by Tracy Falbe
After a while, he dismounted and led his horse. They walked and took breaks through the night.
By morning, he was deep into the wilds. He viewed the dawn from the top of the Karst that marked the northern border of the Hungarian Highlands. The woodlands descended before him, and he looked forward to trudging downhill.
He dared to take more sleep while his horse found food. Despite his weariness, fear intruded upon his sleep. He dreamed of Janfelter. The tall young man’s boots bashed into his side, and Mileko awoke clutching his broken ribs. Groaning, he sat up. A cold drizzle had started. The droplets beaded on his tightly woven cloak.
He saw his horse downhill, nibbling at dried grass. He was glad that the animal’s condition remained good, certainly better than his.
He got back in the saddle and continued. As he found his way down the slope, he looked back at the ridge. He saw nothing but had a bad feeling.
A crow circled down from the sky. It cawed in the softest voice that it had. Mileko suspected that it was a warning.
He wished that he had one of his fortifying elixirs that drove off fatigue, but all of his remaining potions had been filched from his gear. All that he had left with which to fight his hunters was his raw humanity.
A distant bark shot through him like an arrow. What strength that he had left would be put to the test.
As he rode, he looked for a place to stand his ground or a way to elude his hunters. The alpine woodland offered him no inspiration. He hastened downhill until he came to a grassy meadow. He hated to go into the open.
Between the barking, he heard the crow calling. It flapped and screeched in a tall tree on the other side of the meadow as if urging him in that direction.
He moved forward. Without any encouragement, his horse broke into a gallop. He hated the panic rising inside him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the dogs break from the tree cover.
The speckled hounds quickened their pace, eager to overtake him after a hunt that had gone on too long. Mileko drew his sword. When the time came, he felt confident that he would slice up the curs. Perhaps he could put them down and escape before Janfelter caught up. He knew he could elude the men if they did not have the dogs to track him.
The crow continued to squawk urgently, punctuating the canine howls. Mileko’s horse abruptly slowed and then reared. Only his skill kept him in the saddle.
From beneath the tree with a crow, two wolves burst into the meadow. They were a young and lean pair with huge paws on the ends of long legs. Their eyes blazed with silent concentration, and their attention was on the dogs. Mileko yelled to his horse to continue and galloped between the wolves.
He looked back and watched them engage with the dogs. They took swift action and killed the lead dog in a coordinated attack. One wolf seized the back of the dog’s neck while the other grabbed a back leg. They twisted and pulled the snarling beast and broke its back.
The other dogs set upon the wolf duo, and a fur-flying bloody melee ensued. Mileko slowed his horse. He could not leave the wolves to battle the pack alone.
He turned his horse and charged. Well-aimed hooves badly injured two dogs in his first sweep through the pack. Turning again, he leaned down and hacked into the backs and haunches of the dogs hanging off the wolves. His blade opened up red mortal wounds, and the wolves broke free of jaws and renewed their attack.
With Mileko circling the battle and attacking at the fringes, the wolves prevailed. Their ferocity, size, and skill outdid the surviving dogs and put them into retreat.
But the hunters had caught up. The whining, bleeding dogs slunk behind them. Mileko wasted no time trying to spot Janfelter among the dozen grizzled men. Fearful of gunfire, he shook the reins and sped across the meadow under the trees. He saw that the wolves flanked him.
The hunters pursued. Galloping hooves made a light thunder behind Mileko. His injuries burned with pain as he leaned forward in the saddle and urged his horse to go faster. His sword was still out, ready for the last desperate strokes of a battle that he could not win. He ducked beneath stinging pine boughs.
The painful squeal of a horse told him when the wolves attacked again. He could not stop to fight alongside them this time. He rushed forward as the wolves struck at the horses one by one. With their heavy jaws, they sought to inflicts wounds. Wily and fast, they tore into bellies or bit their legs.
Striking fast and then disengaging, they soon hurt every horse except for the one conveying Janfelter closer and closer to Mileko. The fext had his pistol out. Mileko veered into a group of sapling trees for cover. Janfelter crashed through the branches coming in for the kill. Mileko dodged around trees and tried not to present a good target.
Janfelter bounded ahead and cut him off. He raised his pistol. Mileko threw his sword. Janfelter leaned away from the spinning blade that passed him and stuck into a tree. He still had a clear shot at Mileko, but the wolves arrived. They assaulted Janfelter’s horse like they had not eaten in days. One went for the throat and the other gripped the belly with relentless jaws. As the horse struggled, Janfelter was thrown from the saddle.
Mileko charged him, hoping to inflict wounds to slow the creature, but the fext evaded the trampling hooves. He rolled to his feet with his pistol ready. Mileko pulled his sword free from the tree.
The bang of the pistol firing assaulted his ears, and hot pain erupted in his shoulder.
He cried out but kept a hold of his sword. The wolves twisted the horse down to the ground. Mileko jumped off his horse and used his sword to swiftly kill the horse and deprive Janfelter of his mount.
The fext was furiously reloading his pistol, driving the shot down into the powder. Mileko ground his teeth as he struggled back onto his horse. He fled, hoping to avoid the next shot. The wolves ran alongside him.
Janfelter cried out in anger. Standing over his bloody horse, he lowered his gun because he lacked a good shot.
Mileko ignored his pain and bleeding and tried to put distance between him and his disabled hunters. The wolves remained attentive. Their great red tongues lolled from the sides of their mouths until they cooled down from their hard battle.
Eventually, Mileko had to stop. With one hand, he carefully pried away his wet bloody clothing from the shoulder wound. Pain radiated through the joint. He took a moment to impose discipline upon his mind so that he could try to set aside his pain.
At least he still had his tools. He selected a probe with a curved end and dug into his wound. Tears squirted, but he held his concentration. Slowly, he pried the ball out. The blood flowed harder after his clumsy surgery, and he pressed a rag against it.
The wolves watched from a discreet distance. The blood naturally interested them. Mileko wished that he could offer them some reward.
“Thank you,” he said, doubting that they understood. He wondered if Sarputeen had sent them to aid him or if the crows had somehow rallied the local wolves to his defense. A crow landed in a tree and cawed.
“I thank you as well clever bird,” he said, grateful for the far-reaching influence of his awesome master.
He waited for his bleeding to subside a little, but he dared not linger. He needed all of his willpower to get back to his feet. Nearly delirious, he managed to mount his horse. He plodded onward, sparing what was left of his horse’s stamina. The wolves drifted back into their woodland realm, and the crow flew away.
Chapter 11. Acceptance of the Deal
The morale of the group with Thal improved as they hiked into the Tatras. The open land and absence of chains impressed upon them the reality of their new chance at freedom.
Thal wished that he could truly set them free. Although he naturally longed to lead a pack, he knew that binding them to his will would be a grave act. The transformation would separate them forever from a normal life, but he reminded himself that their crimes had already done that.
His companions chatted and helped each other over rough terrain. Even Lenki lost some of her dour hostility. She had paired off wi
th Ansel. The death sentences that they had avoided gave them something in common.
At midday, they split the last of the rations. A couple meals that resembled something nourishing had revived everyone, and even Johan regained some vigor despite his nagging cough.
This far into the foothills, Thal returned to the road, and they made excellent progress the rest of the day. He had no worries about being seen on the remote track that led to Vlkbohveza. At dusk the castle of his father came into sight. They rounded a switchback and saw it through a break in the swaying pine trees. The fresh snow was bright upon the mountains. Lingering rays of sunlight cast a purplish glow on the old stone walls. The big pines on the cliff overlooking the river looked like colossal sentries growing up from the Earth like the antlers of an undefeated stag.
Thal stopped. In the quiet, the rushing flow of the river could be heard although the virgin forest hid its location parallel to the road.
“Welcome to Vlkbohveza, your new home. You’ll have a hot meal and a warm bed tonight,” Thal announced.
Grateful anticipation lit the faces of the five volunteers. Thal imagined that they would agree to most anything if allowed to partake of such basic comforts, but he decided that they should know fully what fate awaited them.
After a meaningful pause, he said, “You have agreed to serve Sarputeen. In truth, you shall serve me, his son. I will make you strong. You shall gain the power of the wolf, and together we shall fight our enemies. I will show you now what that means.”
While this stunning decree impressed itself upon their minds, he loosened his cloak. It fell to the ground, and he tossed his hat on top of it. He unbuckled the straps of his armor and took it off.
With confused curiosity, the others watched him remove his boots and clothes. The snow between his toes did not trouble him nor did his nudity in the cold wind that sliced gleefully along the roadway.
Thal held his wolf skin out. The fur glistened with a timeless power obedient only to Nature and no written law.
He wrapped the fur around his waist. His eyes looked inward, and the eagerness for his wolf self surged inside him as if his human mantle could not quite satisfy the cravings of his soul.
Those who watched him did not understand the words that he began to chant. He spoke the old tongue of sorcerers that only a handful had ever known. He recited the spell written in blood upon his wolf skin.
The final word was his name. With relish, he cried, “Thal!” and the magic seized his body.
The edges of the fur blurred against his flesh and then spread over his skin rapidly. Thal convulsed as painful alterations wrenched his bones and muscles. His human face disappeared as fur spouted and his jaws lengthened. Dark lips grimaced around white fangs. A tail burst from the base of his spine, and he hunched over as his hands and feet became paws.
A shimmering coat of reddish brown, gray, black, and white covered his body. He aimed his pointy ears forward and regarded his companions with monumental patience.
His five companions had drawn together, unconsciously needing to be close lest they flee in fear. Johan crossed himself, needing his God out of habit. Mitri and Harvath failed to blink, as if even that tiny movement might result in their destruction.
Ansel’s mouth hung open. He was shocked but also excited for the possibilities. With Thal’s fearsome power bristling before him, Ansel imagined having his share of that supernatural majesty.
Lenki trembled. The audacious transformation that she had just witnessed crashed through the border fences of her small reality. She stared into the savage maw of what her world called a nightmare and was too overwhelmed to yet dream of what Thal offered her.
Moving on all fours, Thal circled the group. Transformed, he was larger than when he was a man. His broad head reached to their chests. Air whooshed through his wet nostrils as he considered their scents. Their odors were an alloy of fear and excitement.
After their initial shock eased, he moved up the road. Tentatively, they followed the wide-clawed tracks that he pressed into the snow.
They progressed up more switchbacks until one opened onto a ridge overlooking the river. Thal stopped and rose up onto his back legs. He lifted his snout and issued a long howl. The beautiful note filled the valley. Over and over he howled. When he stopped, wolves in the mountains answered him.
Once the chorus of howls stopped, Thal let go of his magic. The transformation back to manhood pained him more than just physically. He had not shifted shape for weeks, and this brief change left him wanting more. He felt such glorious freedom when he was his animal self. He wanted to rush through the snowy woods and find an animal to hunt. He wanted to forget Tekax and all of the others who wanted to kill him, but it was not in his nature to ignore his responsibilities. His duty was to provide and to protect, and he would do both while any life fired his limbs.
Pistol was at his side with wagging devotion. The dog wondered why so little had happened because when Thal changed adventure normally ensued.
“I just wanted them to see,” he whispered to his steadfast friend. An extra wag signaled Pistol’s understanding.
Thal held his fur around his loins and studied the wariness and awe etched across the faces of his companions.
Johan came forward with Thal’s clothing and weapons bundled in his arms.
Thal thanked him and started dressing. He expected someone to say something, but they waited in total silence until he said, “I wanted you to see what it is that you shall become. My bite will give you the power of the wolf when the moon is full.”
“Your power must be of the Devil,” Johan said.
“Why do you say that?” Thal asked.
Johan’s intellect that had been trained to ponder theological issues struggled to find an answer. “You are a beast,” he dared to say.
“So are most men, and why does your God not include the animals?” Thal challenged.
“Man is above animals,” Johan said.
“In some ways, yes, but not as much as you’ve been led to believe,” Thal said. Because Thal was sensitive to the emotions of others, he recognized the conflict within Johan and set a hand on his shoulder. “Do you regret your choice now that I’ve shown you?” he asked.
“Where would I go?” Johan whispered.
“You can live at the castle. I shan’t force you to take the magic,” Thal said. He looked at the others and said, “I will not force anyone.”
To speak these words relieved Thal, and Johan surprised him when he immediately said, “I will take the magic.”
“As will I,” Ansel added, stepping forward eagerly.
The other three nodded timidly.
“We know that you will be a better master than any we have known,” Harvath said.
“I will try,” Thal said solemnly. He glanced at Lenki. Her acceptance of the deal sent a thrill through him that he resolutely resisted.
******
Although Altea had declared herself to be the Lady of Vlkbohveza, she took her meals with the servants in the kitchen. She liked the warmth of the roasting and baking fires, and she had little desire for solitude. Emil was the only one close to her age, and he made good company.
Altea had not seen Sarputeen since he had thrown the monk off the cliff. With the passing of days, his absence concerned her, but no other member of the household seemed perturbed by their master’s seclusion.
“Does Sarputeen often hide himself away like this?” she asked Emil who sat across the table from her.
Still chewing his food, he glanced up shyly. After taking a sip of watery beer, he said, “This is not strange. I would not worry,” he said.
“We should see if he needs something,” she proposed.
“If he needs us, he will call,” Emil explained.
Altea frowned, dissatisfied. She wanted to speak with Sarputeen. “How long do you think he will be like this?”
Emil shrugged. “I’d expect he shall come out when Thal returns,” he said.
; Being reminded of Thal’s journey added to her agitation. “Has he taken any food?”
“I do not know,” Emil said. “But he generally does not ask me to fetch his supper.”
“I’ll take him some supper tonight,” she decided.
Her audacity alarmed Emil mildly. “Altea, I mean my Lady, we all must respect Master’s privacy,” he said.
Rising from the bench, Altea said, “I’m not being disrespectful. I’d be a poor daughter-in-law indeed if I did not see him well fed.”
“It’s not strange for him to fast,” Emil said.
“Nor is it strange for him to eat,” she said.
She found a tray from a cupboard and prepared a meal. The other servants watched her curiously. Emil made no move to stop her. She lit a candle and set in on the tray so that she could navigate the dark halls.
She winked at Emil confidently as she bore the food tray out of the kitchen. The normal quiet of the castle enveloped her. She found Vlkbohveza to be tranquil instead of spooky, but strange circumstances had forever altered her perception of things.
She reached Sarputeen’s study. Faint firelight leaked from underneath the door. Setting aside her anxieties, she rapped on the door with authority. Silence resulted. “I brought you supper,” she announced.
Still, he did not reply, so she shifted the tray onto one arm and presumed to try the door handle. It was not locked. She looked inside. Sarputeen sat in his chair, staring at a stone fireplace scarred by many years of soot. White stubble covered his head that was normally impeccably shaved.
Altea came inside and set the food on his desk. “When did you eat last?” she asked.
He tore his dark eyes from the fire. He showed no anger, and the scent of food seemed to draw him back to his immediate surroundings. He shifted his chair back to his desk.
He looked at the food, and Altea moved the tray closer. She noticed a small silver box on the desk. It was the item the monk had brought.
“You must be hungry,” she said.
“If you say so,” he said quietly. He cleared his throat and picked up a spoon. After he began eating, he said, “Are you going to keep standing over me?”