Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  She dared one quick look into his eyes and then backed off. She folded her hands as if to make sure they did not cause mischief. Focusing on his primary appetite, Thal reached for his food.

  “Do you need anything else?” she said, sounding hopeful that he would ask for something.

  “No thank you,” he said.

  “I’ll be back to help when Lady Zsazi changes your poultice,” she said.

  He swallowed his mouthful of food. “I look forward to it,” he said.

  Francesca bobbed a nervous curtsy and left, a bit reluctantly. Such recurring interest from women was becoming harder for Thal to ignore. Regis had snickered at his timidity with women more than once on their journey already. Perhaps he should be more receptive and see what happened. Encounters with females often provoked a nagging physical tension that seemed to be prodding him to act. But mating when he had no home or steady food supply ran counter to his sensibilities.

  Despite his natural good sense, he still daydreamed about the maid while eating. Scenarios in which her curvy breasts spilled out of her shirt entertained him. He imagined the soft skin across her womanly chest and then a long lost fantasy escaped his cloudy memories. He recalled an apple-cheeked maiden who had sold milk at a market near his mother’s home. Thal had been barely a man when he had pursued her. She had rebuffed him. Not even a kiss.

  Her words of rejection had been cruel. “Don’t touch me you bastard, you witch son.”

  She had hated him because of some stigma attached to his mother and the absence of his father. He could not remember why he had lived in Prague with only his mother. They must have been all together as a family once, somewhere.

  Pistol put his paws on the edge of the bed and looked at the pork hanging from Thal’s fingers. He was glad to come back to the present and share with his dog.

  “At least you like me,” he murmured. Thinking of the young woman who had scorned him undermined his emerging curiosity.

  Feeling gloomy, he fell asleep until the women returned. Lady Zsazi was acting especially imperious. Francesca obeyed her attentively. He saw that the angry redness around his wound was receding. Zsazi admonished him to restrict his activities while she dabbed on a fresh warm medicinal poultice. Although her fingers were a little shaky, her touch was light and caused him no extra pain.

  When she sat back and wiped her hands, Francesca put on a new bandage. Then Zsazi dismissed her. Francesca looked disappointed but she flashed a friendly look toward Thal when she left.

  Zsazi reached for a bundle that she had brought with her. “I found you some fresh clothes. There was no getting the blood out of your other things,” she said.

  “You’re so very kind,” Thal said.

  “My son is coming to see you. I thought I should get you dressed first,” she said.

  “I’m honored,” Thal said, suspecting that the lord of the house did not typically visit the bedside of a stranger.

  “He’s as curious as everyone else about you,” Zsazi said.

  “What’s curious about me?” he said.

  A critical eyebrow lifted on her wizened face.

  “I suppose you told him about my fur,” Thal grumbled.

  “No…”

  “But?” he pressed.

  She looked at his fur that was draped over his legs. The stunning wolf coat glistened with vitality.

  “Are we safe in your presence?” she said with deep motherly suspicion.

  “You’ve taken my weapons,” he said.

  “Are you a magic worker?” she demanded.

  Her question proved that it was pointless to lie to her. “Only upon myself,” he whispered.

  She gasped, apparently not expecting such an easy admission.

  “Young man, you must renounce such Devil’s works. For the sake of your soul,” she urged.

  As a creature who had known the uncomplicated purity of a natural existence, he possessed great comfort with the state of his soul. It was the world around him that threatened his spirit.

  “May my good deeds be the guardian of my soul. I have known only kindness in this place, and I shall show you only kindness. I promise, my Lady,” he said.

  She relaxed. His earnest promise made her regret flinging accusations at him.

  “Don’t show Augie the fur,” she said.

  “You may hide it under my cloak for me,” Thal said, knowing that she wanted to touch it again, despite her talk of devils and souls.

  She folded the fur over her arm, shuffled over to the chair, and tucked it under his cloak. Her hand lingered against its softness but she had been careful to avoid glimpsing the writing again.

  “Do you want help getting dressed?” she asked.

  “I’ll manage, thank you,” he said.

  “Then expect Lord Patercek soon. Good night, Thal,” she said.

  “Sleep well,” he said.

  She frowned. Normally she did sleep well, but his presence unsettled her. An old woman knew when something was amiss, but he seemed so lacking in malice. Zsazi told herself not to judge too harshly or too quickly. People said terrible things about her dear son too, but she still loved him.

  Once Thal was alone again he dressed slowly. Taking care to move his upper body as little as possible he slipped on a shirt and tied up the laces. The linen was nicely woven and felt sleek against his skin. The wool pants were dyed a deep blue. At first he thought they were too tight but as he got used to them he realized they were made to fit closely. The pants seemed designed to emphasize his loins and thighs. He recalled seeing some men dressed like this in towns he had passed through.

  He was sitting on the edge of his bed trying to decide if he should bother putting his boots on when he heard footsteps in the hall. Pistol jumped into the doorway and greeted the lord of the house.

  Lord Patercek filled the doorway. He was tall and well muscled from an active life, but he was thick around the middle from lording over a bountiful estate. Not at many meals did he miss meat.

  The gray at his temples made his dark hair look even darker. His meticulously trimmed beard was much frostier, like snow clinging to freshly turned soil. A maroon doublet outlined his belly and chest, and matching pants disappeared into riding boots. Jeweled rings glittered in the light of the candle he was holding.

  Thal stood up and bowed a little.

  “So our mysterious mercenary is going to live,” Patercek said.

  “I am not a man of war,” Thal said.

  “But you carry weapons and give brave battle,” Patercek countered.

  “Perhaps defending myself comes easily to me because the world is so dangerous,” Thal said.

  Patercek chuckled, warming to him. He pulled up a chair. “So you are the one they call Thal,” he said and put the candlestick down with a thud.

  “Thal Lesky of Prague,” he said, feeling the need to be formal.

  “And I’ll let you know that you are benefitting from the hospitality of Augustus Patercek.”

  “My thanks. I am in your debt,” Thal said.

  “Debt? That sounds exciting. How shall I make you pay it,” Patercek said teasingly.

  “I have a bit of coin,” Thal offered.

  Patercek waved his hands like gnats were between them. “I’ve enough coins to keep me happy,” he said. “Do not think yourself indebted to me. ’Tis Christian to aid the hurt and needy.” Leaning closer he added, “You could repay me by fixing up your face. You’re a handsome lad but you need a proper trim. Let Carlo work on you. He did a fine job on me today,” Patercek said and traced the top edge of his beard with a finger.

  Thal touched his scruffy face. He had tried to cut in a goatee but had not thought of letting another man help him.

  “I’ll see to it as soon as I can, Lord Patercek. I’m very grateful to you. My wound needed attention and Lady Zsazi seems well able to cure me,” Thal said.

  “Oh, yes, Mother can put people back together. She even sewed one of my father’s fingers back on, or at least that�
��s what he used to tell me,” Patercek said.

  “I fear that I make her nervous,” Thal said.

  “She’s probably just trying to intimidate you. Obviously you and your splendid friends are not bandits,” Patercek said, not the least concerned.

  “I expect you’ll be a little less troubled by bandits, at least for a while,” Thal said.

  Happy that Thal had raised the subject, Patercek said, “Carlo tells me you killed six of them.”

  Thal nodded as the brutality replayed in his mind.

  “You must jest,” Patercek said. “I assumed Carlo was just trying to entertain me with wild tales.”

  “It was six. I had good weapons and Pistol held one by the ankle, which was most helpful,” Thal explained.

  Patercek’s good natured skepticism budged a little. “Well, there certainly would be six bandits to kill. They’ve been getting worse. Dark days are ahead for Bohemia I fear. Perhaps the whole Empire,” he said.

  “Yet you see no need to raise your bridge,” Thal noted.

  Patercek ducked behind a hand to his forehead. “I know. My bad judgment is quite indefensible.” He laughed at his own joke and continued, “Truth is the damn old hulk is broken. It’s so much more pleasing to pay for pretty things to be built instead of fixing boring gears or I know not what. I’m sure you admired my new great hall. It’s just finished last year,” he said.

  “Lovely, Lord Patercek,” Thal said.

  “Thank you. If some army came into the vale, I think we could draw up the bridge if we really put our backs into it. And I’m blessed with living at the end of a road few turn down. I’ve relied on my dogs to keep bandits out. Nothing ever gets by Brutus and Lucky, well, until you,” Patercek said.

  Rather pleased by his distinctiveness Thal said, “I must thank Brutus and Lucky for endorsing me.”

  “If I can’t trust their judgment, then I’ve got nothing,” Patercek agreed.

  He relaxed against his chair. Seeing Thal in clothes he had not been able to fit into for ten years was a bit disconcerting to Patercek, but maybe not in a bad way.

  “Your friends tell me they rely upon you to protect them,” Patercek said.

  Thal suspected the amiable lord was trying to cross reference details among his guests. Thal opted to be honest and related an abbreviated account of their meeting in Budweis.

  “I often hear nasty rumors about that mayor being greedy and unfair, but I must declare that I understand his temptation. Your associates made wondrous music last night. To let such talent go will be hard,” Patercek said.

  “I assure you Lord Patercek if you keep them too long they will grow lazy and drink too much,” Thal said.

  Patercek laughed, admiring how Thal put his warning. “I pray they still have the verve to play well at my banquet.”

  “They’re looking forward to it,” Thal said.

  “I am too, even though it’s just a thrown together affair on short notice. Just a few local families and villagers, but it will be fun and I can gossip. I do love to gossip,” Patercek confessed.

  “Have you heard any good stories lately?” Thal said.

  “Oh, only local peasant nonsense, not something I really believe but it does make good talk. Orsh was telling me just a few days ago that he heard talk of a werewolf to the south. That’s the direction you’ve come from. Have you heard this?” Patercek asked.

  Thal smiled. The glistening eyes of his host begged for an exciting response. “I hear of these things too, but consider this: Those bandits we encountered were most foul, but they were men. With such nasty souls stalking the land people will naturally turn to talk of monsters,” he said.

  “Very reasonable of you,” Patercek commented, more impressed than disappointed. He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. “Back to your bed rest, my fine lad. Mother’s orders,” he said.

  “I feel I’ll be fit enough in another day. Is there any work to be done?” Thal offered.

  “You’re NOT a mercenary are you? They’re lazy fellows unless harsh deeds are needed. So what skill do you have that could help me?” Patercek said.

  “Does my Lord like hunting?” Thal said.

  The man’s face softened with affection. “That’s one of my primary reasons for living in my country castle,” he said.

  “Then let me find you prize game for your banquet table,” Thal said.

  “A huntsman you are! Now that makes sense. We shall plan a hunt if you feel able,” Patercek said.

  “I do,” Thal said.

  ******

  The next day was sunny and hot. Thal stood on the ramparts with Patercek and the burly guard who was introduced as Markus. Patercek had brought out his three muskets, and Markus was busily loading them.

  Out on the meadows surrounding the castle two boys were toting out wicker frames with ragged canvas targets stretched over them. Thal watched them place the last target and then dash off as if they expected to get shot.

  Patercek accepted a loaded musket from his man and offered it to Thal. “This is my first one from Spain,” Patercek said.

  Thal accepted the hefty weapon with both hands. It was more exciting to hold than his pistol. Its greater range made it more threatening. Examining the decorative brass plates on the stock, Thal saw little skeletons and angels in the polished metal. The name Augustus Patercek was engraved beneath the pictures.

  Markus gave Thal a forked stick to prop up the end of the gun. It took some of the weight off Thal and helped him aim it. Running his hand up the barrel, Thal admired the craftsmanship.

  “Let me see you shoot it,” Patercek said.

  “You first, my Lord,” Thal said.

  Patercek smiled at the courtesy and stepped up to receive the gun from Thal. Markus lit its match for his lord. Patercek aimed carefully. The thunderous blast jolted everyone. Patercek coughed at the blue smoke and laughed.

  “You hit it!” Thal cried.

  Patercek waved the smoke out of his face. “I was aiming for the one on the right,” he said.

  “Good thing there’s two targets then,” Thal said, trying to stay positive.

  “Markus, reload,” Patercek ordered.

  When it was ready, Thal set up the heavy gun on the fork and looked down it. Markus lit its fuse. Thal shuddered from the loud discharge. The smoke stung his eyes as he squinted at the targets. Neither target showed a sign of impact, but the wound on his chest stung from the recoil.

  “Try this one from Munich. It’s a wheel lock like your pistol,” Patercek suggested and handed Thal the next musket. It was lighter, shorter, and did not need the forked stick. His second shot struck the edge of a target frame and knocked it askew.

  “Now for my new one from Nuremberg,” Patercek said with obvious fondness.

  Thal noted its construction was noticeably more refined. Every part was fitted to a demanding perfection, and it had less ornamentation except for a small circular plate showing Patercek’s coat of arms. Thal hit the target close to the center.

  “Isn’t that satisfying?” Patercek said. “Every gun is a little different. That’s the best one I have. It will penetrate armor, even at a distance.”

  “I’ll have to find you something exciting to shoot at tomorrow,” Thal said, anticipating their hunt.

  “Markus is a good archer and I still like a good old fashioned spear, but we’ll take the two light muskets if you want.”

  The men continued to load and shoot. Like his host, Thal found the newest musket to be the most reliable. They had great fun, laughing at hits and misses and generally delighting in the noise. Markus enjoyed a few shots himself as payment for all his loading.

  Patercek wiped some soot from Thal’s face. “We go first thing tomorrow morning,” he said.

  “I’ll be ready,” Thal said. “And thank you for letting me shoot your guns.”

  “You can carry the one from Munich. I’m still too in love with my new one to share it,” Patercek said.

  “I understand,”
Thal said.

  Patercek retired for the rest of the day as is the privilege of castle lords, and Thal relaxed with his friends. They were recuperating marvelously from their recent ordeals, lounging about the castle, generally close to the kitchen, and befriending the steward who controlled access to the beer and wine.

  When the sun dropped lazily toward evening Thal feigned going to bed to rest for the hunt. He lay in bed while twilight deepened over the castle. Gloom filled the hallway and he smelled tallow candles being lit. When most of the servants had settled in for the night, he got up and slipped outside. Pistol padded after him and Brutus and Lucky greeted him in the courtyard. Thal scratched their thick heads lovingly. They were powerful beasts and their respect meant a lot to him.

  When the dogs tried to follow him he turned them back. They whined and slunk away slowly. He even bade Pistol to stay with his two new companions. Reluctantly the little dog sat down at the end of the bridge. Thal ran across the meadow toward the craggy hills overlooking the vale.

  He jogged into the woods. Its shady aroma was comforting. A sliver of moon peeked through the tree branches.

  With his sensitive nose he studied the web of life radiating from the castle. Fungus and little animals and secret little flowers and baby birds in their nests and a prowling cat paraded across his senses. Weaving through the trees, he hiked fast up an incline and down a gully and then up a higher hill until he was deep in the wild reserve that was the playground of Patercek. After crossing a stream, Thal caught scent of what he sought. The stinky dung of wild hogs was scattered nearby and he soon found their fresh tracks.

  When he heard their rooting and happy chomping, he slowed. Creeping silently through the woodland he came upon them from upwind. A dozen of them were spread out along a huge rotting log. They snuffled apart decomposed wood and gobbled mushrooms and grubs.

  Enclosed by a darkness he did not fear, Thal toyed with the idea of transforming. A chance to experience his werewolf state while unmolested would likely give him greater insight into his power.

  He took off his hat and hung it on a branch. Then he removed his cloak but as he pulled off his shirt his wound stung. He paused. When his body expanded and shifted shape, he supposed that the strain would tear loose the stitches.