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single mark on any body—at least that a cursory check could disclose. They sat or sprawled about the door in vaguely lifelike attitudes—probably arranged that way, Kane decided. An empty ale pitcher lay beside one of them, and Kane sniffed it cautiously. There was no scent of poison that he could distinguish, but there were many that bore no taint. Poison seemed the only logical answer to these five silent, unmarked deaths.
    Still determined to see it through, Kane stepped to the door. It was unlocked, as he had expected. A peephole was agape through which the guards had watched the interior. Looking through, Kane could see nothing lurking within.
    He once more kicked in the door and hurled himself into the room, following his earlier procedure. Nothing moved. Lystric was in one corner, half under a table.
    Kane examined the astrologer. Whatever his schemes or abilities, he would exercise them no more. Lystric’s head was all but torn from his body, and hungry fangs had ripped away most of the soft flesh of his arms and legs. The werewolf had not been able to contain its unspeakable appetite all night.
    Nerves prickling, Kane slowly rose from the mangled ruin of a man. Perhaps the answer would lie in Henderin’s chamber upstairs. Sword ready for instant action, he tiptoed to the door leading to the tower stairs. The door was still locked, whatever that might portend. Kane carefully manipulated the bolt. A sudden scratch of claws on stone warned him! Kane jumped from his attention to the bolt, whipping around with blade swishing!
    The werewolf glared at him balefully, its bloody tusks gnashing hideously! A low snarl rumbled in the creature’s threat. Taller than Kane it stood, and under its white fur rippled bands of steel-like muscle.
    Before Kane had a chance to do more than recognize the beast’s awful presence, it sprang for him! Putting all his tremendous strength behind his stroke, Kane smashed his blade full against the lunging werewolf!
    Had his attacker been a man, the blade would have sundered him to the waist. But from the werewolf’s shoulder the sword bounded back as if it had struck slightly resilient iron! The sound was a dull thunk , and no other evidence was there that the blow had landed—the werewolf’s spring was not even slackened! Yet Kane’s arm ached to the marrow with the force of the resounding blow, and his sword bounded from numb fingers!
    In a split second the creature was on him, fangs slavering, fetid breath in his face and taloned hands clutching for his throat! Kane had no chance to dodge! The snarling force of the creature’s lunge smashed him onto the floor! His head cracked against the stones, and consciousness mercifully left him, as those burning eyes bored into his mind!
    Sometime later he regained consciousness. Kane rolled to his knees weakly. His head was in agony and his mouth was full of blood. Then with a start he realized two things. One, that for some reason he was still alive. And secondly, he was no longer by the tower stairs, but lying beside Lystric’s corpse. In disgust he recognized that the blood in his mouth was not his own!
    He spat in revulsion and groggily stood up, staggering to the doorway.
    “Don’t move another step! I’ll skewer you for sure!”
    Kane saw, with sudden awareness of his situation, that Evingolis was standing in the doorway—a crossbow aimed at the other’s heart.
    Running feet and shouts sounded from the hallway.
    “Well, Kane,” said the minstrel in awe, “you played it cleverly. I’ll admit I never thought you’d be the werewolf!”
IX. Impasse
    The surprising thing was that they had not killed him immediately. Kane’s fast tongue was some help in postponing matters, but he suspected Breenanin had been more effective. The baron had not completely forgotten that Kane had rescued his daughter from almost certain death.
Evingolis had spelled it out, point by point. The first death had occurred right before Kane had ridden out