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They reached the World Tree as the first Clans began to arrive. Bear, Elk, Monkey, and Frog had arrived, and the groups who stayed around the World Tree had already begun to set up for a festival. Twenty-eight Packs of various Clans lived under the boughs of the World Tree, each sharing in the responsibilities of tending the World Tree and the temples surrounding it. They also tended the annual Festival of the Moon in which the Clans came together.
Inlé told the others that they would wait for the arrival of the next person he needed to visit. They separated, to a degree, with the eremite and Fernweh disappearing, and Inlé slipping off somewhere as well. Arrats helped around a few of the temples, and Selice wandered the grounds followed close by Spinel.
The princess had argued that the knight should be following the Archcardinal, since it was she who had wanted him along, but he said his duty was to the throne of Ashkern first. After a while, she had forgotten his presence and spent her time wandering with awe at the goings-on around her.
Over the course of the week, the other Clans trickled in in gangs and packs. The Clan of the Wolf came in over the course of the last two days, with Hidden Moon last of all. Swiftfang and his gang saw the princess wandering about, and called her to join them as the Pack set up camp.
The princess was given the task of helping with the children as the adults went about other tasks, if she would. She was pleased to help, and found the young pups to be quite fun, so long as she was careful to avoid their sharp teeth. They preferred active, physical games, for the most part, and Selice was quite exhausted by the end of the day.
Spinel had been collected for heavier work, and worked hard at the lifting, pulling, carrying, and the setting of supplies and tent posts. Silentstride was beside him at all times, mutely goading Spinel to lift just a bit longer than he would have liked, or carry more than he felt comfortable with. Whenever the wolf saw the man doing more than he, Silentstride matched the knight and raised the level of effort. Which, of course, Spinel had to then match. Both were worn thin by the time the camp was completed, and Spinel saw that Silentstride grinned widely at him with pride and admiration.
The knight had passed some sort of test among the Pack, he noticed, and was brought to eat with the warriors when the work was done. The princess, meanwhile, sat with the mothers and other women who were not warriors. He was glad to see her laughing with them as one told some story. A smile crossed his lips as she nearly lost her balance on the log they sat on and barely caught herself with the aid of the she-wolf beside her.
"You like that one," Swiftfang said, sitting beside him.
"Perhaps, sir," Spinel answered, unsure how to address the pack-leader. He was surprised at how the circle of warriors interacted. Laughing and punching one another as they worked, their bawdy activity only increased as they sat to eat.
A moment ago, the knight had been seated beside another wolf, but when the warrior had risen to get more food, their leader had filled his seat. The other werewolf, Spinel noted, had not even looked to return to his old seat, moving to sit with another group instead.
"Of course you do," the pack-leader laughed heartily. "You've been watching her out of the corner of your eye all day."
"She is my ruler, sir. I have been given the honor of protecting her during her travels."
"Ah, honor. That we know, good knight," Swiftfang wrapped the phrase around his mouth with more respect for the man he addressed than the title. "I've no idea what reasons humans grant leadership hereditarily for, but she will be a woman to be praised, unless my nose is wrong."
"You said it was never wrong," the knight reminded.
Swiftfang laughed again. "I did. The reminder of that means you either put weight in what I say because of what is said or who said it."
"Both, in fact," Spinel agreed. "The princess promises to lead well once she is wed."
"And must she do so before she leads?"
"It is customary that it is so. They say such power is best divided. Many decisions are difficult to make, and harder still to live with. But if one person will stand beside you, loving you without restraint, these difficulties are at least bearable."
"There is wisdom in that," Swiftfang agreed. "So when is she to be wed?"
"Not for a while. Once we return to the city, she will likely begin dealing with the eligible males in the nobility. Marriage is for political reasons as much as for any other."
Swiftfang shook his head. "I see no wisdom in that. We hold marriage as sacred. But we marry whoever we want, so long as we share a deep love. It is not frowned on to marry more than once, in fact.
"My father, for example, had three wives. And my mother four husbands. The two were not married, though."
Spinel looked confused, and Swiftfang laughed, saying, "Best not try to untie my history, friend. It is hardly the standard, but it is not too unusual among the Clans. Moon had many marriages, and many lovers beside, and her children follow suit.
"Myself though," Swiftfang said, in suddenly conspiratorial tones, "I plan to have one and only one. Though she's set to kill me at the moment." He nodded toward the she-wolf beside the princess. "Name's Silvermoon. She's ignored every proposal any man's ever sent her way. I've yet to have the courage, as she and I were mortal enemies as pups." He grinned widely. "She's a beauty, though, isn't she?"
Spinel was forced to agree. Her skin glowed with the firelight, and her silvery hair glistened. She and the princess were thick in some conversation that had Silvermoon laughing and Selice blushing. As he watched, though, the princess turned the tables, and she was laughing as the other blushed.
Suddenly the she-wolf cuffed the princess and she fell backwards into the darkness. Spinel began to rise, but was caught by Swiftfang.
"Don't worry, just watch."
Spinel sat uncomfortably, and saw Selice rise up to a seated position as the women around her laughed. Furious, she slapped at Silvermoon, who ducked and tackled the princess to the ground with a grin, pulling her into the firelight. The other women laughed as the two rolled closer and further from the fire. Spinel tensed, preparing to break the pack-leader's hold and rush his mistress's aid, until the princess was pushed up and off of the she-wolf and he saw her laughing along with the other women before she leapt back down at Silvermoon.
Seeing the knight's confusion, Swiftfang said, "The women are as much warriors as the men, but they understand restraint better than we do. Your princess may be bruised and sore in the morning, but she'll be fine."
Spinel smiled briefly. "Only if she wins."
The two laughed together.

The knight woke the next morning to a light kick. Rubbing his eyes, he looked up to see Silentstride standing over him. Silentstride pointed behind Spinel and lifted his eyebrows questioningly. Looking behind him, the knight saw his princess curled up behind him, lightly holding the back of his undershirt. His surprise was obvious to the werewolf standing over him, who grinned and gestured for the knight to follow. They walked outside the camp, away from the waking festivities. Silentstride finally turned back to Spinel again and bowed. Spinel, somewhat confused, returned the bow.
"We have not yet properly met," Silentstride said quietly. Spinel had yet to hear his rival's voice, and was surprised by how melodic it was. "My name is Silentstride of the Pack of the Hidden Moon. Son of Longclaw and Shadowbride, descendant of Longclaw, child of Fang. I name you my brother in heart and soul. Whom do I so name?"
"I am Spinel Gahn, Knight of Ashkern, Captain of His Majesty's Royal Guard. My father is Fury Gahn, and my mother Song Gahn, whose maiden name was Klagelied. Servant of the Triskelion Order, Bitten brother of Silentstride of the Hidden Moon."
Spinel noted that Silentstride was pleased to see his name slipped into his rival's introduction. He nodded and smiled.
"Do you know why I have called you out here?" he asked.
Spinel lifted an eyebrow. "Wasn't the introduction the reason?"
Silentstride chuckled deep in his throat. "The naming is only the first portion of the introduction. Now we fight. Are you prepared?"
"Wait a moment," Spinel put a hand up. "You almost killed me last time. I can't fight you like this."
Silentstride chuckled. "We fight man to man. Neither of us will use a weapon, and I will keep my man-form. Is that fair enough?"
Spinel thought for a moment, and realized his blood was already boiling with anticipation. He knew he should be appalled as a knight to be looking forward to a fight without obvious purpose. But there it was. He answered by lifting his fists to the ready. The two shared a large smile, then Silentstride leapt to meet his rival, fists leading.

The two men walked back to the Hidden Moon's camp hanging off of each other, obviously exhausted. The warriors cheered in greeting as they made room around the breakfast fire. Selice caught sight of her knight limping into the camp and was surprised to see a grin on his face that made him look at home with the warriors he now ate with. His smiles had always been brief and reserved, as befitted a knight, but this was wild and energetic. He had become one of them, she realized.
Selice rubbed the back of her neck, which had been sore since her match with Silvermoon the night before. She blushed thinking back to the night before. How unseemly of a princess to act so! She was only glad that none but the women around her had seen. If that old fool she was traveling with had seen--or worse, the Archcardinal--she would never have been able to recover from her embarrassment. She was fairly certain that Spinel had not seen as well, as she had not been able to see him during their last meal. How much respect would she lose if he had seen? Selice decided to confront Silvermoon about that point later. She was surprised to be glad of finding a reason to seek out the she-wolf. She'd never met such folk as the Pack of the Hidden Moon.
"Hee," a familiar voice said as the princess was still rubbing her neck. She turned to see Fernweh strolling up behind her. "Had that long, princess?" He asked with a wink.
"Had what?" she asked confused.
"F'r one, th' dress, girlie. Tis a nice improvement, t' be sure."
Selice hadn't even noticed. She had dressed sleepily and found she now wore the leathers of the Pack's women. They were light and surprisingly comfortable, so she decided to forego the bother of trying to correct the mistake. If this clothing fit so well, it seemed a waste to don the less comfortable travel gear again. Less comfortable despite its being custom tailored to fit her.
"They look good on you, queenling," Silvermoon taunted from behind her.
Fernweh laughed and said, "So that's that, then, eh? You've a pretty friend, girlie."
Selice embarrassedly muttered something to the negative, knowing she lied. Now she only needed the Archcardinal teasing her, and she would certainly melt into nothing.
As if on cue, Arrats arrived, plate brimming with food. "And what do you think you're doing over here, old one? Shouldn't you be with the elderly?"
"Bah," Fernweh said. "They're all spratlings and cliquey. Won't have me."
"And the warriors?" the Archcardinal pressed.
"I'm a lover, not a fighter," the old man laughed. "Not one here's old enough t've been alive when last I killed. Not f'r two Winters at least."
Arrats lifted one eyebrow as she sat beside the princess. "Well, join the knight, at least. He'll likely be happy of your company."
"And ye aren't?"
"So you did notice," Arrats smiled. "Let the ladies alone for a little while, you old fool. You should be ashamed to be chasing skirts at your age."
Fernweh laughed. "At my age, I sh'd be proud I've still th' energy t' care." He waggled his eyebrows teasingly, and ducked away from a heel of bread sent after him by the princess. Catching it behind him, Fernweh quickly ate the heel as he sauntered off to join the warriors. "Make sure t' put th' princess's hair up t'day, Arrats. Tis a day t' keep th' hair bound, at least."
Arrats lifted one eyebrow, then looked at the back of Selice's neck, lifting the hair. "Hmm," she said. "This is new."
"What?" Selice asked.
"Well, it seems you're part of this Pack now too."
"What?" Selice shouted in surprise. Her eyes jumped to Silvermoon, who looked back smiling and shrugged at the startled princess.
"But ... I'm no warrior," Selice almost whined.
"Not all weapons are physical," Silvermoon shrugged.
"And you've certainly got a rapier wit," Arrats agreed. "Your weapons are your words and your will, princess. Everything else is extra as far as you're concerned. And it seems your friend agrees."
"Don't worry," Silvermoon winked. "I'll show you some things more than words, if you'd like."

Inlé stood in the Shrine of Moon's Beasts, looking up at himself. There was no question to its validity now. The black stone was carved in his likeness, perfect in every detail. It wore his usual garb, having slipped it on through some magical means that he did not know. Even his sneakers had been slipped onto the statue's feet. Fernweh had jokingly commented that he had no doubt that everything under the clothes was as perfectly copied as on the other statues with waggling eyebrows.
Inlé had studied each statue in turn, but only his own was placed on its pedestal alone. All the others had a human and an animal form. All of the statues, save his own and that of Old Wolf, were female. And his was the only one clothed. Some children ran through the Shrine, in human or beast or hybrid forms, giggling or staring in awe at their ancestors. Inlé noted some young adolescents looking on with slightly different interests.
A young werebear approached Inlé as he observed his own statue. The young bear was likely Inlé's own age, but was much larger and broader. He towered over Inlé, trying to intimidate by sheer bulk this boy who he knew must be about his own age.
Inlé, of course, paid the young arkanthrope no mind, which infuriated the bear-boy beside him. The werebear growled and snorted and thrashed around Inlé as Inlé studied his statue, wondering at its antiquity and its similarity to himself. Rubber-soled shoes were nowhere in this world, that he had seen. So how did these come to be here? They could not be his own, as they were from a past he had never seen. But there it was, against all rationale.
The bear-boy finally grew tired of being ignored and stepped directly between Inlé and his statue. Seeming to notice the bear for the first time, Inlé asked, "Yes?"
"You aren't one of us, human," the bear boy said.
"True enough," Inlé answered.
"Then what right have you to come in here and stare at our ancestors?"
"The statues of your ancestors," Inlé corrected. "Your ancestors are on the moon."
"Which puts them above your own ancestors, doesn't it?"
"Perhaps. What is the point you are failing to make?"
"The point," the bear-boy roared, pulling Inlé up to eye-level, "is I don't like you here. You don't belong."
"'Art is a gift to the world'," Inlé quoted. "You can claim heredity to one of the Beasts here, but I claim similar heritage to their mate. I am, after all, human."
The bear-boy disliked this rationale and threw Inlé from the Shrine with a roar.
Inlé caught himself with a hand and flipped to his feet, facing the bear who'd thrown him. A small group of like-aged thirianthrope children stood beside the entrance that he had just exited. The bear charged Inlé, swinging wildly with meaty hands. He reached as though to swat Inlé, but Inlé was beneath the blow and inside the bear-boy's range before he could react. Inlé pressed the bear-boy's arm tight to his chest, keeping him from swinging again.
"Young arkanthrope," Inlé said, "do not test me. I have little patience for such posturing around your peers. Prove yourself in another way. I have been waiting for a full week in this area, and wish more than you that I be gone. Do not force me to shame you in front of your friends."
The bear-boy began to swing again, then thought better of it as Inlé turned and began walking away. The others had not been close enough to hear the human's words. Surely if he left the Shrine, the bear had won. "And don't come back, coward!" he called after his retreating opponent.
Inlé paused and turned back to the bear, giving him such a witheringly soulless glance that the bear-boy quailed under the gaze. There was no fire in those eyes. No hate or rage or fear. They were twin pools of emotionless darkness that the bear-boy would run from in his dreams for the rest of his life.
At that moment, the bear-boy knew real fear. Never again would he falter against anything, as those twin voids had purged the fear of anything else from him. And after his life, tales were sung of his fearlessness in combat and utter disregard for danger to himself. He was also considered wise by the standards of his Clan, for it was rare that he made the mistake of underestimating an opponent. He gauged each foe carefully before attacking and destroying them.

At midday, Selice and Spinel met during the light meal the Hidden Moons had set out. The princess's hair was up nicely, revealing her Bite for all to see. The knight had opted for garb that revealed his own mark as well, and Selice decided that he looked even more fierce and powerful in the sleeveless leather tunic than in his usual armor. The Archcardinal and the old wanderer had likewise met and then found their younger companions as they ate.
"Here, girly, haven't ye th' nicest hair t'day," Fernweh said. "Tis a fine festive look on ye."
"Thank you, sir," Selice said. In the past two weeks, the princess had moved from loathing to tolerance and then, over the course of the last week, acceptance and even a slight admiration. Not that she would ever admit it. "So how much longer does this festival last?"
"Oh, about a week," he answered, rubbing his spindly beard. This, to his surprise and the amusement of the others, included him rubbing a great deal of the grease on his hand into his face. He scowled witheringly as the princess laughed at him, but it was obviously exaggerated and only made Arrats join in the laughter. Even Spinel smiled briefly as the old man continued, "There'll be competitions and stories told all around, and then they will leave as they came."
"There's already been stories," Selice said. "I've seen you telling them all over to the younger people."
"Aye, an' more I'll tell, t' be sure. I've a great many to tell, too. Not as many as our other friend, I'll warrant," Fernweh added. "But I've enough not t' look a fool beside him. And speaking of," the old wanderer waved a hand to someone behind the princess, "here he is."
"Greetings," the eremite said as he joined the other four. "How has the festival been for you newcomers? I pray you're enjoying it."
"It's been interesting," Arrats agreed. "I wish I'd come sooner."
"There is always next year, and the next, and the next. You're young yet, and your home is not so far. A small group comes from thereabouts, and they would not likely be opposed to so prestigious a person as the Archcardinal in their entourage. The young ones still think in the fashion of politics and commerce."
"Perhaps I will," Arrats said. "Too few of my recent traveling companions have been awed by my position."
Fernweh snorted. Around a mouth filled with roast some-beast-or-another, he said, "Aye. Poor girl's companions have been more impressed with th' person an' not th' legend or fame. Such're friends, girly."
"Not with your mouth full," Arrats scolded. "And yes, such are friends. But when did I accept your friendship?" Her words were harsh, but obviously teasing.
With mock shock and despair, the old wanderer stuttered, "But ... but! Ye ate me cookies! An' we've shared a cave!" His eyebrows waggled just long enough to earn a bone from the Archcardinal's plate as a fence between them. He fell back off his seat.
"You letch!" Arrats glared. "Besides, you're far too old for me."
"Oh don' say that," Fernweh said, rising to his knees. "Ye know I'll be good t' ye. Here, as proof o' me love." He reached up as if to stroke the Archcardinal's face, but at the last moment, the bare bone that had hit him was in his hand, and in her ear. Her surprise made them both fall backward, and the group was laughing good-heartedly.
None noticed Inlé's approach until he was upon them. "I have come to inform you all that I have found the soto Qadri and will depart shortly. If you intend to follow me, you have until the end of the next tournament, in which I am competing."
The laughter died, but the party remained lighthearted. "Ye're competin'?" Fernweh said. "What f'r? Ye'll easily beat this competition." He gestured around him at the surrounding camps. "Ye've centuries on most o' them."
"I do not have so much time, sir, but yes, I foresee little challenge in my mission. The soto merely refuses to receive his scroll unless I compete. He wishes to see my skill with arms, for some reason."
"Actually," Spinel cleared his throat, "I would like to see that also. Last time we were all in combat, I was in no shape to watch how you fought."
"Not that he did any," Fernweh chimed in. "Meself, I think it's a bad bit t' have ye fightin'. It makes me own chances slimmer."
"Your chances?" Arrats echoed. "What do you mean your chances."
"Ah, see," Fernweh stammered uncharacteristically. "Ah, I've a love f'r these games, an' always join at least one if I'm here. This year, I thought combat'd be fun. Seemed right, considerin' th' company I'm with."
"Then there will be four of us there," said Silentstride as he approached. "My brother and I are also contestants."
"We are?" Spinel asked, not in the least surprised that his Biter had gotten within a few paces without anyone noticing him. "And when were you planning to tell me you'd signed us up?"
"Why do you think I came to see you, son of Fury?"
"Perhaps you're itching for me to put you back in your place?"
The two stared at one another, grinning, for a long moment before Silentstride answered. "Of course I've come with a challenge. But I would prefer something more ... public this time." His grin widened. "And what better way to show my brother off than in a game? I know you will not turn this chance down, will you? I had heard knights were both honorable and brave. Surely one would not run from a friendly contest of strength? Your tail does not stay between your legs, does it?"
Spinel's smile dropped. "Those words are much like Inlé's when first we met. The competition seems a fine thing. Certainly I will attend, but," he stood, "perhaps you will not?" His hands rose to the ready, and Silentstride barely dodged the sweeping kick Spinel had concealed with the distraction of coming to the ready. The two grinned and were upon one another. Had Fernweh not stopped them, they would likely have thrashed over everything.
As it was, both took a quick knock behind the ear by the old man's bindle-stick as he scolded them for not saving their energy for the short wait.

The competitions at the Festival of the Moon are called friendly, but they are deadly fierce. And none more so than Hidden Moon's competition.
All entrants are allowed, whatever their lineage--the only combat tournament not limited by line in some way--and very few rules apply. Killing is, of course, prohibited. But near-lethal blows are fine, as a group of healers is constantly on hand to patch up the worst wounds at the end of the bout, which is to incapacitation or surrender.
Weapons are allowed, as are combat magics and even poisons--though none of the most lethal varieties--are allowed. Thirianthropes may transform before or during combat as they please.
The only serious limits are on the Hidden Moons who opt to participate. They may only use weapons provided them in the ring, by removing them from their opponents. Their accelerated healing is suppressed, though this, again, is true only of the Hidden Moons and not all thirianthropes, even other lycanthropes. Hidden Moons must combat in human form and without armor. Complex limitation spells are placed on the Hidden Moons as well, effectively allowing them only a portion of their natural skill.
Yet with all the limitations, Hidden Moons tended to do quite well. They rarely won their own tournament, as they were often pitted early on one against another until most or all were removed. Yet their matches still drew crowds and applause from even the other competitors. Occasionally, other thirianthropes--most often lycanthropes, tigranthropes, or arkanthropes--would opt to place the same limitations on themselves as did the Hidden Moons. Those few who were successful under these circumstances were given great respect, especially by the Hidden Moons. They were given pack-mate status by the Hidden Moons, a rare and interesting honor for outsiders.
When the competition began, entrants approached to check themselves in, show whatever weapons they were planning to use, then wait in their own stands, so that they all had excellent views of the matches themselves.
Inlé, Fernweh, Spinel, and Silentstride went to register together.
"Well met, Shadowpad," Silentstride greeted the old warrior who was one of those checking through warriors.
"And you, sister-son," the grizzled wolf growled roughly to his nephew. He looked over Silentstride with pride and asked, "Do you plan to win this one, boy?"
"Not without a fight, uncle," Silentstride answered. "I've decided to raise to fifty percent this season."
The old wolf shook his head, and Spinel noticed that both his ears were nicked a thousand times. "Still too easy by your reckoning, then? If I had my youth again ..."
"I'd not be hoping to fight you, even handicapped. A shame you never competed yourself, uncle. I've been told of your younger days often enough."
"Aye, but if I had competed, you never would have been able to show yourself as you did your first year." Shadowpad's yellow teeth flashed. "The Hidden Moons would have been banned from competing decades ago.
"And what of these others with you, then?"
"Ah," Silentstride smiled. "A few travelers we picked up wandering lost in the Fogs. The elder is an ancient called Fernweh, the cowled youth is called Inlé, and this is my brother Spinel." Silentstride's large hand rested on Spinel's shoulder, and he smiled with pride as his uncle inspected the new Bitten.
Shadowpad's silvery eye looked Spinel over appraisingly, but he did not seem pleased. "You bit this? He looks like a softling from the East, possibly one of those showy knights. All flash and formation, but no sting."
Spinel was about to give the old wolf a harsh response, but Silentstride laughed and answered, "You will learn to love him as I do. He plans to fight today as a Hidden Moon as well."
Shadowpad's eyes grew. "A death wish, has he?"
"And the fortitude to defy it," Silentstride said. "Twice now, he's bested me. Though he was hard-pressed, of course." Spinel saw a grudging respect rise in the old wolf's eye. "But you are right, uncle. He is a knight from the east."
The four passed through and approached the Hidden Moon pavilion. Seven others stood under the tent, four performing the complex sealing rituals on the last two Hidden Moon competitors and a bulky maimanthrope with a jagged scar running from the outside of one eye, across his nose, and into the opposite corner of his mouth. He scowled at the other four as they entered, and glared openly at Silentstride, who was explaining the rules to his rival and the silent Inlé.
"Weapons are allowed, but not of Hidden Moons. As I plan to fight, limiters are placed on me to even the playing field. I thought you may want more of a challenge as well. If you acquire a weapon during combat, you are allowed to use it, but those will be provided you by your enemy. We also go without armor, and, though this will not affect you, transformation and accelerated healing are suppressed. Also, If you wish, suppression of your strength can be completed.
"The two being limited now are Roughtooth and Silverpelt, they plan to fight as twenties. Twenty percent of their capacity will be removed for the duration of these matches. The ape you see is last year's victor. He will likely be at twenty percent this year as well. He was not limited last year, and so I refused his challenge after he won."
"He challenged you after the competition?" Spinel asked.
Looking slightly embarrassed, Silentstride said, "I've a little fame in these tournaments, and I haven't competed in six years. When he challenged me, I told him I might face him if he thought himself man enough to commit to the limiters and then win. He refused last year, but he looks much stronger this year." Silentstride's look was that of a predator hungry for the kill. "We will see what he can do, perhaps."
"Ye said ye were t' do fifty?" Fernweh asked.
"I am planning to, yes. It will give me a bit of a challenge."
"Then I'll match you," Spinel said.
"I would advise against it," the werewolf answered.
"And why is that?" Spinel asked. "I've proven myself your equal twice already, haven't I?"
"You have, but you are unused to such limiting magics."
"And you're used to them?"
Silentstride lifted his wrist to show a dark bracelet. "Twenty percent all the time, and thirty in my wolf form. A training regimen of sorts."
Spinel looked deflated. "So twice you've bested me."
"No," Silentsride shook his head. "Twice I've lost."
"But the limiter ..."
"Was active the first time, but you were outnumbered four to one ..."
"Two to one. The Archcardinal was with me."
"... As you wish. But you were unarmored while we were not. And your most serious wound was my Bite. The second fight, the limiter was off." Silentstride smiled. "It would be shameful to meet one's rival unfairly on introduction."
"Then I'll join you at fifty," Spinel pressed. "Since I've won twice before, my unease with the limiter can be my disadvantage during our match."
"If we make it to a point where we face off," Silentstride said.
"You're planning to lose early?"
"I was more worried about you."
"Ha. See you in the finals, then."
"Aye, ye're good, lads," Fernweh said, returning from being limited. "But don't be forgettin' this old one. I'll likely take one of ye down if ye last that long."
"And you plan to do that limited, old one?" Silentstride said.
"Aye. An' well, ye whelp. I'll be seein' ye each in th' ring."
The other three approached and were limited. Before Inlé, the last, entered the casting circle, he asked, "What did the old man ask for a limit?"
"The old one was strange," said one of the women. "He asked for regenerative limitations--which shouldn't be a problem for humans--and an eighty percent limit." Silentstride gasped. "I've never seen a limit that high. Fifty would have been the highest I'd ever seen if not for him. Most go between ten and thirty, if at all."
Inlé closed his eyes in thought for a moment, then said, "I wish to match him."
"Sir? That's crazy. You're just a boy, after all."
Inlé's emotionless answer of "Eighty per cent, madam" sent a shiver down the she-wolf's spine, and the group sealed eighty percent of Inlé's strength.
The spells used to create the limitations are complex but subtle, and appear instantly when the brief ritual is completed. The sudden loss of strength is usually enough to stagger a warrior at twenty percent. How much more, then, at eighty?
As soon as the limitations settled down on Inlé, he collapsed. Spinel and Silentstride reached to help him up, but he quickly waved the two away, saying "Don't touch me" with the closest thing to emotion Spinel had heard from Inlé--an icy rage. He rose on his own, and then began to disrobe.
Removing the robe and the tunic beneath, the six others still in the pavilion saw thirteen gold and silver rings on one arm, an intricate dagger and a large spellbook on the other, and a heavy black tunic that had been beneath the undyed cloth. Inlé removed the book and dagger, then the rings, somehow looping them into an interlocking group that surrounded both dagger and spellbook. Then he tried to lift the black undertunic from his chest. He struggled with it for a few moments, then lay back to the ground and slipped out of it that way. He dropped it onto his other belongings, a dull thud echoing from it. Bundling the group up, Inlé offered it to one of the ritual casters with an obvious wobbling in the movement.
The caster took the bundle in one hand, as Inlé had done. His eyes grew large, and he quickly grabbed it with his other hand. He solemnly placed it into a storage drawer. Inlé was checked for other weapons hidden in his loose pants and, when he was considered unarmed, the three exited and found seats.

The tale of the competition that year has been told so often that to record much of it here would be pointless. Songs of the Hidden Moon's Two Day War are sung within each of the Clans, and even those first warriors who fell boasted of their brief participation in the competition. It had been intended to last late into the night, so the warriors could fight under Moon's full radiance, but so fierce were the fighters that the matches grew long enough that it lasted much longer.
And it was a surprise indeed when the vacilando who won revealed himself as the eldest of those present. More surprising still was that he won without contest, as of the four finalists, the first two fought for so long that one of the others resigned, claiming boredom as his reason. The other two fought for over eight hours, never giving each other the time needed to properly recover, and finally knocked each other out.
More surprising was that the four had limited themselves more than any other competitors in the history of the game, and the victor had landed less blows in the course of the tournament than there were competitors. These points are rarely sung of, as there is no beautiful way to show the valor of them. In fact, the limits were not even mentioned after their first matches, and most people happily forgot them over the course of the 'War'.
How many--even among those who worship their gods--truly wish to know that angels and demons walk among them?

Inlé walked away from the competitors' ring before Spinel and Silentstride's match ended. He had endured enough of this farce, and was ready to depart. Finding the soto in the crowd was not difficult. Very few creatures were garbed in robes, and Qadri was the only one to wear such a broad hat. Its brim shaded the soto's face, so that the only discernible facial feature was the full, broad, somewhat sinister smile worn like a mask. More, the soto stood at the very front of the ring of observers, where Inlé could approach without even leaving the competitors' area.
"We are finished here, soto. There is no victory in such senseless combat, and I am finished. You will receive the scroll now."
"Of course, boy. Of course," the soto's voice slithered around the words. The soto paused, then said, "But, you did not win. You forfeited victory. Why?"
"As I said at first, soto, there is no victory in such mock combat. You watched my matches. Certainly, you cannot say I have little skill. I take less pleasure in it than I lack skill. What victory is there in destroying a warrior who one day may be an ally?"
"None, of course." The sickening smile practically glowed in the fading sunlight. "But it is of great benefit to destroy a future enemy before they become one. For then they know their place."
"Incorrect," Inlé answered. "For more enemies are made than may be necessary, and they fight with more desperation, for their pride is more at stake."
"Either way, this match appears to be wearing down," Qadri said. "The contestants are near their breaking points. They are incredible specimens."
"They are brothers, of a sort. And well respected in their own right."
"And the old warrior?"
"As a soto, you hear many things. Mendicants always do. I am certain you have heard of the vacilando Fernweh."
"Of course. But you cannot expect me to believe that that man and this are the same. Fernweh is ancient among the race of men, and if ever he was so strong, such strength fades with increased age."
"Perhaps. But not always. Will you now accept your scroll?"
"I will, as soon as you retrieve it with your other effects. I will meet you at the warriors' exit." The soto turned and was gone.
Fernweh was at Inlé's shoulder a moment later. "So I've won by default, eh? Pity we couldn't fight today, boy. I'd much have enjoyed th' challenge."
"Hardly, vacilando. Our match would have proven you the stronger."
"Ha! Why? because I've put all me opponents down with a single blow, if that? Ye rarely took yer hands from yer sides!"
"I hadn't the strength, sir. You give me too much credit."
"An' ye play yerself down. I've lost t' ye in th' past, an' I'd like as not lose t' ye now. But, as we didn't spar, there's little f'r our talk but talk. Best we collect our boys an' haul out. Night's on, an' th' girls'll be worryin'."
"I must deliver my scroll to the soto before anything else," Inlé said, as the two entered the warriors' pavilion.
Fernweh's face fell. "Ye take care o' that one, Inlé," he said. "I've naught t' say against him, but ..." The old wanderer shook his head. "We what wander alone get th' beasts' feel f'r humans. An' that one's trouble. On me nose, in th' presence o' th' old wolves, under th' spreadin' World Tree, that one's more trouble'n I've seen since last Winter."

Inlé returned to Hidden Moon's camp shortly after Fernweh carried Spinel and Silentstride in. Their injuries were nearly healed already, but their last fight was so long that it had taxed them to exhaustion. Neither had even stirred when the vacilando unceremoniously rolled them to the ground beside the fire.
Inlé sat and greeted the others around the fire. "I leave in the morning to deliver my last message. You who have followed me during this mission, I thank for your support. This has taken far too long for my liking already, and would likely have taken far longer without your aid.
"This newest member, the soto Qadri, is, in the opinion of vacilando Fernweh, a dangerous woman ..."
"That were a woman!" Fernweh said, surprise etched across his face.
Without even acknowledging that he'd been interrupted, Inlé continued. "... and as such, I restate that whoever wishes to cease their travels in my company may do so. Know that each of you travels of your own volition. As before I neither request your company, nor will I move further than this to warn you away.
"If you so chose to travel with me, I depart in seven hours, alone or accompanied. If you so choose to join me, I suggest rest and a light meal before we leave. That is all."
Inlé turned and walked off, and Arrats, Fernweh, Selice, Swiftfang, and Silvermoon watched him go quietly. There was a solemn silence among the group for a long time after Inlé had left. The silence was broken when another log was thrown into the fire by the just appearing eremite.
"You all seem quite lubricated, lucifugous, lugubrious. Why?"
Selice shook her head. "Smaller words, sir. Please?"
"Glum, upset," the eremite clarified. "What is meant--what I meant--was ... ah ... what is wrong? You seem to all have a combined problem."
Arrats smiled, "We do, sir. Of a sort. Inlé always has this effect when he says more than a few words, unfortunately. It seems we leave in the morning, and our newest member looks to be trouble. Do you plan to join us during this last leg of our journey?"
The eremite shook his head. "I may join you on this next leg, if you answer my enigma. But pray it is not the last, Archcardinal. For the last leg of every journey ends in the death of the journeyer. Otherwise, there is always another leg of the journey."
"Aye, true enough," Fernweh agreed. "An' I'm doubtin' this quest'll end in death after that game, t' be sure. Th' boys here're fit pups, an' as one's t' go with us, sure I am at our successes.
"Sure, this weren't th' strongest of th' warriors o' th' world we faced, nor o' beasts, in all. But th' boy'll hold his own well enough."
Silvermoon asked, "And what is the enigma you speak of, Unnamed One?"
The eremite smiled, "That, girl, is it, then, is it not, girl?"
"What?"
"Exactly. But not, I am afraid, correct."
Confused looks circled the campfire, excepting Fernweh who looked more amused in watching the others. Finally Arrats said, "Sir, I don't understand. Would you explain your enigma to us?"
"Ah, of course. I apologize for my vagueness.
"My enigma, you see, is my name. I lost it some time ago, and I seem to have forgotten it as well. As it is very much a part of me, I would like now to ..." the eremite paused, unwilling to stammer through words as he usually did when the subject was so important. When the pause became almost too much for Selice, he continued, "... recollect my name. I dare not leave the Mountain except to approach the World Tree without it.
"After all, whoever I am must have a history of his own that has been lost with the name. Whose story, then, is my own? I may cause a mess by going beyond this point without that knowledge."
"Why not make yer own name up?" Fernweh asked.
The eremite shook his head. "No name I've tried has fit me. And if the name does not fit, how then can I fill the role?"
"In that case," Arrats said. "Why don't we just create a list of names and you will decide on the one that fits."
So that is exactly what they did. Arrats took the book What's in a Name from Inlé's bag, which he'd taken to leaving with Arrats when they were not traveling. Arrats suspected that it was so that Inlé could, if he so desired, abandon the party at night without having to return her books to her.
The book had nearly fifty thousand names from over three centuries but, after an hour had passed, exhaustion had taken its toll, and only Fernweh and the eremite sat reading the small book by firelight. Arrats' last thought before drifting to sleep was one of surprise that the two men could read the book without any spell used to magnify the words beyond the minute dots that formed pictures.

That morning, a short time before Inlé had said he planned to leave, the rest of the party, including the now recovered Spinel, woke and broke fast.
"We leave today, knight," Selice said. "If you so wish, you may stay with your brother and the Pack. It would be understandable if you so desired."
"No need," Silentstride smiled. "Swiftfang's already given me permission to join my brother on the rest of his trip. I believe your sister has also convinced our leader to allow her to leave as well. We will be with you for a while yet, princess."
"Aye, an' now ye've three bodyguards," the vacilando laughed. "Be proud o' yer skills at collectin' such strong ones, girly. They're each worth a hundred, t' be sure."
"And did you find a name for our companion, Fernweh?" Arrats said.
"Ah, no. We didn't," he answered. "But it's me own thought as we should have our leader try his hand at it. Inlé has more than a few--ah--specialized skills that we don't know about. And secret knowledge. He'll know."
"How sure are you?" Arrats pressed. "You could very easily be wrong."
"O' course I could. But I've me mind made up that he's best t' ask. Why not test first, settle bets after, eh? After all, what's there t' lose?"
"Your pride, for one," Silvermoon said.
Fernweh laughed. "Like I said, what's there t' lose?"

Inlé was found easily enough. The tournament had made him something of a celebrity, both because of his skill in the tournament and his striking resemblance to the unnamed statue in the nearby Shrine. Of course, it was decided that he wasn't truly the Wolfborne, as the lycanthropes called him. He was too young. But he was still easily recognized. It was easy enough picking up his trail by asking those few who were already awake where he had gone.
The party, now seven travelers, found Inlé in the Shrine of Moon's Beasts, wandering the effigies. As they approached him, he turned and watched them approach him quietly.
"Well met," he said. "Have you come to your decisions?"
"We have," Arrats answered. "We all plan to join you on this last leg. If the soto is such a danger as Fernweh believes, it would be better for us all if we stayed with you. But we came to ask you something else."
Arrats turned to the eremite, who himself was enjoying the statues around him. It took a few prods to take him from his reverie. When he was pulled into the present, he sighed and said, "I've lost my name. I do not wish to venture beyond the World Tree unless I know it. As such I wish to know my name."
"And you come to me to give you a name?"
"In a fashion." The eremite paused. "I have tried many, many names, but none seem to be the correct one. I had a name once, and only that name will suffice. I just need to know what that name is."
Inlé looked at the party before him, resting his gaze finally on the eremite. "Information is a valuable commodity, and does not come cheap. If mine proves correct, the charge may be quite steep. Do you wish to buy this knowledge?"
"You would sell him his name?" Selice cried. "That's sick. Who would sell someone their name? Who would pay for something like that?"
"So you say, princess, because you do not understand the world," Inlé said calmly. "Already one of your party has made a similar purchase. My offer stands as this: eremite, if you wish to learn your name, I will offer you one possibility. In the occurrence that it is wrong, I will charge you nothing. On the other hand, if my suspicions prove correct, we will discuss a fee afterward. Do you accept this offer?"
Without hesitation, the eremite agreed. Selice made a few disapproving noises before he silenced her. "Let us hear what it is you have to offer, wanderer."
Inlé stared silently for a few moments, then said, "Walk with me, eremite. You others, please await our return at the entrance, by the dressed statue. We will join you presently, when we have finished our business."
"Why can't we listen too?" Selice said.
"Hush, child," Fernweh said. "This's personal. 'f Inlé's right, this could get deep. He'll tell us his name hisself, 'f he wants."
"Exactly," Inlé said. "This is a private transaction, and the fee would be greater for seven than for one. If you would follow me, sir, we should complete this now, as the day will break soon. I would like to leave with the dawn, at the latest."
Six travelers returned to the Shrine's entrance, in a range of levels of willingness. The other two turned and began to wander the statues quietly. Inlé did not speak for a few moments before he began, seemingly in a tangent.
"There are many statues in this Shrine. Moon had over three hundred Lovers, and each is shown here. More than three hundred statues carved carefully, intimately, and magically. Each statue glistens a pure moon-white while the person they represent is in Moon's courts. But when they come down to the earth or otherwise leave Moon's courts, they take on the coloration of the dark side of the moon, so black that it rejects even reflecting light."
"How do you know this?" the eremite asked.
"The Keepers of the Shrine are happy to tell of their charges' histories and functions. They know the tales of Moon's Lovers better even than the Lovers' descendants. It is not so difficult, then to learn these things. Here we are."
The two had reached the far end of the shrine, having followed the entire coiling path to the opposite entrance where the second male statue appeared, this one still the remarkable white of a full moon.
"The statues are ordered aesthetically, and so their relative locations change with the whim of the Head Keeper. Despite this, the statues of the Wolfborne and Old Wolf are almost always kept either at opposite ends of the Shrine or facing one another at the center. Curiously, the Wolfborne has never appeared white, and Old Wolf never black. Meaning that Old Wolf rarely leaves his lover's realm, unless he is with her.
"In itself, this has little to do with your desire. I am sharing this as I peruse my thoughts and order them properly. The information I have here is this: you, eremite, have lived on the Mountain of Dreams longer than you or any of the Hidden Moon living can recall, but you appeared there in their records some few hundred years ago. You must be older than that, of course, as they already considered you old then, though you do not appear much past forty, by my observations.
"Your age is similar, then, to the age associated with Old Wolf, who often appears of similar age, as on his statue. The statue is, as you can see, the white revealing his location as in Moon's courts. And yet despite the differences between yourself and the statue, you bear a striking resemblance. Very much as a son would resemble his father.
"This proves you most certainly a lycanthrope, and makes one wonder if you are not descended directly from the First Pack. But the resemblance is so strong, one might believe you of the First Pack itself, were the entire First Pack not buried nearby.
"With one exception. One of the First Pack's body was never found: that of the Hidden Moon's ancestor, who was Lost and disappeared into the Fogs of Unrest. As one digs deeper into the history of Moon's Lovers, one learns that among Old Wolf's children, one bore such a striking resemblance to Old Wolf that even Moon occasionally mistook her son for her lover, to the amusement of the father and the agitation of the son. The son began knotting his hair to help differentiate between himself and his father, and the look stuck even after his parents ascended to his mother's courts.
"I so name you, eremite, that very son. I name you Fang, son of Old Wolf and Moon, father of the Pack of the Hidden Moon, creator of the Fogs of Unrest, first Biter, first Lost, first and only to escape the madness within."
The name fit, much to the eremite's discontent. The recognition of who he was forced him to remember all he had forgotten, and he liked very little of what he remembered. "So I am," he said finally, miserably. "So I am."
Inlé put a hand on the eremite's shoulder. "This is not a thing to mourn, Fang. You are as much the good eremite who has helped save wolves injured near the mountain now as you were a week ago. You are still as much the solitary man who the Hidden Moon holds in a place of honor despite their failure to recognize you as the same progenitor they hold in highest regard."
"Despite the scorn that other Packs and Clans hold for him," the eremite said.
"Perhaps," Inlé agreed. "But none of their ancestors, excepting Moon and the Beasts, still live. Only you remain."
"Inlé, this is all true, but for every good I have achieved, two evils have I done. I remember now why I chose to forget."
"And you may forget again, if you so desire. But I would not suggest that action. You are strong, and the knowledge you have can temper you into a stronger person still. Your knowledge can save those your ignorance may have condemned."
Fang sighed. "It is so hard, though."
"Then share this knowledge with another. I am sure your heirs would understand. They do not surprise easily, you have taught them that through the Fogs. For the same reason, they do not scare easily, which is also in your favor.
"Also, any who claim that you are Lost and are thus a threat have a few hundred years' history to prove them wrong. Your children will welcome you."
"They may," Fang finally agreed, looking up at his father's statue, begging it for strength. "But not yet."
"As you wish," Inlé said. "This knowledge is your own, and can be distributed as you alone see fit. Now, we should return to the others. I grow anxious to leave."
Fang's grin was lupine to the point that he almost looked to grow a muzzle. "The Archcardinal is right about you, Inlé. Far too impatient."
"Perhaps," Inlé said. "And on the subject of impatience, let us discuss my fee. ..."

Selice saw Inlé and the eremite as they rounded the statue at the last turn before the exit. It took all her willpower--and the hands of both the bothersome knight and the aggravating she-wolf--to keep her from rushing forward to see what had happened.
The eremite looked sad to her so, Selice reasoned, Inlé must have been wrong. The princess found that she felt strangely pleased to think that the cold, arrogant boy had failed. It would do him good to fail once in a while.
Then another thought occurred to her. Perhaps Inlé had been right, but the fee Inlé charged was too large. What if the eremite couldn't afford to pay the fee?
Well, Selice decided, If that's the case, she would have to help out. If only by helping strangle Inlé. Another pleasant idea, Selice thought.
Arrats was the first to speak when the pair joined the party. "Well?"
"I now know who I am," the eremite answered.
"And?" Arrats pressed.
The eremite sighed. "I will tell you all in time. I need a little while to get things sorted in my head. It's as if I have known myself for all this time, but am also looking in at myself as another man as well. A wholly unpleasant experience, I assure you."
"In any case," Inlé began, "It is time for me to depart. Those who will join may follow me, those who do not wish to stay, fare well as you return home."
Spinel stepped forward. "We all go with you, sir."
Inlé said, "Again, good knight, I am no sir."
"And he's no good knight," Silentstride said. "He's practically a savage. Look at his hair! A knight with lycan warrior braids? I think not."
"A werewolf with wit and candor," Inlé said. "I care little."
Spinel put a hand on Silentstride's shoulder before the warrior could attack.
Inlé coolly ignored the tension in the wolf, instead looking behind the party. "And here is the soto. We all leave immediately for the Lost Lake, wherever that may be."
"Lost Lake?" Fernweh said. "That all? We can be there before noon, boy."
The soto, smile still as broad as ever, asked, "How? Old one, it is further than the holy city Aurora from here."
"Ah," Fernweh winked at the soto, tapping his thumb to the side of his nose. "I've me ways, t' be sure. I've a hideaway near th' Lake, y'see. Lovely fishin', beautiful scenery, an' nice townsfolk. Just about th' only problem's th' door into th' valley's always on th' move. After a few visits, I found meself tirin' o' th' game o' findin' th' way in. So I made meself a rest-over, an' go whenever it hits me nerves."
"And you can get there how?" the eremite asked.
"How d' ye expect? This old fool walks into his hideaway like ye walks into yer pantry. Unlock th' door an' step on in. O' course, since me home's th' world what's wandered, th' door's always before me. T' take passengers takes a bit more time. A few hours. An' there'll need t' be open space."
"We can leave the tree's haven, then," Inlé said. "You will have room on the plain."
Selice was confused. And when she was confused, she forced clarification. "I don't understand. First, what did he say? I can't keep up. Second, where are we going, and how? I'm not walking to Aurora. It's too far."
"Then be glad you aren't walking to Aurora," laughed Silvermoon. "We're going to Lost Lake. It's farther."
"But ..."
Arrats stopped the princess. "We'll get there by way of the vacilando's magic. Teleportation. Which, I might add, is far too complicated to explain, and often more difficult to actually execute."
"Certainly," the soto agreed. Selice didn't like the woman's smile. She was beautiful, in an androgynous sort of way, but the smile looked like it would stay right where it was to watch as you were killed. Slowly. Brutally. Selice shuddered.
"Instant transportation for oneself is incredibly difficult," the soto continued. "But to transport a group of people is far beyond that. Especially considering that most of the people involved will be arriving for the first time."
"I am certain Fernweh can do it," Arrats said.
"You have proof, then?"
"He has already transported some of us like this. Myself included."
"And how many others?" the soto pressed. Selice decided she did not in the least like their new traveling companion. "Certainly not this many."
"No, only three of us moved," Arrats said. "But it was rushed by the approach of an incredible storm. We only just made it before it broke over us."
"Now, girly, ye needn't defend me," the old wanderer said. "Were it meself in th' soto's place, I'd like want t' be certain as well. Failure's not th' prettiest or worst option."
"You will have my aide, this time, Fernweh," Inlé said. "I cannot help shape the spell, but I can function as a stabilizer. If I am not mistaken, this will be quite taxing."
"Aye, and then some," Fernweh said. "A long time it's been since this many've been moved by meself like this. An' closer to me prime I was then." The old man's face suddenly looked weary to Selice.

Description
They reached the World Tree as the first Clans began to arrive. Bear, Elk, Monkey, and Frog had arrived, and the groups who stayed around the World Tree had already begun to set up for a festival. Twenty-eight Packs of various Clans lived under the boughs of the World Tree, each sharing in the responsibilities of tending the World Tree and the temples surrounding it. They also tended the annual Festival of the Moon in which the Clans came together.
Inlé told the others that they would wait for the arrival of the next person he needed to visit. They separated, to a degree, with the eremite and Fernweh disappearing, and Inlé slipping off somewhere as well. Arrats helped around a few of the temples, and Selice wandered the grounds followed close by Spinel.
The princess had argued that the knight should be following the Archcardinal, since it was she who had wanted him along, but he said his duty was to the throne of Ashkern first. After a while, she had forgotten his presence and spent her time wandering with awe at the goings-on around her.
Over the course of the week, the other Clans trickled in in gangs and packs. The Clan of the Wolf came in over the course of the last two days, with Hidden Moon last of all. Swiftfang and his gang saw the princess wandering about, and called her to join them as the Pack set up camp.
The princess was given the task of helping with the children as the adults went about other tasks, if she would. She was pleased to help, and found the young pups to be quite fun, so long as she was careful to avoid their sharp teeth. They preferred active, physical games, for the most part, and Selice was quite exhausted by the end of the day.
Spinel had been collected for heavier work, and worked hard at the lifting, pulling, carrying, and the setting of supplies and tent posts. Silentstride was beside him at all times, mutely goading Spinel to lift just a bit longer than he would have liked, or carry more than he felt comfortable with. Whenever the wolf saw the man doing more than he, Silentstride matched the knight and raised the level of effort. Which, of course, Spinel had to then match. Both were worn thin by the time the camp was completed, and Spinel saw that Silentstride grinned widely at him with pride and admiration.
The knight had passed some sort of test among the Pack, he noticed, and was brought to eat with the warriors when the work was done. The princess, meanwhile, sat with the mothers and other women who were not warriors. He was glad to see her laughing with them as one told some story. A smile crossed his lips as she nearly lost her balance on the log they sat on and barely caught herself with the aid of the she-wolf beside her.
"You like that one," Swiftfang said, sitting beside him.
"Perhaps, sir," Spinel answered, unsure how to address the pack-leader. He was surprised at how the circle of warriors interacted. Laughing and punching one another as they worked, their bawdy activity only increased as they sat to eat.
A moment ago, the knight had been seated beside another wolf, but when the warrior had risen to get more food, their leader had filled his seat. The other werewolf, Spinel noted, had not even looked to return to his old seat, moving to sit with another group instead.
"Of course you do," the pack-leader laughed heartily. "You've been watching her out of the corner of your eye all day."
"She is my ruler, sir. I have been given the honor of protecting her during her travels."
"Ah, honor. That we know, good knight," Swiftfang wrapped the phrase around his mouth with more respect for the man he addressed than the title. "I've no idea what reasons humans grant leadership hereditarily for, but she will be a woman to be praised, unless my nose is wrong."
"You said it was never wrong," the knight reminded.
Swiftfang laughed again. "I did. The reminder of that means you either put weight in what I say because of what is said or who said it."
"Both, in fact," Spinel agreed. "The princess promises to lead well once she is wed."
"And must she do so before she leads?"
"It is customary that it is so. They say such power is best divided. Many decisions are difficult to make, and harder still to live with. But if one person will stand beside you, loving you without restraint, these difficulties are at least bearable."
"There is wisdom in that," Swiftfang agreed. "So when is she to be wed?"
"Not for a while. Once we return to the city, she will likely begin dealing with the eligible males in the nobility. Marriage is for political reasons as much as for any other."
Swiftfang shook his head. "I see no wisdom in that. We hold marriage as sacred. But we marry whoever we want, so long as we share a deep love. It is not frowned on to marry more than once, in fact.
"My father, for example, had three wives. And my mother four husbands. The two were not married, though."
Spinel looked confused, and Swiftfang laughed, saying, "Best not try to untie my history, friend. It is hardly the standard, but it is not too unusual among the Clans. Moon had many marriages, and many lovers beside, and her children follow suit.
"Myself though," Swiftfang said, in suddenly conspiratorial tones, "I plan to have one and only one. Though she's set to kill me at the moment." He nodded toward the she-wolf beside the princess. "Name's Silvermoon. She's ignored every proposal any man's ever sent her way. I've yet to have the courage, as she and I were mortal enemies as pups." He grinned widely. "She's a beauty, though, isn't she?"
Spinel was forced to agree. Her skin glowed with the firelight, and her silvery hair glistened. She and the princess were thick in some conversation that had Silvermoon laughing and Selice blushing. As he watched, though, the princess turned the tables, and she was laughing as the other blushed.
Suddenly the she-wolf cuffed the princess and she fell backwards into the darkness. Spinel began to rise, but was caught by Swiftfang.
"Don't worry, just watch."
Spinel sat uncomfortably, and saw Selice rise up to a seated position as the women around her laughed. Furious, she slapped at Silvermoon, who ducked and tackled the princess to the ground with a grin, pulling her into the firelight. The other women laughed as the two rolled closer and further from the fire. Spinel tensed, preparing to break the pack-leader's hold and rush his mistress's aid, until the princess was pushed up and off of the she-wolf and he saw her laughing along with the other women before she leapt back down at Silvermoon.
Seeing the knight's confusion, Swiftfang said, "The women are as much warriors as the men, but they understand restraint better than we do. Your princess may be bruised and sore in the morning, but she'll be fine."
Spinel smiled briefly. "Only if she wins."
The two laughed together.

The knight woke the next morning to a light kick. Rubbing his eyes, he looked up to see Silentstride standing over him. Silentstride pointed behind Spinel and lifted his eyebrows questioningly. Looking behind him, the knight saw his princess curled up behind him, lightly holding the back of his undershirt. His surprise was obvious to the werewolf standing over him, who grinned and gestured for the knight to follow. They walked outside the camp, away from the waking festivities. Silentstride finally turned back to Spinel again and bowed. Spinel, somewhat confused, returned the bow.
"We have not yet properly met," Silentstride said quietly. Spinel had yet to hear his rival's voice, and was surprised by how melodic it was. "My name is Silentstride of the Pack of the Hidden Moon. Son of Longclaw and Shadowbride, descendant of Longclaw, child of Fang. I name you my brother in heart and soul. Whom do I so name?"
"I am Spinel Gahn, Knight of Ashkern, Captain of His Majesty's Royal Guard. My father is Fury Gahn, and my mother Song Gahn, whose maiden name was Klagelied. Servant of the Triskelion Order, Bitten brother of Silentstride of the Hidden Moon."
Spinel noted that Silentstride was pleased to see his name slipped into his rival's introduction. He nodded and smiled.
"Do you know why I have called you out here?" he asked.
Spinel lifted an eyebrow. "Wasn't the introduction the reason?"
Silentstride chuckled deep in his throat. "The naming is only the first portion of the introduction. Now we fight. Are you prepared?"
"Wait a moment," Spinel put a hand up. "You almost killed me last time. I can't fight you like this."
Silentstride chuckled. "We fight man to man. Neither of us will use a weapon, and I will keep my man-form. Is that fair enough?"
Spinel thought for a moment, and realized his blood was already boiling with anticipation. He knew he should be appalled as a knight to be looking forward to a fight without obvious purpose. But there it was. He answered by lifting his fists to the ready. The two shared a large smile, then Silentstride leapt to meet his rival, fists leading.

The two men walked back to the Hidden Moon's camp hanging off of each other, obviously exhausted. The warriors cheered in greeting as they made room around the breakfast fire. Selice caught sight of her knight limping into the camp and was surprised to see a grin on his face that made him look at home with the warriors he now ate with. His smiles had always been brief and reserved, as befitted a knight, but this was wild and energetic. He had become one of them, she realized.
Selice rubbed the back of her neck, which had been sore since her match with Silvermoon the night before. She blushed thinking back to the night before. How unseemly of a princess to act so! She was only glad that none but the women around her had seen. If that old fool she was traveling with had seen--or worse, the Archcardinal--she would never have been able to recover from her embarrassment. She was fairly certain that Spinel had not seen as well, as she had not been able to see him during their last meal. How much respect would she lose if he had seen? Selice decided to confront Silvermoon about that point later. She was surprised to be glad of finding a reason to seek out the she-wolf. She'd never met such folk as the Pack of the Hidden Moon.
"Hee," a familiar voice said as the princess was still rubbing her neck. She turned to see Fernweh strolling up behind her. "Had that long, princess?" He asked with a wink.
"Had what?" she asked confused.
"F'r one, th' dress, girlie. Tis a nice improvement, t' be sure."
Selice hadn't even noticed. She had dressed sleepily and found she now wore the leathers of the Pack's women. They were light and surprisingly comfortable, so she decided to forego the bother of trying to correct the mistake. If this clothing fit so well, it seemed a waste to don the less comfortable travel gear again. Less comfortable despite its being custom tailored to fit her.
"They look good on you, queenling," Silvermoon taunted from behind her.
Fernweh laughed and said, "So that's that, then, eh? You've a pretty friend, girlie."
Selice embarrassedly muttered something to the negative, knowing she lied. Now she only needed the Archcardinal teasing her, and she would certainly melt into nothing.
As if on cue, Arrats arrived, plate brimming with food. "And what do you think you're doing over here, old one? Shouldn't you be with the elderly?"
"Bah," Fernweh said. "They're all spratlings and cliquey. Won't have me."
"And the warriors?" the Archcardinal pressed.
"I'm a lover, not a fighter," the old man laughed. "Not one here's old enough t've been alive when last I killed. Not f'r two Winters at least."
Arrats lifted one eyebrow as she sat beside the princess. "Well, join the knight, at least. He'll likely be happy of your company."
"And ye aren't?"
"So you did notice," Arrats smiled. "Let the ladies alone for a little while, you old fool. You should be ashamed to be chasing skirts at your age."
Fernweh laughed. "At my age, I sh'd be proud I've still th' energy t' care." He waggled his eyebrows teasingly, and ducked away from a heel of bread sent after him by the princess. Catching it behind him, Fernweh quickly ate the heel as he sauntered off to join the warriors. "Make sure t' put th' princess's hair up t'day, Arrats. Tis a day t' keep th' hair bound, at least."
Arrats lifted one eyebrow, then looked at the back of Selice's neck, lifting the hair. "Hmm," she said. "This is new."
"What?" Selice asked.
"Well, it seems you're part of this Pack now too."
"What?" Selice shouted in surprise. Her eyes jumped to Silvermoon, who looked back smiling and shrugged at the startled princess.
"But ... I'm no warrior," Selice almost whined.
"Not all weapons are physical," Silvermoon shrugged.
"And you've certainly got a rapier wit," Arrats agreed. "Your weapons are your words and your will, princess. Everything else is extra as far as you're concerned. And it seems your friend agrees."
"Don't worry," Silvermoon winked. "I'll show you some things more than words, if you'd like."

Inlé stood in the Shrine of Moon's Beasts, looking up at himself. There was no question to its validity now. The black stone was carved in his likeness, perfect in every detail. It wore his usual garb, having slipped it on through some magical means that he did not know. Even his sneakers had been slipped onto the statue's feet. Fernweh had jokingly commented that he had no doubt that everything under the clothes was as perfectly copied as on the other statues with waggling eyebrows.
Inlé had studied each statue in turn, but only his own was placed on its pedestal alone. All the others had a human and an animal form. All of the statues, save his own and that of Old Wolf, were female. And his was the only one clothed. Some children ran through the Shrine, in human or beast or hybrid forms, giggling or staring in awe at their ancestors. Inlé noted some young adolescents looking on with slightly different interests.
A young werebear approached Inlé as he observed his own statue. The young bear was likely Inlé's own age, but was much larger and broader. He towered over Inlé, trying to intimidate by sheer bulk this boy who he knew must be about his own age.
Inlé, of course, paid the young arkanthrope no mind, which infuriated the bear-boy beside him. The werebear growled and snorted and thrashed around Inlé as Inlé studied his statue, wondering at its antiquity and its similarity to himself. Rubber-soled shoes were nowhere in this world, that he had seen. So how did these come to be here? They could not be his own, as they were from a past he had never seen. But there it was, against all rationale.
The bear-boy finally grew tired of being ignored and stepped directly between Inlé and his statue. Seeming to notice the bear for the first time, Inlé asked, "Yes?"
"You aren't one of us, human," the bear boy said.
"True enough," Inlé answered.
"Then what right have you to come in here and stare at our ancestors?"
"The statues of your ancestors," Inlé corrected. "Your ancestors are on the moon."
"Which puts them above your own ancestors, doesn't it?"
"Perhaps. What is the point you are failing to make?"
"The point," the bear-boy roared, pulling Inlé up to eye-level, "is I don't like you here. You don't belong."
"'Art is a gift to the world'," Inlé quoted. "You can claim heredity to one of the Beasts here, but I claim similar heritage to their mate. I am, after all, human."
The bear-boy disliked this rationale and threw Inlé from the Shrine with a roar.
Inlé caught himself with a hand and flipped to his feet, facing the bear who'd thrown him. A small group of like-aged thirianthrope children stood beside the entrance that he had just exited. The bear charged Inlé, swinging wildly with meaty hands. He reached as though to swat Inlé, but Inlé was beneath the blow and inside the bear-boy's range before he could react. Inlé pressed the bear-boy's arm tight to his chest, keeping him from swinging again.
"Young arkanthrope," Inlé said, "do not test me. I have little patience for such posturing around your peers. Prove yourself in another way. I have been waiting for a full week in this area, and wish more than you that I be gone. Do not force me to shame you in front of your friends."
The bear-boy began to swing again, then thought better of it as Inlé turned and began walking away. The others had not been close enough to hear the human's words. Surely if he left the Shrine, the bear had won. "And don't come back, coward!" he called after his retreating opponent.
Inlé paused and turned back to the bear, giving him such a witheringly soulless glance that the bear-boy quailed under the gaze. There was no fire in those eyes. No hate or rage or fear. They were twin pools of emotionless darkness that the bear-boy would run from in his dreams for the rest of his life.
At that moment, the bear-boy knew real fear. Never again would he falter against anything, as those twin voids had purged the fear of anything else from him. And after his life, tales were sung of his fearlessness in combat and utter disregard for danger to himself. He was also considered wise by the standards of his Clan, for it was rare that he made the mistake of underestimating an opponent. He gauged each foe carefully before attacking and destroying them.

At midday, Selice and Spinel met during the light meal the Hidden Moons had set out. The princess's hair was up nicely, revealing her Bite for all to see. The knight had opted for garb that revealed his own mark as well, and Selice decided that he looked even more fierce and powerful in the sleeveless leather tunic than in his usual armor. The Archcardinal and the old wanderer had likewise met and then found their younger companions as they ate.
"Here, girly, haven't ye th' nicest hair t'day," Fernweh said. "Tis a fine festive look on ye."
"Thank you, sir," Selice said. In the past two weeks, the princess had moved from loathing to tolerance and then, over the course of the last week, acceptance and even a slight admiration. Not that she would ever admit it. "So how much longer does this festival last?"
"Oh, about a week," he answered, rubbing his spindly beard. This, to his surprise and the amusement of the others, included him rubbing a great deal of the grease on his hand into his face. He scowled witheringly as the princess laughed at him, but it was obviously exaggerated and only made Arrats join in the laughter. Even Spinel smiled briefly as the old man continued, "There'll be competitions and stories told all around, and then they will leave as they came."
"There's already been stories," Selice said. "I've seen you telling them all over to the younger people."
"Aye, an' more I'll tell, t' be sure. I've a great many to tell, too. Not as many as our other friend, I'll warrant," Fernweh added. "But I've enough not t' look a fool beside him. And speaking of," the old wanderer waved a hand to someone behind the princess, "here he is."
"Greetings," the eremite said as he joined the other four. "How has the festival been for you newcomers? I pray you're enjoying it."
"It's been interesting," Arrats agreed. "I wish I'd come sooner."
"There is always next year, and the next, and the next. You're young yet, and your home is not so far. A small group comes from thereabouts, and they would not likely be opposed to so prestigious a person as the Archcardinal in their entourage. The young ones still think in the fashion of politics and commerce."
"Perhaps I will," Arrats said. "Too few of my recent traveling companions have been awed by my position."
Fernweh snorted. Around a mouth filled with roast some-beast-or-another, he said, "Aye. Poor girl's companions have been more impressed with th' person an' not th' legend or fame. Such're friends, girly."
"Not with your mouth full," Arrats scolded. "And yes, such are friends. But when did I accept your friendship?" Her words were harsh, but obviously teasing.
With mock shock and despair, the old wanderer stuttered, "But ... but! Ye ate me cookies! An' we've shared a cave!" His eyebrows waggled just long enough to earn a bone from the Archcardinal's plate as a fence between them. He fell back off his seat.
"You letch!" Arrats glared. "Besides, you're far too old for me."
"Oh don' say that," Fernweh said, rising to his knees. "Ye know I'll be good t' ye. Here, as proof o' me love." He reached up as if to stroke the Archcardinal's face, but at the last moment, the bare bone that had hit him was in his hand, and in her ear. Her surprise made them both fall backward, and the group was laughing good-heartedly.
None noticed Inlé's approach until he was upon them. "I have come to inform you all that I have found the soto Qadri and will depart shortly. If you intend to follow me, you have until the end of the next tournament, in which I am competing."
The laughter died, but the party remained lighthearted. "Ye're competin'?" Fernweh said. "What f'r? Ye'll easily beat this competition." He gestured around him at the surrounding camps. "Ye've centuries on most o' them."
"I do not have so much time, sir, but yes, I foresee little challenge in my mission. The soto merely refuses to receive his scroll unless I compete. He wishes to see my skill with arms, for some reason."
"Actually," Spinel cleared his throat, "I would like to see that also. Last time we were all in combat, I was in no shape to watch how you fought."
"Not that he did any," Fernweh chimed in. "Meself, I think it's a bad bit t' have ye fightin'. It makes me own chances slimmer."
"Your chances?" Arrats echoed. "What do you mean your chances."
"Ah, see," Fernweh stammered uncharacteristically. "Ah, I've a love f'r these games, an' always join at least one if I'm here. This year, I thought combat'd be fun. Seemed right, considerin' th' company I'm with."
"Then there will be four of us there," said Silentstride as he approached. "My brother and I are also contestants."
"We are?" Spinel asked, not in the least surprised that his Biter had gotten within a few paces without anyone noticing him. "And when were you planning to tell me you'd signed us up?"
"Why do you think I came to see you, son of Fury?"
"Perhaps you're itching for me to put you back in your place?"
The two stared at one another, grinning, for a long moment before Silentstride answered. "Of course I've come with a challenge. But I would prefer something more ... public this time." His grin widened. "And what better way to show my brother off than in a game? I know you will not turn this chance down, will you? I had heard knights were both honorable and brave. Surely one would not run from a friendly contest of strength? Your tail does not stay between your legs, does it?"
Spinel's smile dropped. "Those words are much like Inlé's when first we met. The competition seems a fine thing. Certainly I will attend, but," he stood, "perhaps you will not?" His hands rose to the ready, and Silentstride barely dodged the sweeping kick Spinel had concealed with the distraction of coming to the ready. The two grinned and were upon one another. Had Fernweh not stopped them, they would likely have thrashed over everything.
As it was, both took a quick knock behind the ear by the old man's bindle-stick as he scolded them for not saving their energy for the short wait.

The competitions at the Festival of the Moon are called friendly, but they are deadly fierce. And none more so than Hidden Moon's competition.
All entrants are allowed, whatever their lineage--the only combat tournament not limited by line in some way--and very few rules apply. Killing is, of course, prohibited. But near-lethal blows are fine, as a group of healers is constantly on hand to patch up the worst wounds at the end of the bout, which is to incapacitation or surrender.
Weapons are allowed, as are combat magics and even poisons--though none of the most lethal varieties--are allowed. Thirianthropes may transform before or during combat as they please.
The only serious limits are on the Hidden Moons who opt to participate. They may only use weapons provided them in the ring, by removing them from their opponents. Their accelerated healing is suppressed, though this, again, is true only of the Hidden Moons and not all thirianthropes, even other lycanthropes. Hidden Moons must combat in human form and without armor. Complex limitation spells are placed on the Hidden Moons as well, effectively allowing them only a portion of their natural skill.
Yet with all the limitations, Hidden Moons tended to do quite well. They rarely won their own tournament, as they were often pitted early on one against another until most or all were removed. Yet their matches still drew crowds and applause from even the other competitors. Occasionally, other thirianthropes--most often lycanthropes, tigranthropes, or arkanthropes--would opt to place the same limitations on themselves as did the Hidden Moons. Those few who were successful under these circumstances were given great respect, especially by the Hidden Moons. They were given pack-mate status by the Hidden Moons, a rare and interesting honor for outsiders.
When the competition began, entrants approached to check themselves in, show whatever weapons they were planning to use, then wait in their own stands, so that they all had excellent views of the matches themselves.
Inlé, Fernweh, Spinel, and Silentstride went to register together.
"Well met, Shadowpad," Silentstride greeted the old warrior who was one of those checking through warriors.
"And you, sister-son," the grizzled wolf growled roughly to his nephew. He looked over Silentstride with pride and asked, "Do you plan to win this one, boy?"
"Not without a fight, uncle," Silentstride answered. "I've decided to raise to fifty percent this season."
The old wolf shook his head, and Spinel noticed that both his ears were nicked a thousand times. "Still too easy by your reckoning, then? If I had my youth again ..."
"I'd not be hoping to fight you, even handicapped. A shame you never competed yourself, uncle. I've been told of your younger days often enough."
"Aye, but if I had competed, you never would have been able to show yourself as you did your first year." Shadowpad's yellow teeth flashed. "The Hidden Moons would have been banned from competing decades ago.
"And what of these others with you, then?"
"Ah," Silentstride smiled. "A few travelers we picked up wandering lost in the Fogs. The elder is an ancient called Fernweh, the cowled youth is called Inlé, and this is my brother Spinel." Silentstride's large hand rested on Spinel's shoulder, and he smiled with pride as his uncle inspected the new Bitten.
Shadowpad's silvery eye looked Spinel over appraisingly, but he did not seem pleased. "You bit this? He looks like a softling from the East, possibly one of those showy knights. All flash and formation, but no sting."
Spinel was about to give the old wolf a harsh response, but Silentstride laughed and answered, "You will learn to love him as I do. He plans to fight today as a Hidden Moon as well."
Shadowpad's eyes grew. "A death wish, has he?"
"And the fortitude to defy it," Silentstride said. "Twice now, he's bested me. Though he was hard-pressed, of course." Spinel saw a grudging respect rise in the old wolf's eye. "But you are right, uncle. He is a knight from the east."
The four passed through and approached the Hidden Moon pavilion. Seven others stood under the tent, four performing the complex sealing rituals on the last two Hidden Moon competitors and a bulky maimanthrope with a jagged scar running from the outside of one eye, across his nose, and into the opposite corner of his mouth. He scowled at the other four as they entered, and glared openly at Silentstride, who was explaining the rules to his rival and the silent Inlé.
"Weapons are allowed, but not of Hidden Moons. As I plan to fight, limiters are placed on me to even the playing field. I thought you may want more of a challenge as well. If you acquire a weapon during combat, you are allowed to use it, but those will be provided you by your enemy. We also go without armor, and, though this will not affect you, transformation and accelerated healing are suppressed. Also, If you wish, suppression of your strength can be completed.
"The two being limited now are Roughtooth and Silverpelt, they plan to fight as twenties. Twenty percent of their capacity will be removed for the duration of these matches. The ape you see is last year's victor. He will likely be at twenty percent this year as well. He was not limited last year, and so I refused his challenge after he won."
"He challenged you after the competition?" Spinel asked.
Looking slightly embarrassed, Silentstride said, "I've a little fame in these tournaments, and I haven't competed in six years. When he challenged me, I told him I might face him if he thought himself man enough to commit to the limiters and then win. He refused last year, but he looks much stronger this year." Silentstride's look was that of a predator hungry for the kill. "We will see what he can do, perhaps."
"Ye said ye were t' do fifty?" Fernweh asked.
"I am planning to, yes. It will give me a bit of a challenge."
"Then I'll match you," Spinel said.
"I would advise against it," the werewolf answered.
"And why is that?" Spinel asked. "I've proven myself your equal twice already, haven't I?"
"You have, but you are unused to such limiting magics."
"And you're used to them?"
Silentstride lifted his wrist to show a dark bracelet. "Twenty percent all the time, and thirty in my wolf form. A training regimen of sorts."
Spinel looked deflated. "So twice you've bested me."
"No," Silentsride shook his head. "Twice I've lost."
"But the limiter ..."
"Was active the first time, but you were outnumbered four to one ..."
"Two to one. The Archcardinal was with me."
"... As you wish. But you were unarmored while we were not. And your most serious wound was my Bite. The second fight, the limiter was off." Silentstride smiled. "It would be shameful to meet one's rival unfairly on introduction."
"Then I'll join you at fifty," Spinel pressed. "Since I've won twice before, my unease with the limiter can be my disadvantage during our match."
"If we make it to a point where we face off," Silentstride said.
"You're planning to lose early?"
"I was more worried about you."
"Ha. See you in the finals, then."
"Aye, ye're good, lads," Fernweh said, returning from being limited. "But don't be forgettin' this old one. I'll likely take one of ye down if ye last that long."
"And you plan to do that limited, old one?" Silentstride said.
"Aye. An' well, ye whelp. I'll be seein' ye each in th' ring."
The other three approached and were limited. Before Inlé, the last, entered the casting circle, he asked, "What did the old man ask for a limit?"
"The old one was strange," said one of the women. "He asked for regenerative limitations--which shouldn't be a problem for humans--and an eighty percent limit." Silentstride gasped. "I've never seen a limit that high. Fifty would have been the highest I'd ever seen if not for him. Most go between ten and thirty, if at all."
Inlé closed his eyes in thought for a moment, then said, "I wish to match him."
"Sir? That's crazy. You're just a boy, after all."
Inlé's emotionless answer of "Eighty per cent, madam" sent a shiver down the she-wolf's spine, and the group sealed eighty percent of Inlé's strength.
The spells used to create the limitations are complex but subtle, and appear instantly when the brief ritual is completed. The sudden loss of strength is usually enough to stagger a warrior at twenty percent. How much more, then, at eighty?
As soon as the limitations settled down on Inlé, he collapsed. Spinel and Silentstride reached to help him up, but he quickly waved the two away, saying "Don't touch me" with the closest thing to emotion Spinel had heard from Inlé--an icy rage. He rose on his own, and then began to disrobe.
Removing the robe and the tunic beneath, the six others still in the pavilion saw thirteen gold and silver rings on one arm, an intricate dagger and a large spellbook on the other, and a heavy black tunic that had been beneath the undyed cloth. Inlé removed the book and dagger, then the rings, somehow looping them into an interlocking group that surrounded both dagger and spellbook. Then he tried to lift the black undertunic from his chest. He struggled with it for a few moments, then lay back to the ground and slipped out of it that way. He dropped it onto his other belongings, a dull thud echoing from it. Bundling the group up, Inlé offered it to one of the ritual casters with an obvious wobbling in the movement.
The caster took the bundle in one hand, as Inlé had done. His eyes grew large, and he quickly grabbed it with his other hand. He solemnly placed it into a storage drawer. Inlé was checked for other weapons hidden in his loose pants and, when he was considered unarmed, the three exited and found seats.

The tale of the competition that year has been told so often that to record much of it here would be pointless. Songs of the Hidden Moon's Two Day War are sung within each of the Clans, and even those first warriors who fell boasted of their brief participation in the competition. It had been intended to last late into the night, so the warriors could fight under Moon's full radiance, but so fierce were the fighters that the matches grew long enough that it lasted much longer.
And it was a surprise indeed when the vacilando who won revealed himself as the eldest of those present. More surprising still was that he won without contest, as of the four finalists, the first two fought for so long that one of the others resigned, claiming boredom as his reason. The other two fought for over eight hours, never giving each other the time needed to properly recover, and finally knocked each other out.
More surprising was that the four had limited themselves more than any other competitors in the history of the game, and the victor had landed less blows in the course of the tournament than there were competitors. These points are rarely sung of, as there is no beautiful way to show the valor of them. In fact, the limits were not even mentioned after their first matches, and most people happily forgot them over the course of the 'War'.
How many--even among those who worship their gods--truly wish to know that angels and demons walk among them?

Inlé walked away from the competitors' ring before Spinel and Silentstride's match ended. He had endured enough of this farce, and was ready to depart. Finding the soto in the crowd was not difficult. Very few creatures were garbed in robes, and Qadri was the only one to wear such a broad hat. Its brim shaded the soto's face, so that the only discernible facial feature was the full, broad, somewhat sinister smile worn like a mask. More, the soto stood at the very front of the ring of observers, where Inlé could approach without even leaving the competitors' area.
"We are finished here, soto. There is no victory in such senseless combat, and I am finished. You will receive the scroll now."
"Of course, boy. Of course," the soto's voice slithered around the words. The soto paused, then said, "But, you did not win. You forfeited victory. Why?"
"As I said at first, soto, there is no victory in such mock combat. You watched my matches. Certainly, you cannot say I have little skill. I take less pleasure in it than I lack skill. What victory is there in destroying a warrior who one day may be an ally?"
"None, of course." The sickening smile practically glowed in the fading sunlight. "But it is of great benefit to destroy a future enemy before they become one. For then they know their place."
"Incorrect," Inlé answered. "For more enemies are made than may be necessary, and they fight with more desperation, for their pride is more at stake."
"Either way, this match appears to be wearing down," Qadri said. "The contestants are near their breaking points. They are incredible specimens."
"They are brothers, of a sort. And well respected in their own right."
"And the old warrior?"
"As a soto, you hear many things. Mendicants always do. I am certain you have heard of the vacilando Fernweh."
"Of course. But you cannot expect me to believe that that man and this are the same. Fernweh is ancient among the race of men, and if ever he was so strong, such strength fades with increased age."
"Perhaps. But not always. Will you now accept your scroll?"
"I will, as soon as you retrieve it with your other effects. I will meet you at the warriors' exit." The soto turned and was gone.
Fernweh was at Inlé's shoulder a moment later. "So I've won by default, eh? Pity we couldn't fight today, boy. I'd much have enjoyed th' challenge."
"Hardly, vacilando. Our match would have proven you the stronger."
"Ha! Why? because I've put all me opponents down with a single blow, if that? Ye rarely took yer hands from yer sides!"
"I hadn't the strength, sir. You give me too much credit."
"An' ye play yerself down. I've lost t' ye in th' past, an' I'd like as not lose t' ye now. But, as we didn't spar, there's little f'r our talk but talk. Best we collect our boys an' haul out. Night's on, an' th' girls'll be worryin'."
"I must deliver my scroll to the soto before anything else," Inlé said, as the two entered the warriors' pavilion.
Fernweh's face fell. "Ye take care o' that one, Inlé," he said. "I've naught t' say against him, but ..." The old wanderer shook his head. "We what wander alone get th' beasts' feel f'r humans. An' that one's trouble. On me nose, in th' presence o' th' old wolves, under th' spreadin' World Tree, that one's more trouble'n I've seen since last Winter."

Inlé returned to Hidden Moon's camp shortly after Fernweh carried Spinel and Silentstride in. Their injuries were nearly healed already, but their last fight was so long that it had taxed them to exhaustion. Neither had even stirred when the vacilando unceremoniously rolled them to the ground beside the fire.
Inlé sat and greeted the others around the fire. "I leave in the morning to deliver my last message. You who have followed me during this mission, I thank for your support. This has taken far too long for my liking already, and would likely have taken far longer without your aid.
"This newest member, the soto Qadri, is, in the opinion of vacilando Fernweh, a dangerous woman ..."
"That were a woman!" Fernweh said, surprise etched across his face.
Without even acknowledging that he'd been interrupted, Inlé continued. "... and as such, I restate that whoever wishes to cease their travels in my company may do so. Know that each of you travels of your own volition. As before I neither request your company, nor will I move further than this to warn you away.
"If you so chose to travel with me, I depart in seven hours, alone or accompanied. If you so choose to join me, I suggest rest and a light meal before we leave. That is all."
Inlé turned and walked off, and Arrats, Fernweh, Selice, Swiftfang, and Silvermoon watched him go quietly. There was a solemn silence among the group for a long time after Inlé had left. The silence was broken when another log was thrown into the fire by the just appearing eremite.
"You all seem quite lubricated, lucifugous, lugubrious. Why?"
Selice shook her head. "Smaller words, sir. Please?"
"Glum, upset," the eremite clarified. "What is meant--what I meant--was ... ah ... what is wrong? You seem to all have a combined problem."
Arrats smiled, "We do, sir. Of a sort. Inlé always has this effect when he says more than a few words, unfortunately. It seems we leave in the morning, and our newest member looks to be trouble. Do you plan to join us during this last leg of our journey?"
The eremite shook his head. "I may join you on this next leg, if you answer my enigma. But pray it is not the last, Archcardinal. For the last leg of every journey ends in the death of the journeyer. Otherwise, there is always another leg of the journey."
"Aye, true enough," Fernweh agreed. "An' I'm doubtin' this quest'll end in death after that game, t' be sure. Th' boys here're fit pups, an' as one's t' go with us, sure I am at our successes.
"Sure, this weren't th' strongest of th' warriors o' th' world we faced, nor o' beasts, in all. But th' boy'll hold his own well enough."
Silvermoon asked, "And what is the enigma you speak of, Unnamed One?"
The eremite smiled, "That, girl, is it, then, is it not, girl?"
"What?"
"Exactly. But not, I am afraid, correct."
Confused looks circled the campfire, excepting Fernweh who looked more amused in watching the others. Finally Arrats said, "Sir, I don't understand. Would you explain your enigma to us?"
"Ah, of course. I apologize for my vagueness.
"My enigma, you see, is my name. I lost it some time ago, and I seem to have forgotten it as well. As it is very much a part of me, I would like now to ..." the eremite paused, unwilling to stammer through words as he usually did when the subject was so important. When the pause became almost too much for Selice, he continued, "... recollect my name. I dare not leave the Mountain except to approach the World Tree without it.
"After all, whoever I am must have a history of his own that has been lost with the name. Whose story, then, is my own? I may cause a mess by going beyond this point without that knowledge."
"Why not make yer own name up?" Fernweh asked.
The eremite shook his head. "No name I've tried has fit me. And if the name does not fit, how then can I fill the role?"
"In that case," Arrats said. "Why don't we just create a list of names and you will decide on the one that fits."
So that is exactly what they did. Arrats took the book What's in a Name from Inlé's bag, which he'd taken to leaving with Arrats when they were not traveling. Arrats suspected that it was so that Inlé could, if he so desired, abandon the party at night without having to return her books to her.
The book had nearly fifty thousand names from over three centuries but, after an hour had passed, exhaustion had taken its toll, and only Fernweh and the eremite sat reading the small book by firelight. Arrats' last thought before drifting to sleep was one of surprise that the two men could read the book without any spell used to magnify the words beyond the minute dots that formed pictures.

That morning, a short time before Inlé had said he planned to leave, the rest of the party, including the now recovered Spinel, woke and broke fast.
"We leave today, knight," Selice said. "If you so wish, you may stay with your brother and the Pack. It would be understandable if you so desired."
"No need," Silentstride smiled. "Swiftfang's already given me permission to join my brother on the rest of his trip. I believe your sister has also convinced our leader to allow her to leave as well. We will be with you for a while yet, princess."
"Aye, an' now ye've three bodyguards," the vacilando laughed. "Be proud o' yer skills at collectin' such strong ones, girly. They're each worth a hundred, t' be sure."
"And did you find a name for our companion, Fernweh?" Arrats said.
"Ah, no. We didn't," he answered. "But it's me own thought as we should have our leader try his hand at it. Inlé has more than a few--ah--specialized skills that we don't know about. And secret knowledge. He'll know."
"How sure are you?" Arrats pressed. "You could very easily be wrong."
"O' course I could. But I've me mind made up that he's best t' ask. Why not test first, settle bets after, eh? After all, what's there t' lose?"
"Your pride, for one," Silvermoon said.
Fernweh laughed. "Like I said, what's there t' lose?"

Inlé was found easily enough. The tournament had made him something of a celebrity, both because of his skill in the tournament and his striking resemblance to the unnamed statue in the nearby Shrine. Of course, it was decided that he wasn't truly the Wolfborne, as the lycanthropes called him. He was too young. But he was still easily recognized. It was easy enough picking up his trail by asking those few who were already awake where he had gone.
The party, now seven travelers, found Inlé in the Shrine of Moon's Beasts, wandering the effigies. As they approached him, he turned and watched them approach him quietly.
"Well met," he said. "Have you come to your decisions?"
"We have," Arrats answered. "We all plan to join you on this last leg. If the soto is such a danger as Fernweh believes, it would be better for us all if we stayed with you. But we came to ask you something else."
Arrats turned to the eremite, who himself was enjoying the statues around him. It took a few prods to take him from his reverie. When he was pulled into the present, he sighed and said, "I've lost my name. I do not wish to venture beyond the World Tree unless I know it. As such I wish to know my name."
"And you come to me to give you a name?"
"In a fashion." The eremite paused. "I have tried many, many names, but none seem to be the correct one. I had a name once, and only that name will suffice. I just need to know what that name is."
Inlé looked at the party before him, resting his gaze finally on the eremite. "Information is a valuable commodity, and does not come cheap. If mine proves correct, the charge may be quite steep. Do you wish to buy this knowledge?"
"You would sell him his name?" Selice cried. "That's sick. Who would sell someone their name? Who would pay for something like that?"
"So you say, princess, because you do not understand the world," Inlé said calmly. "Already one of your party has made a similar purchase. My offer stands as this: eremite, if you wish to learn your name, I will offer you one possibility. In the occurrence that it is wrong, I will charge you nothing. On the other hand, if my suspicions prove correct, we will discuss a fee afterward. Do you accept this offer?"
Without hesitation, the eremite agreed. Selice made a few disapproving noises before he silenced her. "Let us hear what it is you have to offer, wanderer."
Inlé stared silently for a few moments, then said, "Walk with me, eremite. You others, please await our return at the entrance, by the dressed statue. We will join you presently, when we have finished our business."
"Why can't we listen too?" Selice said.
"Hush, child," Fernweh said. "This's personal. 'f Inlé's right, this could get deep. He'll tell us his name hisself, 'f he wants."
"Exactly," Inlé said. "This is a private transaction, and the fee would be greater for seven than for one. If you would follow me, sir, we should complete this now, as the day will break soon. I would like to leave with the dawn, at the latest."
Six travelers returned to the Shrine's entrance, in a range of levels of willingness. The other two turned and began to wander the statues quietly. Inlé did not speak for a few moments before he began, seemingly in a tangent.
"There are many statues in this Shrine. Moon had over three hundred Lovers, and each is shown here. More than three hundred statues carved carefully, intimately, and magically. Each statue glistens a pure moon-white while the person they represent is in Moon's courts. But when they come down to the earth or otherwise leave Moon's courts, they take on the coloration of the dark side of the moon, so black that it rejects even reflecting light."
"How do you know this?" the eremite asked.
"The Keepers of the Shrine are happy to tell of their charges' histories and functions. They know the tales of Moon's Lovers better even than the Lovers' descendants. It is not so difficult, then to learn these things. Here we are."
The two had reached the far end of the shrine, having followed the entire coiling path to the opposite entrance where the second male statue appeared, this one still the remarkable white of a full moon.
"The statues are ordered aesthetically, and so their relative locations change with the whim of the Head Keeper. Despite this, the statues of the Wolfborne and Old Wolf are almost always kept either at opposite ends of the Shrine or facing one another at the center. Curiously, the Wolfborne has never appeared white, and Old Wolf never black. Meaning that Old Wolf rarely leaves his lover's realm, unless he is with her.
"In itself, this has little to do with your desire. I am sharing this as I peruse my thoughts and order them properly. The information I have here is this: you, eremite, have lived on the Mountain of Dreams longer than you or any of the Hidden Moon living can recall, but you appeared there in their records some few hundred years ago. You must be older than that, of course, as they already considered you old then, though you do not appear much past forty, by my observations.
"Your age is similar, then, to the age associated with Old Wolf, who often appears of similar age, as on his statue. The statue is, as you can see, the white revealing his location as in Moon's courts. And yet despite the differences between yourself and the statue, you bear a striking resemblance. Very much as a son would resemble his father.
"This proves you most certainly a lycanthrope, and makes one wonder if you are not descended directly from the First Pack. But the resemblance is so strong, one might believe you of the First Pack itself, were the entire First Pack not buried nearby.
"With one exception. One of the First Pack's body was never found: that of the Hidden Moon's ancestor, who was Lost and disappeared into the Fogs of Unrest. As one digs deeper into the history of Moon's Lovers, one learns that among Old Wolf's children, one bore such a striking resemblance to Old Wolf that even Moon occasionally mistook her son for her lover, to the amusement of the father and the agitation of the son. The son began knotting his hair to help differentiate between himself and his father, and the look stuck even after his parents ascended to his mother's courts.
"I so name you, eremite, that very son. I name you Fang, son of Old Wolf and Moon, father of the Pack of the Hidden Moon, creator of the Fogs of Unrest, first Biter, first Lost, first and only to escape the madness within."
The name fit, much to the eremite's discontent. The recognition of who he was forced him to remember all he had forgotten, and he liked very little of what he remembered. "So I am," he said finally, miserably. "So I am."
Inlé put a hand on the eremite's shoulder. "This is not a thing to mourn, Fang. You are as much the good eremite who has helped save wolves injured near the mountain now as you were a week ago. You are still as much the solitary man who the Hidden Moon holds in a place of honor despite their failure to recognize you as the same progenitor they hold in highest regard."
"Despite the scorn that other Packs and Clans hold for him," the eremite said.
"Perhaps," Inlé agreed. "But none of their ancestors, excepting Moon and the Beasts, still live. Only you remain."
"Inlé, this is all true, but for every good I have achieved, two evils have I done. I remember now why I chose to forget."
"And you may forget again, if you so desire. But I would not suggest that action. You are strong, and the knowledge you have can temper you into a stronger person still. Your knowledge can save those your ignorance may have condemned."
Fang sighed. "It is so hard, though."
"Then share this knowledge with another. I am sure your heirs would understand. They do not surprise easily, you have taught them that through the Fogs. For the same reason, they do not scare easily, which is also in your favor.
"Also, any who claim that you are Lost and are thus a threat have a few hundred years' history to prove them wrong. Your children will welcome you."
"They may," Fang finally agreed, looking up at his father's statue, begging it for strength. "But not yet."
"As you wish," Inlé said. "This knowledge is your own, and can be distributed as you alone see fit. Now, we should return to the others. I grow anxious to leave."
Fang's grin was lupine to the point that he almost looked to grow a muzzle. "The Archcardinal is right about you, Inlé. Far too impatient."
"Perhaps," Inlé said. "And on the subject of impatience, let us discuss my fee. ..."

Selice saw Inlé and the eremite as they rounded the statue at the last turn before the exit. It took all her willpower--and the hands of both the bothersome knight and the aggravating she-wolf--to keep her from rushing forward to see what had happened.
The eremite looked sad to her so, Selice reasoned, Inlé must have been wrong. The princess found that she felt strangely pleased to think that the cold, arrogant boy had failed. It would do him good to fail once in a while.
Then another thought occurred to her. Perhaps Inlé had been right, but the fee Inlé charged was too large. What if the eremite couldn't afford to pay the fee?
Well, Selice decided, If that's the case, she would have to help out. If only by helping strangle Inlé. Another pleasant idea, Selice thought.
Arrats was the first to speak when the pair joined the party. "Well?"
"I now know who I am," the eremite answered.
"And?" Arrats pressed.
The eremite sighed. "I will tell you all in time. I need a little while to get things sorted in my head. It's as if I have known myself for all this time, but am also looking in at myself as another man as well. A wholly unpleasant experience, I assure you."
"In any case," Inlé began, "It is time for me to depart. Those who will join may follow me, those who do not wish to stay, fare well as you return home."
Spinel stepped forward. "We all go with you, sir."
Inlé said, "Again, good knight, I am no sir."
"And he's no good knight," Silentstride said. "He's practically a savage. Look at his hair! A knight with lycan warrior braids? I think not."
"A werewolf with wit and candor," Inlé said. "I care little."
Spinel put a hand on Silentstride's shoulder before the warrior could attack.
Inlé coolly ignored the tension in the wolf, instead looking behind the party. "And here is the soto. We all leave immediately for the Lost Lake, wherever that may be."
"Lost Lake?" Fernweh said. "That all? We can be there before noon, boy."
The soto, smile still as broad as ever, asked, "How? Old one, it is further than the holy city Aurora from here."
"Ah," Fernweh winked at the soto, tapping his thumb to the side of his nose. "I've me ways, t' be sure. I've a hideaway near th' Lake, y'see. Lovely fishin', beautiful scenery, an' nice townsfolk. Just about th' only problem's th' door into th' valley's always on th' move. After a few visits, I found meself tirin' o' th' game o' findin' th' way in. So I made meself a rest-over, an' go whenever it hits me nerves."
"And you can get there how?" the eremite asked.
"How d' ye expect? This old fool walks into his hideaway like ye walks into yer pantry. Unlock th' door an' step on in. O' course, since me home's th' world what's wandered, th' door's always before me. T' take passengers takes a bit more time. A few hours. An' there'll need t' be open space."
"We can leave the tree's haven, then," Inlé said. "You will have room on the plain."
Selice was confused. And when she was confused, she forced clarification. "I don't understand. First, what did he say? I can't keep up. Second, where are we going, and how? I'm not walking to Aurora. It's too far."
"Then be glad you aren't walking to Aurora," laughed Silvermoon. "We're going to Lost Lake. It's farther."
"But ..."
Arrats stopped the princess. "We'll get there by way of the vacilando's magic. Teleportation. Which, I might add, is far too complicated to explain, and often more difficult to actually execute."
"Certainly," the soto agreed. Selice didn't like the woman's smile. She was beautiful, in an androgynous sort of way, but the smile looked like it would stay right where it was to watch as you were killed. Slowly. Brutally. Selice shuddered.
"Instant transportation for oneself is incredibly difficult," the soto continued. "But to transport a group of people is far beyond that. Especially considering that most of the people involved will be arriving for the first time."
"I am certain Fernweh can do it," Arrats said.
"You have proof, then?"
"He has already transported some of us like this. Myself included."
"And how many others?" the soto pressed. Selice decided she did not in the least like their new traveling companion. "Certainly not this many."
"No, only three of us moved," Arrats said. "But it was rushed by the approach of an incredible storm. We only just made it before it broke over us."
"Now, girly, ye needn't defend me," the old wanderer said. "Were it meself in th' soto's place, I'd like want t' be certain as well. Failure's not th' prettiest or worst option."
"You will have my aide, this time, Fernweh," Inlé said. "I cannot help shape the spell, but I can function as a stabilizer. If I am not mistaken, this will be quite taxing."
"Aye, and then some," Fernweh said. "A long time it's been since this many've been moved by meself like this. An' closer to me prime I was then." The old man's face suddenly looked weary to Selice.