they knew even more. That was why it was never accounted a crime, in the old days, to hunt them down and burn them. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Fitz?”
I shook my head, and when he frowned at my silence, I forced myself to add, “But I’m trying. What is the old Wit?”
Burrich looked incredulous, then suspicious. “Boy!” he threatened me, but I only looked at him. After a moment he conceded my ignorance.
“The old Wit,” he began slowly. His face darkened, and he looked down at his hands as if remembering an old sin. “It’s the power of the beast blood, just as the Skill comes from the line of kings. It starts out like a blessing, giving you the tongues of the animals. But then it seizes you and draws you down, makes you a beast like the rest of them. Until finally there’s not a shred of humanity in you, and you run and give tongue and taste blood, as if the pack were all you had ever known. Until no man could look on you and think you had ever been a man.” His voice had gotten lower and lower as he spoke, and he had not looked at me, but had turned to the fire and stared into the failing flames there. “There’s some as say a man takes on the shape of a beast then, but he kills with a man’s passion rather than a beast’s simple hunger. Kills for the killing . . .
“Is that what you want, Fitz? To take the blood of kings that’s in you, and drown it in the blood of the wild hunt? To be as a beast among beasts, simply for the sake of the knowledge it brings you? Worse yet, think on what comes before. Will the scent of fresh blood touch off your temper, will the sight of prey shut down your thoughts?” His voice grew softer still, and I heard the sickness he felt as he asked me, “Will you wake fevered and asweat because somewhere a bitch is in season and your companion scents it? Will that be the knowledge you take to your lady’s bed?”
I sat small beside him. “I do not know,” I said in a little voice.
He turned to face me, outraged. “You don’t know?” he growled. “I tell you where it will lead, and you say you don’t
know?”
My tongue was dry in my mouth and Nosy cowered at my feet. “But I don’t know,” I protested. “How can I know what I’ll do, until I’ve done it? How can I say?”
“Well, if you can’t say, I can!” he roared, and I sensed then in full how he had banked the fires of his temper, and also how much he’d drunk that night. “The pup goes and you stay. You stay here, in my care, where I can keep an eye on you. If Chivalry will not have me with him, it’s the least I can do for him. I’ll see that his son grows up a man, and not a wolf. I’ll do it if it kills the both of us!”
He lurched from the bench, to seize Nosy by the scruff of the neck. At least, such was his intention. But the pup and I sprang clear of him. Together we rushed for the door, but the latch was fastened, and before I could work it, Burrich was upon us. Nosy he shoved aside with his boot; me he seized by a shoulder and propelled me away from the door. “Come here, pup,” he commanded, but Nosy fled to my side. Burrich stood panting and glaring by the door, and I caught the growling undercurrent of his thoughts, the fury that taunted him to smash us both and be done with it. Control overlaid it, but that brief glimpse was enough to terrify me. And when he suddenly sprang at us, I
repelled
at him with all the force of my fear.
He dropped as suddenly as a bird stoned in flight and sat for a moment on the floor. I stooped and clutched Nosy to me. Burrich slowly shook his head as if shaking raindrops from his hair. He stood, towering over us. “It’s in his blood,” I heard
him mutter to himself. “From his damned mother’s blood, and I shouldn’t be surprised. But the boy has to be taught.” And then, as he looked me full in the eye, he warned me, “Fitz. Never do that to me again. Never. Now give me that pup.”
He advanced on us again, and as I
I shook my head, and when he frowned at my silence, I forced myself to add, “But I’m trying. What is the old Wit?”
Burrich looked incredulous, then suspicious. “Boy!” he threatened me, but I only looked at him. After a moment he conceded my ignorance.
“The old Wit,” he began slowly. His face darkened, and he looked down at his hands as if remembering an old sin. “It’s the power of the beast blood, just as the Skill comes from the line of kings. It starts out like a blessing, giving you the tongues of the animals. But then it seizes you and draws you down, makes you a beast like the rest of them. Until finally there’s not a shred of humanity in you, and you run and give tongue and taste blood, as if the pack were all you had ever known. Until no man could look on you and think you had ever been a man.” His voice had gotten lower and lower as he spoke, and he had not looked at me, but had turned to the fire and stared into the failing flames there. “There’s some as say a man takes on the shape of a beast then, but he kills with a man’s passion rather than a beast’s simple hunger. Kills for the killing . . .
“Is that what you want, Fitz? To take the blood of kings that’s in you, and drown it in the blood of the wild hunt? To be as a beast among beasts, simply for the sake of the knowledge it brings you? Worse yet, think on what comes before. Will the scent of fresh blood touch off your temper, will the sight of prey shut down your thoughts?” His voice grew softer still, and I heard the sickness he felt as he asked me, “Will you wake fevered and asweat because somewhere a bitch is in season and your companion scents it? Will that be the knowledge you take to your lady’s bed?”
I sat small beside him. “I do not know,” I said in a little voice.
He turned to face me, outraged. “You don’t know?” he growled. “I tell you where it will lead, and you say you don’t
know?”
My tongue was dry in my mouth and Nosy cowered at my feet. “But I don’t know,” I protested. “How can I know what I’ll do, until I’ve done it? How can I say?”
“Well, if you can’t say, I can!” he roared, and I sensed then in full how he had banked the fires of his temper, and also how much he’d drunk that night. “The pup goes and you stay. You stay here, in my care, where I can keep an eye on you. If Chivalry will not have me with him, it’s the least I can do for him. I’ll see that his son grows up a man, and not a wolf. I’ll do it if it kills the both of us!”
He lurched from the bench, to seize Nosy by the scruff of the neck. At least, such was his intention. But the pup and I sprang clear of him. Together we rushed for the door, but the latch was fastened, and before I could work it, Burrich was upon us. Nosy he shoved aside with his boot; me he seized by a shoulder and propelled me away from the door. “Come here, pup,” he commanded, but Nosy fled to my side. Burrich stood panting and glaring by the door, and I caught the growling undercurrent of his thoughts, the fury that taunted him to smash us both and be done with it. Control overlaid it, but that brief glimpse was enough to terrify me. And when he suddenly sprang at us, I
repelled
at him with all the force of my fear.
He dropped as suddenly as a bird stoned in flight and sat for a moment on the floor. I stooped and clutched Nosy to me. Burrich slowly shook his head as if shaking raindrops from his hair. He stood, towering over us. “It’s in his blood,” I heard
him mutter to himself. “From his damned mother’s blood, and I shouldn’t be surprised. But the boy has to be taught.” And then, as he looked me full in the eye, he warned me, “Fitz. Never do that to me again. Never. Now give me that pup.”
He advanced on us again, and as I
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