Of Witches and Werewolves Trilogy Boxed Set

by Cory Barclay

  “Lead us there,” Konrad said. He wheeled his horse toward his men and raised his right hand to the sky. “There are wolves in those trees, boys!” he shouted. “One of them could very well be our killer—maybe they all are. Be sure to see if they turn to men when they’re killed.”

  A few of the men snickered, but most of the group kept quiet. Their beliefs—while superstitious to some—were very real in their own minds. This hunt was no joking matter. The men were angry and scared from the deaths surrounding their town, and keen on protecting their families from further mourning. The German countryside had always been rife with wolves, but the last few years had seen those numbers multiply.

  Konrad began laying out the plan. “The Peringsmaar Lake lies beyond those trees. If you’ve reached the lake, you’ve gone too far. My scout tells me the wolf den is in the middle of the woods, so it will be hard riding. We’ll come at them from all sides, six horsemen per group, and cut off their escape. If they take off running, we’ll give chase. Understood?”

  Men grunted and nodded.

  Georg took a look at the group of men. These were not the hardened, battle-tested soldiers he was used to riding with, but a group of peasants and townsfolk eager to prove themselves. Konrad’s plan is sound for laymen, he thought, but I’m no layman.

  He was a trained hunter and tracker. He was hardened and battle-tested. He’d killed much worse than wolves. Georg wanted to say something to Konrad, but didn’t want to undermine the man’s leadership and cause confusion, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

  Surrounding the den with inexperienced men and firearms will create a chaotic crossfire. That’s a danger I won’t take part in. No, I think I’ll work alone.

  The scout relayed that the den was downhill from a butte, with a small cave nestled at the bottom of the hill. The five groups of men would meet at the top of the butte and set up formation like the points of a star. Konrad placed Georg at the head of five other riders, and Georg was supposed to take his group to the southwestern point of the star. All five groups would charge from the top of the butte and try to trap the wolves in a circle.

  After the plan was set, the horsemen took off, first approaching the woods in two groups. As they reached the edge of the first trees, the two groups split off into their five parties. Georg could hear the nervous murmuring of his men as Alptraum trotted into the woods. Many of the men were unaccustomed to riding or hunting, especially through dense woods.

  Georg crossed into the thick foliage of the alder trees and raised his right fist next to his head, ordering his men to stop talking. He pulled on the reins and halted Alptraum.

  The men quieted and reined in their steeds behind the hunter. One man nearly fell from his horse.

  “From here on, we’re as silent as a group of deaf mutes,” he whispered to his crew. He spurred Alptraum on and brought the mare to a steady gait, maneuvering through the thick alders.

  Although it was almost winter, many of the trees still clung to life with branches full of dark green leaves. Georg could hear the constant chirping of insects and birds, the gentle pulsing of hooves on the forest floor. The forest was alive with hidden sounds of nature, and the sounds brought a smile to his face.

  After a few minutes of slow moving around trees and fallen branches, Georg spotted one of the other groups in the distance. He realized his own crew was nearing the butte as they started to climb uphill.

  The trees and undergrowth cleared a bit, and Georg reached the summit of the hill—the ridge of the butte. He looked over the ridge and noticed a steep decline, congested with dead leaves and dirt. The butte was shaped like a circle, as if a crater had landed in the middle of the woods. It was almost unnatural.

  When it rained, the crater would fill like a pool, but it was a dry morning.

  Some boulders at the deepest section of the slope were carved out, and the rock face created a small cave, just like the scout had warned.

  Georg looked to his left and right and saw groups of men appearing through the trees, setting up their points of Konrad’s star formation. Before long, the thirty men had the ridge surrounded.

  A pack of wolves roamed around the bottom of the butte, in and around the cave. Cubs whelped and whined, and their parents stood guard over them. They appeared feral, hungry, and unaware of the men at the top of the hill.

  Georg knew he’d be a fool to think that these beasts didn’t know thirty men were staring down at them, ready to pounce. Wolves have some of the keenest senses in nature, Georg thought, shaking his head. They will flee at the last moment, and create turmoil for these riders. Konrad’s plan is flawed.

  For all the respect he gave the wolves, Georg was disappointed at their sizes. Not a single one looked over seventy pounds—most looked emaciated and gray, their fur clinging to their exposed ribs.

  These are not the beasts I’m after.

  At the top, northern point of the star, Konrad brought himself to the front of his group. He raised his hand high for everyone else to see. In his other hand, he cocked his arquebus.

  “Weapons ready, boys,” Georg whispered to his men. “On Konrad’s mark, give them hellfire.” He slung his bow from his back and grabbed an arrow from the quiver at his waist. He held the bow and arrow in his left hand, and Alptraum’s reins in his right.

  A harmony of sounds rang out as men around the hillside took out their arquebuses, inspected them, loaded their gunpowder, and cocked their matchlocks.

  Konrad’s arm fell, and everyone spurred into action . . . everyone except Georg.

  Men raised their weapons and shouted battle cries as their horses raced down the hill toward the wolves.

  Georg’s men streamed by him, but the hunter didn’t follow. Instead, he wheeled his horse around and retreated the way he’d come. He circled around the southern end of the butte and back into the trees.

  Rather than get tangled with the rest of the riders, he decided to find his own place—a place he knew the wolves would flee toward. He knew they would flee outwards, in all directions, splitting off from each other to elude their pursuers. He didn’t want to get caught at the bottom of the hill with the rest of the hunters.

  Georg had been on enough hunts to know where to be, and where not to be.

  As he headed further south, away from the butte, he heard gunfire and shouts pierce the peaceful morning sky. The booming sounds ricocheted off the alder trees.

  The hunt was on.

  Alptraum cut around alder trees and leaped over high undergrowth. Georg ducked beneath low-hanging branches and gripped his bow. He steered the mare around a slanted hill and burst out of the trees at the southern ridge of the butte.

  In front of him sat the Peringsmaar Lake—a wide, circular body of water—with its bank just a stone’s throw away.

  The cacophony of gunfire lit up the woods behind him.

  Georg heard a rustling sound in the trees to his left. He craned his neck and lifted his bow to his chin.

  Squeezing on Alptraum’s haunches with his knees, he let go of the horse’s reins, and Alptraum stopped in her tracks.

  Two wolves vaulted from the trees and sprinted into the clearing, heading toward the bank of the lake. It was a mother and her cub.

  Georg closed one eye and took aim, leading his bow in front of the mother wolf. As the wolves gained distance, Georg nocked his arrow and quickly released.

  The mother wolf whelped and went tumbling. Georg’s arrow protruded from her side.

  The pup stopped to coddle its mother, confused.

  Georg jumped from his horse and ran over to the felled wolf. He unsheathed a long knife and dropped his bow.

  The cub sprinted off, back into the trees, and Georg kneeled beside the mother wolf. With a swift cut he put the animal out of its misery. Then he hoisted her on his shoulders, picked his bow up, and tied the wolf to the back of Alptraum’s hind.

  Georg was back on the hunt within less than a minute.

  Alptraum galloped down the flat bank
of the Peringsmaar, away from the commotion in the woods. After a minute of hard riding, Georg found a clearing in the trees and steered Alptraum in that direction.

  The mare hurdled over a fallen tree trunk, and Georg found himself back in the dense copse of alders, ducking and weaving through the woods. Each steady gallop distanced Georg from the butte, and he headed further south, hoping to find more straggling wolves.

  He heard a rustling over his shoulder, turned in his saddle, and lifted his bow. He saw a fellow rider in the trees, and Georg let his bowstring loosen. The rider quickly disappeared into the thick foliage, and Georg faced forward.

  His eyes went wide and he ducked just in time to avoid being throttled by a neck-level tree limb.

  Alptraum slowed her pace as the woodland became thicker and thicker with alders, making it almost impossible to travel through.

  Georg’s heart raced, and he surveyed his surroundings. He found a patch of trees less dense than the rest, and guided Alptraum in that direction.

  He pulled on the reins, and Alptraum stopped in place. He took his bow from his back and drew a single arrow. He narrowed his vision and stared ahead, but could not see anything.

  Then he heard a low growling.

  Georg held his breath for a tense, silent moment, and slowly let Alptraum step forward.

  A large, black wolf shot out from the underbrush, just ten paces in front of Georg. Alptraum whinnied, startled, and shot up on her hind legs, nearly throwing the hunter from her back. Georg gritted his teeth, kicked Alptraum in the side, and steadied the mare. He leaned forward in his saddle and Alptraum snorted and took chase.

  This is not a wolf from the same pack, Georg thought. It’s too far removed from the others. No, this is a loner—a large loner.

  It was one of the largest wolves Georg had ever seen—easily one hundred and thirty pounds—and yet it moved effortlessly through the woods, gliding over fallen branches and around tight corners.

  Georg spurred Alptraum over and over, but had trouble keeping pace with the wolf. Trees blurred by in all directions as Georg’s steed barreled through the woods.

  Alptraum jumped into a clearing and the sun glared into Georg’s eyes. He winced, and tried to continue through the clearing. Before he could, Alptraum rose on her hind legs and wailed again, temporarily blinded by the sudden ray of sunlight. As his horse arched its back, Georg held tight to the reins and nearly fell from his saddle, again.

  When he and Alptraum regained their composure, Georg saw the black wolf at the other end of the circular glade. The beast vanished back into the alder trees.

  Before giving chase, something caught Georg’s eye. He cocked his head to the left and noticed a small log cabin sitting in the back of the clearing. The wooden structure was nestled underneath a large tree, and looked decrepit and abandoned. Tree branches grew in and around the sides of the cabin, making it seem as though the structure was part of the forest itself, growing with Mother Nature.

  Alptraum trotted slowly around the eerie house, and Georg glanced at the single window in the cabin. He tried to relocate the wolf’s trail, but shook his head and squinted.

  Georg did a double take and glanced back at the cabin, and swore he saw the face of a woman in the window, staring back at him.

  He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge, and then he blinked hard.

  When he opened his eyes, the window was empty.

  These woods must be getting to me.

  He cleared his throat, steadied his reins, and kicked Alptraum into a gallop, through the clearing and back in pursuit of the large, black wolf.

  The sun waned and began its descent behind the horizon. Georg led his tired horse back to the southern end of Bedburg. One by one, other riders trickled in from the woods, including Konrad.

  Georg noticed two dead wolves strapped to Konrad’s brown-spotted steed.

  Konrad glanced at Georg, and then nodded slowly as his eyes turned toward Alptraum and the three wolves slung over the horse’s back.

  “That’s a big hound you got there,” Konrad said, gesturing to the large black wolf with a nod. “One of the biggest I’ve seen.”

  Georg patted the wolf’s corpse and ran a hand through its fur. “Took me nearly an hour to catch him. He was an elusive one. Nearly tumbled off my horse, twice, trying to get him.”

  Konrad chuckled. “Well, you did better than anyone else.” He hopped from his horse, handled his reins, and the two walked on foot toward the other huntsmen. “I suppose I should apologize for my words about your rickety old bow.”

  “How did the rest of the men fair?” Georg asked.

  “Most of them weren’t suited to the task,” Konrad said with a shrug. “About half the boys came up empty-handed. But we caught fifteen in all.”

  “Not a bad day’s work,” Georg said. “Hopefully the people will feel safer.”

  “Do you think that black one could be our fearsome culprit?”

  Georg scratched his head and said, “It’s hard to say. He was alone, which is rare. But as you can see, he didn’t transform into a man when he died.”

  Konrad chuckled. “A shame.”

  The two hunters reached the rest of the men. Most of them looked ragged and exhausted, with ambivalent looks of disappointment and pride on their faces.

  “All right, boys,” Konrad shouted. “A job well done today. Let’s bring these beasts to the tanner. First round’s on me for anyone who wants to join me at the tavern to celebrate.”

  A few of the men cheered, but most were too tired to say anything.

  “See you there?” Konrad asked Georg.

  “In a bit,” Georg said. “I have some other things to do.”

  Konrad squinted. “I think your men would appreciate you showing up.”

  Georg frowned. “I said I’ll be there.” He turned and walked away, not bothering to mention that he’d left his ragged group of riders, which was why his hunt was so successful in the first place.

  Georg led Alptraum through Bedburg, and the townsfolk gawked as they eyed the dead wolves on his horse’s back. Some of the women smiled at him, and Georg smiled back, while others simply squinted at him.

  On his way to the stables, Georg noticed Investigator Franz in the distance, walking with his guard.

  “Georg,” the investigator said with a nod. He took a look at Alptraum. “I see you had a successful hunt.”

  “Could have been better,” Georg said. He yawned and stretched his arms. “What brings you this far down in the slums, investigator? Shouldn’t you be with your noble friends?”

  “I don’t have any friends,” Investigator Franz said, although he spoke with satisfaction rather than pity. “I’m headed to the Achterberg estate. I finally have a signed confession for the murder of Dorothea Gabler.”

  Georg’s brow narrowed, and he tilted his head to the side. “You’re saying this hunt was worthless? Who was the culprit?”

  “Bertrude Achterberg.”

  Georg laughed. “That fat old lady? You must be joking. You really think she could be capable of such a grisly murder?”

  “Anything is possible with the right tools, my good hunter. And either way, she signed the confession. Now I’m going to retrieve her husband, for adultery. Join me?”

  “Sounds exciting,” Georg said sarcastically. Then he shrugged and started following the investigator. “It’s been a busy day, eh?”

  “Indeed, indeed,” Investigator Franz said. He seemed strangely chipper, but Georg figured that was the effect that closing a case had on the strange lawman.

  After a minute of walking in silence, Georg asked, “What about Josephine? You can find her killer now, right? Do you think she’s still connected with Dorothea—”

  “Alas,” the investigator said, cutting Georg off, “I’ve been ordered by Lord Werner to travel to Cologne. I am to escort some priests back here. It’s utterly ridiculous, but I’ll be back soon. And then, you have my word, I will bring the whore’s killer to j
ustice.”

  Georg eyed the investigator with a frown.

  Investigator Franz rolled his eyes. “I’ll bring the lady’s killer to justice,” he said. “My mistake.” He poked his head toward the wolves on Alptraum’s rear. “What will you do with those?”

  Georg glanced at the corpses. “I figure I’ll sell the hides of the two smaller ones. The bigger one, though, I think I’ll have him stuffed and mounted. He could be our actual killer, you know.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.” The investigator didn’t elaborate, and the two men kept walking in silence.

  Finally, Georg broke the peace and quiet. “I ran across a strange thing today, during the hunt.”

  Investigator Franz eyed the hunter.

  “Remember how you said the woods might house the beast, as a base of sorts?”

  “I do.”

  “Well,” Georg said, spitting on the ground, “I came across a cottage in the woods. It was an old, broken-down thing. But the strangest part—and I might be going mad—is that I swore I saw somebody inside, even though the place looked completely abandoned.”

  “Interesting,” the investigator said.

  “I think I’ll go back sometime and see what’s going on there.”

  “Unnecessary, Georg. We have our criminal. Leave the poor hermits alone.”

  Georg shrugged. “Well . . . for peace of mind. Got to follow up any and all leads, right investigator?” He looked at Heinrich and winked.

  A small smile crept on the investigator’s face. “Whatever you say, my good hunter.”

  The trio reached the end of Bedburg’s roads, and made their way to the hillside estate of the Achterberg family. When they reached the front door, Georg noticed that it was slightly ajar.

  He shared a look with Heinrich, and they both furrowed their brows.

  “Karl Achterberg, this is Investigator Heinrich Franz. I must speak with you.”