Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (57 page)

Bereft of his champion, Carlo confronted the
grim possibility of never being able to save Regis and Raphael. He
had to do better.

“Is the Condottiere here?” Carlo asked.

“No.”

Carlo hung his head. He had no one to turn to
for help. If he tried to find a constable, then their captors would
tell them about their association with Thal.

“I know where Condottiere lives,” the potboy
offered.

“Really?”

“I’ve taken her Ladyship’s notes to him many
times,” the boy said proudly.

“Take me there!”

“I have to do my work first,” the potboy
protested.

Carlo snatched the pitcher from the boy’s
hands and set it on the floor. “Take me now,” he commanded and
tugged the boy along.

******

Valentino returned to his suite after going
out first thing in the morning to hear the gossip. He ducked
through Thal’s laundry that was hung on a line across the front
room. Thal sat at a table cleaning his pistols.

“You were busy last night,” Valentino
remarked. “Did you really empty the jail in Old Town?”

“It mostly emptied itself after I opened the
doors,” Thal said, rubbing a little cloth up and down his gun
barrel.

Valentino sat at the table. He had picked up
a round of bread and broke it in half. “I got you breakfast,” he
said.

Thal stopped what he was doing and picked it
up eagerly. “Very kind of you. My thanks, Valentino.”

“You’ve started paying better. Perhaps I was
wrong about you working for me,” he said.

“I shan’t be waging any wars,” Thal said
between mouthfuls.

“What was last night?” Valentino said.

Thal stopped chewing. The ugly murders
replayed in his head. “Vengeance for my mother,” he finally
admitted and went back to eating.

Valentino opened his mouth to ask more but
stopped. He had not given any thought to the witch burnings earlier
that year, but upon hearing Thal’s cryptic admission, Valentino
figured out that apparently one of the executed women had powers
that went beyond souring the milk.

Thal looked up when he heard footsteps on the
stairs. “Carlo?” he whispered. Pistol jumped up and went to the
door with Thal.

“Wait,” Valentino advised and cut him off.
The Condottiere cracked open the door and was relieved just to see
Carmelita’s serving boy and the musician. He bade them hurry
inside.

“Thal!” Carlo cried and fell into his
arms.

“What has happened to you?” Thal said,
alarmed by an upsetting scent that wafted off of Carlo’s head.

“Thank God you’re here,” Carlo said in
Italian.

“Speak Czech,” Thal said, too upset to
unravel his friend’s native speech.

“You must come. They have Regis and Raphael.
He’ll cut out his tongue and burn them at the stake,” Carlo
blathered.

“Who?” Thal demanded.

“He said, oh, I can’t remember. Something
about being from Rosenberg Castle.”

“Captain Jan Bradcek!” Thal exclaimed. He
stepped away from Carlo and clasped his hands like he meant to
strangle somebody. “I’ll kill him,” he fumed.

“Where are they?” Valentino asked.

Carlo turned to the Condottiere. “It must be
a trap for Thal. This man wants Thal. I came here for your help,
Sir. He won’t know who you are and you can beat him. I know it!” he
said.

Valentino enjoyed the vote of confidence. “I
must know more about this Captain Jan,” he said, looking to
Thal.

“I’ll take care of this,” Thal said. He
returned to his pistols.

Valentino continued to question Carlo about
the location. Carlo gave a garbled explanation, but Valentino
figured out that he was talking about a part of town where bad fire
damage had yet to be renovated. He questioned him about how many
men Jan had and was happy to hear that the figure was only five.
Thal half listened. Pistol circled his feet, eager to go. When he
was done loading his guns, he strode toward the door.

Valentino grabbed his arm. “It’s a trap,” he
warned.

“I have to go. They’re my friends and they
suffer because of me,” Thal said. His guilt made him sick. He had
tried to avoid this. I should’ve killed Jan, he thought, accepting
that the mistake was his from the beginning.

“I know, but listen. I can help you. Let me
get some men. I’ll go in there and bust them up and get your
friends. Carlo is right. This country bully from Rosenberg Castle
won’t know me. I’ll take him by surprise and you won’t have to
expose yourself to the trap,” Valentino reasoned.

Prodded by his guilt, Thal wanted to vent his
passion with action, but he had to take the trap seriously. What if
they did manage to hurt him? Then Regis and Raphael would never
escape.

“You would help me like this?” Thal asked, a
little amazed.

Valentino had selfish reasons for helping
Thal, but he also genuinely liked the man. “You’re a bigger pain
than a boil under chainmaille,” he said.

“You were the one who wanted to be friends,”
Thal said.

Valentino laughed. “That I did. My life is
plagued by bad decisions, but I will help you. It’s good to keep my
men earning some pay anyway,” he said.

He hollered for his manservant to fetch his
armor and saddle his horse. He scribbled a quick note to Carmelita
and sent the potboy back home with it. Thal gave Carlo the last
bite of his breakfast.

“Wait here and stay inside,” Valentino
commanded once he was ready to leave.

Both Carlo and Thal burst back to their feet.
“I must go,” Carlo insisted. “I can help free my friends while you
fight.”

“Very well, if you can keep up, but Thal
stays,” Valentino said.

Thal set a restless hand on a pistol. “I will
trail behind on my own. If things don’t go well for you, you’ll
want me to show up,” he said.

Valentino frowned, but if things went badly
he certainly would want Thal to arrive. As long as he went first,
he supposed he was still protecting Thal from the trap. “Very
well,” he said.

The Condottiere and Carlo left. Thal yanked
down his laundry and stuffed it in his bag. He had to give
Valentino time to collect some men, and the waiting would be
difficult.

In the bedchamber he found the letter he had
started the night before. “Oh Altea,” he groaned. He picked up the
quill and considered finishing what he had meant to say, but his
mind was scattered with worry for Regis and Raphael. His heart
balked at the notion of telling her she would never see him again.
He wanted to make her his. Thal wondered if his mother’s spirit
could let him show mercy to the Magistrate, as Altea had asked. He
feared Altea would cease to love him if he murdered the head of her
family. But when Thal thought about that man condemning his mother,
love seemed a weak excuse for withholding justice.

Finally he resolved to seek Altea and speak
to her again. If she was willing to go away with him, then he would
reconsider mercy if she still insisted. And if she chose not to go
away with him, then what he did to her stepfather was his
business.

******

Valentino was pleased with the ten men riding
behind him. They had even seemed eager when he said they had to
save Lady Carmelita’s musicians. They were expecting some easy
sport.

The fiery gaze of the Condottiere with his
good armor and fancy steed warned people in the streets that he was
intent on a serious errand. And his ten scarred sellswords were
outfitted with battered helmets, worn gear, pistols, swords, and a
couple bows. One slender unarmed man riding double with the last
fighter appeared out of place.

“Turn left!” Carlo shouted.

The blackened stones of the burned out
buildings were a stain upon the otherwise rebuilt block of the
city. Scavengers had been filching stones from the derelict
buildings over the years, leaving gaps in the walls. Weeds and even
a few sapling trees were sprouting where once there had been
floors. When the armed men turned onto the lane between the
buildings, tabby cats darted out of their rumbling path.

Valentino’s well-experienced eye glimpsed a
man on a roof with a crossbow. He assumed he had spotted part of
the ambush for Thal.

Drawing his sword, Valentino shouted for his
men to storm the stable. He jumped off his horse and barreled into
the weathered wooden doors. They were barred but the old boards
groaned and bent a little. Two of his men slammed into the doors
next to him and together they gave it another hefty bashing.
Cracking rewarded their effort.

“Again!” Valentino commanded, and in unison
they threw their combined weight against the doors.

The man left of Valentino screamed. A bolt
from a crossbow was lodged in his shoulder. He staggered back
clutching his wound. Valentino drew one of his pistols and scanned
the roof. He knew that hitting the sniper with a pistol was next to
hopeless, but he had an archer on his side as well. Pointing his
pistol toward the hiding spot, Valentino yelled for his man to aim
his crossbow up there.

When the shooter on the roof popped up to
take another shot, Valentino’s man fired. The arrow struck the
stone beside the man and made him jump. Valentino decided he had to
take his shot for good measure, and his lead ball shattered the
stone on the other side of the man. Rattled by the close brushes
with death, the ambusher missed with his next shot. The arrow
skittered across the stable’s roof.

Valentino bashed himself against the doors
again and this time they flew open. A pistol shot roared by his
face. Valentino’s steel-hearted courage kept him charging although
he knew that he had used up one more of his diminishing cat
lives.

The stable was dark to the men who had just
barged in from the bright sunshine. Valentino dove to the side so
he would not be silhouetted against the outside. His comrade did
the same and they both found themselves immediately in hand-to-hand
combat with shadowy foes.

More of Valentino’s men poured into the
stable. Their horses stomped and circled in excited disarray
outside, kicking up dust. In a dancing panic, Carlo navigated the
agitated animals and dashed inside the stable. Weapons clanged and
men shouted. Another pistol shot went off. There was a painful
scream. Carlo made it to Regis first.

“Thank God you’re alive,” Carlo said.

“Get the ropes off,” Regis said, proving he
still had a tongue.

Carlo yanked at the ropes but he had no
knife. The knot thwarted his fingers. Two men fighting fell against
him and knocked him down. One fighter tripped over Carlo’s sprawled
body. His opponent plunged a sword into his chest. Carlo scrambled
away, horrified by the mortal blow he had witnessed.

Regis yelled for help and Raphael added his
voice as well. Someone gave Carlo a hand up and then used his knife
to cut free the prisoners. The three friends hugged each other and
thanked the man who had helped them.

Two of Bradcek’s surviving men surrendered,
but Valentino still fought with Captain Jan. With their pistols
already fired they fought with swords.

“Yield to me!” Valentino raged as he
deflected Jan’s sword with his rapier.

Jan attacked with fury and managed to drive
Valentino back a couple steps toward the door. The Condottiere’s
men in the stable rounded up their prisoners and put them in a
stall. One of Jan’s men lay dead on the floor.

Even engaged by Jan, Valentino was still able
to give orders. He hollered for his men to get up on the roofs and
find the crossbowmen. Four of them dashed off on their
assignment.

The musicians saw their opening and fled
outside. Carlo stopped to help the man with an arrow in his
shoulder.

Valentino and Jan spilled out into the lane.
Their swords worked against each other furiously. The Condottiere
was skilled with his fine Italian rapier. Jan was sloppier with his
heavier sword but still rather dangerous.

Curious people were gathering at a safe
distance. No one knew what was going on, but everyone chose to
watch instead of interfere.

With skillful steps, Valentino eluded his
opponent’s blade and let him get winded.

“Stop while you still have your life,”
Valentino teased. “I was trained by Swordmaster Begitone in Milan.
Some Rosenberg yokel is not going to beat me.”

Jan rallied his strength and assaulted his
opponent with frenzied slashes. The chaos of his style was uniquely
dangerous, and Valentino earned himself a gouge in his armor.

“I think I remember Rosenberg Castle from my
travels. I took a shit on the side of the road close to there. I
can hope that it was on your father’s lands,” Valentino
taunted.

Jan roared and renewed his efforts. They
circled each other, delivering hateful jabs and strokes.

“Your face is familiar to me,” Valentino
continued. “That woman with the slippery smile who was so kind to
me must have been your sister.”

While ugly cursing spewed from Jan’s mouth,
Valentino made his best move. He caught Jan’s hand with the tip of
his rapier and tore away his sword. As the sword landed in the
dirt, Valentino stepped up to Jan and smashed him in the face with
a left-handed punch. Jan’s head spun, and Valentino pushed him hard
in the chest. Jan dropped to the ground. The sharp tip of the
rapier appeared over his nose.

“Yield or die,” Valentino said, breathing
hard. Sweat streamed down his tan face, but his dark eyes twinkled
with vicious delight.

Still stunned by the knock on his jaw, Jan
groaned.

“I expect your armor and gun. I’ll leave you
your sword for your journey home because I’m a man with a generous
heart,” Valentino said.

His fighters who had finished up with Jan’s
men grinned at their commander’s victory.

“Kill me!” Jan fumed.

Valentino raised an eyebrow at the unexpected
choice. He put his rapier on Jan’s Adam’s apple and would have
killed him, but the guard captain’s fatal courage withered.