Werewolf Castle

by Tracy Falbe

  The click of door hardware interrupted her soul searching. Thal backed into the room bearing a tray. A bread loaf lay across two steaming bowls of porridge, resplendent with honey and cream. Pistol trotted inside and jumped on the bed.

  Thal slid into bed with the breakfast and set the tray across her lap. Her mouth fell open with adoring surprise.

  “You’re so kind,” Altea said, recalling how tenderly he had cared for her when she was hurt. She picked up a spoon and flourished it to show off the revitalized dexterity of her thumb.

  “It’s good to be home with you,” he said and got under the covers. She squealed when he pressed his chilled feet against her legs.

  He took a bowl of porridge and started eating. “You’re much stronger than when I left. A few days made quite a difference,” he said.

  “You think so?” she said.

  He nodded while munching on bread. Altea brushed the crumbs from their coverlet, and Pistol started licking them up one by one. “We shouldn’t eat in here,” she said.

  “You can carry yours back down to the kitchen if you like,” he said.

  She ignored the suggestion and snuggled under the covers a little more. While they continued to eat, Thal told her that Regis, Raphael, and Carlo were pleased with their situation. He also recounted his encounter with the Duke.

  “Always people want you to fight for them,” she complained.

  Although Thal agreed with her, he said, “My ability to protect his position gives me value. It could keep us safe,” he said.

  Altea knew too well the precious value of safety. She might never truly have it. Even though Vlkbohveza seemed so far from the madness of the world, she knew that the grasping hands of civilization knew no bounds. Brother Miguel had tracked them to this very place. If others had a mind to hunt magic users, then they could find them too.

  Suddenly, Thal turned his head toward the shuttered windows, and she knew that he heard something. Before she could inquire, she heard the cawing of many birds intrude upon the frosty morning. Soon, a cacophony of shrieks and squawks battered the tower. They left the bed and cracked open the shutters. Scores, perhaps hundreds, of ravens and crows encircled the castle, calling insistently in their harsh speech.

  The language of birds was not foreign to Thal’s ears, but he could make little sense of their overlapping calls.

  “They’re here for Father,” he determined.

  They grabbed robes and hurried toward Sarputeen’s bedchamber. Thal knocked on the door. “Father, can we come in?” he said.

  “Enter.”

  Cold wind greeted them because the shuttered windows of the tower chamber were opened. Ravens perched on the furniture, and one gripped Sarputeen’s hand with black talons. He gently scratched its neck and murmured praise.

  “What message do they bear?” Thal wondered. He had to raise his voice a little because of the swirling noise flapping by the windows on black wings.

  “Mileko is in trouble,” Sarputeen announced.

  “Does Tekax have him?” Thal asked.

  “He’s in the wilds. He’s bleeding and hunted. This bird will guide you to him,” Sarputeen said and extended his hand. The raven screeched and flapped toward Thal. The bird landed on his elbow and hopped up to his shoulder. The talons pierced his robe but did not break his skin.

  Thal met the eye of the bird that sized him up with a judgmental stare. He had great respect for such creatures. Their intelligence surpassed their evil looks, and they knew the troubles and secrets of the world.

  Eye-to-eye with the bird, Thal said, “Will you take me to Mileko?”

  It cawed yes.

  “Father, will you come with me?”

  “Alas, I cannot. I must make preparations for our volunteers. You must get Mileko and return before the full moon so we can proceed with our task,” Sarputeen said.

  “How far away is he?” Thal wondered.

  “The bird needed two days to reach us. You can run the distance in four days, maybe three,” Sarputeen explained.

  Thal calculated that he had sufficient time to rescue Mileko and return before the moon filled.

  Sarputeen began to shoo out the other birds. He bade them to go home and send some to watch over Mileko and let him know that help was coming.

  Emil arrived at the door and took in the bizarre scene with his normal self-possession. “May I help?” he inquired.

  “Bring food scraps for this bird,” Sarputeen said as he closed a pair of shutters. He went to the next window and shut it as the final bird flapped outside.

  The raven with Thal screeched as if to tell Emil to hurry.

  Sarputeen came to his son and advised, “You must shift and travel cross country as fast as you can. I’ll rig a pack for your clothing and gear.”

  Thal looked at Altea, upset that he must leave her again, but she already forgave him.

  “Mileko needs you,” she said.

  “He’ll hate that,” Thal murmured.

  “Perhaps you’ll find that he has everything under control when you reach him,” she said.

  “That he would like. He could scold me for bothering him and send me away,” Thal said.

  Sadly, Sarputeen said, “Your light words won’t make this better. Friend Raven saw Mileko narrowly escape death. The fext may still be on his trail. Thal, bring Mileko home and avoid the fext. We’re not to engage that one until our numbers are strong.”

  Thal thought of their volunteers and the terrible peril that he would lead them into.

  “I’ll help you prepare,” Altea said.

  A little later, she and Sarputeen joined Thal outside the castle. His father gave him a thick leather bag with straps that would serve as a harness around his shoulders.

  “I’ll put it on after you shift,” Sarputeen said.

  Thal turned to Altea. “We’re saying goodbye too often,” he lamented.

  The fact was too bitter for her to discuss. She agreed that he should help Mileko, but the emerging truth that she would always be left behind dismayed her.

  She managed to whisper, “Be careful, my love.”

  “Try not to trigger any more imperial wanted notices,” Sarputeen interjected.

  “I’ll be discreet,” Thal said and sounded like he meant it.

  “Let us do this,” Sarputeen said, holding up the bag.

  Thal stripped, and Altea folded his clothes and packed them away with his weapons. Thal stepped back and held his fur against his naked body. Pistol whined at Altea’s feet.

  “You stay here,” Thal told the dog, who continued to protest. With less excitement than usual, he spoke the words of the transformation spell.

  Every time Altea witnessed the emergence of the beast, she felt like madness afflicted her mind because it could not be real. But it was, and, when it was done, her love of Thal turned to awe. As his beast self, his beauty overwhelmed her every time. His power thrilled her, and she embraced the grandeur of her fate to be with him.

  Thal stood on all fours as his father secured the bag on his back.

  Sarputeen massaged the thick fur of the werewolf’s neck and said, “Mileko may have important information about Tekax. Do your best to save him.”

  The raven circling overhead cawed impatiently.

  “Go,” Sarputeen said.

  Thal bounded away and followed the bird down the mountain. Altea watched him until he disappeared into the forest, but she could still see the bird cruising above the pines.

  “No need for you to stay out here getting cold,” Sarputeen finally said.

  “I know,” she agreed and turned away with him. She recognized that this parting was hard on him too.

  Looking up at the castle, she saw the five volunteers on the rampart, and the female among them inexorably drew her eye.

  Chapter 13. What Happened in the Woods

  A swineherd emerged from a woodland overlooking a village. The mature trees stretched their bare limbs over the pasture. His pigs foraged lazily in the dried
vegetation, rooting out treats that appealed to their versatile palates. They were fattened on beechnuts and acorns, and the man was driving them to market. He took a moment to lean on his pig cane. He had spent long cold days tracking down his stock in the woods, and the sunny meadow embraced him with welcome warmth. Watery light spilled across the little valley and set the early snow to melting. He smiled tiredly at the pleasant day. The weather was clearing now that he was almost done with his outdoor work.

  He supposed the pigs would be ornery as he drove them toward the village. They would want the cover and comfort of the forest in the instinctive hope of avoiding the slaughter. He looked forward to the next year when his son would be old enough to accompany him and make this work easier.

  The solitude of the woods suited him though, and he fondly scanned the hills that surrounded the cultivated area. The time to be at home had come, and he bid a silent farewell to the wild land. As he did this, he caught his breath and gripped his cane hard.

  A large animal, truly a beast, burst from cover and crossed the meadow at a hard run. He knew how to judge the size of animals at a distance, but his mind resisted what he saw. His first thought was that it was a wolf, but it was much larger than any wolf he had ever seen. Its gait was strange too, and something like a pack was strapped to its back.

  Almost as soon as he accepted what he saw, the great creature dashed into trees.

  A gust accompanied the beast’s entry into the woodland, and the pigs squealed and darted for cover. The swineherd leaped into action. He bullied his stock toward the village, and they eventually agreed with his choice of direction now that something fearsome had penetrated their home range.

  The swineherd looked over his shoulder constantly as he hurried across the meadow, grateful that he would be behind closed doors tonight. Old stories about wolves had filled him with fear when he was young, but adult experience had taught him that such predators were rare. Recent tales about wolves that travelers shared had concerned him little, but now he knew that something was wrong. A beast from the old tales was upon the land, and tonight he would have a new story to tell. He meant to strongly reject any claims that he was exaggerating.

  ******

  Mileko flinched awake. The sudden movement sparked pain in his shoulder, but he relaxed when he saw his surroundings. He had reached a remote village tucked into the hills along a small river winding down from the Karst. A kindly family had taken him in yesterday when his endurance expired. The man of the house had removed the chain hanging from his wrist and not asked questions.

  Before reaching this haven, he had allowed himself only the barest minimum of breaks to keep his horse from failing. All the while he had been in the wilds, crows and ravens had urged him forward. He feared that it meant that Janfelter and his company, even deprived of their horses, had persisted in their hunt.

  Mileko lay on the dirt floor behind the stones of a great fireplace in the center of the two-level timber and thatch cottage. Warmth radiated from the rough stones next to him and did much to renew his body after his tough ride out of the Highlands. His weary horse had born him faithfully across the uneven terrain and was now resting in a stable with fodder and oats provided by his generous host.

  Tenderly, he touched his shoulder. Blood still seeped into the bandage but only a little, and he could feel the soothing effects of the healing salves the family’s white-haired grandfather had applied. A sling kept his arm stable, and he carefully sat up.

  When running a hand over his face, he felt the dark stubble that he disliked so much, but shaving must wait. He had to move on because he dreaded the thought of bringing the fext down upon these decent people. He hoped that he had only slept through the night and could maintain his lead. With his wound patched up, he felt confident that he could make it to Vlkbohveza or at least Zilina.

  Mileko heard the clatter of firewood being piled against the outside wall. Voices accompanied the delivery. The local dialect sounded weird to his ears, but he could comprehend well enough, and the two people outside were talking about him.

  One speculated that he was a criminal, but the other insisted that Mileko’s clothing and horse indicated his attachment to some fine household.

  “He’s likely a spy for the empire who got caught prowling among the Ottomans,” a man said.

  Smart fellow, Mileko thought. He hurried to relieve himself in the bucket in the corner. He finished dressing and was putting on his boots when the two men came in. One was the father and the other his eldest son.

  “Where think you be off to?” the father inquired.

  “I must hasten from here,” Mileko said.

  “Not without eating supper first,” the man said.

  “Supper?” Mileko repeated, a little panicked. He looked at the dim light in the one window that was not shuttered. He had hoped that it was dawn, but apparently he had slept the whole day through.

  “Grandpapa says you need a week’s rest or that wound will go foul,” his host insisted.

  “My Master is a healer. If I reach him, I will be fine,” Mileko assured him. Turning to the lad, he said, “I’d appreciate it if you saddled my horse now.”

  “You must eat,” the father insisted.

  “I’ll accept a loaf of bread and be on my way,” Mileko said. He took a silver coin out and offered it to the man.

  The fellow scowled and waved his palm at the money. “No need for that. The kindness of strangers is one of the few good things in this world.”

  “As you say,” Mileko said, deciding to slip it unnoticed on the mantle before he left.

  “Truly, I can’t let you ride off like this into the night. Listen to my good sense, young man,” the father said.

  Mileko came closer and looked the man in the eye earnestly. He presumed to set a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, I do this for you, not me. If I go now, I can hope you’ll be left in peace,” he whispered urgently. He shifted his gaze to the son, silently reminding him to get the horse.

  His good host meant to protest again, but the sudden eruption of barking dogs throughout the village halted his speech.

  The dread that blazed in Mileko’s eyes convinced the man now of the danger. “Fetch his horse, son,” he said.

  Mileko rushed to the front window and peeked through the shutters. A timber wall encircled the village, and he saw that the gate was still open. The man’s wife and two young daughters were coming toward the front door.

  When they entered, the matron smiled with pleasure to see that Mileko was on his feet, but he quickly squelched her happiness. He drew her in the door.

  “I’m grateful for the aid you have given, and I would not see harm come to you. If you have a place to hide, go there. That which stalks me will not linger, but you must hide until it passes,” Mileko said.

  The girls’ eyes popped open, and they pressed close to their mother’s skirt. Mileko shut their front door and barred it. He put the coin on the mantle as he stalked across the room. The family did not notice because his warnings stunned them.

  The man caught his arm and said, “What stalks you?”

  Mileko’s features had been set in an unflappable mold for so long that his expression of alarm was made all the more severe. “A fext. It heals from mortal wounds and serves a dark master. Hide and disavow your knowledge of me,” Mileko said and hurried out the back door.

  The boy brought his horse out of the stable, and Mileko took the reins urgently. Despite his injury, he still got into the saddle with his usual agility.

  “Stay close to your family, boy,” Mileko said and hurried away. He went down the main lane to the gate. Two men stood in his way, but they were looking outward and trying to call their dogs back.

  When Mileko arrived, they looked over their shoulders suspiciously at him. He was accustomed to being the stranger on his many travels, and he forgave their hostility. Few people were as kindly as the family that had aided him.

  “Have you seen something?” Mileko inquired, hating
the nervousness that quivered in his chest. He had never felt less ready for battle.

  “A shepherd just said he saw strange folk nearby,” one man said. “Know you anything of them?”

  With his good arm, Mileko drew his sword. “I know too much of them. Shut this gate,” he advised and urged his horse onward.

  He scanned the fields and pastures and wondered who might lurk behind the hedgerows. The single rutted lane that led away from the village entered more woodland much too soon for his comfort. Gnarled branches arched over the lonely track and awaited his entry like the vindictive lines of a gauntlet. He feared that Janfelter and his company had guessed that he sheltered in the village and meant to ambush him when he departed. He firmed up his resolve not to hide behind walls. The best reward he could give to the kind family was to draw the unholy assassin away.

  I’m not dead yet, he told himself. Deciding to avoid the obvious place of ambush, he cut across the fields. He watched the road carefully as he hurried on his new route, and in the dusk he spotted three men racing through the woodland to head him off. Two hounds that had survived the encounter with the wolves bounded out to harass him, and they slowed his horse with every nip at the fetlocks. His wily horse managed to kick a dog, and it flew aside yowling. Mileko urged his steed back to a gallop and entered the woods. He hoped to circle around his hunters and get back on the road where he might race ahead of them.

  The uninjured dog stayed on his trail, baying for its master and making it impossible for him to elude them among the trees. The uneven ground slowed his horse, and a look over his shoulder informed him that three men were still pursuing.

  A gunshot blasted by his horse’s head. The animal bolted sideways and almost hit a tree in its fright. The remaining dog rushed him and sank teeth into Mileko’s boot. He swiped with his sword and dispatched the hound with a mortal wound.

  Another gunshot punctured the air, and a lead ball struck the tree near his head. Splinters peppered his cloak, and he glanced around trying to determine from whence the shots came.

  His horse bounded away, and he gave the animal its head, trusting it to select the best escape route.