Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (19 page)

He threw back his head and roared at the
stars. He pushed his mighty voice into the world and reveled in the
quaking response of every blade of grass and creature that cringed
from the sounding beast.

Frightened horses squealed. Streamers of
flame shifted in circles instead of barreling straight ahead. Thal
bounded toward the suddenly erratic torchlight. He loped on all
fours, covered by the night like spilled ink on written words.
Pistol shadowed him.

He charged the riders with a fury that would
make them fear the night more properly for the rest of their days.
The panicked horses were already turning to flee. Thal crashed into
the first horse he met and knocked the animal over. Its rider
yelled and flew to the ground. Thal reared up in the middle of the
group and snarled savagely. Men screamed with total terror. Thal
slashed at them with his claws and nipped at the horses. The
sellswords scattered on their frightened steeds except for one man
who bravely hacked at Thal with a sword. The blade sliced his
chest. Thal swiped at the weapon and knocked it to the ground while
surely breaking the arm that had held it. The pain of his wound
triggered his instinct to kill. He leaped upon the yelling man and
they tumbled off the horse. Thal landed on top of the man and
lunged for his throat. The tangy fear smell of the man halted
Thal’s killing bite because he remembered that he should not kill
men if he could avoid it. His fangs lightly grazed the skin but
left no mark. His tongue felt the thumping pulse of the racing
blood beneath the skin before he tore off into the darkness.

Thal chased the horse with Rainer upon it.
The monk was heading swiftly back to Mirotice. Coming alongside the
horse, Thal managed to grab Rainer’s thigh. The man and beast
tumbled and rolled off the road. When they came to a stop, Thal
seized Rainer’s robe with his jaws and dragged him away. Rainer
yelled for help. Awkwardly Thal slapped a hand-like paw over the
man’s mouth and switched to walking upright. He mostly muffled the
monk’s pleas for rescue and rushed across a field.

The sellswords were recovering from the
assault and reassembling. All but one of their torches had gone
out, and a single light zigzagged along the road as its bearer
located his comrades.

Tall green oats reached high on Thal’s body
and he left a clear trail as he trampled the thickly planted grain.
Relying on darkness to cover his reckless abduction, he ran as fast
as he could with his struggling burden.

Beyond the field they reached a patch of
woods. Thal tossed Rainer hard against a big tree. The impact
knocked the wind out of the monk and he lay gasping at the
thick-clawed feet of the beast that had taken him.

When Rainer looked up, the dark outline of a
powerful and shaggy man-shaped creature loomed over him. Puffing
heavy breaths and greenish glowing eyes pressed down on Rainer.
Remembering the horrible attack that had altered his flesh, Rainer
moaned and trembled. He made it up to his knees and grabbed the
precious cross hanging upon his chest. He blathered prayers and
begged for protection.

Thal observed the man’s groveling misery. His
wits were caged by trauma. Thal pitied him and stepped back. Hope
lit Rainer’s face as he assumed that his prayers were working.
Jabbering to his Lord, he tried to scramble to his feet, but Thal
jumped close again and cowed him with a snarl.

Rainer knew that he could not outrun this
creature. Desperately he held up his cross to ward it off. Thal
backed off and paced. He eyed his catch with predatory
intensity.

Back on the road, the other men were shouting
for Rainer. When the monk tried to respond, Thal growled in his
face. Rainer wilted into trembling silence. Thal snuffled him all
over. He detected only normal clothing and found no trace of an
enchanted skin hidden anywhere.

Rainer scooted back until his back hit the
tree. Thal waited to see if he would attempt to transform, but he
apparently had no spell to speak to summon the power that Thal
sensed inside him.

On the other side of the field, one
flickering torch was at the place where Thal’s obvious trail cut
across the tall oats.

Thal circled behind the tree and consciously
let go of the magic. His spirit shuddered as he pried it loose from
his animal state. Part of him did not want to return to the
restrictive life of a man with its soft body and unnatural
laws.

Rainer heard the panting and grunting and
recognized what the sounds meant. Seizing his chance, he ran.

Thal got off his hands and knees. All his
muscles hurt because of his transformation and the deep cut was
bleeding liberally. Despite the pain he raced after Rainer. The
dark could not hide the fleeing monk.

Rainer yelled for his companions before Thal
tackled him. Thal rolled him over and pinned his arms against the
ground. The tall green oats hid them like long hair hid fleas.

“What are you?” Thal whispered.

Terrified of the heavy breathing naked man on
top of him, Rainer looked into the many-colored eyes of the one who
had captured him. He was amazed by the speed and ease with which
Thal had shifted. Rainer was weak and disoriented for hours after
returning to his man form.

He shook his head, too frightened to
speak.

The shouting sellswords were spreading
through the field, heedlessly trampling the growing grain. Thal did
not have much time.

“Tell me,” he hissed. His eyes flashed with
fierce determination that pulled Rainer’s will down like a fawn in
his jaws.

“Just a servant of Christ,” Rainer
squeaked.

“But not always,” Thal said.

Rainer whimpered. “When the moon is fat I
can’t stop it. I become like you.”

“How did this happen to you?” Thal demanded.
Not far away a sellsword rushed into the woods. He hollered for his
associate with the guttering torch.

“A werewolf bit me last fall,” Rainer said,
and he suddenly felt good about revealing this information to Thal.
He longed for the empathetic bond.

“There’s another one,” Thal said mostly to
himself. He was staggered by the information. How many creatures
such as him were there? Were they limited like Rainer who was at
the mercy of the moon?

Seeing Thal distracted by his thoughts,
Rainer pushed hard and Thal had to grapple with him. Rainer yelled
and the other men quickly focused on the sound.

Fearful of capture or death, Thal let Rainer
go and ran toward the man with the torch. He approached him from
behind and pushed him over. The man cried out and fell on his face.
The torch went out and Thal jumped on the man’s back. With the man
pinned he plucked the drawn sword from his hand and jumped up. He
ran to the woods to fetch his precious fur off the ground. Tossing
it over his shoulder he ran away. When he got back to the road,
Pistol raced along at his side. The confused yelling of the
sellswords faded as Thal got away.

When he could run no more, he bent over with
his hands on his knees and raggedly drew in deep breaths. Blood
dripped from his chest. The fleshy smell of his hot flowing blood
worried him. This was making his trail easy to follow. Gingerly he
fingered the deep cut. It hurt badly. Thal resolved to take greater
care at not getting hurt the next time he gave battle as a
werewolf. Thanks to Rainer he now had a word for what he was.

Pistol sniffed the blood and licked Thal’s
ankle.

“I’ll be all right,” Thal said and plodded
on. Enormous weariness dragged at him.

He reached a fork in the road. It twisted
west and a smaller lane curved down toward the little river. His
companions had gone that way. Through the trees he saw a light. As
he approached it he heard Regis’s accented voice and noted the
pleading tone. Upon reaching the water Thal found a shack with a
rickety ferry tied up next to it. His friends were inside and he
hurried to the door and kicked it open.

A white haired man with powerful arms and a
poxy face yelled. Already pulled out of a good sleep by three
foreign musicians, he was rattled and wholly unprepared for the
sight of a blood smeared naked man bursting in his door.

“Saints protect me!” he cried and dove for a
window. He shoved the shutters hard and they burst open with flying
splinters.

“Stop him!” Thal shouted, and Carlo and
Raphael seized the old sturdy fellow.

“Thal!” Regis cried in both greeting and
alarm.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Thal said,
hoping he was right.

Carlo and Raphael held the ferryman by both
arms. Thal pointed his sword at the man’s chest and said, “I assume
you were about to agree to take my friends across the water.”

Habitual stubbornness overruled the
ferryman’s shock. “I don’t cross at night,” he insisted. He had not
gone through the trouble of building a ferry crossing so other
people could lord over his life.

“It’s a lovely night. I’m sure you can make
an exception,” Thal said.

“I had just talked him into letting us camp
here. We were going to wait for you,” Regis said.

“We’re crossing now,” Thal said. He gestured
for Regis to give him his clothes.

Regis unbound the bundle and looked for
Thal’s pants. Thal put his sword on a table with a metallic clang
and slapped a hand over his bleeding wound.

“No need to run off, Sir. We aren’t going to
hurt you,” Thal said.

Carlo and Raphael let him go but blocked the
window.

“You rogues need to get out,” the ferryman
declared.

“Can you get me a rag?” Thal asked.

His unwilling host meant to protest, but the
liquid warmth in Thal’s eyes softened his temper. “Don’t look at me
like that, lad,” he muttered. He shouldered his way past Regis and
opened a chest full of clothes and linens. He tossed a towel to
Thal. “Why are you naked?” he said.

“I didn’t want to ruin my clothes,” Thal
said. He pressed the towel against his cut and red soaked into it.
Carlo came over and helped wipe up the blood and look at the
injury.

“You need to be sewn. Maybe burnt,” Carlo
said in his language.

Mostly understanding what his friend meant,
Thal nodded. Carlo got his backpack. He carried needles and thread
and took care of everyone’s mending. He suggested that they heat
one of Thal’s knives in a candle and burn the wound, but Regis
argued that he heard that made things worse. Carlo grumbled that
Regis knew nothing. Thal settled the matter and said to just stitch
him up. He did not wish to add hot pokers to an already difficult
evening.

He got his pants and boots on and sat on the
table so Carlo could work on him. Willing himself to take the pain,
Thal looked over his gun and made sure that it was still primed and
loaded.

“What trouble are you bringing on me?” the
ferryman asked.

“Just take us across the water and it will be
the last you see of us,” Thal said. “If anyone accuses you of
aiding us tell them I put this gun to your head.”

Now that Thal was sitting down, he started
shaking. He was ravenously hungry. Regis brought him a cup of water
and he gulped it greedily.

Wiping his chin, he softly apologized to his
companions for the trouble. The ferryman watched the four strangers
warily while Pistol sniffed around his little home. Despite the
strange intrusion, he gradually began to feel less threatened.
These men had not harmed him, and he reminded himself that it was
no sin to give hospitality to needy travelers.

Once Thal was bandaged he finished dressing.
He took out a coin and offered it to the ferryman. “Shall we go?”
he said.

The man took the coin and led them outside.
They loaded their instruments and themselves onto the raft. It
rocked and they hurried together into its middle for stability. The
ferryman chuckled and took up his pole. He had the ferry secured by
a heavy rope across the water and he pushed them out into the
current. The tributary was flowing smoothly and they were soon
across. Pistol was the first to jump onto the bank.

The musicians thanked the ferryman and
trooped up the trail behind Thal.

“Don’t come back,” the ferryman muttered even
though he looked forward to sharing his strange tale when next he
went to the village.

Thal led his little party into the hills. He
wanted to be well away from any roads before daylight. The dark did
not trouble him, and he found paths tolerable to the footing of men
even in trackless places. But branches still whacked the musicians
and happy mosquitoes nipped at the unexpected interlopers.

Finally at the first light of day, Thal
stopped. Although he had hidden it until this moment, he was the
most exhausted of any of them. He found a spot where the boughs of
gnarled pines conveniently formed a secret space, and he collapsed
on the ground. His dull eyes stared at the brown bed of pine
needles. He had not felt this depleted after his first
transformation. He suspected the lack of a full moon had made his
flesh less resilient to the forces that he commanded.

His companions flopped tiredly onto their
butts and stretched out their legs. They regarded Thal
thoughtfully. His wheezing breath indicated deep sleep. Scruffy
whiskers were growing in on his cheeks alongside the goatee he had
been trying to shape.

“Why has he led us to this desolate place?”
Raphael said.

“Why did we follow him is the better
question?” Regis said.

“He said we were in danger,” Carlo
reminded.

“Riders with torches in the night are a
serious thing,” Regis reflected. “But why would monks want him so
badly?”

“Why did he fight them naked?” Carlo
said.

The men shook their heads. Thal’s bizarre
performance was both astonishing and utterly disturbing.