Werewolf Castle

by Tracy Falbe

  To reassure her, he said, When we face our enemies, Father and I will prevail.”

  “If only I had some art by which to aid the fight,” Altea said.

  “Yet you still have not asked my father for instruction,” Thal said, knowing that she had procrastinated in the request despite her desire for arcane knowledge.

  “I’m afraid,” she admitted. Although Sarputeen was warm and kind to her, the mystery that radiated from him deterred her.

  “I understand,” Thal said. “I was young when I went to him and asked for the wolf magic. I don’t know if it’s something I would do as the wiser man that I am now.”

  “Mayhap I am too old to dare such a thing,” Altea lamented.

  “I think you’re still capable of youthful indiscretions,” Thal said and his hand moved between her thighs. She accepted his invitation to replace heavy subjects with carnal pleasure.

  Later, when they were dressing, he tied the laces on her dress. She flexed her hands while he worked and looked at the scars on her thumbs. Most of the damage from the screws had healed, and she was managing better with tasks that required dexterity. During her long recovery, Thal had aided her with feeding as well but was glad that she could now feed herself. She appreciated his gentle attention, knowing how sincere it was.

  After finishing her laces, he went to his dressing table and picked up his knives. One he put in a boot and the other was sheathed at his hip. His falchion and pistols he left on the table for now.

  Altea picked up the golden pendant on the table.

  “Why do you never wear this?” she asked.

  He took it and turned over the pendant. Runes marked one side, and a wolf stared out balefully from the other.

  “It’s just one more thing I would have to take off when I change,” he said.

  “Of course,” Altea agreed, feeling stupid about her question. She knew that he took great care not to ruin his clothing before shifting into his wolf form.

  “Besides,” he added. “I’m not the same person I was when I used to wear this.” He remembered his father removing it before working magic upon him in a secret grove long ago. “You wear it,” he said. She accepted happily, and he placed the cool chain around her neck.

  His brown and white dog hopped onto the bed and wagged his skinny tail. Thal scratched Pistol behind the ears.

  Tickling the dog’s side, he said, “It hasn’t taken you long to fatten up for winter.”

  Altea, who was brushing her hair, looked over her shoulder. “Pistol needs a little meat on his bones,” she insisted defensively.

  “He doesn’t have to hunt his supper here. The cook dotes on him,” Thal said.

  “We’ve all been spoiled. Your father’s people are kind and generous,” she said.

  “They honor Father greatly,” Thal said. He had noticed the loyalty of the few villagers who occupied the remote little realm of Sarputeen. They seemed not quite like people in other places. Perhaps they were as people should be if left alone.

  Because she was hungry, Altea hastily braided her hair into a single thick coil, so they could go get breakfast. Thal offered her his arm as they went into the hall. Pistol jumped off their bed and scooted ahead. He guided them to the kitchen.

  They ate a hearty meal of rye bread and fried pork. As always, Thal heeded the pleading eyes of his little dog and tossed him a chunk of crispy pork fat.

  Altea went out to oversee the doings of the servants for she had assumed the role of lady of the house.

  Thal sought his father. His intuition told him that he was outside on the cliff, and Pistol knew it too because he sniffed the trail of the elder man’s footsteps that led down a long hall.

  At the end of it, Thal pushed open the thick door. The wind blasted in with the bright sunlight. He entered the grove of gnarled pines that clung to the cliff. The land angled down steeply, but the lumpy and twisting roots offered places for his feet as he navigated the rocky promontory.

  At the cliff edge, he looked down and saw his father on a lower ledge. He favored this spot for meditation. Thal climbed down to join him, leaving Pistol whining lightly at the top.

  Sarputeen was bare chested and seated with a shaggy white wolf fur draped across his lap. His eyes were closed, and the morning sun was full upon his face. The bright light revealed many lines upon his face and glistened upon his freshly shaven scalp.

  The gusts blustering against the cliffs seemed unable to rouse the old man. A statue-like poise held his body, and his serene face told of thoughts that went well beyond the limited notions of common men.

  Quietly, Thal sat next to him. At length, Sarputeen spoke without opening his eyes. “Meditate,” he whispered.

  Thal nodded and then, somewhat reluctantly, shut his eyes. He understood that his father was trying to help him expand his awareness. Thal had, as yet, no skill for the far-reaching trances of his father. Thal knew that it would take years for him to acquire the arts of sorcery that were the playthings of Sarputeen. Despite his father’s insistence that he might develop his powers beyond that of even his fearsome sire, Thal harbored doubts. He believed that he possessed the potent instincts of his animal self more than the mystical and nearly unfathomable talents of his father.

  Yet he tried. The morning passed with only silence between them. Thal’s sense of hearing and smell were filled with a myriad stimuli. He heard air whistling across the wings of birds wheeling over the river and the bleating of livestock around the village. Scents of people, plants, animals, and Mother Earth filled his nostrils, and his sensitive mind sorted them out one by one.

  Eventually he tried to feel beyond these surface sensations. He wanted to see the infinite possibilities within the greater whole of existence. Such forces had been bent to the will of his parents when they had made him.

  He recalled the time when he had taken flying potion with the secret pagans of Chironef. The memory of his floating awareness aided him now as he sought to expand his mind.

  But concerns about his enemies distracted him from the path into higher realms of perception. Foreboding crept up his back with a tingle. Thal reminded himself to trust his feelings. He might be experiencing a proto-vision meant to alert him to danger.

  When he could resist no more, he opened his eyes and jumped to his feet. The proximity of the void beyond the ledge shocked him and he pressed back against the cliff.

  Sarputeen smiled and patted his son’s leg. His eyes were open, and Thal guessed that his father had emerged from trance some time ago.

  Reorienting himself to the physical landscape, Thal leaned out a little. He could smell men and horses on the single lonely track that wound up through the forest to Vlkbohveza.

  As if reading his son’s mind, Sarputeen said, “From here, it’s easy to catch the scent of anyone coming up the road. Emil approaches.”

  Although Thal recognized the scent of the young man who served his father, he remained disturbed, uncertain if he felt threatened or angry. He sniffed the air deeply.

  “There are others upon the road,” he said and narrowed his eyes.

  “Yes. They are not with Emil but not far behind him either,” Sarputeen judged. He reached up, and Thal pulled him to his feet. The older man’s knees cracked as he straightened, but his physique still rippled with frightening power.

  “I…recognize a man among them,” Thal growled.

  Sarputeen felt the hostility rising within Thal. “Who is it?”

  Thal shook his head in disbelief. “It is a Jesuit. One I left alive when others needed to be killed in Prague,” he answered.

  “A Jesuit you say? Then his god makes him bold in the face of your power,” Sarputeen said.

  “The gods of men make them cruel,” Thal said, remembering the righteous men who had killed his mother and almost taken Altea too. “I must kill them now,” he decided.

  He turned to climb the cliff, but his father took his arm. “Thal,” he said soothingly. “You’re as impulsive as a silly pup. A few m
en on my lonely road pose little threat. Emil will be here first. Let us hear what he has to say and then judge how to act.”

  “You’re right,” Thal admitted. His hostility receded into caution.

  ******

  If the stark hall barren of furnishings had ever once been a place of banners and lavish feasts, no sign had been left to attest to such a history. A single wide chair upon a slab of stone faced a set of thick wooden doors. Sarputeen sat with Thal and Altea standing at his sides. Their presence stirred his emotions that had grown stale over many lonely years. Old regrets faded, and excitement for the future flared anew because his son had returned, finally endowed fully with his werelord power.

  Sarputeen listened to the steps of his young servant coming across the flagstones of the outer hall. His gait was fast, meaning his news was urgent.

  A door opened. Emil came in. His cloak flapped from his square shoulders. He took off his hat and went to a knee.

  “Welcome back, Emil,” Sarputeen said. “What news do you bring?”

  The man looked up. His dark brown eyes bounced from Thal to Altea. He still was not used to them. “My Lord, I have conveyed your desire to the Duke to make haste fulfilling your request, but…”

  “But?” Sarputeen prompted, feeling the unease within his servant.

  “The Duke said he would send payment only if Lord Thal meets with him first. He said he wanted to know what kind of man he was,” Emil explained.

  The furrows on Sarputeen’s brow deepened like the stacking clouds of a tempest. His lips twitched as if he might snarl. But instead of making an outburst, he withdrew into his inner world. The old sorcerer stared hard at a distant point, and bloody scenarios twinkled upon the dark waters of his eyes.

  Thal felt his own aggressions stir because of his father’s simmering anger, but Altea’s voice made him focus again.

  “Emil, tell us of this Jesuit upon the road?” she said. Gooseflesh prickled her skin as she recalled her capture by a witch-hunting monk in Prague. In the moments since Thal had told her about the approaching Jesuit, she had been fighting back her panic.

  Her knowledge of the Jesuits startled Emil at first, and he almost asked how she knew, but his place was not to pry.

  “Four Jesuits come, my Lady, in the company of six of the Duke’s men. Duke Thurzo warned me that they were hunting Lord Thal, so I avoided them and raced ahead to get here first,” Emil said.

  “The Duke warned you?” Thal asked.

  “Yes.”

  The actions of the Duke were difficult to judge, and Thal needed to ponder the issue. He presumed to dismiss Emil. The man looked to Sarputeen for confirmation, but the brooding old lord remained distant.

  Gesturing to the door, Thal encouraged him to comply. “Take your rest.”

  Emil bowed and shut the door on his way out. Altea rushed around the chair and took Thal’s hands. “This is a trap. The Duke has sided with the Church and means to claim the reward upon your head,” she said.

  Gently he touched her scarred thumbs.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But it makes little sense. Thurzo could have captured me when I was half dead from poison. Instead he heeded Father’s call for aid and protected me.”

  “He has changed his mind,” Sarputeen rumbled, returning from his bitter reverie. “The commands of his late father have faded from his ears, and he fears that I will take his power for all men in power are wary of those who could dispatch them.

  “His behavior does not surprise me. I suspected I might overreach with him, but it was worth a try to extract as much as I could from the Thurzos. But I cannot let this one defy me. He shall learn why his father agreed to my terms and then regret his failing to meet them.”

  He got up from his chair as if nothing more remained to be said.

  “What do you mean to do?” Thal asked, gripped by concern.

  “Hunt him. Kill him. He was told what it would mean to break contract with me,” Sarputeen said.

  “Who’s impulsive now?” Thal asked. “You cannot be sure he means to betray us. Have you ever met this man who inherited his father’s debt to you?”

  Taken aback by his son’s impertinence, Sarputeen said, “Are you saying you want to meet him?”

  “No!” Altea interjected.

  Thal appreciated her protectiveness, but he challenged her counsel. “Did you not do the same when I was knocked low by the fext? You told him the truth and begged for his discretion. And he gave it,” Thal argued. Then even more firmly he decided, “I shall go see him.”

  “Son…” Sarputeen began but fell short of issuing a command. Even he, who had lived so long unquestioned by all around him, felt the force of the brave authority within his son.

  Thal explained, “We need an ally in the battle against Tekax. If I meet Thurzo, I’ll be able to judge if he is true. Perhaps he wants to know the same of me. After all, we have asked much of him.”

  He turned to Altea, seeking her opinion. Concern still clouded her lovely face, but she had trusted in Thal’s boldness more than once. And she disliked the notion of killing Thurzo after he had given her both hospitality and indulgence.

  Slowly, Sarputeen nodded. “How shall you approach him?” he asked.

  “I’ll knock on his front door,” Thal replied with a grin that no one appreciated.

  “You are reckless, as Mileko warned me,” his father grumbled.

  Thal said, “Men are not like a prey to be hunted. You’d be surprised how well going up to them and saying what you want works.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” Sarputeen conceded.

  “We shall soon know. On my way down the valley, I shall dispatch those Jesuits,” Thal said.

  “No,” Sarputeen said forcefully. “If you believe the Duke may still be true, then you mustn’t attack his men or violate their mission. Do not molest them, my son. I’ll deal with these monks that would feed you to their fires.”

  Altea shuddered. Although she had not gone to watch the witch burnings that spring down the street from her home in Prague, their reality remained vivid and sickening.

  “Sarpu,” she said, using his short name as he had urged her to do. “How do you mean to deal with these monks?”

  He regarded her gently, knowing that this matter was intimately alarming to her. “I don’t know yet, dear daughter. Thurzo’s men must be made to believe they’ve delivered their charges safely to their destination. Our task would be easier if Mileko were here. He is clever in such matters,” he said.

  “They are fools to come here,” Thal grumbled. “But that does not surprise me. They believe they can go anywhere and do anything by invoking their God.”

  “I promise they’ll see my power on Earth before they meet their God,” Sarputeen said. “But, Thal, you must make haste. They’ll be here soon, and it’s best that none in their party see you.”

  “I shall ready myself to go,” Thal said. Altea’s blue eyes were waiting for him when he looked to her. They had words to speak in private, and they hastened away to their chamber.

  Thal grabbed his knapsack and powder horn and quickly checked his possessions. He made sure that he had shot for his pistols and strapped his falchion onto his belt. He got out his plate armor. A servant had oiled it for him, but the lead ball was still firmly embedded over the breast plate. The arm holes were abnormally flared out, pounded with a hammer to make them fit a larger body.

  “I’ll help you put it on,” Altea said bravely.

  He slipped a quilted vest over his linen shirt and held up his arms. Altea gripped the armor awkwardly. Her thumbs were still tender and her hands weak, but she struggled through the task of strapping the metal around his body.

  “You did well,” Thal praised after touching the buckles.

  “I’m slowly rebuilding my hands,” she said. Her thumbs were sore from the effort, but she was proud to have accomplished the task.

  He nodded, grateful that she continued to recover but reminded of her vulnerability. “Are
you not going to argue for me to stay?” he asked.

  “I worry it’s a trap, but I agree we must not punish Thurzo without proof,” she said. “In my brief audience with him, I saw a man who makes his own decisions.”

  “I look forward to meeting him,” Thal said.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful,” Altea said.

  Such a pledge did not pass quickly over his lips. Part of him relished the danger. His predatory nature craved confrontation, but he was experienced enough to choose his ground.

  “I promise I shall do all I can to succeed,” he said carefully.

  Knowing he relied on his daring, Altea hugged him possessively. “This is so sudden. I don’t want us parted,” she said.

  “I want you to come. I plan to see Regis, Carlo, and Raphael while I’m in Zilina,” he said.

  “Oh, how I miss them!” she said. “But they’re much too festive for this quiet place. Do you really mean that I should go with you?”

  “It is only a wish. We both know you must stay,” he said.

  She sighed. She needed more time to recuperate. Her strength was returning, but even her love for Thal could not grant a reprieve from reality. Thal could not ride horses, and he would make a hard fast trek into the valley and back to the city. He might even shift and run through dark cold forests as the werelord that he was. Such a journey would tax her too much when she needed most the comfort of her new home.

  “Altea,” he said and then groped for his next words. What he wanted to articulate was difficult. “My father means a great deal to me, but I can’t claim to entirely know him. When you’re alone with him, be cautious. I know you’re curious about magic, but it is perilous.”

  She moved away from him and took his wolf fur off their bed. She lifted it over his shoulders. Briefly, she glimpsed the blood lettering of the transformation spell on the skin before she settled the magnificent shimmering fur over his shoulders.

  “Should I not trust him?” she asked.

  “It’s not that,” he said quickly. “I just don’t want to leave you with these Jesuits coming. I know how upsetting this must be for you. I could stay a while.”