Werewolf Castle

by Tracy Falbe

  A young man was taking sheep out to pasture. He drove them toward the rocky terrain below Mileko.

  Seeing an opportunity in the solitary shepherd, Mileko edged closer to him. The sheep dispersed a little to nibble at the frosted turf, and the shepherd relaxed against a sunny boulder out of the wind. Mileko considered his options. He only had one remaining dose of his powdery compound that made people receptive to his suggestions. He might be able to gather information from the lad without it, but then the shepherd would surely tell the village about his presence.

  He decided to make the most of the encounter because he could not count on getting a local alone again. When he neared his target, the sheep alerted the young man to the intruder. He stood up and looked around sharply. The sheep bleated and closed ranks.

  Mileko came over the boulder and dropped down on the man. Their tussle was intense. The wiry youth rolled and kicked and swung his fists. Mileko held on and stayed calm in the heat of battle. A stunning jab to the jaw made the boy cry out, and then Mileko wound a corner of his cloak over the shepherd’s face. He pinned him down until he was nearly suffocated and then relented. The villager gasped for air and took in the treacherous concoction of his attacker.

  Gradually, Mileko loosened his hold. Then he brushed the dead grass from the young man’s shoulders and helped him sit up.

  “You’ve taken a fall. Are you all right?” Mileko asked, quite innocently.

  The shepherd struggled with his confusion but took the hand offered him. Coming to his feet, he looked with alarm upon the stranger. “Who are you?” he said.

  “A traveler,” Mileko answered. “Here, come sit. You fell hard I believe.”

  “But…” the shepherd began but Mileko urged him to sit down again.

  Mileko offered him a canteen and told him he looked thirsty. The shepherd sipped the water. He tasted a little blood on his lips. “How did I fall?” he said.

  “A hole in the ground,” Mileko replied. “Tell me, young man, does the great sorcerer of the Turks live in this tower?”

  “His name is Lord Tekax,” the shepherd said, not wishing to confirm the label of sorcerer. To speak of it was bad luck.

  “How long has he held this place?” Mileko said.

  “Always in my life, but he was never here until last year.”

  “Does he keep many troops in yon tower?” Mileko asked.

  “A couple dozen. They take what they want at our market without paying,” the shepherd complained and rubbed his sore jaw.

  “Yet, you graze your fine sheep below their walls,” Mileko noted.

  “If I go too far to pasture, the bandits will get me,” the shepherd explained.

  Privately, Mileko lamented that too often the world granted only evil choices.

  “Do you know of a man called Janfelter?” Mileko said.

  The lad nodded. “His mother and sister live in the village. I have known them always.”

  “Is Janfelter here?”

  “Why do you seek him?”

  “I ask the questions,” Mileko reminded with gentle authority. “Is Janfelter here?”

  “No.”

  A blend of frustration and relief confounded Mileko. He dreaded an encounter with the fext, but not knowing where he was gave him no comfort either.

  “Why did Lord Tekax come to this place?” Mileko said.

  The shepherd shrugged. He did not ponder the motivations of those who ruled over him.

  “Thank you. Our conversation has been helpful, but you must forget you ever saw me,” Mileko instructed.

  Confusion cluttered the young man’s expression.

  “See after your sheep,” Mileko said. He stepped away. His suggestion latched onto the young man’s sense of responsibility. He scanned his animals. Spotting a stray, he jumped up to go get it.

  “Watch you step,” Mileko whispered as he retreated soundlessly.

  He returned to his horse and studied the citadel above him. Dark gray blocks defined its foundations, and hundreds of seasons had weathered the lofty ramparts, where gray-green splotches of lichen grew stubbornly. The banners snapping in the wind bore the blue spears crossed in front of a blazing yellow fire. His master had warned him about that emblem years ago.

  Clouds moved across the plateau. There shadows fell over the tower, but much of the landscape remained sunny.

  Mileko sat next to a pine tree and considered his next move. He wanted more information. Reluctantly, he accepted that he wanted to enter the castle. He wanted to gain knowledge that might truly make a difference in his master’s battle against the sorcerer.

  And Mileko wanted to rise to the challenge. Many years he had trained. The development of his powers was all that mattered to him. He had no family. No woman. No children. His joys came from being free and surmounting challenges. Could his craftiness protect him from the advanced mind of Tekax? The question goaded him.

  But Tekax occupied an elite tier. Even Sarputeen respected the power of his rival, and Mileko asked himself if he should dare to snoop those halls overseen by a worker of dark magic. He recalled the day many years ago when he had dared to seek out the werewolf, but the circumstances had been different. He had wanted mentorship, and his intent had not been treacherous.

  But guile was a card that Mileko liked to play. Perhaps he could enter the castle under some ruse and at least see the inside. But could Tekax detect his false heart? Did he somehow know Sarputeen’s protege by sight?

  While these many tough questions bartered with his intellect, the day wore on. Mileko stared at the castle. Despite his cold dread of the place, he accepted the fact that he needed to see inside those ancient walls. His master’s success would likely rely on it.

  Chapter 4. A Worthy Visitor

  Mileko slipped away from the castle hill in the meager light of a late moon. Once he was beyond the village, he looked back. A single window remained bright in the high tower. He suspected that Tekax had been up all night. He had not gotten much sleep either.

  When dawn came, he paused behind a hedge near the road. He took a small bottle from his pack and drank his potion that eased fatigue. Then, as the frosty plants around him steamed in the rising sun, he unfolded a kit of tiny metal tools. As he pondered them, a concerned scowl spread over his face.

  At length, he selected one and slowly inserted it into his mouth. When he was done, he got on his horse and traveled the empty road into the village. More chickens than people noticed his passing. He suspected that these folk generally avoided those who came and went from the castle.

  While ascending the narrow lane to the drawbridge, Mileko invited tranquility into his body with slow and deliberate breaths.

  The blasting report of a gun shattered his mental state. He scanned the castle, trying to locate the source of the shot.

  When another shot blasted out, he spotted the puff of smoke on the highest tower. Because he seemed not to be the target, he looked back. On the road beyond the village, he spotted some white-washed boulders at various locations. He scolded himself for not noticing the ranging targets before. Whoever was shooting up there was practicing.

  When he reached the ravine, he saw two men raising a flag on the wall over the drawbridge.

  “Hello!” Mileko yelled. The stony walls amplified his voice thunderously.

  The men looked down. One took out a spyglass to study Mileko while the other finished raising the flag. They exchanged some words and then disappeared.

  Mileko resumed his deep breathing. He judged his success by the relaxed position of his horse’s ears. If he could convince his horse that he was not nervous, he could fool others.

  A clanky rumble of chains announced the opening of the bridge. The thick timbers descended and thudded into place in front of his horse. The entrance remained blocked by an iron-studded portcullis.

  Presuming this was his invitation to advance, Mileko rode across the bridge. At the portcullis, he peered into the courtyard. A single man-at-arms left the wheel house
that operated the bridge and came into view.

  “I’ve heard a great magic worker dwells here. I’m a magician in need of supplies seeking to trade,” Mileko said.

  A simple nod of the man’s bovine head signaled his approval, and the mechanism that opened the portcullis screeched into action.

  When Mileko entered, the two men on duty inspected him briefly and seemed content to let him wander. Mileko located the stable and was pleased to see after his own needs. He then toured the courtyard. A pile of dry hardwood drew his attention to a small ironworks. Its fires were cold, but the heavy stains on the long chimney attested to a belching fume in the past.

  He entered the empty forge. Tools that showed substantial use hung neatly along a wall. Mileko ran a hand over the cold anvil as he strolled toward the back. He found a large mold on a table where molten metal had been poured. The mold would have made long strips with jagged teeth on one side. He could not find any of the pieces that had been made, but he noticed little mounds of metal dust beneath a long work bench where he suspected the teeth had been filed sharp.

  He exited the building and crossed the courtyard toward the main castle entrance. As he passed through the high doors, he suppressed his excitement. Beyond the doors, a narrow antechamber plunged deeply into the castle. Two oil lamps in sconces on each side of the long chamber gave the only light as he shut the door behind him. Mileko eyed the slits in the walls as he walked. He wondered if any bolts or spears were aimed at him or if a foot in the wrong spot might trigger the release of a piercing projectile.

  The door at the end opened easily, and he entered a grand hall. High windows revealed the broad details of thick timbers along with rows and rows of artfully interlocked stones. Directly across from the entrance, a great blue banner bearing the sigil of Tekax dominated the wall. Along each side, two great wolf hides from beasts of frightening proportions were stretched across the stone walls. A shadowy gallery overlooked the hall. A circle of braziers stood cold on a floor of intricately cut stone slabs.

  Several dark doorways led to the interior of the castle from the main hall. Mileko wandered the chamber, waiting for someone or something. Eventually, he heard footsteps, and a thin man in a black cap and long robe appeared with a boy.

  “State your business, stranger,” the steward said.

  Mileko bowed and introduced himself, “I am Michael, a magician and potion maker.”

  “I see,” the man said. “I didn’t think you had the look of a hunter come to collect bounties.”

  “Such is not my business,” Mileko said. “I understand that the lord of this place is a magic worker. I thought I might find here rare extracts for my potions. I can pay, if coin of the Christian Empire is accepted here.”

  The steward shrugged. “Silver is silver. Come.” He turned, exposing the boy to Mileko’s view. The boy’s downcast eyes peeked up, but his inspection of the stranger was brief. He fell into step behind the steward and resumed his state of dull servitude.

  Mileko followed. His quick eyes devoured details about stairwells and passages. Upon reaching another stair, they ascended a level and entered a chamber. Two narrow windows let the daylight grope inside. Two wooden chairs attended a long table.

  The steward took one chair and invited Mileko to sit across from him. With his serving boy standing at his elbow, the steward proceeded to interview “Michael” at length. He asked him questions about alchemy and poison making. Mileko answered with confidence while delicately refusing to disclose details of his personal potions. Then, he fielded questions about his origins and recent whereabouts. He was candid about his youthful escape from the Janisseries and pursuit of magical knowledge as his life’s calling. He lied when necessary to cover his association with Sarputeen. His worldly travels enabled him to supply believable details.

  At the end of it, the steward sat back in his chair and raised his eyebrows. He obviously was not a man easily impressed, but he was today.

  Leaning toward his boy, he said, “Inform the Master he has a worthy visitor. And bring refreshment.”

  After processing a moment of dread, the boy scurried off.

  “No need to trouble the lord of the castle over me,” Mileko said modestly.

  “Lord Tekax takes an interest in all that is interesting,” the steward said, rising. “Await him here,” he added and departed.

  Alone again, Mileko began a deep breathing exercise. He feared he was about to put his skill of deception to the ultimate test. His main hope was that Tekax would approach the meeting with little suspicion.

  With each exhale, Mileko expelled the truth of his mission. Into the blankness, he focused on the present and thought only about the supplies that he needed.

  The boy returned with bread, dried fruit, and watered wine along with goblets. Mileko stared at the food and contemplated his hunger. Keeping his mind fixed on simple things would be best.

  The tap of a cane in the hall told him that he no longer had a chance to flee. Tekax came through the door.

  With stringy white hair and narrow shoulders, he did not make an imposing figure. But an air of tenacious power clung to him like a pitiless, squeezing snake. His bony hand clutched a metal cane. Jeweled rings sparkled upon all of his fingers. They twinkled with the colors of the many realms conquered by Ottoman generals who had paid well for his aid on their campaigns.

  Simple black garments clothed him, but they were of the finest silk. Despite the low light in the chamber, the fabric managed to shimmer.

  Dark circles caged his eyes. Mileko wondered if the man ever slept. If he did, then his dark and greedy desires surely inspired what dreams that he had.

  Rising quickly to his feet, Mileko bowed. “Great Lord, you honor me with your presence,” he said.

  Tekax sat down and a shaft of light from the window slashed his ragged face. He tossed his cane on the table, and it rolled a half turn until its handle stopped it. Mileko glanced at the shiny cane, knowing that it must conceal some wickedness. He spotted a tiny lever on the bottom curve of the handle. Then he met the eyes of his host and endured a long scrutinizing stare.

  Eventually, the predatory gaze faded to a neutral gleam. Tekax cleared his throat and reached for the wine. “What sort of magician are you?” he asked.

  “A worker of common tricks and uncommon ones,” Mileko said. Slowly, he took out his daggers. He had little trouble summoning the energy in his body. The blades responded and tingled in his hands. He pointed them at the cane on the table and concentrated. The cane wobbled and rolled over until its handle stopped it again.

  Tekax placed his hand on the cane possessively. He extended his other hand and said, “Let me see those.”

  Seemingly unconcerned, Mileko offered the daggers handle first to the lord of the castle. Tekax examined them closely. He then mimicked what Mileko did and made his cane move, which proved they shared a rare ability.

  Tekax handed the daggers back. “I’ve not met a man with your ability before,” he said.

  Mileko dipped his head. “I imagine my skill is but a trifle compared to your powers, my Lord.”

  “And do you come seeking instruction?” Tekax asked.

  “I admit to being curious about you, my Lord,” Mileko said. “I heard your powers were so great that you serve the Sultan himself.”

  “I am not at liberty to discuss any services I might have done for the Sultan, but I assure I am not his servant,” Tekax said.

  “Of course, my Lord.”

  The sorcerer could not mask his interest in his guest. “Why have I not heard of you before?” he asked.

  “I wander and earn my supper as a magician and potion maker. Other than that, I keep to myself, having little desire to waste my talents on the petty pursuits of those who might wish to exploit me,” he explained. “Or rouse the ire of local priests or magistrates who despise those who have real powers.”

  “And now you’re here,” Tekax said.

  “I’m traveling east again toward the land
of my birth,” Mileko said and offered the same story about wanting to see his mother that he had given at the border post.

  Such sentimental details bored Tekax. “Where did you get your daggers?” he asked.

  “A wizard near Warsaw gave me the metal. He said he smelted it from a stone that fell from the sky, but that might have just been a story to raise the price,” Mileko said. “Then I found a smith to craft them.”

  Tekax found the story plausible. “And so you serve no lord?” he asked.

  “It is not my habit,” Mileko said.

  “Even if it’s not your habit, you’re the sort of man whose aid might suit me well from time to time,” Tekax said. He waited for a reaction, but Mileko only blinked as if unduly flattered. Tekax continued, “My steward said that you want supplies for your potions. I possess a fine pharmacopoeia. If I gave you supplies, you could return the favor by performing some errand for me.”

  “My Lord tempts me,” Mileko said. “But I have coin enough to pay you. My love potions and such sell easily, and my meager needs are easily met.”

  The white eyebrows of the sorcerer drew together. His disappointment was clear. He gestured broadly across the table between them to show off the small fortune in jewels that were mere baubles for his hand.

  “It is not my habit to deal in coins of any realm,” he said.

  “That is your choice, my Lord,” Mileko said.

  “If you’re not amenable to exchanging a small labor for my herbs and mineral extracts, then let us trade in knowledge. Teach me your potion formulas for I suspect that I might learn something new.”

  Mileko looked down. He had experimented over many years to develop his concoctions and had no desire to pass his secrets to anyone.

  Tekax surprised him by chuckling. It was a dry sound like twigs crunching beneath a heavy boot. “I know that such secrets are rarely explained to another,” he said.

  “My Lord, please forgive me, but I was not expecting that you would be so eager to deal with me. It took much courage on my part to approach your fortress. Allow me some time to consider your offers,” Mileko said.