by Tracy Falbe
Janfelter proved to be an adroit swordsman, and his skill and superior weapon soon knocked away Thal’s sword. The falchion spun a short distance away, and Thal gave ground as blood dripped from the side of his hand.
Janfelter eyed him with murderous glee. Another quick lunge and his sword would put an end to Sarputeen’s troublesome spawn.
A figure in black shouldered his way through the crowd that had paused to watch the duel. Janfelter had no chance to see stealthy Mileko, and the magician got a knife across the fext’s throat. Janfelter punched Mileko furiously but bright red blood gushed from his throat. Sarputeen came up and knocked Janfelter across the chest. His armor rang like a bell, and the fext fell backward.
“See how the wicked one heals!” Sarputeen shouted, and the people at the fore of the mob gaped at what they witnessed. The opening on Janfelter’s throat closed before their eyes and the blood ceased to flow. A stroke that would have killed a hog had disappeared.
“God help us!”
“He’s bewitched!”
“Kill the demon!”
Panicked commands flew from the lips of those who had beheld the sorcery.
Thal retrieved his falchion, determined to severe Janfelter’s head while he had the chance. He planned to hack the body up in front of the whole town without delay.
Mileko came alongside him.
“You arrived at an opportune moment,” Thal said to him.
“I try to be precise in my movements,” Mileko said with false modesty.
Two of the City Guards who had seen the strange warrior’s flesh shrug off the mortal wound were closer to Janfelter than Thal and Mileko. Just as the fext sat up, they threw their bodies across him. Their comrades rushed to their aid like hounds, and soon Janfelter had two men holding every limb. They stripped his weapons and started to haul him away, intent on delivering him to the nearest cage. Strange talk of a warlock in the city had become unbearably real before their eyes, and they regarded capturing the man as their gravest duty.
Thal intended to penetrate the mob that was carrying Janfelter away, but his father caught him by the shoulder. “You might just help him break free if you interfere now,” Sarputeen said.
Thal frowned, irked by the interference.
“This is what I had hoped would happen,” Sarputeen said and gestured toward the shouting mayhem. “They just might pull him to pieces for us.”
“We must make sure,” Thal said, but his father’s hand stayed on his shoulder, and he felt him lean against him. Thal saw now that his father was tired. His sublime glow had dimmed, and he needed a shave.
“This is our chance to get everyone to the boat,” Mileko advised.
Reminded of his duty to the pack, Thal reluctantly nodded. He wiped sweat from his forehead and looked longingly toward the mob. He worried Janfelter might manage to break loose, but the fext was not his sole concern. Thal glanced toward the mercenaries. They had remained farther up the street, and he could feel the eyes of hunters upon him. He had revealed himself to them, and they knew his worth.
“We need to elude those men,” he said.
Chapter 34. Mikulas
Trendel dismounted his horse in front of the banker’s house. Concern troubled his features, and he was not a man inclined to worry. The mercenary captain had left his company at one of their favorite local stews. He proceeded alone up the steps and pounded on the door. Only after his heavy boot made the recalcitrant oak creak did a servant finally open up.
The butler ducked aside, and Trendel strode boldly through the house until he found the master of the house. Welser retreated to his mantle as if the fire crackling near his feet offered protection from the ominous fellow.
Trendel directed a simmering look toward the banker. He stalked past him and tossed a bag of coins on a table.
“I’ve changed my mind about your job. The men and I need to observe Saint Nicholas’ feast,” he announced.
The rejection of payment startled the banker. “What happened?” he asked, trying to bury his panic.
Trendel did not look at the man because he was still reckoning something in his own mind. “A mob hauled your foreigner away, and I’ll have naught more to do with him. I’ve done too much as it is,” Trendel said.
“A mob? To the jail?” Welser asked urgently.
“He’s locked up behind the court,” Trendel confirmed. “I checked on that myself, and I listened to the talk about why he’s there.”
“What’s that?” Welser asked, dreadfully curious.
“Some fellow slit that man’s throat and it sealed up before everyone’s eyes,” Trendel recounted.
“Did you see this yourself?”
“Not directly. I saw him attacked and taken away though. But the story’s gone through the whole town quicker than plague. He’s a warlock with magic to heal himself. The Jesuit said so,” Trendel said.
“Jesuit? What Jesuit?” Welser said.
Trendel was done with questions and said, “Consider yourself refunded of your coin, Lord Welser. I’ll have nothing to do with this sorcery. I’m lucky not to be accused of being his servant as it is.”
Welser rushed over to the table and seized the pouch. Extending it toward the mercenary, he said, “Take this. You must go rescue Janfelter.”
Trendel frowned because he had not expected such an order. He held up his hand to ward off the accursed payment. “I want no part of sorcery,” he insisted.
“I’ll triple this,” the banker said. “Rescue him and get him out of town.”
“Why?” Trendel dared to demand. He had never seen nor heard of this Janfelter before and marveled at the banker’s lavish devotion to him.
Welser was not about to reveal his secrets to this underling, but he despaired of Tekax somehow blaming him if his servant came to harm in Pressburg. There was no predicting the ire of that foreign sorcerer, and Welser would risk no chance of it while he had gold that might prevent it. The story he had just heard about Janfelter proved the power of the mysterious sorcerer.
Overcoming his anxiety a bit, Welser leveled a candid stare at the mercenary. “Would you say I’ve sold my soul to the Devil?” he asked. “I know that people make such jests about bankers.”
“I’m paid not to say anything about you, Lord,” Trendel said, but his patron’s dark hint had taken hold. The shadow of sorcery had already fallen across him, and he could not walk away.
“You can wait till cover of night so no one sees who sets loose this...warlock,” Welser advised, making it sound easy.
“Triple?” Trendel said and calculated that his men would be delighted by the amount under any circumstances.
Welser nodded.
******
Altea immediately noticed Sarputeen’s haggard state when he returned. She took his elbow and ushered him to a chair like a devoted daughter. She told Johan to fetch him a mug of beer. Looking to Thal, she noted the bloody rag binding his hand sloppily.
“What has happened?” she asked.
“We heard guns,” Ansel added. He hovered, bristling with youthful energy, ready to take action.
“A mob has carried away Janfelter,” Thal announced and described how Mileko had ambushed him and given a mortal wound that revealed his sorcery to the people.
“So Janfelter has been locked up?” she asked.
“Presumably,” Thal said.
“This is our chance to get to the boat,” Mileko reminded.
“Absolutely,” Valentino agreed. He considered himself willing to jump on a saddled boar if the beast would bear him away from Pressburg.
“What are we to do with the lawyer and his servant?” Johan asked as he returned with the beer. He was a bit nervous about what the answer might be.
“Where are they?” Thal asked and then spotted Pistol sitting on the trapdoor to the cellar. He walked into the kitchen and squatted over the door while petting his dog.
“Tobias?” he called. “We’ll be taking our leave of you. Your hospitality
has been the stuff of legend.”
“Foul thief,” the lawyer fumed from below.
“I deemed it better to steal from you than deprive another man of a valuable boat. I’m sure the penning of a few petitions will get you back in good graces at the whorehouse soon enough,” Thal said.
The floorboards muffled the lawyer’s curses, but he soon mastered his temper and tried another approach. “You don’t intend to leave us down here?” he asked.
“I can’t risk you rousing an alarm before I leave town,” Thal said. “Valentino, what do you say? Is it best to leave him locked in the cellar or simply kill him?”
The Condottiere entered the kitchen and very much appreciated the game that Thal had started. “As someone who knows the terror of the prison, I think to kill him would be the greatest mercy,” he said.
“You wretched heretic,” Tobias howled and pounded on the cellar door. “You would have been dead weeks ago if not for me.”
“Well...mayhaps I should be charitable,” Valentino relented.
“He has been very helpful,” Thal said.
“Very well. I confess I don’t have an entirely moral reason for killing you,” Valentino said.
Thal straightened. He looked down and considered the iron hasp that secured the cellar door. “I think if you and your companion put your backs into, you’ll break out eventually,” he said.
“Just get out of my house, you creature,” Tobias said.
“I shall oblige, but do be cautious about mentioning my stay here and our business. If you were misunderstood, you could stand accused of aiding me,” Thal advised.
The thoughtful silence from below assured Thal that Tobias Dorn would distance himself from any of the recent events in Pressburg.
With his conversation with the lawyer concluded, Thal gathered his pack. They watched him attentively, ready to be on the move again. Their wolfen powers would be upon them tonight, and he looked forward to their kinship.
Everyone tried to assume a casual demeanor as they entered the streets. Sarputeen, who had earlier strode forth like a prophet of old, kept his head down and his aura dim. He assumed a ghostly insignificance that did not draw the eye.
The people who noticed the group of strangers regarded them warily but took no action to impede them. They had fresh events to occupy their attention. Women gathered by doorways and men in their workshops discussed the warlock. Their fears distracted them from festive matters, like pastries and roast meats, that should have been foremost in their minds.
When Thal’s company reached the Danube, every manner of boat and barge clogged the docks. Their captains were home for the holiday, and their goods mostly unloaded.
A few crews of men were packing their catches of fish into baskets, and their curious gazes followed the group that approached the moorings of Kramer’s vessels.
Mileko’s horse was tethered to a post munching on a bag of oats slung over its nose. Three men loitered near the animal, and they hailed Thal excitedly.
“Hello, my friends,” Thal said, pleased as always by the sight of the musicians.
“We decided to see you off,” Raphael said.
“We had to wish farewell to Altea,” Carlo added truthfully and gladly clasped her hands.
She hugged each of the Venetians and blinked at her misty eyes. This truly would be goodbye. They had shared more dangers with her than they deserved.
Regis kissed her cheeks. “Think of me when you sing,” he said softly.
“Of course,” she said.
Thal asked, “Do you think Kramer will cause us trouble?”
Regis shook his head. “You pleased him with your gift of gold although he did say something about giving up strong drink.”
Thal chuckled. “His generous spirit has been a great boon to us.”
“Take care on your journey,” Regis said.
“And may you find your way home safely, my friend. But you should not linger in my company. There are mercenaries in town that I suspect Janfelter has alerted to my identity,” Thal said.
The Venetians knew vividly the peril that Thal’s bounty imposed, and they sadly took Thal’s advice.
Altea waved once more before they disappeared around a corner. “I’m glad we got to say a proper goodbye,” she said.
Thal put an arm around her. “I hope we’ve put them safely on the path to their home,” he said.
“And let us return to our dangerous path,” she said and moved toward the boat.
Thal restrained her with a gentle hand. Apologetically, he said, “We must attack Janfelter tonight. We might not get another opportunity when he’s so vulnerable.”
“But we can get far ahead of him right now,” she argued.
“I’ll not miss this chance and know that he is hunting me, that a shot across the land might take me down...or any of us,” he said and regarded her with tender concern.
Lenki presumed to enter their conversation. “I’ll go with you to kill him when the night comes,” she offered.
“As will I,” Ansel said. Behind him, Mitri and Johan nodded their consent.
“He’ll continue to kill and try to lay the blame upon your name,” Johan said.
“He’s locked up,” Altea said, wanting it to be enough.
“Which is our advantage,” Thal said. “Janfelter has resources at his beck and call. He rallied mercenaries to his side as soon as he reached Pressburg. We cannot assume he will not escape or even be set free. What think you, Father?” Thal asked.
“Hmmm,” Sarputeen muttered as if distracted from the verge of taking a nap. He adjusted his grip on his knotty staff, and everyone waited while he considered the question. “I think I will join you in battle,” he finally said.
Blessed by his father’s agreement, Thal plotted the details. “We’ll shift here by the river and go back into town. We must stay to the shadows and avoid notice. Once we locate where he is held, Mitri and I will break into the building. The rest shall follow. Restrain him with the weight of your bodies but do not bite him. I’ll use the blades on my arms to cut him apart.”
Johan’s eyelids fluttered as he imagined the grisly scene, but he dedicated himself to fulfilling his part in the task. The blood would be easier to see when he was a wolf. He thought of the people slaughtered in Strecno.
“Mileko, you and Valentino will guard the boat,” Thal said.
The decision disgruntled Mileko, but he kept his opinion to himself.
Valentino, who had listened to the description of the fext’s powers, asked, “Where has this awful enemy come from?”
“A rival of my father sent him to kill me,” Thal explained, deciding to withhold more details until the time was right to explain things fully to Valentino.
Altea went to Sarputeen. She had no need to express her concerns because he understood. He put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Tonight you’ll know true violence. It is the estate of our kind. Stay close to me. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”
******
Mileko lit the lanterns on the boat as darkness descended. Valentino drew close to the mysterious fellow as the others prepared for their transition. They were removing their clothes, even the women, and stowing them carefully. They wrapped blankets around their torsos to await the moon whose glow crept up the Danube Valley. He had witnessed Thal’s transformation before, and the memory of it still chilled him like a vivid nightmare. The thought of seven werewolves suddenly in his midst challenged his courage anew.
Valentino observed as Sarputeen strapped curiously made blades across Thal’s shoulders and arms. Recalling the hysteria that had gripped Prague when Thal had hunted its streets, he said to Mileko, “This town will be up in arms once the folk realize werewolves are running the streets.”
“The boat will carry us away swiftly once their business is done,” Mileko said confidently. His concerns dwelled upon the fext more than the townsfolk.
Valentino regarded the cold waters flowing along icy banks
. Its energy jostled the boat gently beneath his feet, and he supposed the escape route was well chosen.
“It’s beginning,” Mileko whispered.
The cold clear air revealed the otherworldly details of the moon as it bloomed upon the horizon. Valentino braced himself to witness the strange magic because he knew that he could not look away.
Thal’s servants bent over as if in agony. The blankets they clutched slipped from their shaking hands. Claws ripped forth from fingers that burst out in fur. Hunching backs contorted and then straightened as shoulders and limbs changed their character. Tails sprang from their spines, and their human faces gave way to wolf jaws, broad skulls, and remorseless eyes bright with vigor and intelligence.
In each werewolf, Valentino could see some trait or coloring that reminded him of the individuals. The black she-wolf stretched her coltish legs and yawned her great jaws to loosen their muscles for hard action. Ansel was a lanky beast, and Mitri a true brute with thick muscles like a bull with fangs. Johan was slender, almost meek looking compared to his pack mates, but Valentino expected that the werewolf could crack bones in a single stroke if he wished it. And Altea, the young maid of Prague, had become the golden hound of the Angels.
The pack mingled and exchanged a few sniffs and licks. They seemed pleased to share in the intimate greetings that reinforced their magical kinship.
Thal and his father had yet to change. Altea hopped gracefully off the boat and looked back upon the men impatiently.
Thal held his fur around his hips. His armor was cold against his chest. He took a moment to admire his pack. He could feel their spirits inviting him to the hunt.
Sarputeen set aside the last of his clothes. Only his stolen cross hung upon his hard chest where the runes of a lost language tattooed his skin. The chain was long enough to accommodate his shift. He and Thal recited their spell of changing in unison. Only their final words differed as each man said his own name. The transformation overtook them as rapidly as it had the other werewolves. The magnificent wolfmen tread silently away on the pier with their loyal followers.
Valentino rested his hands on the pistols that Thal had entrusted to him. “Do you think we should follow?” he said to Mileko.