Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  Bereft of his champion, Carlo confronted the grim possibility of never being able to save Regis and Raphael. He had to do better.

  “Is the Condottiere here?” Carlo asked.

  “No.”

  Carlo hung his head. He had no one to turn to for help. If he tried to find a constable, then their captors would tell them about their association with Thal.

  “I know where Condottiere lives,” the potboy offered.

  “Really?”

  “I’ve taken her Ladyship’s notes to him many times,” the boy said proudly.

  “Take me there!”

  “I have to do my work first,” the potboy protested.

  Carlo snatched the pitcher from the boy’s hands and set it on the floor. “Take me now,” he commanded and tugged the boy along.

  ******

  Valentino returned to his suite after going out first thing in the morning to hear the gossip. He ducked through Thal’s laundry that was hung on a line across the front room. Thal sat at a table cleaning his pistols.

  “You were busy last night,” Valentino remarked. “Did you really empty the jail in Old Town?”

  “It mostly emptied itself after I opened the doors,” Thal said, rubbing a little cloth up and down his gun barrel.

  Valentino sat at the table. He had picked up a round of bread and broke it in half. “I got you breakfast,” he said.

  Thal stopped what he was doing and picked it up eagerly. “Very kind of you. My thanks, Valentino.”

  “You’ve started paying better. Perhaps I was wrong about you working for me,” he said.

  “I shan’t be waging any wars,” Thal said between mouthfuls.

  “What was last night?” Valentino said.

  Thal stopped chewing. The ugly murders replayed in his head. “Vengeance for my mother,” he finally admitted and went back to eating.

  Valentino opened his mouth to ask more but stopped. He had not given any thought to the witch burnings earlier that year, but upon hearing Thal’s cryptic admission, Valentino figured out that apparently one of the executed women had powers that went beyond souring the milk.

  Thal looked up when he heard footsteps on the stairs. “Carlo?” he whispered. Pistol jumped up and went to the door with Thal.

  “Wait,” Valentino advised and cut him off. The Condottiere cracked open the door and was relieved just to see Carmelita’s serving boy and the musician. He bade them hurry inside.

  “Thal!” Carlo cried and fell into his arms.

  “What has happened to you?” Thal said, alarmed by an upsetting scent that wafted off of Carlo’s head.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Carlo said in Italian.

  “Speak Czech,” Thal said, too upset to unravel his friend’s native speech.

  “You must come. They have Regis and Raphael. He’ll cut out his tongue and burn them at the stake,” Carlo blathered.

  “Who?” Thal demanded.

  “He said, oh, I can’t remember. Something about being from Rosenberg Castle.”

  “Captain Jan Bradcek!” Thal exclaimed. He stepped away from Carlo and clasped his hands like he meant to strangle somebody. “I’ll kill him,” he fumed.

  “Where are they?” Valentino asked.

  Carlo turned to the Condottiere. “It must be a trap for Thal. This man wants Thal. I came here for your help, Sir. He won’t know who you are and you can beat him. I know it!” he said.

  Valentino enjoyed the vote of confidence. “I must know more about this Captain Jan,” he said, looking to Thal.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Thal said. He returned to his pistols.

  Valentino continued to question Carlo about the location. Carlo gave a garbled explanation, but Valentino figured out that he was talking about a part of town where bad fire damage had yet to be renovated. He questioned him about how many men Jan had and was happy to hear that the figure was only five. Thal half listened. Pistol circled his feet, eager to go. When he was done loading his guns, he strode toward the door.

  Valentino grabbed his arm. “It’s a trap,” he warned.

  “I have to go. They’re my friends and they suffer because of me,” Thal said. His guilt made him sick. He had tried to avoid this. I should’ve killed Jan, he thought, accepting that the mistake was his from the beginning.

  “I know, but listen. I can help you. Let me get some men. I’ll go in there and bust them up and get your friends. Carlo is right. This country bully from Rosenberg Castle won’t know me. I’ll take him by surprise and you won’t have to expose yourself to the trap,” Valentino reasoned.

  Prodded by his guilt, Thal wanted to vent his passion with action, but he had to take the trap seriously. What if they did manage to hurt him? Then Regis and Raphael would never escape.

  “You would help me like this?” Thal asked, a little amazed.

  Valentino had selfish reasons for helping Thal, but he also genuinely liked the man. “You’re a bigger pain than a boil under chainmaille,” he said.

  “You were the one who wanted to be friends,” Thal said.

  Valentino laughed. “That I did. My life is plagued by bad decisions, but I will help you. It’s good to keep my men earning some pay anyway,” he said.

  He hollered for his manservant to fetch his armor and saddle his horse. He scribbled a quick note to Carmelita and sent the potboy back home with it. Thal gave Carlo the last bite of his breakfast.

  “Wait here and stay inside,” Valentino commanded once he was ready to leave.

  Both Carlo and Thal burst back to their feet. “I must go,” Carlo insisted. “I can help free my friends while you fight.”

  “Very well, if you can keep up, but Thal stays,” Valentino said.

  Thal set a restless hand on a pistol. “I will trail behind on my own. If things don’t go well for you, you’ll want me to show up,” he said.

  Valentino frowned, but if things went badly he certainly would want Thal to arrive. As long as he went first, he supposed he was still protecting Thal from the trap. “Very well,” he said.

  The Condottiere and Carlo left. Thal yanked down his laundry and stuffed it in his bag. He had to give Valentino time to collect some men, and the waiting would be difficult.

  In the bedchamber he found the letter he had started the night before. “Oh Altea,” he groaned. He picked up the quill and considered finishing what he had meant to say, but his mind was scattered with worry for Regis and Raphael. His heart balked at the notion of telling her she would never see him again. He wanted to make her his. Thal wondered if his mother’s spirit could let him show mercy to the Magistrate, as Altea had asked. He feared Altea would cease to love him if he murdered the head of her family. But when Thal thought about that man condemning his mother, love seemed a weak excuse for withholding justice.

  Finally he resolved to seek Altea and speak to her again. If she was willing to go away with him, then he would reconsider mercy if she still insisted. And if she chose not to go away with him, then what he did to her stepfather was his business.

  ******

  Valentino was pleased with the ten men riding behind him. They had even seemed eager when he said they had to save Lady Carmelita’s musicians. They were expecting some easy sport.

  The fiery gaze of the Condottiere with his good armor and fancy steed warned people in the streets that he was intent on a serious errand. And his ten scarred sellswords were outfitted with battered helmets, worn gear, pistols, swords, and a couple bows. One slender unarmed man riding double with the last fighter appeared out of place.

  “Turn left!” Carlo shouted.

  The blackened stones of the burned out buildings were a stain upon the otherwise rebuilt block of the city. Scavengers had been filching stones from the derelict buildings over the years, leaving gaps in the walls. Weeds and even a few sapling trees were sprouting where once there had been floors. When the armed men turned onto the lane between the buildings, tabby cats darted out of their rumbling path.

  Valent
ino’s well-experienced eye glimpsed a man on a roof with a crossbow. He assumed he had spotted part of the ambush for Thal.

  Drawing his sword, Valentino shouted for his men to storm the stable. He jumped off his horse and barreled into the weathered wooden doors. They were barred but the old boards groaned and bent a little. Two of his men slammed into the doors next to him and together they gave it another hefty bashing. Cracking rewarded their effort.

  “Again!” Valentino commanded, and in unison they threw their combined weight against the doors.

  The man left of Valentino screamed. A bolt from a crossbow was lodged in his shoulder. He staggered back clutching his wound. Valentino drew one of his pistols and scanned the roof. He knew that hitting the sniper with a pistol was next to hopeless, but he had an archer on his side as well. Pointing his pistol toward the hiding spot, Valentino yelled for his man to aim his crossbow up there.

  When the shooter on the roof popped up to take another shot, Valentino’s man fired. The arrow struck the stone beside the man and made him jump. Valentino decided he had to take his shot for good measure, and his lead ball shattered the stone on the other side of the man. Rattled by the close brushes with death, the ambusher missed with his next shot. The arrow skittered across the stable’s roof.

  Valentino bashed himself against the doors again and this time they flew open. A pistol shot roared by his face. Valentino’s steel-hearted courage kept him charging although he knew that he had used up one more of his diminishing cat lives.

  The stable was dark to the men who had just barged in from the bright sunshine. Valentino dove to the side so he would not be silhouetted against the outside. His comrade did the same and they both found themselves immediately in hand-to-hand combat with shadowy foes.

  More of Valentino’s men poured into the stable. Their horses stomped and circled in excited disarray outside, kicking up dust. In a dancing panic, Carlo navigated the agitated animals and dashed inside the stable. Weapons clanged and men shouted. Another pistol shot went off. There was a painful scream. Carlo made it to Regis first.

  “Thank God you’re alive,” Carlo said.

  “Get the ropes off,” Regis said, proving he still had a tongue.

  Carlo yanked at the ropes but he had no knife. The knot thwarted his fingers. Two men fighting fell against him and knocked him down. One fighter tripped over Carlo’s sprawled body. His opponent plunged a sword into his chest. Carlo scrambled away, horrified by the mortal blow he had witnessed.

  Regis yelled for help and Raphael added his voice as well. Someone gave Carlo a hand up and then used his knife to cut free the prisoners. The three friends hugged each other and thanked the man who had helped them.

  Two of Bradcek’s surviving men surrendered, but Valentino still fought with Captain Jan. With their pistols already fired they fought with swords.

  “Yield to me!” Valentino raged as he deflected Jan’s sword with his rapier.

  Jan attacked with fury and managed to drive Valentino back a couple steps toward the door. The Condottiere’s men in the stable rounded up their prisoners and put them in a stall. One of Jan’s men lay dead on the floor.

  Even engaged by Jan, Valentino was still able to give orders. He hollered for his men to get up on the roofs and find the crossbowmen. Four of them dashed off on their assignment.

  The musicians saw their opening and fled outside. Carlo stopped to help the man with an arrow in his shoulder.

  Valentino and Jan spilled out into the lane. Their swords worked against each other furiously. The Condottiere was skilled with his fine Italian rapier. Jan was sloppier with his heavier sword but still rather dangerous.

  Curious people were gathering at a safe distance. No one knew what was going on, but everyone chose to watch instead of interfere.

  With skillful steps, Valentino eluded his opponent’s blade and let him get winded.

  “Stop while you still have your life,” Valentino teased. “I was trained by Swordmaster Begitone in Milan. Some Rosenberg yokel is not going to beat me.”

  Jan rallied his strength and assaulted his opponent with frenzied slashes. The chaos of his style was uniquely dangerous, and Valentino earned himself a gouge in his armor.

  “I think I remember Rosenberg Castle from my travels. I took a shit on the side of the road close to there. I can hope that it was on your father’s lands,” Valentino taunted.

  Jan roared and renewed his efforts. They circled each other, delivering hateful jabs and strokes.

  “Your face is familiar to me,” Valentino continued. “That woman with the slippery smile who was so kind to me must have been your sister.”

  While ugly cursing spewed from Jan’s mouth, Valentino made his best move. He caught Jan’s hand with the tip of his rapier and tore away his sword. As the sword landed in the dirt, Valentino stepped up to Jan and smashed him in the face with a left-handed punch. Jan’s head spun, and Valentino pushed him hard in the chest. Jan dropped to the ground. The sharp tip of the rapier appeared over his nose.

  “Yield or die,” Valentino said, breathing hard. Sweat streamed down his tan face, but his dark eyes twinkled with vicious delight.

  Still stunned by the knock on his jaw, Jan groaned.

  “I expect your armor and gun. I’ll leave you your sword for your journey home because I’m a man with a generous heart,” Valentino said.

  His fighters who had finished up with Jan’s men grinned at their commander’s victory.

  “Kill me!” Jan fumed.

  Valentino raised an eyebrow at the unexpected choice. He put his rapier on Jan’s Adam’s apple and would have killed him, but the guard captain’s fatal courage withered.

  “I yield!” he squealed.

  Valentino lifted his rapier. A red line oozed on Jan’s neck but it was not a mortal cut.

  Stepping back, Valentino regarded the man. “I was not who you were expecting was I?” he said.

  Jan growled and sat up. He cast a sour look at his men that were in the custody of unknown sellswords. How had the scrawny musician ever gotten this crew on his side?

  “This was none of your business,” Jan groused.

  Valentino motioned for two of his men to disarm the Captain. Jan fussed when they took his pistol and started tugging at his armor.

  “You’re in league with a Devil worshipper,” Jan said.

  Valentino smirked. “I am a Condottiere. You’ll have to try harder if you’re hoping to insult me,” he said.

  “I’m tracking a shape-shifting son of the Devil. Your interference will be reported,” Jan said. He held onto his armor but it was still pried away.

  Valentino reminded him of his victory with a poke to the cheek. “Reported?” he mocked. “I think you’ll find it takes quite a bit to get me in trouble.”

  Stripped of his pistol and armor, Jan scooped up his sword and stomped away. He cursed and whacked his sword against the stable so hard the blade revealed yellow within the weathered boards. Valentino’s men laughed. Jan turned his rage on his surviving men. He called them idiots and asked one of the crossbowmen why he had not shot the Condottiere.

  The crossbowman looked at Valentino helplessly. “I didn’t know who that was,” he said and still did not. “None of them were Thal.”

  Valentino decided he did not need to tarry in the vicinity of the vanquished. He was happy with the trophies of his little duel and feeling good about himself.

  “Get out of Prague,” he warned Jan.

  Jan narrowed his eyes and did not appear inclined to obey.

  Valentino’s men mounted up on their horses and gave rides to the musicians. As they pushed through the crowd, Regis asked Valentino if he had seen Thal.

  “He’ll catch up to us. He was terribly worried about you. It’s so touching how much love he has for his friends, but I wouldn’t let him rush into this trap. Although I daresay he might have survived it. That Rosenberg man couldn’t plan a cockfight.”

  Regis looked back. He worried he mig
ht have an irrevocable fear of stables after the terror and torment he had endured. And his friendship with Thal had been the cause of it. Thal had warned him, and he had to wonder if he and his companions were now permanently branded as associates of a werewolf.

  On the way to Carmelita’s mansion, Regis convinced Valentino to stop at the tavern from where they had been abducted. The musicians recovered their instruments that the maid and Rocko had kindly set aside. Regis, Raphael, and Carlo thanked them profusely for waiting before taking the precious items to a pawnbroker.

  When they reached Carmelita’s house, she was horrified by the condition of her musicians. She had a garden party planned for that afternoon but conceded that her players could not possibly play.

  “Is Thal here?” Carlo whispered to his hostess.

  Carmelita shook her head and looked to Valentino. He frowned. He had expected Thal to have revealed himself by now.

  “He should be coming,” Valentino said. Carlo and his friends did not look placated but they were exhausted and had to let the servants take them away to be tended.

  Alone now, Carmelita took Valentino’s hand. He was sweaty and smelled of gunpowder and faintly of blood so she was careful to prevent her fine silk gown from brushing against him.

  “I’ve heard today of terrible things happening in the night. Was it Thal?” she asked.

  He nodded. “He told me as much himself,” he said.

  Frustration and fear twisted her shapely lips into something between a pout and a snarl. She was accustomed to getting her way and finessing even dangerous politics into her seemingly playful world, but Thal was something beyond her powers.

  “I don’t think I can harbor him anymore,” she said. Wistfully she imagined other scenarios with the charismatic shapechanger who clothed sorcery in divine raiment and made banal the holy.

  “He knows,” Valentino said, rubbing her fingers. Flush from his victory, he was keen to get cleaned up and recount the details of his battle to her in private.

  “But you told his friends he’s coming here,” she said.

  “I thought we’d see him out on the streets,” Valentino said but he was beginning to wonder what had happened to Thal. As wanted as he was, he might have been apprehended by just about any authority or vigilante or bounty hunter.