by Tracy Falbe
The sorcerer pulled a spyglass from his robe and peered intently toward his target. A burst of dirt had erupted in the distance, and Tekax observed his cringing enemy. They had not been hit, but the ball had landed close enough to make their fate clear if they kept advancing.
“Load again,” he said.
His gunners worked quickly, and then Tekax went through his careful calibrations again. He lifted his spyglass to his eye to check his enemy’s progress and grumbled with disappointment. “A single shot scares off the wolf,” he said as if he expected things to stand still while he shot at them. He slid the spyglass away and added, “He was lucky the wind foiled my shot. The wind is so very difficult to account for.”
“Yes, Master. Shall I ride out and give battle again?” Janfelter said.
Tekax heard the weariness in his champion’s voice. The cowled warrior seemed to have aged decades in days. He speculated that the devastating wounds had taken a toll on the magic that bound his flesh to the realm of the living. Despite Janfelter’s failure to kill Thal or Sarputeen, Tekax took pride in the fact that his spell had resurrected his creature from what should have been a fiery death. His intellect drifted on the possibilities until he remembered Janfelter’s question.
“No. We can hold this fortress forever with a few men. Even if he gets those canons to the gate what would it matter?” Tekax said.
A gust of wind seemed to dispute him, but he ignored the subtle omen. He told his men to fire the canon again for good measure. His face did not flinch when the blast shook the ramparts. People in the village ducked as the shot flew over their roofs. He squinted at the explosive results in the distance.
Disliking the tedious notion of waiting in the tower for some pathetic attack, Janfelter said, “Master, let me ride forth with our men. I’ll catch them on the open road.”
Tekax appreciated his fext’s dedication to the task, but he recognized that he should stop wasting the few men that he had. He chose to be candid and admitted, “Janfelter, do not blame yourself entirely for the losses you have experienced against Sarputeen and his spawn. His powers are greatest in field and wood. We shall give him his chance to play it by a man’s rules and attack these high walls. We’ll kill him like an animal in a pit trap.”
“I understand, Master,” Janfelter said. He wondered if he should interpret his Master’s admission as some form of forgiveness for his failures.
“Their precious furs shall become mats to wipe your feet on soon enough,” Tekax predicted.
“So you believe that they can die?” Janfelter asked.
The question surprised the sorcerer. “Of course,” he replied.
“Can I die, Master?”
Tekax knew the answer but only shrugged. He understood that his handsome champion had been greatly discouraged by his disfigurement.
“When I’m done with Sarputeen, I’ll turn my magic toward restoring your appearance,” he suggested.
Janfelter visibly brightened. He had not hoped for such a boon and certainly did not deserve it. Tekax patted his shoulder with falsely paternal affection and steered his fext toward the door. “Let us withdraw from this exposed place. This wind puts a chill in my bones,” he said and resolved to drink a soothing draft as soon as he reached his cabinet.
With renewed greed for the rewards of serving the great sorcerer, Janfelter entered the tower as the snow fell harder.
Chapter 43. Time for the Sick to Die
The collision of canon balls with the frozen ground sent pebbles, snow, and wedges of turf into the air. Smaller bits pelted Valentino and his crew. He gravely appreciated the accuracy of the tower’s first shot at his advance. The gunners had nearly perfected their aim at the road. He was glad that the plan called for him to immediately withdraw from canon range. His boys got the horses and limbers turned around with the utmost haste, and the Condottiere admired how well they had progressed with their training. Valentino reasoned that they dreaded the potential consequences of failing their magical masters, but the canon fire had motivated them more than a forest full of monsters ever could.
The snow swirled down on increasingly white gusts of air. As much as Valentino disliked the icy patter against his cheeks, he valued the weather’s willingness to obscure the sight of him from the tower.
“Thal,” he called. “We’ll never get these canons moved if the snow falls heavily.” Valentino had long foreseen this scenario.
“We’ll wait for night,” Thal said, obviously gambling that the snow would not hinder them. He had his hat pulled low against the cold and wet, and his fur was tossed openly over his shoulders. The thick pelt bristled against his unshaven cheeks, and their colors danced together.
Valentino swung down from his horse and pulled his cloak up farther around his neck. He glanced at the horizon and judged in the snowy gloom that night was not too far off.
Everyone settled in to wait for the cover of darkness. No one spoke. Finally upon the threshold of the Tower of Tekax, the absurdity of their task glowered down with peevish disrespect. They collectively recognized the stark odds but still longed to find out if they might prevail.
Valentino fretted at the accumulating snow. He pressed his foot into it and judged the depth against the mobility of the canons.
After the third time that he did this, Thal said, “There’s not far to go. You’ll get them in position. Father said the weather favors us tonight.”
“All fathers tell lies to make their children worry less,” Valentino pointed out.
Thal frowned as he wondered how often his father bluffed. His magic called upon everything from tricks to brute force backed up by a bold sense of authority.
“I suppose it’s time I got started. Follow as soon as it’s dark,” Thal said. As he prepared to leave, the group shifted into readiness. He nodded to his father and put his forehead against Altea’s briefly. Pistol whined excitedly at his feet, but he bade the dog to stay with his wife.
With the dusk gathering and the wind filling the ruts in the road with snow, Thal trotted toward the village. He tapped his earring and blurred away into a swirl of snow.
With the canons silent, a few villagers had put on their hats and rushed out to tend to evening chores. Thal moved ghost like among their homes and sheds. He rushed ahead of a man walking toward his home. His hands were thrust in his pockets, and his head down against the wind.
Thal stopped, and the fairy magic slipped away from him like a bride’s veil. “Hello,” he said.
The man gasped and fell backwards on his butt in panic. Thal wanted to offer him a hand up but figured the action might worsen the villager’s terror.
Thal took off his hat and gestured toward the tower. “My party comes to give battle to your lord. I bid thee stand aside and give us no trouble. This is your chance to lift the shadow of evil from your home. Your discretion shall earn my mercy,” he said.
Another man noticed his neighbor on the ground in front of the stranger, and Thal addressed him with the same message. The man gaped with the intention of yelling, but his shock stole his voice. Thal tapped his earring and disappeared. He jumped over a stone wall to hide. From his position he watched the road that wound up the slope toward the tower. He heard villagers shouting and peeked over the wall to observe them as they informed each other of the frightening encounter and the warning. Men rushed among their homes for a time to transmit the news, but then everyone withdrew. Windows were shuttered and doors barred. Thal judged that they were not inclined to rush to their lord’s aid.
The snow was drifting a little over his boots, but he assumed confidently that the limber wheels could still manage.
Darkness came and provided sufficient cover for the movement of the canons. The storm clouds hid the rise of the moon that would be full on the next night when he intended to settle his father’s business with the corrupt sorcerer.
Pistol was the first one to traverse the village. He loped openly down the empty lane and went straight to Thal’s positio
n. He scratched Pistol’s head as the dog settled in against the stones with him.
“You’ve given away my hiding spot,” Thal teased.
Expecting the others to be on their way, Thal drew a pistol and leaned on the wall. If anyone in the village tried to confront his pack, he intended to put a stop to it immediately.
But the locals proved their wisdom and did not meddle with those who called themselves enemies of Tekax. Valentino succeeded in moving the canons through the village and started the ascent to the tower. The snow encrusted the wheels and stuck in the spokes. Thal and his pack pushed on the laden limbers to aid the horses that struggled as the wheels lost traction and became heavier. Sarputeen and Mileko ranged ahead to check for possible traps.
The storm intensified, and at each curve in the road, the group despaired of forcing the canons forward any farther, but their sheer determination succeeded in the end. They could not let their foolhardiness fall short when their weapons were so close to the gates.
At last, they approached the chasm that guarded the tower with its emptiness. The dark and blowing snow hid the walls, but the light of a guttering watch fire revealed the position of the fortress. Mileko recommended stopping the canons just before the last curve in the road before the path terminated at the ledge where the drawbridge came down. He explained that the high boulders would shield the canons from the guns on the wall. Even with the snow, he expected that they could move them into the final position the next night. After helping Valentino find just the right spot for the guns, Mileko joined Sarputeen, Thal, and Altea who had already advanced to the chasm’s edge. They stared at the obscured castle.
Profound resignation relaxed Sarputeen’s features. The blustery wind shook the white fur nestled along his jaw line. He recalled his encounters with Tekax in days long gone and wondered what the man looked like now. Tekax had once been handsome but only in the way that a vice is irresistible.
Mileko said, “We can camp among the boulders down the hill a bit. They shan’t be able to see us from the walls in the morning.”
“Help everyone find their way,” Sarputeen said but made no move to accompany him. Mileko glanced at the fortress that defied the stormy night. He hoped that his second visit to this place would be kinder to him than his first one. He retreated wearily.
Altea took a deep breath. The cold tingled in her nose, but she felt warm inside. This time tomorrow, the magic would alter her. Despite the danger, she craved the transformation. A single moment in her wolfen form granted the sweetest sense of liberty.
“We don’t have to do this,” she finally ventured.
Although Thal’s loyalty to his father sufficed to compel him to fight this battle, he appreciated her counsel. He knew the value of walking away.
“No, we don’t,” Sarputeen surprisingly agreed. “But he’ll then use his spies to raise suspicions against me. Some damage has already been done. The legends that protect Vlkbohveza will become a reason for outsiders to campaign against it. Evil crusaders like that Brother Miguel will come eagerly to prove their godliness against my beastliness. The respect of the locals won’t matter then.”
Altea looked down. The mention of Brother Miguel and the entrenched institutions that wanted to cleanse society of all freedom disturbed her greatly.
Thal said, “Have you divined this future? Will this battle stop it?”
“Nothing is forever, but our victory here will grant you a fair portion of peace,” Sarputeen said.
“Then, tomorrow night we fight. All of us,” Thal said and took Altea’s hand. Her vitality caressed his fingers, and he treasured the simple connection.
******
Thal gathered everyone together as the hour of battle drew near. His werewolves had already disrobed and clutched only their cloaks around their naked bodies. Mileko took a knee as he joined the group encircling Thal. Everyone had kept their heads low all day. Shots had fired from the tower after the snow storm abated in the morning. Sometimes the shot blasted gravel and dust from the tops of the boulders, but their position had foiled the gunners.
Mileko glanced at Lenki next to him. She held her cloak together over her breasts, but the fabric had slipped pleasingly off of one shoulder. Mileko worried that the sight of her smooth pale skin would distract him from the mortal combat that was about to consume him. He needed his mind to be clear, but his longing to trace a single finger along her smooth shoulder begged for his attention. Lust had never penetrated his disciplined mind before. He wondered if his desire was something more beautiful than simple male cravings. He hoped so.
Mileko continued his surreptitious observation of Lenki as Thal spoke.
“Does anyone have any questions about your part in the plan?” he asked.
Johan raised a finger. “Lord, what shall we do if you cannot open the gate from within?” he asked.
Thal hated to consider the failure, but everyone deserved a plan of retreat if needed. “We’ll abandon our assault and withdraw,” he said.
“But it won’t come to that,” Ansel offered. He was as alert as a colt about to run a race.
Reassuringly, Thal nodded. “Tekax has few men. The distraction that you provide will help us get over the back wall. Then things shall go our way. Condottiere, are your men ready?”
“We’re ready to move the canons and commence bombardment,” Valentino answered confidently. He knew that bringing the canons around the final curve to face the gates would put him in the line of fire. His stomach sloshed thinking about it.
Thal dipped his head to his friend to honor his bravery and continued, “This will be a terrible night, but I know that every one of you will act with great courage. With your support, we shall win a great victory.”
As he spoke, Mileko watched how Lenki viewed her werelord with unwavering devotion. If Altea were not present, he believed that nothing would stop Lenki from making Thal her mate. He allowed himself the fantasy that perhaps she might look at him with similar admiration some day.
Thal lifted his gaze to the horizon where the final glow of the sunset slashed the sky like a deep wound.
“The time has come. Best of luck to everyone,” Thal said. He circled the group and set a hand on the shoulder of each of his werewolves and looked them in the eyes. Wordlessly, he conveyed his gratitude and affection.
Mileko called upon his mental strength to restrain his jealousy as Thal and Lenki made their silent exchange. She swelled with adoration beneath her master’s hand.
Thal did not linger with her. He moved on to speak with Altea in private whispers. Mileko decided that he must not let Lenki’s glow for another man dissuade him from action. He might never have an another chance. He needed the finality of either acceptance or rejection before entering battle.
“Lenki,” he whispered and slid in front of her.
Her eyes glittered with excitement. The magic would wrench her flesh into a werewolf any moment. Mileko wanted to be part of that intense moment. He leaned closer. She inhaled as she realized what he seemed intent upon doing but did not withdraw. Cautiously, he brought his lips to hers. His action was more of an experiment in touching than an actual kiss.
He eased back but could still feel her breath flutter against his lips. The sensation told him that life did not consist solely of control. He thought he should explain himself. “I wanted you to know how I feel...” he whispered.
She amazed him by finishing his thought. “Before the battle,” she said.
“Do you feel anything for me?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
Her lack of hesitation astounded him. She kissed him again. “Stay alive, and you’ll find out how I feel,” she said in a criminally playful way as if all impropriety were a joke to her.
“I’ll split this tower in two for you,” he pledged. He had never known that he could feel such enthusiasm for life.
His flesh sang with an unfamiliar triumph. How could a kiss and a few sweet words work such an effect upon him?
&
nbsp; “I must go,” he said. Faced with such a tumult of feelings, he could only tie himself to the oar of his duty.
She nodded. The moonlight would soon alter her. He would always have to share her with the wolf magic.
Mileko granted himself one more dive into the deep waters of her eyes before dragging himself ashore. He picked up the coil of rope and grappling hook and rushed to catch up with Thal and Sarputeen.
Thal gave him a single curious look, but his mind was much too occupied with the task before him to discuss Mileko’s romantic life. Sarputeen, however, scrutinized his protege more closely. As they snuck around the craggy mount, he said, “She’s a good woman for you.”
“How’s that?” Mileko wondered.
“I don’t know. I just said it to encourage you,” Sarputeen said.
A genuine smile lit Mileko’s face. “Is this my teacher’s way of telling me that I need female affection?” he asked.
“Don’t we all?” Sarputeen said. “I was just realizing that you spent quite a few years studying under me at Vlkbohveza.”
“Years well spent, my Lord,” Mileko said with humble gratitude.
Nostalgia visited the old sorcerer. “Indeed. And now we pursue our greatest glory,” he said and gestured up the cliff with his staff.
Mileko focused on the terrain ahead of his feet instead of the dreadful bulk of the tower glowering in the moonlight. The heavy snow made each step uncertain, but Thal ably led them on the circuitous route of ledges.
The howling of the werewolves soon wrapped the fortress in a musical spell that summoned the magic of the chase and the kill. Their predatory voices spread across the surrounding plateau and invited the land to dream of eternity. Bells rang with alarm inside the tower and watchfires flared with the application of fresh oil. Coils of black smoke curled from the ancient heights. The werewolves continued their eager howling.
Mileko cringed when the heavy blast of guns shook the hill, but the werewolves kept howling in defiance of the gunfire.