Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  Finally the maid said, “Did he say he was looking for Thal?”

  Rocko and the proprietress recognized the name that everyone gossiped about. Rocko suddenly understood much better one of the songs Regis had taught him.

  ******

  With swords to their backs the musicians were marched through the dark streets. They took many turns and ended up at a run down stable. Jan and his henchmen dragged them inside a dark stall.

  “Don’t hurt us,” Regis said after he caught his breath.

  Jan hollered for a lantern. One of his men returned from another building with one. The light revealed the dirt floor, dingy old straw, and the shadowy posts between the stalls.

  “Tie them up,” Jan ordered.

  The three friends struggled again but they were outnumbered. Coarse hemp ropes dug into their wrists and each man was backed up against a post and tied to it.

  “Why are you doing this?” Carlo said. He was shaking with terror and considerably more sober now.

  Jan grabbed his face. “Because I can’t find that blasted Thal, and I know you know him.”

  “Who?” Carlo asked. Jan smacked him across the face. Blood flew from his lips.

  “Stop pretending that you don’t know him,” Jan yelled.

  “You have the wrong people,” Regis cried. When Jan stormed over to him, he added quickly, “If you say this fugitive is with musicians, many are in Prague. It’s not us.”

  Regis earned a hard blow that sent blood pouring from his nose. “I know it’s Venetian musicians. Now tell me where Thal is,” Jan said.

  Licking and spitting away the blood, Regis begged him to let them go, insisting again he had the wrong men.

  Jan seized his chin and leaned in close. “A good beating has gotten stronger men than you talking,” he said.

  Regis said nothing. Despite the trauma he was trying to think. Thal’s warnings about associating with him were now vividly apt, but Regis was not the type to betray a friend.

  Jan’s henchmen swatted Carlo and Raphael. Their cries tortured Regis. He had to save his friends, but he was not sure if he could do it.

  All three men refused to acknowledge Thal. Jan put his hands on his hips. New armor emblazoned with roses encased his torso. He studied his prisoners. He had thought that they would immediately squeal with information about their companion. Their loyalty irked him. All the time he had tracked Thal across Bohemia, he had not heard a bad word about the man. Everyone liked the scoundrel.

  Jan drew a long knife. He patted it against a palm. “Which one is the singer?” he inquired.

  No one responded. Jan approached Carlo and pressed the knife against his throat. He squirmed and pulled against his bonds until his wrists bled.

  “I don’t need all of you alive. Two can inform me just as well as three,” Jan said.

  Fearing he truly would slash Carlo’s throat, Regis blurted, “I’m the singer.”

  Smiling, Jan went over to Regis. The first bit of truth out of a prisoner was always the beginning of more. He told one of his men to get the tongs.

  Two more men descended on Regis. They pried at his jaws and plugged his nose until he had to gasp for air. Then strong hands held his jaws open and the other man grabbed his tongue with the tongs. The pain was terrible. Garbled screams greeted Jan as he came close with his knife.

  “Not going to do much singing without your tongue,” he said.

  Regis shut his eyes and wailed.

  “Stop!” Raphael shrieked. “He might be in Old Town, across the river.”

  Jan took the knife away from the tongue. The men let go of Regis’s head. He was gasping and weeping. Jan went over to Raphael. “He might be?” he said.

  “He went that way. He has a lady there,” Raphael said.

  “No!” Carlo yelled, angry that his friend had betrayed Thal.

  “I have to!” Raphael said, certain that he was making the best decision in a bad situation.

  “That’s right. You have to,” Jan agreed. “Is he there now?”

  Raphael shook his head. “I don’t know. Sometimes he disappears for days. We don’t really know what he does.”

  Jan put his knife away and pondered the information.

  Regis spat some blood. He forgave Raphael for giving up the information for the sake of saving his tongue, but he had to try and think of a way to save them all. “You have to let us go,” he said.

  “Wouldn’t you like that,” Jan sneered and his henchmen chuckled at the stupid request. “All of you are going straight to the jail. I have gathered plenty of testimony about you traveling with that monster.”

  “If you don’t let us go, Thal will come for us. We’re his friends and you don’t know what he’ll do to you,” Regis argued.

  “You just freely admitted to being in league with your Devil-worshipping friend,” Jan said.

  “I’m warning you! Let us go or he’ll kill you. I’ve seen what he can do. You can’t imagine!” Regis said.

  “Oh, I know exactly what he can do,” Jan insisted. He put a pistol on Regis’s lips. “I beheld his beast flesh take shape under the full moon. If you want to claim that he will come to your defense, you better start screaming.”

  Jan drew his pistol away. Regis’s blood was smeared on its tip. “I’m not sure if he’ll come,” Regis admitted, hoping he would not really need to start screaming.

  “Why would he come for you slothful sinners anyway?” Jan said.

  “Because he saved us before,” Regis said. “We don’t know who you are. Thal is just a man who helped us on the road to Prague. He never mentioned you.”

  “I’m sure it’s not his habit to mention the victims of his crimes,” Jan said. With pleasure he observed that his statement caused a ripple of doubt within Thal’s merry little retinue. They had not been thinking of him as a criminal. Jan resolved to educate them. He regaled them with the tale of Thal stealing his gun and armor and his boots, even his pants. For added measure he recounted the various crimes listed on the wanted notice he had drafted, which included the death of three babies in nearby villages because of his magical presence.

  “And as all of you should know, he is a Devil beast created of the worst sorcery. You should all burn for keeping his company let alone trying to protect him,” Jan concluded.

  His prisoners looked down with sheepish shame. The ropes dug into their sinful flesh. Jan expected that they were reviewing deeply their association with Thal.

  Regis had a hard time imagining Thal killing babies, but this was hardly the time for defending Thal from lies. “Please, let us go. We had no idea he was so terrible. He must have tricked us with his magic. I see that now. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. He has a way of making people like him. Surely you’ve heard the talk of such things,” Regis said.

  Carlo and Raphael added their own pleas as well, claiming to have been duped by a fair-faced Devil.

  Jan shook his head. “Souls of true faith wouldn’t have fallen for his magic tricks. In the morning I’ll see you charged with Devil worship. I doubt you’ll be singing songs when they lead you to the stake. You’ll piss yourselves while the crowd screams for the fires to be lit,” Jan said.

  “God no!” Carlo moaned.

  “Please we’ll help you find him,” Regis offered, determined to say anything to gain release.

  Jan hit him across the face again and told him to be silent.

  Defying the command, Regis said, “Give us a way to redeem ourselves. This could be your only chance to find him. He trusts us.”

  “I suppose he does,” Jan murmured. He needed to get the most value he could from these prisoners. No warrants or rewards existed for them. Turning them into the Magistrate would not compensate him for his trouble or get him Thal.

  “I can’t speak for your redemption but I can spare your lives if you bring me Thal,” Jan said.

  “Yes. I’ll do it!” Regis cried.

  “Not you,” Jan said. He walked over to Carlo and grabbed h
im by the hair. “I’ll send you to find your friend. Bring him back here or I’ll cut out that one’s tongue and send the other to his death. And you’ll die penniless playing your horn in the street without pretty boy to sing.”

  Tears spurted from Carlo’s eyes because of the hair nearly ripping from his scalp. “I’ll find him,” he said despite his desperate fear that he would fail.

  Jan knocked Carlo’s head against the post when he let go of his hair. “I’ll send you out in the morning,” he said. He wanted to make sure that Thal approached in the daylight. He hoped to ambush him, kill him, and keep the fur for himself.

  Chapter 38. Sacrifice

  Professor Zussek banged on the door insistently, knowing that Martin’s valet was plodding down the hall. When Hynek finally hauled open the door, the professor pushed past him and yelled for his friend.

  He found Martin in the dining room eating eggs and pastries. His two oldest sons were in attendance as well, and everyone looked up with surprise. The tranquil domestic scene informed the professor that the Magistrate had not heard the terrible news.

  “Martin! We must speak,” Zussek cried, deciding to spare the youths the gory details.

  “What’s got you in such a dither?” Martin said.

  Zussek further alarmed him by rushing to the window and glancing into the street.

  “Boys, lock the doors,” Zussek said and urged Martin toward the study.

  Dear God, he’s lost so much staff no one’s made it over to his house yet, Zussek thought.

  Martin was puffing in protest as the professor trundled him across the hall. Zussek slammed the door and drew shut the window drapes.

  “Is another mob coming?” Martin asked, realizing that some awful occurrence must have upset the professor.

  Zussek caught his breath. Delivering bad news was never easy. “Martin, you and your family are in grave danger. Your Constable and every man at the jail except for the idiot were murdered last night,” he explained.

  Gobsmacked, Martin stared at him. This was more shocking to hear than reports of marauding werewolves. He finally started asking questions in sputtered half phrases and Zussek divulged the scant details.

  “How can this happen? How many men would it take to do this?” Martin said.

  “Men?” Zussek scoffed. “Have you not heeded my warnings? That witch Gretchen summoned werewolves before she died. Her curse is upon all who condemned her. Can’t you see? You’re next!”

  Martin simply could not imagine Bekcek getting his heart ripped out in the middle of a beer garden. And how could there be no one left at the jail? Martin had to sit down. He did his best thinking when he was sitting down.

  Zussek patted his shoulder with fraternal sympathy. “I’m so glad to find you unmolested, but who knows when those creatures will strike again,” he said.

  Martin put a hand on his forehead. It was clammy. Creeping supernatural terror was squeezing his guts and making him uncomfortably aware of his breakfast.

  “God help me. And we’ve made no progress finding those damn beasts,” he said.

  “You still have allies. Brother Vito is committed to the hunt,” Zussek said.

  “Yes, he’s been supportive but this werewolf or sorcerer remains on the loose,” Martin said, unwilling to place any hope in the foreign monks.

  “Vito bade me recently to discover a way to bait this fugitive Thal. My studies gave me no magic trick to lure him, but I fear that you may be the bait that will draw him out,” Zussek said.

  “Me? Not for my soul will I be bait for a werewolf,” Martin said, shaking his head vigorously.

  Zussek pulled up a chair. “Martin, I know this is frightening, but I believe with all my heart that he hunts you anyway,” he said. He drew out a little corroded silver box. Martin recognized it.

  Zussek continued, “This IS the hair of the original beast that the witch used to cast her spell. It will protect you. Take it, my friend. I was saving it for myself, but you must have it.”

  Hating his need, Martin reluctantly accepted the little box. He opened it and saw the darkly crusted tuft of hair. This awful token laden with black magic tempted him with its power even if he knew it broke all of God’s laws. But he needed something. His dependable Bekcek was dead.

  “According to everything written, the beast will not be able to harm you if you possess something of its body,” Zussek assured him.

  Martin clicked shut the little box. He shuddered when he thought of it in Gretchen’s foul hands. How had he ever let that old witch tend his wife for so many years? If he ever married again he would not make the mistake of yielding to his wife’s wishes on any subject.

  “My thanks, Zussek. You’ve shown yourself a true friend today,” Martin said.

  Zussek dipped his head. “You’re welcome,” he muttered unctuously. He was about to add more words of reassurance, but pounding on the door startled him.

  Martin slid the little box into a pocket. “That must be someone from the Town Hall finally coming to tell me,” he said. He cut off Hynek on the way to the door and unbolted it himself.

  Brother Vito was on the top step with Miguel behind him and a group of sellswords on horses in the street. They looked at the Magistrate with unsavory intent.

  “Magistrate Fridrich, I have urgent business with you,” Vito declared.

  “I’ve heard of the attacks,” Martin said.

  “Regretfully that is not the worst of it,” Vito said and presumed to shoulder his way into the house. Miguel followed. In the street, Tenzo dismounted and went up the steps with his hand on his sword. He loitered in the front hall while the other men retreated into the study. A group of boys and servants stared at him from down the hall.

  In the study, Martin skipped all courtesies and informed Vito of Zussek’s interpretation of the murders.

  “The Professor is quite right,” Vito agreed. “All of this is the work of witches. I’ve prepared a list of suspected witches and intend to discuss it with you forthwith.”

  “I don’t care about new witches. We need to get these Devil werewolves that are hunting me,” Martin said, throwing up his hands.

  “And why are you so worried?” Vito challenged.

  Martin’s chin ducked into his cushiony jowls because he was taken aback by the obtuse question. “Zussek just said these werewolves are performing a curse upon all who put down that witch Gretchen. They’re coming for me!” Martin said.

  “Why did they not come for you last night?” Vito said.

  “I don’t know!” Martin cried. He was not accustomed to being plied with questions and was feeling rather off his game.

  Vito exchanged a meaningful look with Miguel who stood by patiently with a folio of papers. His eyebrows arching with righteous suspicion, Vito said, “To a Godly man like myself it seems clear that you possess protection from these accursed creatures.”

  “No, I’m in danger,” Martin insisted and willfully resisted setting a hand over his pocket that held the silver box.

  Ignoring the denial, Vito said, “Magistrate, I have come here myself to determine if you are on the side of good Christians or the Devil.”

  “How dare you?” Martin fumed. “I’ve been putting down witches and heretics since I earned my position. I have powerful friends. You can’t accuse me!”

  “I can, but I’m willing to be precise and accuse your daughter of witchcraft,” Vito said.

  “I have no daughter,” Martin said, confused.

  “Then who is the young witch living in this house?” Vito demanded.

  Martin shook his head and tried to organize his thoughts. Threats were mounting too rapidly. He had just gone from fearing a brutal death by raving werewolf to the dreadful prospect of being accused of Devil worship by Churchmen.

  “Tenzo!” Vito called.

  The sellsword entered the study. His weapon banged on the door.

  “Tell the Magistrate what you’ve seen,” Vito said.

  Tenzo cleared his throat and
reported on his sighting of Thal and his interaction with a girl that he had followed back to this house. After he described her in detail, Martin felt like he was floating. He had never felt so unmanned. He had the sense to know that these spying Jesuits were after him. The privileges of his position also brought perils. Rallying his wits, Martin countered, “Who’s to believe this mercenary? He’s making things up so you can scare me for some reason I know not what.”

  Miguel flipped open his folio and removed a sheet. Holding up the paper signed by witnesses, including the Abbot at the Clementinum, he said, “Tenzo has given a sworn statement before a priest to the veracity of what he saw. He encountered this shape shifting sorcerer Thal in Mirotice and possesses the authority to identify him.”

  Vito added, “Now, tell me who in this household matches the description given for the girl consorting with the werewolf.”

  Martin knew it was Altea. His vision was blotchy red with fury at her, but he still had a natural impulse to defy this assault on his family. He could not let these Churchmen barge in here and intimidate him with heretical accusations.

  “Get out of my house! I’ll not listen to any of this nonsense. There’s no witches here!” he said.

  “I’ll have to detain the whole household then,” Vito said.

  Aware of the sellswords waiting outside, Martin panicked. He could not let his poor boys be hauled off like this. But he still could not grasp how Altea could have been going about with a fugitive. She was a born liar though, and he realized that she had ample opportunity to be wicked. And she had known Gretchen for years. Even if she was guilty, Martin hated the thought of her actions tainting his family. He had to bury this threat and find a way to get rid of the monks. Then he would have his way with Altea. Such a sinful vixen could service his dark urges and then be shipped off to a convent never to be seen again.

  “I told you to be gone. I’ll defend my family from this accusation. You can’t come into Bohemia and call good families ungodly,” Martin said.

  He was working his wind up into a good speech, but Vito cut him with menacing skill. “I’m new to Prague, but I shan’t have trouble finding a decent man to serve as Magistrate,” he warned.