Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (44 page)

The sellsword leader nodded to Valentino.
Getting a few extra coins on this outing was an unexpected surprise
he could welcome.

From the bushes Thal watched everyone
withdraw and stepped out of cover.

“You owe me five thalers,” Valentino
announced while patting his horse’s neck.

“I’ll take care of that as soon as I can,”
Thal said.

“And next time check with me before you start
shooting,” Valentino said and muttered to himself in Italian.

Thal disliked the Condottiere’s bossiness,
but he reluctantly admitted to himself that he had reacted
poorly.

“Thank you for your help,” Thal said.

“I was helping myself and you got lucky,”
Valentino grumbled.

“Why did you really come out here?” Thal
asked, doubting that Valentino had done it simply to comfort the
musicians.

“That’s complicated,” Valentino said,
wondering at his own motivations. At first he had wanted to confirm
what he had seen, but it was more than that. Valentino was always
attracted to power.

“I’ll go back to the city on foot. I need
some time alone to think,” Thal said.

“We all have much to think about,” Valentino
said. He was staring hard at Thal, still trying to reconcile his
experiences on this sleepless night. He departed with his men. They
rode slowly because their horses were tired and they did not want
to catch up to the sellswords.

In the night Thal gave into his hungry urges.
He transformed and hunted. His choices were many among the villages
and homesteads. What had been resisted so many times during his
wild life, he now indulged in. He slew a lamb and gorged on raw
flesh while in his wolfen state. Although he now understood
properly the cost to the household that he robbed, he had not been
able to resist, not when he could get away with it.

He left the bloody fleece arranged on the
meadow grass as if the tasty creature had collapsed meatless upon
the ground. Even if the eerie pose did not deter the shepherd, the
man would then have to gather his courage to follow the wide
fearsome tracks that disappeared into boot prints near the
road.

After traveling as a man partway back to the
city, Thal crept into a narrow wooded canyon and settled down for a
long sleep. The merry burble of a clear stream weaving through old
willows soothed his troubled heart. He ignored the nip of insects
and rested deeply.

Thal nuzzled his face against the fur spread
on the ground. He did not open his eyes. Despite the birdsong
greeting the dawn, he indulged his laziness and kept sleeping.

Pistol came and went through the morning,
hunting his own hunts, and checking back on Thal periodically. The
sun warmed the little hideaway, and he turned his face toward the
heat that banished memories of winter hardships.

When Thal opened his eyes, he squinted
against the glare of the sun dancing brightly through the little
willow leaves. He slid a hand over his face and almost went back to
sleep, but his senses suddenly clicked into an alert state. He was
not alone.

Sneakily he parted his fingers and peeked at
his surroundings. He shifted his body casually as if still asleep
to change his view. At first he saw nothing except the bright green
of new shoots growing up through the forest litter. Then a face
took shape within the shady recesses of a bush speckled with tiny
white flowers. The face was small but it was no child. Pale as a
toadstool the ageless face had golden eyes that were gateways to
forgotten secrets. Amazed, Thal forgot his ruse and dropped his
hand to look upon the little being fully. The thing’s long flaxen
hair was as ethereal as the sparkle upon the flowing water.

Then he or she or it flitted away. Quaking
leaves revealed the movement. Thal burst into pursuit. One glimpse
of a little body uncatchable as smoke affirmed the scant reality of
its existence. Thal crashed through the bushes and looked around.
He heard no more movement. His nostrils flared but delivered no
information. Looking down, he saw a smudge of bright green upon dry
leaves. Stooping he touched the odd powder, fine as pollen. He
sniffed the iridescent residue upon his fingers and blinked. Then
he blinked again as if fighting off sleep. Thoughtlessly he wiped
the powder on his pants. Pistol barked behind him and he went back.
The dog was standing on his wolf fur. He rubbed his head and
supposed that he was still groggy from heavy sleep. He went back
into the bushes to urinate. When he was done, he scooped up his fur
and put it on and then covered it with his cloak. High up a nearby
oak tree, a raven cawed at him in a laughing sort of way.

“What’s the joke, friend bird?” he said.

The raven cackled again and flew away.

“No accounting for a raven’s humor,” Thal
mumbled to Pistol, and they strolled back toward the road
together.

Anger lurched inside Vito when he saw Rainer.
He hated that he had misjudged the danger to his servant when he
sent him looking for Thal. The battered monk limped into Vito’s
residence with help from Tenzo.

After the grizzled mercenary deposited Rainer
on his cot, he said, “One of my men got shot on your stupid wolf
chase.”

“I pay you to get shot at,” Vito said.

“You pay me to swing a sword, and speaking of
pay—”

“Serving God is a handsome reward and I’ve
been keeping you in room and board. Your precious silver will come
to you when I get results,” Vito said.

“We signed up to fight men not magic beasts,”
Tenzo complained.

“Was it a magical beast that shot at you?”
Vito said.

The sellsword grunted something and recalled
that arguing with the fiery Jesuit was futile.

“Did you see the werewolves?” Vito asked,
eager for details.

“We saw them in the Little Quarter. How your
monk can follow them faster than us I’m not sure. We found him
outside the city, and he told me the werewolves were gone,” the
sellsword said.

Vito guessed that the sellsword suspected
something and was fishing for an explanation.

“Brother Rainer is tireless in his quest to
find these Devil beasts,” Vito said. “Thank you for bringing him
back to me.”

“My pleasure,” Tenzo muttered sarcastically
and decided to go to bed before Vito gave him a new assignment.

Vito entered Rainer’s cell and shut the door.
He pulled up a stool next to the cot. Fresh scratches and scrapes
were splashed across Rainer’s old scars. The punctures left by big
teeth were readily apparent.

“Dear God,” Vito murmured, lifting Rainer’s
arm.

He called for bandages and clean water. After
Vito bandaged the arm he found the bite on the back of Rainer’s
neck. He winced. The wound showed Thal’s victory.

Vito washed the neck wound, and Rainer opened
his eyes. Relief washed over him.

“I’ve got you back with us,” Vito purred,
loving as a mother.

With his minion soothed and full of trust,
Vito became more intense. “Did you find where Thal is hiding?” he
demanded.

Rainer opened his mouth to answer, but Thal’s
command to keep his location secret tightened his throat. His
wounds flared with pain as if some venom filled them with Thal’s
will.

“Well?” Vito said.

“I chased him out of the city,” Rainer
said.

Fighting for patience, Vito said, “Why? You
were supposed to bring him to me.”

“I can’t control him. He’s more powerful,”
Rainer said.

“You just told me you chased him,” Vito
argued.

Rainer squirmed and rubbed the bandage on his
arm. He did not want to talk about Thal. “I don’t remember,” he
whispered.

“The sellswords tell me they saw werewolves
in the Little Quarter,” Vito said.

“Is that what that place is called?” Rainer
said. His ignorance of Prague’s geography was substantial.

“For the love of God, where did you find
him?” Vito cried.

Rainer shook his head and insisted the events
of the night were a blur.

Vito waved a hand with disgust. “You have to
do better. We must send this sorcerer’s spawn back to Hell if
you’re to gain redemption,” he said.

“I know,” Rainer whimpered.

Vito turned Rainer’s head and looked at his
neck again. Did it matter if a werewolf was bitten anew by another
werewolf? He had no idea what the effect would be, but he had the
impression that Rainer was holding something back.

Rainer lamented. “I tried to gain control of
him, but he defeated me. I remember that. His bite seals my
fate.”

“You’ll earn a miracle from God yet,” Vito
encouraged. “Is there anything you can tell me?”

Rainer tossed his head on the straw mattress.
He wanted to please his master but darker forces were conquering
him.

“Give me my cross,” he gasped.

Vito retrieved the string of beads from a peg
on the wall. Rainer accepted his beloved charm reverently.
Clutching the cross, he felt ready for any discomfort his bites
might deliver.

“He’s not like me. He has a bewitched wolf
hide that changes him into a beast,” he said.

“So it’s true,” Vito whispered, stroking his
chin.

“What?”

“Nothing. Rest, my brother. Perhaps you will
remember more after you sleep,” Vito said.

“Perhaps,” Rainer said, knowing it was a lie.
His self hatred flared as he watched his good master withdraw. He
wanted to tell the truth. Caressing his beads, he prayed for the
strength to free himself from his newest curse.

When Vito left his wounded monk, he went
straight to his private chambers. He ignored a questioning look
from Miguel and slammed the door behind him. Vito sat down. His
foot tapped the floor. He recalled Thal’s face. Those distinctive
eyes and that confident attitude would be impossible to overlook.
How could it be so difficult to find such a man? His brothers
preaching in the streets were on the look out for him. His
sellswords had been told that Thal was the suspected werewolf. Vito
supposed that the crowds of thriving Prague gave the man too much
cover.

His mind continued to grind through ideas. He
still longed for a chance to sway Thal to his side. But religion
that worked so well with Rainer was likely useless with Thal.

Vito supposed that he would have to go with
his second best option of capturing Thal and using the event to
gain the goodwill of the people and the gratitude of the
influential. To condemn a fierce and unrepentant werewolf who
possessed a magical fur would deliver great prestige onto Vito, who
could credit the Godly forces of the Church with his success.

But nothing could be accomplished until Thal
was captured. Using Rainer had not worked and his sellswords had
failed utterly. Vito reasoned that Thal must have been close when
they found Rainer. He speculated sourly that Thal had done the
shooting.

In the main room, Vito heard Miguel greeting
someone at the door. His happy voice irked Vito until he realized
that Professor Zussek was visiting.

Vito pushed open his door. It caught in the
warped frame and then flew open with a squeak after he kicked
it.

“My good Professor Zussek,” Vito said warmly,
coming out to greet him.

“Ah, Brother Vito, I have much to tell you,”
Zussek said.

“Good, good, come in,” Vito invited.

Miguel followed the professor into Vito’s
office. Zussek’s hair and beard were frazzled and he had bags under
his eyes, but he was lively and excited despite his weary
appearance.

“There are two werewolves. I’m sure of it.
I’ve been to the scene of their battle,” Zussek reported happily.
He set his bag on the table with a clatter and started rummaging
inside. He brought out two pieces of folded paper and opened them
up. Stuffed inside were tufts of fur.

“I collected these samples,” he said. “People
on the street told me two beasts had a battle there and I found two
distinct types of fur.”

“What street?” Vito asked.

“Nerudova. It’s a very nice area, close to
the castle,” Zussek explained.

Vito wondered where Thal could be finding
shelter among the wealthy households, but just because he had been
spotted there did not mean that his lair was there. Still Vito
decided it was a start and he intended to monitor the area more
closely.

“This news is most disturbing. Tell your
Magistrate friend that I will prevail upon the Abbot to fund extra
hunters to patrol the streets,” Vito said.

“Magistrate Fridrich will appreciate that,”
Zussek said.

“But sending brutes into the streets may not
suffice, except to help people believe that their institutions are
taking care of them,” Vito said. “We must be clever. Is there any
way you know of to bait a werewolf?”

The question pleased Zussek. His mind raced
through all the obscure folklore he had been absorbing recently,
but nothing specific presented itself. Prague was too full of
people and livestock for a single vulnerable animal to stand out to
a hungry creature.

“I’ve read more than once that werewolves are
generally caught by tracking them after an attack and waiting for
them to turn back into men. At that time they are vulnerable and
weak,” Zussek said.

“I had agents attempting that last night,”
Vito said.

“Ah, yes, people told me that there were
several groups of men pursuing the beasts last night, but the
creatures broke through one of the city gates with ease. There was
no stopping them,” Zussek said.

“Thus the need to bait a trap,” Vito
said.

“I will research it,” Zussek promised.

Miguel was at the table looking over the
samples Zussek had collected. His skin prickled beneath his coarse
robe when the hairs brushed his fingertips. These were from the
flesh of Devil-spawned beasts.