Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  Altea scanned the table and saw Zussek grab a little corroded silver box. “I should be going,” he said.

  “I’ll see you out,” Martin offered.

  Altea and the valet backed into the hall while Martin stepped out in the street with his departing guest. While they talked some more, Altea concentrated on diverting Hynek’s accusations.

  “My stepfather’s thinking of replacing you if you don’t start performing better,” she said with cold seriousness.

  The stark possibility of being retired disturbed the valet.

  Altea continued, “It’d be a shame if I had to speak ill of you.”

  Regaining some sense of self defense, Hynek hissed, “You’ve no influence with him, you orphan girl of a penniless knight.”

  The hostile words were somewhat true, but Altea did not flinch. “All of his sons value my word and he’ll listen to them,” she said.

  Hynek grumbled but accepted that victory was hers.

  Martin came back in the house. He sensed the squabble between his stepdaughter and valet and wanted nothing to do with the irritation. Hynek opened his mouth to speak, but Martin cut him off. “I wish to be alone. Both of you stop bothering me with petty things.”

  Altea curtsied to him and headed toward the stair. She ignored the stabbing look from the valet, who also retreated down the hall.

  She was not worried about him. Other thoughts consumed her as she climbed the stairs. In her room, she removed her shirt and dress while reflecting on her memories. She had never sensed any malice in Gretchen. The old midwife had been kind and exceptionally knowledgeable. Even now, Altea could not discount the esteem her mother had shown for the woman.

  The nasty dismay that had afflicted Altea when Gretchen had been executed welled up inside her. She had tried to quell her grief when it had happened. Her stepfather had insisted that Gretchen was a villain, but now Altea fell upon her bed and wept for the lost woman. Her tears were for her mother as well. The tragedies were intertwined. Altea confronted the possibility that Gretchen had given her mother some deadly potion to end her life. But her mother had begged for it. If Gretchen had done it, then Altea told herself it was sinful witchcraft, but the end of her mother’s suffering had not been a bad thing. Her suffering had been so bad in the final days. Her disease had seemed to be eating her from the inside. The ended pain had been Altea’s only solace.

  She stared at the wall with her head on a pillow. Her blonde hair was splashed around her in a disorderly heap, and tears dried coolly on her face.

  Gradually she forced herself to shake off the disturbing questions. Lingering on her grief would bring no happiness, and Altea still hoped for a happy life. She should be grateful that her soul had not been corrupted by contact with a witch, but according to Professor Zussek the danger remained.

  Natural curiosity nagged at her imagination. Irritated with the valet again, she wished that he had not interrupted her. Zussek had been on the verge of revealing his opinion.

  The existence of the little silver box and its Devil’s hair fascinated Altea. She wondered if the old woman had left behind any other charms related to her powers.

  Chapter 10. Protector of the Weak

  Jakub paused to admire his handiwork. He was crafting an ornate gate for a new home and was finally pleased with the results. Tomorrow he would be able to connect the lettering twisted from wrought iron to the coat of arms he had fashioned. The gyrfalcon in the coat of arms had been vexing. His first attempt had gone back in the fire, but this version was worthy of his mark.

  Running a finger through the looping details, Jakub savored his creation. Nothing ever left his shop unless he decided that it could pass inspection with the whole of Budweis. His days of making meat tongs and horseshoes were well behind him, but he believed a man should put the best part of his soul into his work, no matter how humble.

  Thunder rumbled and clouds overtook the slanting golden rays outside the shop doors. Rain started pattering. He had dismissed his journeymen and apprentices for the day already. He liked to have his smithy to himself so he could reflect on the day’s work.

  A little dog surprised him by trotting into his shop on perky legs. Its scruffy brown and white fur was blotchy from raindrops. The dog barked once and wagged its tail.

  “Hello, pup,” Jakub said and put his hands on his hips. He did not recognize the animal as belonging to any neighbors, and a smithy seemed an unlikely place for a dog to do some begging.

  “Methinks you seek the sausage maker around the corner,” Jakub said.

  The dog scooted closer. Unable to resist the ingratiating little beast, Jakub bent to pat its head. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed movement at the door and straightened quickly. A cloaked man had slipped inside. His body had been just a flicker of slick movement against the cloudy dusk.

  Jakub grabbed up a hefty hammer. “Be gone slinker!” he cried.

  The intruder moved farther inside but did not expose himself to a window. He pulled down his hood and raised his hands in a peaceful fashion.

  “Good evening. Please forgive my intrusion,” he said.

  “Who are you?” Jakub said impatiently. He kept the hammer up and was quite confident in his ability to fend off an attack.

  “My name is Thal.”

  “Don’t know you lad,” Jakub said. Despite the gloom of the shop, he discerned a young man with a pleasing face and thick glossy hair. His eyes gleamed with an unexpected intensity.

  “I seek Jakub the Smith,” Thal said.

  “Who sent you?”

  “Andreli Suprinova.”

  Jakub groaned knowingly but visibly relaxed. “You haven’t the speech like a Gypsy,” he commented.

  “I was among them only a short time. They are not my kin. I hail from Prague,” Thal said.

  “So those beggars are going to try their luck in Budweis again?” Jakub asked.

  “Not right now, but Andreli told me that Jakub could help me with something on my journey home. Are you Jakub?” Thal asked for confirmation.

  The smith nodded and set down his hammer. Pistol snuffled through the ashy dirt and disappeared behind poles and boxes.

  “I normally help people when there’s daylight,” Jakub said.

  “Andreli mentioned that you are discreet on some matters,” Thal said.

  “Ah,” Jakub murmured, unsurprised because Andreli was involved. Jakub dabbled in affairs that were not entirely a matter of written records mostly because he gained some excitement from it.

  Thal slowly moved his cloak back over his shoulders to show off the armor.

  “That’s nice metal,” Jakub remarked. He grabbed a lantern and went to his banked fire and lit it off a coal. Bringing the light, he inspected Thal’s chest. “This is of Rosenberg Castle,” he said. He lifted the lantern and looked at Thal for a quite a while. “You’re not of Rosenberg Castle are you?” he surmised.

  Thal smiled, trying to be charming.

  “So you need to get rid of it don’t you?” Jakub said.

  “Andreli said that you’d deal with me fairly,” Thal said.

  “Well, that’s quite a thing you’ve stolen there. Oh, a pistol too,” Jakub said and his eyes twinkled.

  “I’ll be keeping the pistol,” Thal said pointedly.

  “I suppose a thief would want that,” Jakub agreed.

  “I’m not a thief,” Thal said.

  “So you just woke up in this situation?” the smith said sarcastically.

  “I’ll tell you the story if you want to hear it,” Thal said.

  Quite won over by the offer, Jakub said, “All right then.” He plopped his thick body down on a bench and crossed his arms.

  Thal glanced around the shop. The place smelled of sweat and charcoal and oil. Smoke stained the heavy timbers of the high ceiling. A rainy breeze wafted in the windows of the airy shop. Pistol jumped up and balanced on the edge of a water trough. The dog lapped tentatively at the water, but disliked it metallic and sooty flavor.
Two men went by in the street chatting quietly, and Thal waited for them to pass before he started talking. He presumed to shut the double doors of the workshop.

  Holding back a few choice details about his wolfen transformation, Thal explained the gambling that had resulted in his final confrontation with Captain Jan Bradcek.

  Jakub rubbed his jowls as he digested the story. He sensed some gaps in the tale, but it had certainly been entertaining.

  The smith chuckled and then slapped his knee and laughed loudly. After a contented sigh, he said, “You couldn’t have found a bigger cock more worthy of having his feathers plucked.”

  “You know Jan?” Thal asked.

  “By reputation. He graces Budweis with his presence regularly. Acts like he’s Baron Rosenberg himself,” Jakub said.

  “So you’ll help me?” Thal pressed.

  “I can take that metal off your hands at well below market rate,” the smith offered.

  “Andreli said you’d be fair with me,” Thal said.

  “That’s fair.”

  Thal truly hated to part with the armor. He liked the sense of security and power it gave him, but he could not go about wearing an item so obviously stolen.

  “I’d like to trade it for a knife and sword,” he said.

  Jakub’s stomach rumbled. He was on the verge of being late for dinner. His wife would probably send an apprentice looking for him soon. She did not like people showing up late for events within her domain.

  “I can’t be sparing you a sword, but I have some nice knives. My journeyman made them,” Jakub said. He led Thal deeper into the shop and opened a cabinet. Various butcher knives and cleavers and saws were arranged on a big rack. Thal selected a hunting knife. It did not have a handle yet, but Jakub gave him a ball of leather cord to wrap it with for now.

  “Now hand over the armor,” Jakub pressed.

  “Two knives at least,” Thal said.

  “You’re not in a position to bargain,” Jakub argued. “Captain Jan is going to have you declared a fugitive far and wide.”

  Thal said please so sweetly Jakub had to laugh. He wondered why he had such a soft spot for half innocent rogues. He supposed it was his pining for adventures never undertaken.

  “One more but I get to look over your pistol,” Jakub said.

  “I’m not trading my pistol,” Thal reminded.

  “But I’d like to study its construction. I’m interested in learning how to make pistols. You have no idea how hard it is to get plans for such a thing,” the smith said.

  Thal handed it trustingly to Jakub and then he started to take off the armor.

  Jakub ran his rough hands over the barrel and held the wheel lock close to his lantern to examine it closely. When he cocked back the trigger, Thal warned him it was loaded.

  Jakub said, “Aren’t you worried I’ll turn you in now?”

  Thal disliked seeing his prized possession in the other man’s hands. He looked steadily into the smith’s eyes and watched the effect of his hidden strength take hold.

  “No, I’m not worried,” Thal said.

  A shiver scampered down Jakub’s spine like a squirrel. He had the sense that he was looking down a little used trail into a hoary old woodland and that he should not tread upon it.

  “I’m not the type to be turning folks in,” Jakub said. Gently he disarmed the gun and told Thal that he needed to spend some time making drawings of its mechanical structure.

  Thal selected another knife and then set to work wrapping the handles with the leather. Jakub went to his work table and lit more candles. His thick fingers were not greatly suited to drafting fine details but he did a rudimentary job of making plans for a pistol. A boy came to the shop to inquire after Jakub, but the smith shooed the apprentice off with a few gruff words.

  When Jakub was finished he returned the pistol to Thal. “You don’t know me,” he said.

  “I was not here,” Thal agreed and happily returned his pistol to his belt and let his cloak hang over it. His new knives were in his boots.

  “So, I expect you’re off to be a bandit. Maybe get ambitious and be a mercenary,” Jakub said.

  “I hope to do better,” Thal said.

  “You’d do best to get out of Budweis,” Jakub warned. “I suggest you go to the docks and get on a boat, if one will take you.”

  “Thank you for the advice,” Thal said.

  With Pistol at his heels he slipped into the drizzly night.

  Jakub picked up the armor and admired the roses on it. The smith at the castle was getting better, he noted.

  ******

  The streets of Budweis assaulted Thal’s senses. The reek of livestock and people and fresh food and rotting food and burning wood and the grainy mash of breweries surged into his nostrils. He struggled to make sense of the heady blend of odors.

  The light rain dripped from eaves and flowed down rainspouts with tinny gurgles. Tall buildings surrounded him like a surreal forest that offered no shelter. He kept to the shadows as he moved along with evening traffic with his head down. He did not want to draw attention to himself, and the crowded town seemed accepting of his anonymity.

  As he approached the river docks, he passed a busy tavern. Warm lamplight inside revealed the shaggy heads and hats of men gathered around tables eating and drinking. One group was singing. A dog in the doorway growled at Pistol. Although tempted by the scent of roasting meat, Thal kept moving. Tonight was not a night to be social. Jan’s men could be in town already.

  Storehouses crowded the docks. Dark barges and boats were tied up for the night. Thal found a deserted shed stacked with crates and barrels and tucked himself out of the rain. He hunkered down between two barrels and Pistol curled up beside him. He stroked the dog gently and was glad for the company.

  Reflecting on his visit with the smith, he decided that it had gone well. He was grateful to Andreli for the connection. He hoped Andreli had survived and the Gypsies were fairing well.

  Exhausted after his hard cross country trek to the town, he fell asleep. The scampering of rats roused him once. Pistol tore off after them. Some snarling and banging soon resulted. The dog returned a while later with a full belly. Thal missed the simplicity of getting a meal when one had good jaws and an undiscriminating palate.

  He went back to sleep but woke up again when the rain stopped. The parting clouds exposed the moon. Thal felt it illuminating the primordial recesses of his soul. Two days had passed since his transformation. He had not been able to think about it too much because he had been in such a dire hurry to get away from the vicinity of Jan.

  Waning now, the circular perfection of the full moon had been reduced by a thin slice of a smile, but its eerie energy still beckoned him. Thal stroked the fur hanging over his back under the cloak. He resisted whispering the words written upon it. The temptation to change gnawed at him, but he decided that he should save that power for emergencies.

  That the magical fur had not changed him back to a proper wolf disappointed him. He had become some weird beast man. The state had been exhilarating though, and he recognized now that it was at the core of his identity.

  He was grateful he could control himself while transformed and change back to a man. He wondered if he could figure a way to derive any advantage from it. He had few resources but certainly possessed a unique power.

  A dangerous power, Thal reminded himself. He could have hurt all those men during his brief battle. He had wanted to hurt them. If they ever cornered him, he would hurt them.

  He and Pistol tensed at the same moment. The unstealthy clatter of a small group of men approached the river. With a single soft command Thal hushed the rumble in Pistol’s throat.

  Thal peeked around a barrel. Three men were creeping up the street. They were hugging the darkness along the buildings. Bundles burdened them. One man tripped over a lump of refuse and cried out in pain.

  One of his companions complained but stopped to help him up. Thal could not make out the words they
exchanged. When the group got moving again, one man was limping.

  Another man emerged from a docked boat with a lantern and hailed the trio. Thal stood up to observe better because he was keen for a chance to meet a boatman.

  “Praise God you’re here,” one of the men in the street called out in heavily accented Czech.

  “Quiet,” snarled the man on the dock. He covered his lantern.

  His admonishment came too late. Farther up the street, two men rounded a corner and ran toward the dock. A panic set in among the first group and they quickened their pace, but the two men chasing them overtook them easily. The man on the dock fled to his boat apparently unseen.

  “You’ll have the master’s wrath for this prank,” declared the man who cut off the fleeing trio. He raised a cane and prodded the limping man hard in the chest, making him stumble back.

  “Let us go,” demanded another man. He tried to defend his friend but got smacked by the second pursuer.

  With cane and fists the two men smacked up the trio who yelled and flailed but seemed more interested in protecting their packages than themselves.

  When one of their tormentors snatched a heavy case and threatened to toss it in the water, the trio surrendered.

  “That’s better. We’ll have no sneaking off. The master and his wife adore your music too much,” the man with the cane said. He started to laugh but then choked on his humor when a cold metal tube pressed against the back of his neck and he heard the gut-chilling grind of the wheel lock arming.

  “Put that down,” Thal said.

  The man tried to turn but Thal jabbed him with the pistol. Slowly he set down the case and its owner snatched it back quickly.

  Thal hit the man in the back of the head. He screeched and went to his knees, clutching his skull. His comrade jumped at Thal, who easily sidestepped him and tripped him.

  “Why do these men chase you?” Thal demanded urgently.

  “The Mayor won’t let us leave town,” explained the man with a limp.

  “Why?” Thal wondered.

  “Because he never have such good musicians,” the man replied proudly despite his talent causing his captivity.