Perhaps twenty minutes later, all of them around the fire (now in chairs or stools Ammas had provided), a silence fell. Carala looked shocked; Vos as troubled as Denisius had ever seen him. Casimir hugged his knees to his chest and lingered as close to Ammas as he could.

"An entire caravan company of werewolves," Barthim mused, his voice unusually subdued. "The Hethmar shine his merciful blade." The bouncer made a reverent gesture at the tattoo on his chest.

"I don't know that it's the entire company," Ammas said. Irritably he scrubbed the back of one hand across his cheeks. He was in need of a shave. "It may be this token has some significance for them, spiritual or otherwise. It may be one must earn the infection, which they likely see as a gift."

Carala scoffed angrily. Denisius gave her a wan smile. Lord Marhollow no longer looked as if he were about to keel over into sleep, but his face was exceptionally worried.

Ammas continued. "If that's true, it may be to the good. They may be circumspect in whom they choose to bite or -- or otherwise infect." Guiltily he exchanged a glance with Carala, who blushed and looked down, though Ammas thought he read a hint of a rueful smile on her lips. "Although I must tell you, when I was attacked, I was also invited to join this pack." Ammas gestured toward Carala, who was no longer smiling. "You were to be the price. That is the only goal of these creatures I know for certain. They want Carala."

"I will break a thousand wolfish necks before I allow such a thing," Barthim growled.

"I'll be right beside you, Barthim." Denisius had his sword out and was whetting it awkwardly. Ammas couldn't help noticing that the tip trembled visibly, as though Lord Marhollow's hands were shaking. At least his voice seemed steady enough. "But Ammas, you were attacked? Were you bitten?"

"I was," Ammas replied curtly. The topic held no interest for him, and there were far more pressing matters to discuss.

Denisius, however, seemed to find this issue quite important. Before he got very far, Vos broke in. "Cursewrights can't be infected with the wolf's blood sickness, milord, nor any other blood sickness. Most curses don't affect them at all, in fact."

"Someone does remember," Ammas remarked.

Vos smiled thinly. "I am old enough to have served with members of your fellowship, Ammas. Not often, but I remember the tales." He seemed about to offer something else, but desisted, tugging a new cigar from his tunic and lighting it. Barthim coughed and waved a hand before his nose ostentatiously, glowering at Vos, who pointedly ignored him.

"You will not have to break any necks, Barthim." Carala's voice was low, even, and utterly furious. "I want nothing to do with these creatures. I was tricked by one, and that is enough for me. I will die before I allow another to make me . . . his pack-mate, or whatever he calls it."

Ammas studied Carala, his expression unreadable. As fierce as she sounded -- and as fierce as Ammas was coming to suspect she was -- he knew from long experience that the wolf's nature was seductive, and sooner or later it would seek out others like it, given its choice. Even if the wolf's desire was to kill those like it, the rise of its savage nature would be almost irresistible.

Barthim, however, was delighted, and Denisius looked rather pleased himself. "Ammas," said the latter, "how common is something like this? I wasn't even sure werewolves still existed. There hasn't been a sighting of one in Marhollow since before I was born."

"They still exist, but only at the remote edges of the Realms. In the Sultan's lands they -- and more varied victims of blood sicknesses -- are sometimes employed as shock troops, but such creatures are strictly under the control of his janissaries. Before the breaking of the academies, the Vigilants of my order had hunted them almost to nothing, while the Adjutants and fellowship of healers had treated those who wished to be cured." Ammas gnawed on a scrap of bacon, staring into the flames. "Maybe it was inevitable they would return sooner or later, with the colleges destroyed."

Carala frowned at Ammas, remembering how since she had learned her letters she had been taught the graduates of the Academies Arcane had all been traitors. Now here was one practically lamenting the damage done to her father's empire because his fellows had not been there to help it.

"But how common was something like this, specifically?" Denisius asked. "A group, a pack this big, hiding behind a business? Did you ever face something like that?"

Ammas met Lord Marhollow's eyes. The young man seemed both bright and eager to help, but one look told Ammas how untested he was. Still, Ammas could hardly blame him. Had he been born twenty years later, the same might be true of him. There was also the fact he had spared Carala's life, and perhaps was the main reason a cure was even possible: for he had spoken to the gentle side of her wolf, not provoked its savagery with a blade.

"This is a pack of at least five wolves, probably more, who have successfully infiltrated or even founded a functioning trading caravan to hide behind. Their range extends hundreds of miles, from Gallowsport to Talinara to the Straits of Twilight. Either this Swiftfoot group is truly enormous, or they are fanatically devoted to the capture of a single person, for reasons none of us knows." Ammas rolled a scrap of bacon fat in his fingers and flung it into the fire, where it sizzled noisily. "Face something like this? I've never even heard of something like this. The only thing which comes close are the ancient tribes of the furthest tundras and darkest woods, all of whom have been extinct for centuries."

Denisius looked aghast. Unconsciously, perhaps, he had placed even more faith in this cursewright than Carala had, not least because he had not suffered the hard road she had on her journey from the capital. "Then what in the gods' names can we do?"

"Listen to Ammas," Casimir muttered. Barthim beamed at the boy.

An uncharacteristic blush crept up Ammas's cheeks. "If it pleases them, Casimir. But here is what I would advise. After last night, only Denisius and Vos may not be known to these creatures. Carala is their quarry and the rest of us have faced them directly. Therefore, if you really want to help us, Lord Marhollow, go to Brightmoon Bay or Fathoms Gate and book passage on the next ship to Vilais. There are vessels headed there every day. Something modest, but not desperate. No begging for space in a merchant ship or the like. Something unlikely to rouse curiosity. Only mention the number of berths, don't mention one is a child and one a woman."

"And how many berths?" Vos asked. "Lord Marhollow is quite insistent on coming with you."

Ammas frowned at Denisius, more perplexed than angered. "This really might not be the best idea, Denisius. I think Vos might agree with me, if he were free to speak his mind on the matter."

"I don't really care what you or he think," Denisius retorted, flushing angrily. His sword was now sheathed but his fingers were dancing along the pommel in a nervous way Ammas didn't like. "I'm not some coward who's going to hide in Coldspring Hall while the woman I'm to wed is on the run from werewolves and gods alone know what else."

"Deni," Carala said softly, "Ammas is only looking out for us."

"You both mistake me," the cursewright said. "The Malachite Throne needs to be informed of this. They need to know you've found her safe and that she is seeking a cure, but there are other forces hunting her. Those forces are at work in an unknown number of the Throne's cities. Mielle Thalia will send messengers, but you and I both know the Emperor is more likely to take seriously the word of one of his faithful nobles than that of a guardswoman from Munazyr, whatever her rank."

Ammas suspected Mielle was more respected than that even in Talinara, but a little flattery could go a long way, even for so apparently humble a noble as Denisius Gallis. It seemed to have worked, for Lord Marhollow sounded mollified. "I understand that, Ammas. But I don't want to play the messenger boy. I want to be at Carala's side for this. If you think it that important to get a message to Talinara, we could send Vos."

"You could not," Vos said curtly. "I have vows of my own, and your safety is part of them."

"He's right, Denisius," Ammas nodded. "Where you go, Vos goes. Especially if doing otherwise means he leaves a faithful servant of the Malachite Throne in the care of an exiled cursewright."

Denisius looked startled at this, but slowly nodded. Vos looked a trifle surprised that Ammas would phrase things in such a blunt way, but not at all displeased.

"Then we'll rely on Captain Thalia's messages," Ammas said. "But I must insist on this, Lord Marhollow: you have power in the Anointed Realms that I do not. I am, in fact, a criminal there."

"But such a handsome one," Barthim added. Ammas ignored him.

"With regards to Carala's treatment, my judgment must be absolute."

Carala's brows knit. "But you've already failed once."

"I acknowledge the failure. But I know how to deal with werewolves, and I've demonstrated both I and my apprentice are capable of keeping your condition under some control."

Carala touched the charm at her throat and slowly nodded.

"If it comes to pass that your cure is beyond my abilities, then I will turn you over to someone who is capable of it. But until that time, I cannot have Lord Marhollow contradict any of my directions. You may do so, Carala. You may dismiss me at any time, for any reason. But as long as you are under my care, no one else may do so, titles and promises of marriage notwithstanding."