Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  “All right,” he said and beckoned the pot boy. “Methinks you might like to see it first.”

  The boy grinned and rushed to the table, but Thal quickly scooped up the gun. He showed the boy its details and described how it worked. Then under strict orders not to pull the trigger, he let the boy hold it.

  “Thank you, Sir!” the boy beamed when he gave it back.

  Thal slid it into his belt and grabbed his powder horn. Bending down, he put on a menacing face and said, “If I find you touching this pistol or any of my things, I will throw you off the Kamenny Most.”

  “I won’t touch it!” the boy insisted and shook his head dramatically.

  “Now take me to the little lord of the house,” Thal said.

  The pot boy led him out of the non-frivolous servants’ wing and into the polished and painted rooms of the main residence where intricate tapestries, paintings, and sculptures adorned every wall and corner.

  The big home contained a large inner courtyard of flowers and trees and even a little pond of fish. Pistol ran around and marked a few blooming beds and then flushed out a cat and tore off on his own adventures.

  Mika was playing with carved wooden knights. He bashed and banged them together in a make-believe duel. He had light brown hair and a friendly face with big eyes. He was about eight or nine years old just like the pot boy. A governess sat on a sunny bench, stitching upon fabric in a little hoop.

  “Hello!” Mika cried.

  “Good afternoon,” Thal said.

  “I’m Lord Hrabe,” Mika said, self importantly.

  Thal crossed his arms, refusing to be impressed. “I’m Thal Lesky.”

  “You have to do what I say,” Mika said.

  “I would not count on that, boy,” Thal said.

  Mika’s jaw dropped. His governess stopped her needle in mid air.

  “You can’t talk to me like that,” Mika protested.

  “You best use your manners if you want to see my gun,” Thal said.

  Worry crossed the noble brat’s face. The stranger’s lack of respectful indulgence was entirely off-putting. The pot boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet and biting his lip lest he blurt out that he had already got to hold it.

  Mika finally roused up a threat. “I’ll tell my mother to put you in the street.”

  Thal shrugged.

  Mika wavered. Seeing Thal up close enhanced his curiosity even more. And his childish intuition told him not to anger this adult glowering at him with exotic eyes.

  Holding up one of his toys, Mika said, “Want to play?”

  “That’s better,” Thal said.

  Mika ran a short distance away and set his knight on a patch of lawn. He scurried back to Thal and said, “Shoot it! Shoot it, please!”

  “I suppose I could use the practice,” Thal said, rubbing his goatee thoughtfully.

  “Please!”

  “I suspect this is not the proper place,” Thal said.

  “It is not!” the governess chimed in, coming to her feet.

  “Please! Thal, please! I say it’s good,” Mika insisted.

  Slowly Thal drew his pistol. Both boys stopped breathing. Looking hard at Mika, Thal said, “Only because you said please.”

  He took aim. Really hoping he did not miss, he pulled the trigger. The toy burst into chunks that flew in every direction. The boys shrieked with delight. The governess just shrieked. Thal blew the smoke out of his face.

  “Again!” Mika cried. He tossed his other toy to the pot boy and told him to set it up.

  “Let me show you how to load it,” Thal said. He took out his horn. He and Mika kneeled and went through the process of loading. He let Mika help a little. The pot boy ran back and watched over their shoulders.

  The governess stormed up. “You are not shooting that again,” she said.

  “No, Lord Hrabe shall have the next shot,” Thal said.

  “He will not!” she argued.

  Thal stood up and looked at her with the full force of his strong personality. She quailed back a step and then ran into the house.

  Thal cleared his throat. The smoke from the first shot had irritated his nose. “I don’t think we’ll have much time,” he said and winked to the boys.

  Carefully he helped Mika hold the pistol and kneeled beside him. He kept a hold of it with the boy and warned him that the pistol would kick back when they fired. He tried to help the boy aim and then let him pull the trigger.

  Mika missed his toy but a flower pot flew apart into shards, spraying dirt, leaves, and colorful petals. The boys laughed and laughed, and their delight helped Thal feel a little better.

  “Who is shooting a gun in my house?!” a female voice demanded through an open doorway.

  Holding a pistol with a bit of smoke still curling away, Thal made no attempt to conceal his guilt as Lady Carmelita swept into the courtyard. When she saw the mess, her blue eyes popped at the audacity.

  As she drew in a breath to begin some maternal tirade, Thal quickly said, “Forgive me, my Lady. I was indulging Lord Mika’s request to show him how to shoot a pistol.”

  “You let him shoot it?” she cried.

  “Mama, it was so amazing. My hand still hurts! I WANT one,” Mika said.

  “Hush.” Her voice cracked her son with the single word. She grabbed his ear and flung him toward the governess. “In your room you go!” she commanded. The governess hauled him away. The lad submitted to his banishment, still thrilled by the experience.

  “Clean up this mess!” Carmelita shouted at the pot boy, who scrambled out of her reach.

  With a huff, Carmelita composed herself and then regarded Thal. “This was rather juvenile of you,” she said.

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  “I really can’t condone you taking such liberties,” she added.

  “I understand.”

  She strolled around him. Except for the evening of his arrival, she had not had another chance to admire him. His physique and flippant attitude were cooling her temper considerably.

  “You really don’t care if I let you stay or not,” she said, sounding disappointed.

  “My Lady, that’s not true. I have no desire to offend you. I offer my apologies,” Thal said. She was halfway behind him now and he looked over his shoulder. His liquid eyes beamed with regret. Carmelita felt her heart quiver. He was amazing. Her brother always met the most interesting men. He had been thoughtful to send Thal to her.

  “I’m sure the boy put you up to it,” she said.

  “Still the blame is mine,” Thal said. He had learned enough about women to recognize her playful attraction to him.

  “No shooting guns in my house. You aren’t at my brother’s castle anymore,” she said.

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  “And no more hiding from me. Where have you been?” she said.

  “I did not know my Lady required my presence,” he said.

  “Well, I do require it tonight. I’m having a party. Afterward, I have some friends who should make your acquaintance,” she said.

  She was a pretty woman. Her dark hair was almost black. Her skin fair and rosy with health. And the curiosity in her blue eyes was not something he wanted to encourage.

  Thal looked away from her. “Whatever could your friends want with a simple huntsman?” he said.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “Then I shall surely satisfy,” he said.

  Chuckling, she sauntered back in front of Thal and looked up at him so he could not avoid her eyes. His handsome features invited trust, but his peculiar hair and the blended colors of his eyes spoke of wild mystery.

  “Until tonight,” she said.

  “I will be here, my Lady,” he said.

  “Good, even with my brother’s recommendation, you still have to prove your reliability to me,” Carmelita said.

  “I’ve already stopped shooting as you requested,” he pointed out.

  She struggled not to smile and walked away. Thal watched her go ba
ck in the house. Her pale blue dress was nicely tailored. He noted her straight back and how the draping fabric did not quite hide the saucy swing of her hips. She seemed not to be a widow overcome with grief.

  Now that his frivolity with the children was over, his grief returned to darken his mood. He went back to his room, loaded his gun, put on his hat, and left the house.

  The walk across the bridge from the Little Quarter to Old Town was long. This gave him time to organize his thoughts. He needed to be methodical. He must not act rashly during the process of finding those who had tormented his mother.

  He slowed his pace the closer he got to Old Town Square. The knowledge that his mother had died there made his spirit shake. A haunted unease afflicted his courage. He could almost hear her voice saying his name. She must have been a powerful magic worker. The blood in his veins was beginning to burn from the touch of her spells.

  Next to the Town Hall was the Court and near it along the edge of the square was a row of small platforms with heavy wooden boards with holes for a person’s head and hands. Two of the stocks were occupied by unfortunate criminals. Piles of moldy food were strewn around their feet and splatted against the stocks. The brownish splash of someone’s slop bucket was sprayed across one penitent.

  Thal pitied the two condemned to the uncomfortable public humiliation. To see any animal in a trap was heartbreaking, but he resisted the temptation to free them. He would only gain unwanted attention. His act of kindness was not going to change society, and perhaps those two men actually deserved to be there. Bad behavior was not in short supply.

  Thal found a place to loiter in view of the Court. Pistol wandered off into the loose crowd.

  A ragged and barefoot woman with the appearance of being pregnant approached the stocks with a water bucket. She gave one man a drink. The other criminal begged for water and she served him as well.

  “Alms for the poor?” a voice said from he shadows.

  Thal looked over his shoulder. A man on a crutch was coming out of an ally. He had a long beard and a hat that appeared to be more holes than actual hat. Half healed sores marred his sagging face. He wagged a wooden bowl toward Thal.

  He dug out a few coppers and made a donation.

  “Thank you much, Sir,” the beggar beamed. “Are ye waiting for someone?”

  “No.”

  “You’re new here,” the beggar commented, squinting up at Thal.

  His odor was exceedingly unpleasant, but Thal resisted ordering the beggar away. He might be full of useful information.

  “Where is the jail?” he asked.

  “Oh, are you going to bust someone out?” the beggar asked excitedly.

  “Does that happen often?” Thal said.

  “No,” the beggar declared.

  “Do you know where it is?” Thal pressed.

  The man rattled his coppers in the bowl meaningfully.

  “Tell me first,” Thal said.

  “It’s in the cellars of that old building behind the Court,” the beggar said.

  Thal obliged him with some more coppers.

  “Can’t hardly hear the screaming from down in there,” the beggar commented.

  Thal suppressed a shudder, expecting that his mother had been put to painful torments in that place.

  “Thank you,” he muttered and walked away. He headed to the jail. Pistol showed up and kept his head low, sensing his master’s hard mood.

  The jail was a nondescript stone hulk. Heavily barred windows along the foundation allowed a glimpse into the dank shadowy realm of confinement. The reek of soiled straw and despair stabbed Thal’s spirit. Bravely he took a deeper whiff of the building. The mingling of many bodily odors assaulted him and he had trouble determining any individual signatures.

  When the door of the building opened, he watched a tall man with a bright chain holding his cloak come out with a grungy associate. Keys jingled on the underling’s belt. They headed toward the square.

  Hatred surged in Thal at the sight of these jailers. The likelihood that one or both of them had served in the villainy against his mother was very high.

  He was stalking them before he had given it any thought. He came upon them quickly. The man with the official medallion whirled at the intrusion. He held his walking stick ready to defend himself.

  “Do you have some business with me, knave?” the Constable said.

  Being close to the man allowed Thal to confirm his ugly suspicion. He was so overcome that he could not reply. All of his willpower was needed not to tear out the man’s throat.

  Not yet, Thal told himself.

  Pistol lunged at the man’s feet. He sank his teeth in the top of a boot.

  The Constable cussed and hopped and tried to shake off the little dog. His grimy underling watched in baffled amusement.

  Thal barged between them and kept walking. He called off Pistol with a single grunt and did not look back.

  After a string of curses, the Constable hollered, “I best not see you again!”

  The threat meant little to Thal. Dead man talking.

  Thal wandered the square, deaf to the pleas of vendors hawking their wares. His vision swam with red murder. Terrible emotions twisted at his guts until he wanted to tear off his clothes and scream the spell that would give him all the powers of a beast.

  Then his feet stopped. The cobblestones were stained black and cracked by the roaring fires that had heated them. Scrubbing had not been able to remove all the sooty stains.

  He was in the place near where gallows were erected whenever the need arose. In this companion place to the kingdom of the noose were stacked the pyres where those associated with the Devil were burned to death.

  His knees shook. Sweat ran down his back. The bustling voices of the square and the buildings disappeared. White light consumed his vision. Clearly he heard his mother calling his name. He recognized her voice. It was the voice that had soothed him when he was ill. The voice that had praised his accomplishments. The voice that had been raised in anger and bade him not to seek his father.

  A rough wet tongue on his face brought him back. The benign blue sky above contrasted to his ragged state.

  “Is the fellow having a fit?” a man said.

  Thal had collapsed. He was sore where his body had hit the dirty cobbles. He sat up. Two laborers were looming over him.

  “Need any help, Sir?” one of the men said.

  Thal looked around. Embarrassment seized him and he dashed off. Pistol trotted ahead and presumed to lead. Thal trusted his little friend and followed him onto a street. He stopped and put out a hand to lean on the corner of the building. People glanced at him wondering if he was drunk. He drew ragged breaths, trying to revive his wits.

  With shaky hands he took off his hat and ran his fingers through his wet hair. Pistol yipped and wagged his tail. Thal recognized the street now. The young woman who had known his mother lived on it. His dog kept trying to coax him forward.

  “You like her, don’t you?” he murmured.

  Pistol pranced in circles, urging him to get going.

  Thal obliged. When he strolled by her house, he studied the house sign and learned that it was the residence of the Fridrich family.

  The Magistrate, he recalled stormily. The thought of a Court official having kinship with the young woman bothered him deeply. He did not want to accept that any taint of crime was upon her. She had wept for Gretchen. His mother must have been kind to her.

  As he realized his conflicted feelings about her, he came to a full stop and stared at her house. The shutters were open. Curtains fluttered. He could smell the food cooking back in the kitchen.

  If Thal had known her name he would have called to her. Then as if his spirit had summoned her, she came to a window. Her face was alert, and her intelligent intuition enhanced her beauty.

  She gasped when she saw him and jerked back from the window like startled prey. Thal was distressed that her appearance had been so fleeting, but then she delighted
him by stepping back into view and confronting his probing gaze.

  Alarm still radiated from her, but she owned her fear and looked at him. Her confidence wooed Thal in a way new to his heart.

  He wanted to ask her name, but their silent connection was too dazzling. The forbidden curiosity aroused by their secret recognition of each other was too precious to risk with words, at least for that single blissful moment. Thal soaked up her sympathy. They were bound by the loss of a woman neither of them could admit to loving.

  Thal decided not to risk upsetting her family. At this moment it was enough to know that she would be receptive when he approached again. He lifted his hat to her. Before he turned away he saw the pleading shine in her eyes that wanted him to stay.

  The sweet and sympathetic sight of Gretchen’s young associate soothed his grief considerably. Her vibrant and daring spirit that had met his impermissible peeping with bold interest excited him.

  He headed back to the Little Quarter. Halfway across the bridge, he stopped and climbed onto the edge. Sitting there he watched the water flow. The Vltava offered him a thick slice of the wilds within the urban sprawl. He felt in the passing water the distant quiet places where snow had melted and trickled downhill. Perhaps one of his former pack had lapped at this water and recalled their old leader. His mother’s remains were part of the river now, carried away to new destinies of the spirit. Softly he apologized for not being there to protect her. He would have to live with that lapse.

  And then he spoke his promise to fulfill the demand of her final spell. She would have her retribution. All who had contributed to her doom would die.

  Because of the approaching summer solstice, the day was long and the twilight lingered. Thal sat on the bridge, soaking up the peacefulness. He needed to renew himself. Collapsing in the square had been startling and he must never let himself succumb to such weakness again.

  The pale details of the full moon rose over the city before night had entirely come. Looking like a lace covered pearl, its celestial shine revealed the insignificance of the teeming city.

  As the stars came out and the moon brightened, Thal naturally felt the call of his werewolf power. Not tonight, he told himself. His song last night had been meant to be sung only once.