by Tracy Falbe
The akinci ran to intercept them. They ducked the torches that Mileko and Lenki threw at them and then met the swords of the saboteurs. Mileko killed two easily, and Lenki felled the third.
The rising flames sent the horses into a panic, and they began to tear free of their bindings. Mileko vaulted on to his horse, and the steed trusted his sure hand at the reins. Lenki ran among the disoriented men still coming from their tents and inflicted wounds upon them as she dashed toward the gate.
Janniseries jumped from the catwalk to oppose her. She skidded to a halt as they aimed their muskets, but something at the top of the gate drew her attention more than the bayonets gleaming in the firelight. Thal in his wolf form stood on the edge of the timbers. His armor and battle blades glistened alongside his brilliant fur. He reached up to his ear, jumped, and disappeared. His feet thudded on the ground behind the pair of janisseries and then he reappeared. He swiped at the backs of their necks and ended their lives before they could pull their triggers. Tossing their bodies aside like broken dolls, he stepped forward.
Lenki smiled at her lord and held forth her sword. “I’ve spilled their blood already,” she reportedly proudly.
Thal gestured with his wolfen head toward the gates. She knew her orders and rushed to unbar the entrance. She pushed them open and ran outside. Mileko exchanged a look with Thal as he rode through the gate. Mileko looked back as he escaped and saw Thal disappear into the disorderly disaster inside the fort. His presence sent the horses into a stampede toward the gate. They streamed out behind Mileko and galloped past Lenki who ran across the open ground. Eventually, Mileko stopped and called to her. They looked back at what they had wrought together. The stockade timbers were silhouetted against a growing fire. Two musket discharges sounded, and men screamed.
“You don’t think they shot him,” Lenki worried. Her posture showed that she was ready to rush back and give him aid even without her wolf power.
“No,” Mileko said absently. His thoughts were not with Thal as his knowing eyes spotted the white form of Sarputeen slipping inside the gates. “Thal has help aplenty,” he assured Lenki. “And here come the others.”
Still catching her breath, she turned toward the tree line on the lower ground. Torches marked the little mob under the leadership of Valentino.
Mileko said, “Let us be ready to take down any who might escape the fort. Your eyes are keen in the night and you can guide my attack.”
“So I’m your hunting dog,” she said.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he apologized quickly.
She laughed, and it was not a sound that he had heard pass her lips before. “A joke, Mileko,” she said.
He could smile now. “They say that men love their hunting dogs more than their wives,” he said.
“Then let me hunt,” she said.
******
Valentino drew a sword and gave the order for his group to advance from cover. He worried a little about the torches revealing them to musketeers, but the fire in the fort should distract its defenders, and he knew that he could trust in the mayhem that Thal would sow.
About a dozen villagers had volunteered to assault the fort that housed their tormentors. Ansel, Mitri, and Johan were in their midst, and Valentino expected them to help him maintain order. Valentino had positioned Altea in the rear, hoping to keep her from harm.
They advanced boldly up the lane toward the fort. The scattered horses were neighing and regrouping after their panicked flight. Valentino scanned the darkness for any signs of enemies, but he saw nothing.
When they drew close to the fort, the gates gaped open like a drunk passed out with his purse spilling into the street. He could see bodies on the ground in the firelight.
“Let’s see if any of these bastards are left alive so we can give them a taste of your justice,” Valentino cried, and the villagers roared with approval. They rushed in the gates with him, hoisting their clubs and pitchforks. The fire was dissipating as the tents fell into ashes. Patches of flame were taking their time on the thick timbers, but the main buildings were still sound but choked with smoke.
Cries came from the common room. Valentino noted that the shutters were torn off the windows, and he warned his allies not to go inside. “Wait for those who may come out,” he advised.
Keeping Altea close to him, he rushed to inspect the canons. He quickly located the barrels of gunpowder and shot and had Mitri aid him in removing them from the vicinity of the fire.
Screaming started anew. A trio of Ottomans burst out of the common room and met the villagers eager to deal out justice. Some men suddenly emerged from the stable and barracks as well, and a melee broke out. Most of the Ottomans fought till the end because it was their duty to hold the fort, but two ran out the gate.
Ansel and Johan went after them. The villagers rejoiced in their victory.
Valentino counted the villagers to confirm that they were all still standing, and joined the man among them whose name was Garber. The farmer was stooped over one of the Ottoman bodies.
He looked up at Valentino. “What made these wounds?” he asked.
Rent strips of flesh showed the savage damage left by large fangs.
“Let it suffice that he is dead,” Valentino suggested and glanced toward the door to the common room. “I’ll check to see if anyone is left. Have everyone wait out here.”
Garber frowned, but his suspicions seemed out of place. He watched the tall foreigner slide carefully into the common room with his sword out. He heard him call for Thal.
Inside, Valentino tread carefully because he expected to either trip over a body or be attacked by a desperate survivor. But only overturned benches and bodies troubled his advance.
From a dark doorway, two eyes suddenly reflected the erratic firelight. Thal emerged upright into the door frame. His big nostrils flared as he swung his head to inspect the room. He then licked blood from his lips.
He dropped to his hands and knees, and Valentino watched him writhe through his transformation back to manhood. Blood smeared his left hip and leg.
“Is it bad?” Valentino asked, rushing to his side as Thal touched the wound. A bayonet had sliced his hip.
Thal spat. The taste of human blood permeated his mouth, and it was a sensation that he could not reconcile with his humanity.
“Not really,” he finally said. Looking back into the side room, he called for his father. The scuffle of a transformation disturbed the darkness, and then Sarputeen came out with his white fur around his waist and the silver crucifix across his tattooed chest.
Valentino did not have to fetch Altea because she entered anyway. Pistol trotted in alongside her and circled Thal’s legs. She brought out the bag containing clothes. Valentino shut the door so that Thal and Sarputeen could dress without the villagers noticing them. She had packed bandages as well and helped Thal tend his wound. Sarputeen was unscathed.
“What think you of the canons?” Thal asked Valentino.
“If the snow stays thin they should not be too hard to move with the ground frozen,” Valentino said.
Altea handed Thal his hat, and he put it on with a determined tug. “Let us go congratulate the villagers on their victory,” he said.
“Do you think the Turks will punish them for this someday?” Altea wondered.
“How would they notice the difference?” Thal said.
“Let them enjoy this moment,” Sarputeen said.
When they exited the building, the villagers hailed their champions. They spent the rest of the night, gutting the fort of anything useful and then set the stockade ablaze properly so that it would be nothing but black ruins by dawn.
Chapter 38. Old Resentment
The timid falsetto voice of the serving boy drew the reptilian gaze of the sorcerer. The boy announced the arrival of Janfelter.
Tekax nodded once to grant his permission. The lad scurried away after holding the door for the fext. He preferred the chilly dark hall to their company.
Upon seeing Janfelter’s condition, Tekax disliked the evidence of his creation’s vulnerability. Splotchy stubble had replaced Janfelter’s long dark hair, and slowly healing burns persisted on his neck and lips. His eyelashes had only grown back halfway. Janfelter twitched when he bowed because a sharp pain struck him when he bent over.
“Tell me everything,” Tekax commanded. He fondled the handle of his cane while his champion recounted sowing terror among the locals near Zilina. Those deeds had drawn Thal out, but the werewolf now had a band of followers to aid him.
Tekax ruminated on the news that Thal had assembled a group of servants. When Janfelter confirmed that Sarputeen also traveled with his son, Tekax concealed his deep surprise. Sarputeen had sequestered himself a long time, and Tekax took a moment to accept that their confrontation was now at hand. All of the past glories of conquest and power that Tekax had once enjoyed faded as he anticipated the conclusion of his oldest rivalry. The magic that he could not have would soon be gone from the world where his power would hold sway without judgment.
“There’s more, my Lord,” Janfelter continued when he judged that Tekax was receptive again. “In Pressburg, Sarputeen worked his powers upon the people and inflamed them against me. He poses as some Christian monk and none seem able to see through his guise. This is how I came to be struck so low. I had to escape the burning stake itself!”
“He did this in the town?” Tekax asked.
“Yes.”
“He is not a creature of the town,” Tekax murmured. He knew of Sarputeen’s wiles that could ensnare and command individuals, but he had not guessed that the werelord’s charms could extend to large groups.
“I know not what they were doing in Pressburg,” Janfelter concluded.
Tekax considered the mystery but could think of no reason to account for Sarputeen’s mission to the river town. Perhaps it did not matter.
“Where are he and Thal now?” Tekax asked.
“Forgive me, my Lord, but I do not know. I came here via Buda and encountered no sign of them,” Janfelter answered. He stood patiently, as immobile as a corpse, while his lord pondered the new information.
Tekax resisted the natural urge to criticize Janfelter for his failings. The man had given his utmost in his service and suffered for his loyalty. Janfelter belonged to him in totality, and Tekax placed much value on that. Janfelter and those like him who had served in years past were the best that Tekax could hope to have. Even so, none of them came close to what a son of Gretchen could have been. He should not have let her slip away. He should have found a way to force her to stay.
The old resentment at losing his chance at a son stirred the pot of his hatred. The aroma of its simmering jealousy whetted his appetite for the reckoning that Sarputeen would soon face.
“Ready the tower. Light the great lamp,” Tekax ordered. Janfelter bowed away to inform the servants.
Tekax heaved himself out of his chair with his cane. The chill of winter had set into his joints like frost on stone. The knowledge that the years were catching up with him flirted with his consciousness, but he shrugged off the notion. His mind understood things that most men could not grasp in a hundred lives, and his potions would banish this elderly creaking.
Tekax pulled a key ring from his belt and opened a cabinet. Small ceramic bottles lined the shelves, and he drank the contents of one. The effect would not be immediate, but gradually his aches and pains would retreat. He had never had the bodily strength and speed of Sarputeen, but his cunning and craft would foil the beast if he dared to come to his castle.
And Tekax suspected that Sarputeen was truly coming for him in person. He would meditate until he detected his rival’s whereabouts. He suspected that Sarputeen was not far away.
Tekax reached the tower’s roof late in the afternoon. The servants were just finishing setting up his table and equipment and removing the flags. The great lamp drew oil from a cauldron of oil. The wick as big as a blanket blazed, and the wind tugged sooty banners of smoke across the cloudy sky.
The servants hastened to complete their chores. Their cringing postures revealed their fear of their master. They had no desire to witness his sorcery.
Tekax walked to the rampart and looked across the land. The wind whipped at his loose robe, and he felt vitality spreading through his body.
Once the tonic was fully in effect, he went to his table. The apparatus that held a wafer thin sheet of metal quivered in the wind. He steadied the enchanted metal with his gentle fingertips and drew slow, even breaths. He slid gradually into a deep meditation. His fingers hovered barely above the sensitive metal membrane. He delved his memories for the sound of Sarputeen’s voice. His rival would sound older now but those nuanced tones and authority would still be there. A seductive voice, Tekax recalled.
After he gathered fully the memory, Tekax set his great mind to listening. Many energies of the world converged on his tower where masters before him in the distant ages of sorcery had gathered to ply their crafts. His sensitive machine tapped into the invisible power that conveyed the thoughts and voices of the world.
The tonic that warmed his body protected him from the biting wind that picked up as darkness overtook the land. A few lanterns twinkled in the village at the foot of his fortress where simple people knew nothing of his esoteric deeds.
Tekax patiently filtered the great many noises that bombarded him as he probed the land. The enchanted metal vibrated against his fingers. The barking of a dog insistently tugged at his attention. When it stopped, he was at first relieved to be rid of the annoyance, but then he reconsidered. Why had that particular dog’s bark attracted his attention?
Tekax did not hear the bark again, but he kept his attention on the dog’s location, and he finally heard a rich voice mellowed by age…
“We must wait for the moon.”
Tekax missed any lines that immediately followed because of his excitement. Focused again, he heard another voice.
“People watch us from the hill tops.”
Thal? Tekax guessed.
“Let them watch.”
“Valentino wants to shoot the canon at them.”
“I suppose he’s here to make those types of decisions.”
“I suspect he needs to practice.”
Their familial rapport soon repulsed Tekax who ended his meditation. He had found Sarputeen’s location, and he seemed in possession of canons. The astonishing revelation almost made him doubt what he had heard. Sarputeen, the creature of the high mountain meadows, shifting river banks, and mossy old growth, had taken up modern tools of war. The move was most unexpected.
Tekax blinked to wet his eyes that had grown dry in the wind. Too little, too late, he decided and held Sarputeen’s advance with some disdain. The wolf was powerless against a warmonger.
A fit of coughing overtook Tekax. As he cleared his throat, he realized his weariness. His exposure on the tower to the driving cold wind had sapped his vigor. The tonic wore off more quickly than it had even a few short months ago.
Tekax went inside. He took his time on the stairs due to the ache in his knees. He hollered for Janfelter, and his voice boomed up and down the barren stairwell.
His champion met him at the door to his private meeting chambers. The tower’s chill forced squeaks from the tight hinges of the heavy door.
Tekax related his orders without preamble. “This night prepare all my men to go west on the hill road. Sarputeen, Thal, and his allies are advancing on us with canons.”
“Canons?” Janfelter said incredulously.
Tekax nodded. “He likely means to attack this fortress on the full moon,” he said.
“How many men does he have?” Janfelter asked, wary of Sarputeen’s ability to rile crowds.
“That’s what I task you with learning,” Tekax said. “Send back word of what you find and give battle.”
“Yes, Master, I will most earnestly,” Janfelter pledged.
“Will you?” Teka
x demanded.
“Of course, Master. I want very much to make those werewolves pay for the trials I’ve suffered on their account,” Janfelter said.
“Before you leave, inform your mother and sister that they are to be lodged in the tower. With trouble on the horizon, their safety concerns me,” Tekax said.
Janfelter knew that no one’s safety concerned his master. Dread on behalf of his kin revealed the remnants of his humanity, but he hid his heart from the sorcerer. Obedience was the only reasonable course. He understood that Tekax wanted to increase his motivation beyond a matter of personal pride. Failure would lead to consequences for the two women in the village.
“I will do all that you have set before me, Master,” he said.
Tekax waved the fext away. He fingered the keys hanging from his belt and considered his cabinet of tonics. Despite his fatigue, he chose to forgo the pharmaceutical boost even if more work lay before him tonight.
While the sound of Sarputeen’s distant voice remained fresh in his mind, he went to his main hall. A single brazier burned at the center of the room, and candles glittered on the ancient walls. He felt the coldness of the stone floor radiate up his metal cane into his hand. He approached the brazier and stared at the fire burning in its pit. Smoke curled and left sooty film on the distant ceiling. The wolf skins hanging from the walls reminded him that unruly Nature could do little against him. His mind delved the secrets of the physical world, and his arts harnessed materials to his will.
Slowly, he circled the brazier. His eyes scanned the stone floor tiles until he spied the carefully fitted edges where the stones had been laid over his iron installations.
Upon occupying the old fortress, he had set his workers to installing his traps. His largest one was in here where presumably an invader would burst in after conquering the main the gate, but Tekax had never activated its magical elements.
With his cane, he traced the edges of the stone tiles that concealed the buried parts. He let his malice build inside him. He called upon the painful feelings that had assailed him when Sarputeen had chosen to withhold knowledge and then Gretchen had turned her back on him. He could have given her everything. She could have lived in luxury in the East and practiced her crafts under his protection. Instead she had chosen to love an animal and die in obscurity.