Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  “Of course you can,” he said and held a little chunk under her nose.

  She took the food. Chewing the tough and gamey bite took some effort but as soon as it got down to her stomach she nodded for more. Thal smiled, pleased to see the spark of life in her. She ate steadily until she noticed that the rabbit was almost all gone.

  “Where’s your food?” she asked, turning her mouth from the piece he held up for her.

  “You need this to heal,” he said.

  “But you must be hungry,” she argued.

  “I am fine.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve had enough.” When he started to insist, she said, “You must eat too.”

  Her firm tone surprised him and he acquiesced. After he ate the dainty front legs and nibbled the ration off the back, he recognized that she had been right. He needed his strength too. Thal tossed the bones to Pistol. Even with his hunger quite unsatisfied, he was pleased to have taken care of his two companions.

  In the distance the abrupt baying of hunting dogs ruined his tiny good feeling. Altea had shut her eyes again but Pistol had heard it. Thal rushed through the underbrush until he emerged with his dog onto a little ridge that looked down the slope. Again the baying sounded. He judged that it came from the direction of the city. The dogs were not close, but he needed to get farther from Prague. Altea needed shelter, and he did not know how to accomplish either.

  At least the tall trees obscured the smoke from his little fire and they had good water. Although he hated to leave Altea alone, he needed to get more food so she could regain some strength. He debated whether he should hunt or slink onto a farm and steal something. That would be quickest he reasoned and she did not need to know.

  From his vantage point he watched the land. Evening was drawing down. A flock of starlings swirled up and down over a patch of trees. He did not hear the dogs again, but the feeling that he was not alone kept ripening inside him.

  He checked on Altea. She was still asleep. He bade Pistol to stay with her and then stole off quietly into the woods. At the edge of an outlying meadow he found a place to watch the trail he had broken to the spring. Most plants that he had bent with the cart during his passing had popped back up through the day, but someone with a good eye could still find the trail.

  Thal checked his guns to make sure they were properly loaded. Sinking down into the weeds, he tapped into his predatory patience and waited.

  Sagging seed heads of grass brushed his cheeks and tried to lull him with the lazy peace of the countryside, but his attention remained edgy. When a raven flew over him and screeched, he knew something was amiss.

  Finally he heard the jingle of tack and the swish of a horse tail swatting bugs. A single rider approached.

  Thinking that it was some scout broken off from a hunting party, Thal fingered a pistol thoughtfully. He might not want to risk the noise, and the prospect of spilling more blood depressed him. But if it was the only way to keep Altea and himself safe, then he must.

  When the rider appeared across the meadow, Thal was surprised by his appearance. A black cape was swept back from his shoulders. His hair was very dark, straight, and held in a ponytail. He rode a black horse with a white blaze. The steed came from fine stock. Its sleek yet powerful body and long legs showed that it had been bred for speed. The man’s black clothing was of fine fabric and construction. Nothing about him suggested that he was some local ranger hired into a fugitive hunting party by whatever official was left alive in Prague to arrange such things.

  A bounty hunter? Thal wondered.

  Ending the career of such a threat with a lead ball to the skull began to bother Thal much less. After the rider disappeared into the foliage Thal snuck along very carefully with a pistol drawn. When his dog started barking he knew the man was upon his camp.

  Prowling from tree to tree, he came up behind the rider. The man dismounted and regarded Pistol’s yapping with his hands on his hips.

  Altea was awake and terrified of the stranger. She glanced around for Thal. To her credit, when she spotted him approaching stealthily, she looked away quickly. He admired her quick thinking that did not spoil his ambush.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, quavering with vulnerability.

  “Who are you?” the man asked back. His accent was a little strange to Thal’s ears. He could not be from Prague.

  Thal rushed forward and leveled a pistol at the man’s head. The horse shied away and the man whirled. He appeared about to fling something from his hand, but he straightened and withdrew his hands into the fluttering folds of his cape.

  “Put your hands up,” Thal said and gestured with his pistol.

  Slowly the man raised his hands.

  “Answer her question. Who are you?” Thal said. He circled around the intruder so he could be near Altea and keep her out of the line of fire. Pistol yapped a couple more times and settled into a steady growl.

  The man stared hard at Thal, seemingly preoccupied by something other than the pistol pointed at his forehead. His eyes were strikingly blue, but it was his poise that had Thal’s attention.

  “I am Mileko.”

  “And how are you going to convince me not to kill you?” Thal said, very curious to hear the answer.

  “Because I’ve come to help you, Thal Lesky,” Mileko said. “It appears your need is great. The good people of Prague are rather upset by your penchant for killing sprees. Gangs with dogs are roving all over.”

  “Their dogs won’t track me,” Thal said.

  “Why not?”

  “They respect me,” Thal said.

  The response impressed Mileko. “Still you need help. Don’t you want it?” he said.

  Thal was very uncertain about Mileko but he sensed no lie behind the offer of help. Slowly he lowered his gun. Altea gasped lightly but said nothing, choosing to trust him.

  “How did you come by the name Lesky?” Mileko asked as he lowered his arms.

  “I made it up,” Thal said.

  Altea was surprised. She had not known that people could make up their names.

  “You’ve made quite a name for yourself,” Mileko remarked.

  “Why do you want to help me?” Thal demanded.

  Slowly Mileko reached inside his jacket. “My Master bid me give you this token. He said you would recognize it,” he said and drew out a silver medallion on a chain.

  Thal approached Mileko and accepted the medallion. He held it in his palm and stared at the lupine face with tiny runes around it. He turned it over and there was a moon stamped into the shining silver.

  The object struck Thal deeply. He did recognize it. As a boy it had hung around his neck. He had fingered the medallion while falling asleep each night.

  “Who is your Master?” Thal asked.

  “Your father.”

  Thal closed his fingers over the medallion. A rush of memory overtook him. He was upon the altar. The potion he had consumed was altering his mind. Colors were different. His flesh felt watery. His father leaned over him. The rune tattoos upon his chest blurred and squiggled and danced on the skin. His father’s strong hands drew off the chain from his neck. Fondly he laid a hand on Thal’s cheek as if in farewell.

  Thal blinked and came back to the present. “My father,” he whispered in shock.

  “He is pleased to hear of you. He had given up hope that ever you would come back from the forest. He bids thee come to him for you are most welcome,” Mileko said.

  “Where is he?” Thal asked.

  “His castle is in the Tatras Mountains in the land of the Slovaks,” Mileko answered.

  Castle, Thal thought.

  Mileko studied Thal and deemed that his master would not be disappointed. His youth surprised him. The powers within him had to be strong, and Mileko truly accepted that his Master’s tales of great works in his past had not been exaggerated, or at least not in this instance.

  “How did he know about me?” Thal wondered.

  “He dreamed of you and s
ent his minions to see if you truly did walk now as a man. Then he sent me. Who is this woman?” Mileko said and stepped toward Altea.

  Thal surged into his path. Mileko halted and took note of the intensity of Thal’s flaring temper. “Both of you are injured. Let me help. I have some medicine,” he said.

  “What do you have?” Thal said.

  “Some healing salve. A little food,” Mileko answered.

  Reluctantly Thal nodded. Mileko went to his horse to fetch his supplies. Thal stooped beside Altea and showed her the medallion. “I remember this. He is from my father,” he told her.

  “Is that a good thing?” she whispered.

  Thal regarded the silver wolf as if expecting it to give him an answer. Good was not a word he would use with his father. He slipped the medallion around his neck. “Methinks we shall find out,” he said.

  Although hardly reassured, Altea accepted that any help was far better than none, but she cringed when Mileko approached with a bag. She reached for Thal but her useless hand slipped off his wrist because pain struck her like a hammer. It was hard to make the mind forget it had thumbs.

  Gasping, she shook her head. “Don’t let him touch me,” she begged.

  Thal put up a hand. “Stay back and give me what you have,” he said.

  Mileko complied but stared at Altea, greatly intrigued by her. When Thal came up to him, he whispered, “Did you hurt her when you were changed?”

  Thal bristled with disdain that Mileko would think him so out of control. “She was tortured at the Prague jail…because of me,” he said.

  “How bad are her injuries?” Mileko said, expecting her condition to be hopeless.

  “I think she can recover,” Thal said.

  “Is she your mate?” Mileko inquired softly, determined to learn why Thal had rescued this injured woman.

  “Give me what you have,” Thal said tersely.

  Mileko handed him a small bag and told him to use the salve in the dark jar. It would help wounds heal instead of fester. Thal expressed his gratitude and went back to Altea.

  Thal put the salve on the puncture wounds left by the iron maiden. She complained that it stung and he hoped that was a good sign. Then he began the unpleasant task of unbandaging her thumbs. He worked with meticulous care and pried off the fabric from her crusted and oozing skin as gently as he could. Altea trembled and tears fell, but she kept still.

  “You’re so brave and strong,” he praised.

  Although encouraged, she did cry out several times as he applied the salve to her thumbs. The salve burned deeply but she endured it. The ordeal was not as bad as when he had set the bones that morning.

  Carefully he bandaged and splinted the thumbs again and eased her onto her back. “Rest. I will protect you,” he said.

  “Don’t leave me,” she said.

  “I won’t,” he promised. The lump in his throat choked him with guilt for the misery he had brought her.

  She shut her eyes and Thal returned his attention to Mileko. The mysterious man was rekindling the fire.

  “You have a good eye for hiding spots. We can have a fire tonight,” he said.

  Thal stood over him, still amazed by the arrival of his father’s agent.

  “Let me tend your wounds,” Mileko said.

  Thal agreed and Mileko spread what was left of the salve on Thal’s arm and hip. “I saw the evidence of your mighty battles. Your father will be impressed,” Mileko commented as he worked.

  “How do you know my father?” Thal asked.

  “I’m his protégé,” Mileko answered proudly.

  “What is his name?”

  The question surprised Mileko. “You don’t remember? Mayhap you can’t. He said you ran with wolves a long time. I suspect he has many names. I know him as Sarputeen.”

  Sarpu! The word burst into Thal’s mind like someone rushing in a door with urgent news. He remembered people calling his father Sarpu. They had spoken it like an honorary title.

  “We shall leave for his home in the morning,” Mileko said.

  “I don’t know if Altea can travel,” Thal said.

  Mileko looked over his shoulder at the sleeping woman, taking note of her name. He had not expected this complication. “We can risk taking her a short distance. There is a convent not far…”

  “No,” Thal cut him off. “She stays with me.” Then in a heavier tone he added, “There is no one who will take her in.”

  “She is accused of witchcraft,” Mileko surmised, putting the clues together. He had not been in Prague long but had noticed the building hysteria.

  “Because of me. I lured her to me. I told myself I had a good reason, but it was only my desire,” Thal said. The words had spilled out and he hated that he had made such an admission to Mileko, but perhaps he had needed to air his guilt before confessing it to Altea.

  “Man is ever the ruin of woman,” Mileko remarked casually.

  Thal supposed the man had a point, especially in his case. “She must travel with us, when she can,” he said.

  Mileko fed twigs into the fire. The little flames filled his unblinking eyes as he went over the situation in his mind. “We must avoid the roads until we are well away from Prague. After what you did, you’ll be as notorious as Luther. Why all the killing?” He looked at Thal, very interested in the answer.

  Thal explained why he had acted as he did, and Mileko went back to staring at the fire.

  “Did my father speak to you of my mother?” Thal asked.

  Mileko shook his head. He took some bread out of his bag and shared it with Thal, who set aside a piece for Altea.

  “We’ll have to hide deeper in the woods until Altea can travel,” Thal decided. “Do you think you can go into the city and get more supplies before we move?”

  “I suspect helping you is going to be hard work,” Mileko quipped.

  “And could you take a message to my friends?” Thal added. He needed to extend an apology to his friends and tell them he was all right.

  “Who are your friends?” Mileko asked.

  Thal explained about the musicians and where they were staying with Lady Carmelita. He also told him about Valentino who deserved a parting word as well.

  “Ah, the Condottiere,” Mileko said smilingly. “He meant to put a sword through me.”

  “You saw him?”

  “I almost found you at his house but you had slipped away ahead of me. You are a hard man to catch,” Mileko said and realized that he would still be trying to achieve his mission if the tortured woman had not made Thal stop.

  “What did he tell you?” Thal demanded.

  “Don’t think ill of your friend. He won’t recollect what he said to me,” Mileko said and let that revelation sink in with Thal, so that the werewolf would know that he was in the company of an extraordinary man.

  Mileko continued, “I’ll go forth and make sure those hunting parties don’t find your trail.”

  “How will you do that?” Thal wondered.

  Mileko stood up and tossed his bag over his shoulder. “I have my ways,” he said. “Tomorrow I’ll venture into the city and get supplies and deliver your messages.”

  “Thank you,” Thal said.

  “You’re welcome. I was worried that you would not want to go to your father,” Mileko said.

  In that event Thal suspected that Mileko might have had some type of coercion to fall back upon. Sarputeen had sent a powerful man to fetch him.

  “I want to see my father. I hadn’t known if he was alive. He must be very old,” Thal said.

  “He must be,” Mileko murmured.

  A ray of the setting sun came through the foliage and hit Mileko’s face. Thal noted the crow’s feet at the man’s eyes. He was older than his smooth and pale face seemed at first glance. Thal watched him lead his horse to the stream to drink before riding away.

  Sarputeen, Thal thought and dwelled on his disjointed memories of his father. Part of him was happy to learn that his father was alive and
had sent aid at his most dire time. But Thal knew to be wary. His father commanded the forces that had shaped him.

  He took the crust of bread to Altea and woke her so she would eat again. Then he settled in next to her. He stroked her hair and kissed her neck.

  The dusk faintly revealed her sorrowful face. “I can never go home,” she said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she said.

  “It is. I brought all of this on you. I’m so sorry. My desire for you made me seduce you. I should not have been so weak,” he said and felt worse than ever.

  She silenced his miserable confession with a kiss. Even in her battered state, the connection soothed her flesh. The defiant flush of pleasure gave her hope that she would recover and that a new life awaited her. A life with Thal.

  “I wanted you. I always wanted you from the first moment,” she said. “Now I know you love me. You came for me. You saved me. When they tormented me they said you wouldn’t come…” Tears clogged her speech and Thal kissed her forehead, trying to comfort her.

  “Only death would have kept me away,” he said passionately. Amid his guilt he found relief in the fact that he had saved her.

  “Martin was going to rape me. He was working up to it. I didn’t know what to do,” Altea said. Despite her humiliation she wanted Thal to know that her life had been disintegrating anyway.

  Fury tore at Thal’s heart. The grisly end he had visited upon her stepfather now seemed inadequate.

  “I killed him,” he said.

  Her mixed emotions denied her enjoyment of the vengeance. She pitied her brothers but when Martin had let them take her away to her doom he had stripped her of humanity. Her nothingness to him and to everyone else had cast her spirit into a desert to wither to dust.

  “I confessed to the witchcraft. They wrote it down,” she said.

  “It does not matter,” he said.

  Knowing that he was trying to offer comfort, she did not argue but her ingrained faith remained ashamed. Her Church had no sanctuary or blessing for her anymore. And her lack of any skills in witchcraft only made it worse. Condemnation without the power was her lot.

  Thal started kissing her again. He could not stop himself. The robust living smell of the woodland and the rising moon eased his aching heart and let him express his love.