Werewolf Castle

by Tracy Falbe

  Thoughtfully, Thal gripped his fur. “I will give them powers,” he said in a low voice.

  “Power like you?”

  “Not entirely. I can change at will on any day or night. They’ll be bound to the full moon,” Thal explained.

  “Why should I allow this to happen?” Thurzo said bluntly.

  “Because we will fight Tekax, a perilous sorcerer who has aided the Turks since the time of your father. His loss will be your gain, and the gain of your people,” Thal said.

  “And then what? Suppose you succeed with your vendetta. Are my people to live with your wild servants running loose?” Thurzo said.

  Thal said that he would maintain control of them.

  “That does not give me much peace of mind,” Thurzo muttered, and Thal could not blame him for his skepticism.

  Trying a new approach, Thal said, “We need the extra fighters. There is a creature in the service of Tekax. He’s a thing that is undying. I nearly perished when fighting him just outside Zilina mere weeks ago. We will remove this menace from your land.”

  “How shall you kill this undying thing?” Thurzo said.

  “Cut him up. Burn the parts,” Thal said.

  “I know many who would wish to do the same to you,” Thurzo said.

  “I’m sure you refer to the Jesuits who you gave safe passage to Vlkbohveza,” Thal grumbled.

  “What have you done to them?” Thurzo asked.

  “Nothing. My father shall deal with them,” Thal said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure,” Thal answered.

  “More might come to hunt you,” Thurzo warned.

  “Shall you send them to my door?” Thal wondered.

  “I must to maintain appearances,” Thurzo said.

  Thal studied the Duke. He sensed no duplicity. A hint of fear spiced the man’s scent. “You fear your Church?” he surmised.

  Thurzo’s chuckle lacked humor. “She is much bigger than me,” he said.

  “But you’d prefer the God of Rome to the God of the Turks?” Thal said.

  “I have a place among my masters. I’d not trade them for masters who have no use for me,” Thurzo explained.

  “Do you conceal my father and I because of the Turks?” Thal said.

  Resigning himself to the fact, Thurzo nodded and said, “My family survives because we have our own resources to call upon. Christian kings can be slow to respond when its my walls and not theirs being attacked. If I were to give you what you need, will you answer my call for aid when or if it comes?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  The prompt response surprised Thurzo. He had expected bargaining, and he suspected that Thal’s current business concerned him very much. This sorcerer of the Turks worried him more than witch hunters of the Church.

  “I’ll do my best to deflect Church or imperial inquiries about you,” Thurzo said. “But know that they will always condemn magic users. I may not be able to entirely protect you.”

  “I know,” Thal said.

  Thurzo stood up. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand off his dagger and extended it to Thal. “Are we agreed?”

  “If you send my volunteers,” Thal said.

  “I have five I can send. They are fit and willing,” Thurzo said. “Sir Krengar shall transfer them to your custody at my vineyard estate outside the city.”

  Thal took his hand. His grip communicated a fierce power beyond that of a normal man. “I’ve learned that men share a drink when reaching an agreement,” he said.

  “I suppose you’ll want supper too. All my other guests expect the royal treatment,” Thurzo said.

  “I ate well,” Thal said. “I wanted to be sure of having a kindly humor when we met.”

  “How did you get so close to me?” Thurzo asked.

  “Your palace is not especially secure,” Thal said.

  “I assume those musicians aided you,” Thurzo muttered as he grabbed a bottle and two chalices.

  “Do not punish them. They made sure that I had not come to kill you. They like it here very much,” Thal said, accepting a drink.

  They raised their cups, and Thurzo did his best to cast an authoritative gaze at his newest ally. “To our mutual success,” he said.

  “Cooperation is the way of the wolf,” Thal said and drank.

  Chapter 7. Undesirable People

  Thal approached the vineyard estate of Duke Thurzo with caution. He did not fear attack but rather what he would find. He needed to create a pack as his father advised. Superior numbers were necessary when next he battled the fext, but he wondered what sort of men had volunteered.

  A light snow accompanied the dawn. The silent flakes coming down from the peaceful sky sharpened his inner turmoil. The fluffy crystals clung to his cloak as he and his dog walked up the lane to the manor house. He assumed no one was awake yet because dark shutters still covered every window, and no smoke issued from the chimneys.

  At the front door, he seized a brass knocker embedded in the thick oak planks. He started banging away. He persisted like he bore news of invasion and took some juvenile delight in the annoyance he had to be causing.

  “I’m coming!” someone finally shouted, and Thal relented.

  A man in a nightshirt with a wool blanket over his shoulders hauled open the door. Pistol presumed to sniff his way inside. Thal took off his hat and bowed.

  “Is Sir Krengar available?” Thal asked.

  The man inspected Thal briefly. His weapons seemed to confirm that he was worthy of the knight’s attention.

  “I’ll fetch him,” the man said. He stood aside so Thal could enter. As he headed down the central corridor, Thal overheard him grumbling about strange business constantly disturbing his routine.

  While Thal waited in a front room, a flush of nervousness made him second guess himself. It was not too late to walk away. He could convince his father that they must take another course.

  Thal licked his lips, imagining what the blood would taste like when he sank his thick canines into human flesh. He had done so before but only to kill and not to bestow his lupine powers.

  He resolved to defer to his father’s wisdom. Deep down, he craved a pack. He wanted to belong and to lead.

  Pistol returned to his master just ahead of Sir Krengar. The knight stood in the doorway. Although obviously just roused from bed, his gaze was alert.

  Thal withdrew a small letter sealed with ducal wax. Krengar accepted it and broke it open. The note was brief, telling Krengar simply to give Thal what he wanted.

  “I need to dress. Meet me behind the house,” Krengar said tersely. He crumpled the note in his fist and strode away.

  Thal sat in a chair. Pistol put his front paws on his master’s knees and looked into his eyes.

  “We’ll have new friends soon,” he murmured to his dog, hoping it would be true.

  He could hear Krengar moving about in an upstairs room. When Thal judged that the man was ready, he met him at the bottom of the back stairs.

  Krengar’s thick boots clomped on the hardwood steps. He wore a thick leather vest, and he was armed with a sword and a mace. Thal noted the ring of keys clutched in the man’s hand.

  Krengar led them across the stable yard and down a path beyond the barn. A stone wall separated them from a vineyard on their left and a coppiced woodland on their right.

  They came eventually to a single-story stone building. Its thatch roof was weathered and shabby. Moss grew on the northern corners, and an overgrown hedge of hawthorne pushed close on the far side.

  The place might have been the original house at the estate, but its ability to be hospitable had passed long ago. Now, the dilapidated cottage granted only a creepy and damp sort of shelter. Dead leaves were blown against the foundations, and a heavy chain and lock secured the front door.

  Krengar stopped just short of the door. He faced Thal. “You will be responsible for these brutes, yes?” he said.

  “Why do you call them brutes?” Thal
asked.

  “Who else would volunteer to be servants of Sarputeen?” Krengar rejoined.

  “I’ve known many men to employ brutes,” Thal countered, and Krengar frowned, cornered by the truth.

  Choosing more specific words, Krengar said, “These are undesirable people. You’re not to let them live among us.”

  Unsettling suspicions gnawed at Thal. “They’ll cause no harm to the good people of Zilina,” he said.

  Krengar fidgeted with his keys and then admitted, “Still, this is a hard thing for me to do. Your sorcery will condemn their souls.”

  Thal could tell that this issue mattered to the knight. It might not prevent him from doing his Duke’s will, but he did not like being involved. He gestured to the chain across the door and said, “Methinks they have already been condemned by someone.”

  “We would have punished them in a redeeming way. They’ll be forever lost if given over to your dark magic,” Krengar said.

  “I would dispute the darkness of my powers,” Thal said.

  Krengar broke eye contact, wondering how Thal managed to make him feel impolite. His words were like the howl of a wolf in the night. They inspired fear but there was no denying the soul behind them. He selected a key from the ring. “I’ll grant there are those darker than you,” he grumbled.

  Krengar grabbed the heavy padlock that had snow collecting on it and thrust in the key. It ground inside the cold metal and released the chain. Krengar shoved the half-rotted door open and led the way inside.

  They entered a large main room. Snowy light came between the boards nailed over the windows. Pistol stayed close to Thal’s feet. The unpleasant odor of a piss bucket tainted the cold air.

  Four shadowy figures hunkered against the big stones of a fireplace. A mound of ashes revealed that they had run out of firewood, but the stones had retained some heat after their fire that had gone out in the night. When the men shifted, their chains rattled.

  After a disapproving glance at Krengar, Thal advanced on the men. Their hostile, wary spirits created a palpable barrier. He sensed their expectation that he was just another man come to torment them in some new manner. Thal hoped it was not true.

  “Stand up if you would volunteer to serve Sarputeen, Lord of Vlkbohveza,” Thal said.

  The first to stir was a skinny man. A whip scar divided his face, and his long brown hair and beard were matted and dirty. Thal judged that hardship had yoked this fellow for a long time, yet fierce life burned in his dark eyes.

  Thal watched the other three men rise alongside him. Another skinny man coughed, and his sunken blue eyes revealed prolonged exhaustion. Next to him stood a stout man with an ox-like neck. His round face looked better suited to a jolly banquet than confinement in this drafty place. Last in the row was the tallest among them. His wide shoulders and lean hips spoke of health. A scraggly beard imposed on his youthful beauty. Dark curly hair hung over his blue eyes. He rolled his full lips nervously, seeming to contain some comment.

  Looking over his shoulder to Krengar, Thal asked why the men were in chains.

  “They are criminals condemned to hard labor. Except for that one. He was to be executed,” Krengar said, pointing at the handsome youth.

  “You could only recruit among criminals?” Thal asked.

  “Only the desperate would agree to volunteer, and, besides, who are you to look down on a criminal?” Krengar said.

  “Perhaps they shall suit me well,” Thal admitted. “But the Duke said there were five.”

  “I thought it best to segregate the other,” Krengar said and lifted his key ring. He unlocked an interior door and stepped aside. Thal entered, curious about who could not be kept among the rough group in the front room.

  Chains chimed in a far corner, and the shadows obscured a slender figure in a ragged shawl. Coming inside but not too close, Thal said, “Step forward. Let me see you.”

  The person came into the light with a straight back and lifted chin.

  “A woman,” Thal whispered, surprised.

  Her skin was pale. A yellowish bruise that had been taking a long time to heal marred one cheek, and a dark scab bisected her lower lip. Her black hair was shorn short, hacked off in chunks in preparation for the gallows. Green eyes like newly sprouted wheat stared back at Thal with a mix of fear and expectation.

  He felt her anger too. Something had driven her from a normal life and caused her to accept the dark deal offered by Krengar.

  “What is your name?” Thal asked.

  “Lenki.”

  The sound of her voice caressed his senses. Tension eased from his neck as if her voice itself could cast a spell. He saw her beauty now beneath her wounds and soiled clothes.

  “Are you Sarputeen?” she asked.

  “I am Thal,” he said.

  His name seemed to have no effect upon her. Apparently, she had been too busy with her own deeds to hear of his notoriety.

  “What crime are you accused of?” he asked.

  “Murder.” She said the word clearly, without shame, and excitement stirred in Thal’s chest. He imagined the werewolf that she could become with that vicious attitude.

  “Did you do it?” he wondered.

  “Yes.” Her reply was unhesitating, but then her bewitching eyes looked down, and vulnerability slackened her defiant poise. “But…” she whispered. “I was not clever. I took no care to get away with it.”

  She regretted only her lack of planning, and sympathy surged within Thal. He knew how easy it was to act rashly, especially when going in for the kill.

  “You’re young. You’ll learn to be clever,” he said.

  She looked up hopefully and believed that the mercy that she had been promised if she went to Vlkbohveza was actually real and not some cruel trick inflicted by her many tormentors.

  “Are you here to take me to Sarputeen?” she asked, needing confirmation.

  “Will you serve him?”

  “I will.”

  Thal came closer. She leaned back from his imposing presence. Yet, his entrancing many-colored eyes held her attention, and she began to realize that she was not in the company of a normal man.

  “Do you know what Sarputeen is?” he said.

  Her eyes widened a little. Dropping her voice, she said, “A wolf man.” Then, with an even softer and more blasphemous tone, she added, “A wolf god.”

  Once again, the extent of Sarputeen’s reputation in this region impressed Thal. His nearly invisible existence had only enhanced his mystique over the decades.

  “Wait here,” Thal said.

  When he left the room, Krengar noticed how the woman had flustered Thal. “I would say she is the pick of the litter,” he said.

  Thal concealed his agreement. He was still too startled by her to accept what he thought of her.

  “I’ll need tools to take off their chains,” he said.

  Krengar shook his head. “They must be bound, at least until they are gone from here,” he insisted.

  Thal looked at the four men. They were watching intently with hungry eyes.

  “I am responsible for them now,” Thal said.

  Reluctantly, Krengar grumbled, “I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

  “And we need provisions. We’ll leave immediately,” Thal said.

  Krengar rolled his eyes. He generally was not one to be told to fetch things, but he supposed he could relay these demands to the household servants.

  “Await my return,” he said and went out the door.

  Thal regarded the men. Awkward moments of silence passed as he pondered them. He sensed no true malice in them. Hard use and desperation had made them capable of unwholesome deeds, but such was not their true nature, especially the tall youth, who, upon closer inspection, Thal sensed much innocence in.

  Lenki came into the room, and the four men looked askance at her. A murderess was a rare thing, and Thal knew that men reviled any woman who stood up for herself, which is exactly what he suspected had led to her
crime.

  Pistol sniffed her feet and wagged his tail. Thal looked away from her, deciding he had to resist the urge to stare at her.

  He approached the men. “Let me have a look at those chains,” he said.

  The man with the scarred face lifted his hands first. Thal examined the shackles. The skin was angry and red beneath the unfeeling metal.

  “Your name?” Thal said.

  “Harvath.”

  “I am Thal.”

  Whatever pit Harvath had come from had not insulated him from the fresh story of the werewolf of Prague. He asked no questions though.

  Thal moved to the next man. His shackles dug into spindly wrists. He did not look well but perhaps rest and good food could resurrect his vigor. His dirty blonde hair clung to his skull, and his blue eyes were nearly vacant as if his spirit only remained in the flesh because of a sense of duty. Thal hoped to give him a new purpose.

  He said his name was Johan.

  The third man retained his health and strength. The raw skin beneath his manacles had yet to endure long abuse. With a deep voice, he answered that his name was Mitri.

  The fourth man stared at Thal with awe. He had heard the stories and knew that he was face to face with a supernatural creature wanted by Church and State. After what he had recently been through, he allowed himself to believe that he was looking upon the one redeemer that God would allow him.

  The youth was a bit taller than Thal and looked like his fall from grace had been recent. A life of good food and vigorous sport had not been too far in his past.

  “Ansel,” he answered when Thal asked his name.

  Krengar returned with a boy bearing two sacks. The knight handed Thal tools for taking off the manacles.

  Thal said, “You can leave now. We’ll see ourselves off the estate quietly. I shan’t take the road.”

  “You’ll find food and blankets enough for your journey in the bags,” Krengar said. Despite his distaste for what the Duke was allowing to happen, his damnable curiosity roused itself now that he was finished with his part in it. Questions clamored for release in his mind, but he reminded himself to avoid knowledge that might strain his conscience. He kept many secrets for his Duke and confessed none of them to his priest.