I've never set eyes on him before," Gerin said positively. "I'd know him, were he from my lands." The fellow was almost Van's size, and just as well-thewed as the enormous outlander. He was swarthy and hairy, with a beard that came up almost to his dark eyes and a hairline that started just above them. "Who are you?" the Fox asked. " Where are you from?"

The naked man listened with every sign of attention-mute he might be, but he wasn't deaf-but didn't answer. Gerin tried again, this time in the Trokme language. The fellow stirred on the blankets, but again gave no answer and no real sign he understood.

"We tried that, too, lord prince, with no better luck than you just had," Rennewart Forkbeard said.

"Go fetch my companion, Van of the Strong Arm," Gerin said. "He knows more different languages than any other man I've met."

Rennewart hurried away, and soon returned with the outlander. Listening to the drawbridge go down and up, Gerin spared a moment's sympathy for the gate crew. Van stared at the naked man with interest. Like the Fox, he started off with Elabonian and the Trokme tongue, and failed with both. Then he used the guttural language of the Gradi, who lived north of the Trokmoi, and after that brought no response he spoke in the hissing tongue used by the nomads of the Shanda plains. Those, at least, Gerin recognized. Van tried what must have been a dozen languages in all, maybe more. The shifting sounds of his words interested the naked man, but not enough to make him say anything past a couple of grunts. After a while, Van spread his hands. "I give up, Captain," he said, returning to Elabonian.

"Come to think of it, I have one other tongue," Gerin said, and addressed the naked stranger in Sithonian, a language he read more fluently than he spoke it. He might as well have saved his breath.

"He can hear," Rennewart said. "We saw that."

"Aye, and he's not altogether mute, anyhow," the Fox agreed. " But-" He paused, a suspicion growing in him, then said, "Maybe what he needs is a jack of ale. Could you bring him one, please?"

Rennewart sent him a first-rate dubious look, but brought the jack as asked. He handed it to Gerin, saying, "Here, you want him to have this, you give it to him."

Gerin took the couple of steps that brought him over to the naked man. He held out the leather jack, smiling invitingly. The stranger took it, gaped at it, but did not raise it to his lips. Quietly, Van said, "It's like he never saw one before."

"I'm beginning to think that's just what it's like," Gerin answered. He took back the jack, drank from it to show what it was for, and returned it to the naked man. The fellow drank then, clumsily, so ale trickled through his beard and dripped on the ground. He spent a moment thinking over the taste, then smacked his lips and gulped down the rest of the ale. He held out the jack to Gerin with a hopeful expression.

Gerin pulled him to his feet. "Here, come along with me," he said, and eked out his words with gestures. The naked man followed him willingly enough. So did Van and Rennewart, both looking curious.

The naked man jumped when the drawbridge thudded down, but went across it with the Fox. The feasters in the great hall stared at the newcomer; Gerin hoped Van didn't notice Fand's admiring glance. He gave the fellow another jack of ale, then took a pitcherful with him as he led the naked man down to the cellar from which he'd but lately released Widin.

Lured by the prospect of more ale, the stranger again accompanied him without protest. Gerin set the pitcher on the ground. As the stranger made for it, the Fox hurried out of the cellar, shut the door behind him, and dropped the bar. Then he went back up to the great hall, poured a jack of ale for himself, and gulped it down in one long draught.

"All right, Captain, what was that all about?" Van demanded when he thumped the jack down on the table. "You know something; I can see it in your face."

Gerin shook his head. "Come morning, I'll know something. Now I just suspect."

"Suspect what?" several people answered in the same breath.

"I suspect I just locked a werebeast in the cellar," Gerin answered.

Again several people spoke at once, Aragis loudest and most to the point: "But that was no beast-he was a man."

"And quite a man he was, too," Fand murmured, which drew her a sharp look from Van.

"When men go were, they take beast shape," the Fox said, filling his drinking jack again. "If a beast goes were, though, what would it become? A man, unless all logic lies. And look at this fellow-not just at how hairy he was, either. He had no idea how to be a man. He wore no clothes, he couldn't speak, he didn't know what a cup was for till I showed him… As I say, we'll know for certain come morning, when we open the cellar door after moonset and see who-or what-is down there."

Aragis shook his head, still doubtful. But Selatre said, "I like the notion. It might even explain how the monsters came to be: suppose a female beast turned woman long years ago, and a farmer or hunter found her and had his way with her and got her with child. Come morning, she'd be an animal once more, but who knows what litter she would have borne?"

"It could be so," Gerin said, nodding. "Or men as werebeasts might have mixed their blood with females of their beast kind. Either way, you're right-the get might be horrific. It's a better guess at how the monsters began than any that's crossed my mind." He raised his jack in salute to her cleverness.

"If you conceive by me, you'll know what you'll have, lass," Van said to Fand.

"More trouble than I'd know what to do with, I expect," she retorted.

"How d'you put a viper's tongue in such a pretty mouth?" he asked, and she looked smug.

The ale ran out not long after that, and no one seemed enthusiastic about going down to the cellar for more, not with the stranger down there. No one seemed enthusiastic about staying in the great hall, either, even if Marlanz had plenty of raw meat by his side as he slept. The kitchen helpers went to their quarters and barred the door. Everyone else went upstairs.

Gerin made sure the sun was well up-which meant full Elleb and Nothos would be well down-before he went downstairs the next morning. Even then, he went not only armed but ready to beat a hasty retreat.

He found Marlanz Raw-Meat back in fully human form, and just sitting up in the rushes, looking mightily confused at how he'd got there and even more confused at the pile of well-gnawed pig bones beside him. "How strong do you brew your ale, lord prince?" he asked. "Funny, though-it must have been a mighty carouse, but my head doesn't hurt."

"It wasn't ale-it was the moons," Gerin answered, and explained what had happened the night before.

Marlanz stared, then slowly nodded and got to his feet. "I'm told the same fit came over me, only stronger, at the great werenight five years gone by. I remember nothing of that night, either."

Van came downstairs then, also armed. He grunted in relief to see Marlanz without visible traces of lycanthropy, then said, "Shall we go down to the cellar and see what your wereman's become?"

That required more explanations for Marlanz. When they were through, Aragis' vassal pulled out his own sword and said, "Let's slay the appalling creature."

"If we can get it out of the keep without fighting, I'll be just as happy to do that," Gerin answered.

Marlanz stared, then realized he meant what he said. "You are the lord here," he said, in tones that implied he was willing to obey even if he wouldn't have gone about things thus himself.

"Take a shield off the wall and carry some of those bones of yours in it," Gerin told him. "Maybe they'll make the thing in the cellar as happy as they made you-and you didn't quite get all the meat off them."

Marlanz's stare turned reproachful, but he did as he was asked. Van said, "What if it's still a man down there?"

"We'll find him something else for breakfast," Gerin replied, which had the virtue of making both his companions shut up.

They went down to the cellar together. Gerin unbarred the door and pushed it open. "Father Dyaus above," Marlanz said softly-a mediumsized black bear sprawled on the dirt floor. The beast looked up at them in absurd surprise.

It did not growl, nor did the hair on its back rise. It didn't jump up and flee into the dark recesses of the cellar, either. "What's wrong with it?" Van demanded, as if he assumed Gerin would know.

And, for a wonder, Gerin did. "It's still got ale coursing through it from last night. That was a good-sized pitcher, and who knows when in man-shape it might have finished?" He paused, then chuckled. "I'm glad it's a friendly drunk."

Luring the bear upstairs with bones proved easy, though it wobbled as it walked. "I still say we ought to kill it," Marlanz grumbled as the gate crew let down the drawbridge and the bear staggered off toward the forest.

"We didn't try killing you last night," Gerin reminded him.

"Lucky for you that you didn't," Marlanz said, drawing himself up with prickly pride. Gerin agreed with him, but wasn't about to admit it.