Amy gasped at its bulk, having forgotten how tall the pale wolf stood. It didn't make sense, this wolf that was three times the size of the woman it sprang from. Its massive head swung about as it popped its jaws at the brute on Amy's back. The watchman flailed backwards, arms pinwheeling to get away.
Rolling onto her knees, Amy came face to snout with the pale wolf. Its nose blew hot on her face as its snout rippled back over its outsize teeth. It's amber eye fixed on her and Amy tried to find her friend within that unearthly glow but there was no glimmer of anything human. What she saw there was only rage and hatred and a rabid ferocity that froze her marrow. The pale wolf did not recognize her, did not distinguish her from any other piece of meat to be rendered to shreds. The wolf wanted to kill, nothing more.
A war cry went up as the black guard rallied, scrambling for their weapons. The wolf swung away, ropey strands of froth dribbling from its jaws as the watchmen charged. The lobo looked past the shrieking men to the lone figure perched on the rickety stage like a dark conductor overseeing a choir of the deranged.
The mask of righteous anger on the Bishop's face slid into cold terror as the wolf ignored all else to fixate on him and him alone. His fingers scrambled to find the axe on the boards at his feet and when he looked up, the lobo had sprung. Its bulk arced over the others and the stage shook as it landed on the boards. The man swung his weapon wide to ward off the popping teeth. The Bishop swung and the wolf lunged in and the man went down. The jaws opened wide and frothy spittle fell onto the man's screaming face.
The first pike speared its ribs, high up on the withers. The second plunged into the lobo's hind flank. The wolf coiled back in pain, snapping at the long-poled lances piercing its hide. Its teeth broke the haft of the first harpoon, leaving the remaining piece to flap but as it swung about to dislodge the second, another missile slammed deep into its neck. A bolt launched from the crossbow of the watchman on the tower.
It dove from the stage, the pike in its flank falling away as it loped towards the townspeople. The assembly scattered, the plain folk running from the monster and it bounded for the treeline with the bolt of a crossbow lodged in its throat and the broken length of harpoon dragging along the ground from its ribs.
Panic was absolute. The faithful scurried for their homes and the sound of doors slamming shut rang all around the square. Watchman Keisler was jostled this way and shouldered that way as the mob bolted past him. Hollering up for his Bishop, he turned to the platform but it was vacant. A smeared trail of blood along the boards but no sign of the church leader. Had the wolf dragged him off into the woods?
Coming around the stage he found the Bishop on the ground, one knee in the barley as he struggled to gain his feet. Keisler scooped up his arm to help but the man pushed him away, rising up on his own power.
The man's face was pale and grimaced in pain. “Where is it? Where did the wolf go?”
“The east woods,” Keisler reported, pointing out the direction. “Are you hurt?”
“Didn't you stop it?”
“We lanced it. It ran off with a bolt in its neck and a pike still in its back.” The watchman looked over his Bishop for any injury. The Bishop's left arm was cradled against his chest, the hand thrust inside the flap of his dark jacket. “Your hand, sir?”
The Bishop blinked at him as if he didn't know what his guardsman was asking. He withdrew the hand from his coat. Slathered red, the blood dribbled from his fingertips. He looked surprised at his own injury.
“My God,” Keisler swore. “Did the wolf—”
“No. The blade. The blade cut me when I fell from the stage.”
The Bishop thrust his hand back inside his coat but did not return Keisler’s wide-eyed stare. He cast about, scanning through the laggards still running for home. “Where is the girl? The younger witch! Where is she?”
Watchman Keisler strode forward to the place where he had seen her taken down. Trampled weeds and nothing more, the square about all but empty now. The English girl was gone.
~
“She's just a girl. How could you lose her?”
The Bishop stormed into his study and threw himself into a chair, his hand still tucked inside the folds of his coat.
Keisler followed him inside and crossed to the sideboard where a pitcher of water and a ceramic basin stood. “I was preoccupied with the monster trying to kill you,” he hissed. “How thoughtless of me.”
“Don't be flip with me, lad. What about the other two?”
“She can't have gone far. We'll find her.” Keisler filled the basin from the pitcher and scrounged the sideboard for clean linen. “The wolf is the more pressing matter now.”
The Bishop grimaced in pain. “Gather the reserves and double the men on the towers. Then assemble the watchmen into two hunting parties. We are going after the wolf.”
Keisler placed the basin on the table before his leader. “Is that wise? A hunting party will be in the wolf's element and vulnerable. Why not lure it back here?”
“We don't have time to wait. We need to destroy it now before it gets too far.”
Keisler watched a ripple of pain flash over the Bishop's features as he shifted in his chair. He dampened the cloth in the basin and wrung it out, then motioned for the Bishop's arm. “We need to clean that wound. Let me have it.”
The Bishop waved him off. “Leave it. It's nothing.”
“At least dress it properly. To stop the bleeding.”
The man rose unsteadily and hazed his watchman out the door. “Post the guards and assemble the hunting party. Now.”
Keisler scowled but marched away to do as he was told. The Bishop locked the door and limped back into his chair. Taking up the damp linen, he withdrew his hand from his coat and patted the blood from the wound. Dark clots appeared over the wrist and back of the hand. There was no cut or laceration from a blade. The wounds were angry puncture marks left by the wolf's monstrous teeth.
~
The barn was hot and dark and the tang of manure was not something Amy was used to. Leaning against a post, she clutched her aching ribs and caught her breath. Silas was flat against the wall, peering out through the slats of the barn board.
“There,” he said. “I see them.”
Amy crossed the floor to where he stood. Every breath cut a stitch of pain to her ribs where the watchman had slammed down on it with his knee. In the chaos triggered by the pale wolf, she'd felt herself pulled away. Silas dragged her along at a fast clip while the Bishop and his black guard fought the wolf but every step flared the sharp pain in her side and every sting stole her breath. When they rabbitted into the barn, she thought she was going to throw up.
Standing alongside Silas, she looked through a gap in the board wall. “Where?”
“To the left of the stage, near the silo. See them?”
Amy spotted the pair, loping away in a clumsy stagger. Tasha and Griffin were still tethered together by the binds on their wrists as they ran through a briar. Like some bastard three-legged race, they careened and stumbled in their dash for freedom. Griffin fell and tumbled hard, almost pulling down his companion. With her arms lashed behind her back, all Tasha could do was wait for Griffin to get back up.
Tasha startled suddenly, tugging at the rope that bound them. Charging in from the west Amy saw two watchmen throw both of the prisoners to the ground. The black guard kicked and kicked until the escapees stopped moving.
Amy turned away. There was no way to help them now. She looked around the barn. Two cobwebbed windows let in the sunlight and pixies of chaff floated through the gloom. The horses in the stalls blew and stamped their feet.
“Are you hurt?” Silas's eyes went to the hand clutching her ribs.
“I'll live.” It hurt to even talk and she was forced to take shallow breaths. “Thank for saving my butt. I guess we're even now.”
“Are you keeping score?”
“No. But you are.”
Some of the panic left his eyes, the flick
er of levity clawing back the tension in his face. He leaned his brow against the barn board and his shoulders slackened. He looked tired. “Your friend. She changed so fast.”
“No guff. I didn't know she could do that.”
“She almost killed the Bishop. If the watchmen hadn't speared her—”
“She wouldn't kill him,” she replied too quickly. “She hasn't killed anyone.”
Silas fixed her with a hard look. “How do you know?”
“Lara isn't like the others.” She wagged her chin, groping for words. “I can't explain it but some part of her is still there, even as the wolf.”
He closed his mouth, keeping his skepticism to himself. “Will she change back?”
“Yes. The question is where. She could be miles away by now.”
Over the sound of the horses blowing came the peeling of the bells, hurried and urgent. A voice followed, crying out in alarm. They hurried to the window and Silas pointed to the ruckus. A watchman perched on a rickety guard tower, ringing a school bell in the air and hollering out in Deutsche.
Amy gripped his arm. “What's he saying?”
“The wolf is back,” he said. “It's circling the village.”
34
HERR INGOLDST WAS THE first to see the wolf. Returning from his trap lines at the river, he had missed the mayhem in the village. Two snow-footed hares dangling from his hand, he was pleased with the morning's catch and was looking forward to a hot breakfast when he heard something big trample the brush to his left.
The pale wolf sklathed out from the trees, its yellow eyes locking on the trapper. The white pelage of its chest was dark with blood where a crossbow bolt had skewered its neck.
The rabbit carcasses flopped to the ground as Ingoldst sprinted for the gates. His terrified cries alerted the watchman and the gate unlatched to let him inside. The wolf chased his heels all the way to the gate but retreated as the watchmen let loose their weapons. A volley of crossbow bolts and lances turned it back but the great wolf did not disappear into the forest. It trotted west along the perimeter of the gate, keeping out of range of the missiles. Unhurried and patient, it circled the village looking for a way in.
The swing gate on the west stockade wall gaped open as the hunting party made its foray. Six watchmen, armed to the teeth, marched out smartly and took formation with their pikes at the ready. From the watchtower at the gate, the Bishop looked on with one wounded hand hanging limp in a sling. He barked at them to tighten formation and look sharp. The wolf was coming.
It loped along the edge of the treeline, watching the armed troop lockstep towards it. The silver points of the lances sparkled in the sunlight but the wolf neither charged nor fled. It stopped, nose to the ground and then turned and disappeared into the heavy brush. Keisler urged the men on, emboldened by the mass of blood slathered on the beast. It was weak, he insisted, its strength sapped. An easy kill.
He did not hear his Bishop shrieking at him not to go into the trees, not to enter the wolf's preying ground where the monster held the advantage. The phalanx formation of the troop only worked in the open where the men could maintain rank.
Keisler realized his mistake at the first strike. It was dark under the tree canopy and the wolf charged from the shadows. The phalanx broke apart and three men trampled under the lobo's massive paws. A fourth, Hoffmann, was snatched up in the thing's jaws and dragged off screaming into the darker woods. His fingers left claw marks in the loamy earth.
Keisler pulled the trio of men to their feet but only Aldrecht was fit to hold his weapon. The others clutched their ribs and groin, their faces paled and gibbering in pain.
Like the first, the second strike was deadly fast and damn near silent. The pale lobo broke from behind them and bowled Aldrecht headfirst into the trunk of a sycamore. He fell soundlessly and didn't move. Keisler drove his pike into the monster's withers. It coiled back before roaring at him with its unnatural growl. The outsized teeth flashed wet as they chomped down on Keisler's right arm. The wolf shook him violently and Keisler screamed to God against the jerking motion, his flesh slurring from his bones. The lobo bit down with its powerful jaws. The sickening sound of bone snapping and then the limb tore free in the beast's jaws. It loped away under the ferns. Keisler gaped in disbelief at the dark geyser of blood spewing from the angry stump of arm he was left with. He fell to his knees, watching his blood paint the dark leaves on the ground a deeper shade of red.
The cries bounced off the pines and filled the forest but the tortured pleas ceased when the sound of the wolf came. The howl issued from faraway but its eerie treble silenced even Keisler. Terror overrode the pain as the lesser ranked gathered their mutilated captain and dragged him away. Two men ran to find Hoffmann and within minutes, all six of the hunting party broke from the trees and hobbled to the gates like broken puppets.
The Bishop stood on his parapet and cursed at the wolf before scrambling down the ladder to tend to the routed watchmen.
~
Silas pressed his nose against the wall, peering through a gap as the men stumbled back in through the swing gate. “My God. They're butchered.”
“But they're alive,” Amy said.
“They were lucky then.”
Amy shook her head. “No. Some part of Lara is still conscious inside the wolf.”
“It is a wolf like all the others, Amy. Drawn here to destroy the faithful, the same as all the rest. I'm sorry about your friend, I truly am, but it's the truth.”
She bristled at his righteous conviction. Yet, she noted, there was no malice in his tone. Silas simply stated what he believed to be true. “Silas, why do the wolves come here?”
“To test the faithful,” he stated with a shrug. As if there could be any other answer. “They come to destroy us. They are evil and our faith is abhorrent to them.”
Amy drew back in hesitation. Silas didn't know. Did she have the right to burst his belief? It was the truth, he would understand. “What about the monster in the pit? Below the cemetery. Why does the Bishop keep it?”
“What are you talking about?”
Amy took a breath and told him what she had seen in the pit, what the Bishop had told her. “The Bishop said it was once a man named Bratenburg. The founder of this place. The first wolf. It's the reason the others come. The monster in the pit is what draws them here.”
Silas backed away slowly. His eyes darted around like a crazed bird looking for a perch to land on, disbelief and anger rolling through them in equal measures.
“I'm sorry, Silas. I saw it with my own eyes.”
He looked as if a rug had been pulled out from underneath him. She grasped for some way to console him but what words could soften that blow? A ruckus sounded from outside, breaking the spell. They peered out through the slats to see the Bishop rush to the injured guard. He winced at the trauma of Keisler's severed arm while another watchman gibbered at him, close to tears.
“What are they saying?” Amy asked.
“How the wolf attacked them. How it was cunning and deliberate. Not like the other wolves they'd encountered.” Silas listened to the back and forth between the Bishop and his men before going on. “The wolf's injured. An arrow and a lance still in its hide, bleeding out. They don't think it will last long.”
The air inside the barn was sour and stifling and Amy couldn't breathe. How badly was the pale wolf injured? How much blood had she lost? What happens when she changes back into Lara? “I have to get out of here.”
“And go where? Everyone will be looking for you. Stay here. At least until nightfall.”
“I can't.”
The bell rang from the tower again. Silas listened to the cries of the man on the parapet. “The wolf. It's circling the gates again. The Bishop has ordered another hunting party to go after it.”
Amy gripped the worn handle of the door. “I have to go to her.”
“Have you lost your mind?” He flattened a hand against the door. “The wolf will kill you.”
“It's only a matter of time before they find me. And I need to be as far from you as I can. You're in enough trouble.” Amy took his wrist and gently pulled his hand from the door. He offered no resistance. “The wolf won't hurt me. Will you help me get past the gate?”
His hand dropped but her fingers remained locked around his wrist. “It's suicide.”
“We're out of options, Silas. Help me. One last time.”
Even the horses quieted, as if they too were waiting for an answer.
Silas crossed to the door. “Stay right behind me.”
They stepped into the sunlight and Amy pulled the door closed after them. Silas took a quick scan around and then sprinted across a yard dotted with dandelions for the blacksmith’s shop. Amy stayed right on his heels.
~
Watchman Keisler was unconscious by the time a leather belt was cinched tight over his severed arm to stop the bleeding. The midwife Johnson, harried from her home to treat the wounded, doubted he had any blood left to spill. The man's face had paled to snow and she wondered if he would survive the night. The other watchmen had suffered only cuts and bruising. A broken wrist for Herr Aldercott, which she splinted and wrapped. Prayer would do the rest.
The Bishop fumed, watching the captain of his guard taken away on a pallet. He ordered the remaining watchmen down from their towers to form a second hunting sortie. Senior volunteers, some of them retired guards themselves, scaled the parapets to keep watch while the Bishop gathered the elders to begin a sweep of the village to find the missing English girl.
Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3 Page 77