Werewolf Castle

by Tracy Falbe

  Rubbing his arms, he shuffled toward the door. In the darkness, he bumped into it. He leaned against the door for a moment to gather his strength. Unlocking the door confronted him with a substantial challenge, and, if his power could not open it, then he would have to wait for his captors to return and try to fight his way free.

  Determined to prevail, he lifted the chain hanging from his manacles and held it against the door. He summoned a vision of the metal bolt that secured the door. Once his focus was as tight as he could manage, he released the power that was the life within his body. The links in his hands grew warm. He pressed his head against the door and his legs shook from the effort of his concentration. So slowly that he feared he might fail, he imparted a mysterious force into the iron links. The energy built until the links suddenly snapped hard against the door. Mileko doubled his efforts, pouring his vitality into the receptive metal. With a gasp, he slid the links to the right, and the metal bolt was dragged along with them on the outside of the door.

  The door popped open, and he collapsed into the hall. He dragged deep breaths into his aching chest, trying to renew himself, but he was dangerously depleted.

  In the stony darkness, he passed out for a short time and awoke with a start, fearing that he had lost his opportunity. But a heavy silence ruled the dungeon. He got to his feet and felt his way blindly toward the stairs.

  As he climbed out of his horrible prison, his excitement granted him a ration of vigor. The familiar thrill of moving secretly allowed him to anticipate success. His life had never depended on it so much.

  At the top of the stairs, he felt along the wall until he found the room where he had been interrogated. The total lack of light forced him to move slowly as he sought his belongings. When he found them, he had to carefully inspect them with his fingers. His clothing, gear, and sword were still present, but his lodestone daggers were gone. Tekax likely had them, and Mileko longed to search for them, but he dared not. What he had already recovered represented a profound miracle.

  He dressed quickly and prowled back into the hall with his sword drawn. After turning a corner, he ran into a wall. He explored the barrier methodically until he found a door. It was locked. A closer inspection allowed him to locate the lock. Now that he was reunited with his vest, he had all of his lock picking tools.

  His still-trembling fingers dropped his pick, and he spent precious time groping on the floor until he found it. Then, he had to find the lock again before getting to work.

  He sighed when he finally released the lock. Slowly he opened the door. The light of a single greasy torch seared his eyes. Squinting painfully into the next room, he saw nothing but could hear someone snoring. On silent feet, he slipped through the room and saw the two guards in a side room sleeping.

  Once Mileko was past the guards, his pace quickened. He dashed through the empty castle and reached the stable. His horse whickered to him pleasantly, and Mileko rushed to saddle his steed.

  He was leading his horse out of a stall when a stable boy surprised him. The lad was rubbing sleep from his eyes and not quite aware of who was there. Without hesitation, Mileko seized him and clamped a hand over his mouth before he could yell.

  He took the boy into a tack room and bound him with the reins from a bridle. He gagged him too and left him securely attached to a post.

  Mileko patted the terrified boy on the cheek by way of apology and then hastened away. He studied the courtyard at length before crossing it. The only sign of activity was the lonely light burning high in the tower where Tekax no doubt plotted some spell that would corrupt him.

  The drawbridge presented what he hoped would be the last obstacle. Shedding blood was now a necessity. The door to the wheel house was unlocked, and he opened it quietly. He gave his eyes time to study the gloom, and he identified two men on cots. A soft hiss marked the withdrawal of his sword from its sheath. He approached the cots and struck. Neither man had a chance to react. Two hard blows opened their throats, and they died with only gurgling protests. Heavy chains rumbled as he lowered the bridge and raised the portcullis.

  The clanging racket of that operation would surely draw attention. A great boom shook the chasm when the bridge hit the ground.

  Mileko got in the saddle and set a hand on the horse’s neck. “I need your best tonight, good friend,” he said.

  ******

  Janfelter sat on the edge of his bed. Sleep did not come to him as easily since his master had altered him. Through his shirt, he absently fingered the staples that held the dark placenta tight against his ribs. His blood now made soft the once old and desiccated organ.

  He felt some relief at being home. His journey back after his unsuccessful battle with Thal had been arduous. Bereft of any gear or money, he had experienced true privation in his first days after regenerating from grim wounds. He had needed to steal new clothes, a horse, and weapons on his way. Those activities had caused him some violent hassle and left one dead.

  But now he was back with Lord Tekax, and he could outfit himself anew. He needed armor and guns. He would not let his cocky attitude undermine him when next he battled with Thal. Janfelter needed to kill him. That he had failed once stained his name greatly. If the shocking presence of Mileko had not interrupted his arrival home, Janfelter suspected that his master’s reception of him might have been harsh.

  But Tekax was focused on his new prisoner. Janfelter knew that his master plotted some spell to twist Mileko to his purposes. Would he make him into something more powerful than himself? Janfelter shook his head at the notion. He opened and closed his hands, marveling at his existence. Already his master’s magic had twice saved him from mortal wounds. Janfelter resolved to use his tremendous gift with greater finesse. He had been reckless, but now he understood that Thal was a great adversary. He was a beast but not a mindless one. Janfelter wanted the prestige of taking down the creature against whom none could prevail.

  A booming sound distracted him from his dreams of notoriety. He recognized the sound of the drawbridge hitting the ground.

  His boots were still on, and he reached for his cloak. He strapped on his spare sword as he headed down the hall. Except for the sound of the drawbridge, the fortress maintained its usual silence. Servants had retreated to their quarters, leaving their duties for morning.

  Janfelter grabbed a torch and entered the courtyard. Growing anxious, he ran to the gate. A cold breeze moaned through the gaping entrance. The darkness beyond gave no hint as to had come or gone.

  He kicked open the door to the gate house. “Why did you lower the bridge?” he demanded.

  The scent of fresh blood answered him. He swept the torch across the cots and confirmed that both men were dead in ruddy pools soaking through straw mattresses.

  Janfelter spun. The torchlight flashed on his blade as he wondered if an attacker still lurked inside. The nothingness mocked his nervous fear as if he were a small boy scared of shadows.

  He pulled the warning bell insistently until the other men-at-arms drifted out from their barracks across the courtyard. The questions that he hollered bewildered them, and their comrades’ deaths dismayed them. He ordered them to guard the entrance and ran for the dungeon.

  As he took the steps down into the dank levels he shook his head in disbelief. Mileko could not have escaped. He roused the sleeping dungeon keepers.

  “Take me to the prisoner,” Janfelter commanded.

  One man grabbed his ring of keys and complied without taking time to put on his shirt. His meaty torso seemed immune to the stony chill of his subterranean living area. His fellow gaoler accompanied with a lantern, and they soon discovered that the door to the lower dungeon was unlocked.

  “No,” Janfelter whispered. He confiscated the torch and rushed down the stairs ahead of them.

  The open door to the water cell informed him of the impossible truth. He stood and stared at the empty pool until he could force the reality upon his rational mind.

  Janfelter wiped a
hand across his face as he contemplated telling Tekax what had happened. He could not figure a way that it was his fault and hoped that he would not be blamed.

  Once he was in the high tower, Janfelter had to pound on the door to his lord’s chamber for some time before a terse voice granted him leave to enter. Janfelter suspected that he had roused him from some sorcerer’s trance, and now he was about to worsen his master’s foul mood.

  Upon entering, Janfelter went down on one knee.

  The lighting was bright because of the mirrors mounted in the oil lamps that encircled the chamber.

  “It must be serious if you’ve dared to disturb me,” Tekax said charitably.

  “Indeed, my Lord. Did you not hear the drawbridge?” Janfelter said.

  The brow of the sorcerer drew down like a cowl over his unsleeping eyes. Knowingly, he braced himself for bad news.

  “Mileko has escaped,” Janfelter said. “I do not know by what craft he did this. I personally oversaw the confiscation of his clothing and tools. He possessed nothing. I swear it.”

  Tekax’s quick intellect eliminated the possible explanations until he was left to surmise that some tool had been hidden within Mileko’s body. The spy had made a fool of him with some magician’s trick! He had underestimated him. He hated that such talent would seek out Sarputeen before him.

  Just as another had once chosen Sarputeen.

  Old feelings that had rusted upon the gears of his fleshless soul flaked off. They dusted his thoughts and left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could still see Gretchen in his mind. A lovely woman made even more beautiful by the fact that she possessed tremendous talent. No other could have tempted him toward desire. Her son should have been his son, not Sarputeen’s.

  Tekax forcefully drained the mental swamp created by that burdensome, inescapable jealousy. He latched onto his unfeeling mind that thrived on greed and hate. Victory was the best revenge, and the day was coming when he would hang the skins of those he must destroy in his hall.

  To soothe himself more, he steered fond eyes upon Janfelter. At least he had him. He could view Janfelter’s failure as a training session. He would succeed eventually because Tekax had given him a power that Sarputeen or his spawn Thal could not match.

  Wanting to renew his servant’s confidence, he said, “Our prisoner has the makings of a true sorcerer. I suspected his power, and I thought that I had secured him sufficiently. But some simple magician’s trick gave him an advantage I did not foresee. It has only bought him time. I’m done with him now.”

  Tekax stepped close to Janfelter and set a hand upon his shoulder. The fext looked up into his creator’s eyes, grateful that he was not seen as the source of this embarrassment.

  Tekax continued, “Take the men. Take the dogs. Hunt him. Bring me his head.”

  Chapter 10. His Master’s Allies

  Exhausted by his ordeal, Mileko clung to the saddle. His horse knowingly followed the main road. Concealed by the night, Mileko hoped to put some distance between himself and the tower.

  He doubted that he had much of a head start. Although proud of his masterful escape, he accepted that he was very far from safety. Wincing at the pain in his side, he thought about the fext. He could not risk an encounter with the thing, especially in such depleted condition and without his daggers.

  Dismally, he accepted that hope was his only companion on this grim chase.

  When the baying of dogs intruded distantly on the windy emptiness of the plateau, Mileko gasped with true fear. He looked over his shoulder. A line of torches marked the curvaceous lane up to the fortress. The dark tower had disgorged its minions to drag him back.

  Wilderness hemmed the lonely lane that he traveled, and he accepted that he could do little more than blunder desperately into the rough unknown of mountains and forests.

  He steered his horse off the road toward the northeast. His well-tuned mind knew the precise direction that would ultimately lead to Vlkbohveza, and he embraced the challenge of completing that long trek.

  The uneven ground slowed the horse. Mileko hoped to find a creek or stream where he might enter the water and foil the hounds sniffing his trail.

  When their excited barking came more loudly, Mileko missed Thal. After traveling in Thal’s company, he now realized how helpful the werelord’s power had been. These dogs would not have dared to track Thal.

  This realization force fed Mileko a mouthful of humility. During his encounter with Tekax, he had realized his jealousy of Thal. Now he understood that it was the source of his irritation with his master’s beloved son.

  But reflection on one’s feelings did little to address the dire situation. Thal was not with him. Mileko would have to fend for himself, and that was the way that he had always liked it. His resolve soothed him somewhat even though he feared that his solitary competence would fail this time.

  He scanned the dark land. Under such bleak circumstances, he expected to see nothing, but a point of light surprised him. It blinked a little, and he realized he was glimpsing a campfire through trees. He headed toward it. As he covered more ground, he spied three fires, which indicated a larger camp.

  Bandits, he assumed. He doubted that he would find any help among them, but they could be useful.

  A fresh outburst from the dogs told him that they were getting closer. He slowed his horse, wanting them to gain more ground on his position.

  His horse snorted nervously but trusted its rider. Mileko advanced on the camp. When he saw their fires abruptly diminish, he knew that the approach of the hunters distressed them. Mileko rode straight for the camp. He expected that no one would be able to see him.

  The howling excitement of the dogs peaked, and Mileko quickened his pace. A few men shouted as he passed their positions, but, with the dogs nearly at his heels, the people of the camp were soon beset by dogs and hunters. They scattered into the trees. Mileko turned his horse in a random direction and mixed into the chaos. He overheard Janfelter shouting. The sound of his voice challenged Mileko’s courage.

  Another man cried out in anger as he presumably struggled with the fext.

  Mileko blindly splashed into a stream. Hooves cracked through thin ice at the edge of the water. A bandit ran by him trying to elude the dogs.

  Mileko continued upstream as long as his horse could manage the rocky stream bed. When the incline steepened, he was forced ashore.

  He dared to take a break and look back. The barking had diminished, and he guessed that they had lost his trail. Men continued to shout in knots of combat. The loud crack of a pistol resulted in a scream, and then the turmoil subsided.

  Mileko hastened uphill and stayed as close to the stream as he could. He imagined that Janfelter would inspect the area thoroughly with the dogs until they recovered his trail.

  Grateful for even this slight respite from the hunt, he rode through the night. He discarded the notion of circling back to the road. He dared not risk becoming visible anywhere in this land where Tekax held sway.

  Eventually, he fell asleep in the saddle. He started awake when his horse stopped. A suspicious pale dawn lighted the dormant forest. Dry golden leaves still clung to some trees, and bare branches tickled the gray sky humorlessly.

  Mileko slid to the ground. On shaky legs, he stumbled to a tree and propped his back against it. For a while, he just listened. The tough birds that eschewed their chance to fly south barely mustered a few chirps to welcome the day. He detected no signs that his hunters were close. Exhaustion would slow them and their horses too, but he could not shake the fear that Janfelter would plod alone through the forest like an insatiable ghoul.

  Mileko needed to let his horse recover. The animal nuzzled him and let him hold its neck when he got back to his feet. He took off the saddle and freed the horse from the bridle so it could eat.

  “Stay close,” he said and patted the black fur that was growing in thicker. He slumped back against the tree and fell asleep, knowing his good steed would be easy to find. />
  The horse roused him later in the morning. He appreciated the soft muzzle that soothed his hard fear. He trusted that the sensitive animal wanted to move on because his hunters were closing.

  Soon, he was riding away. Hunger sapped his strength, but the sleep had done him some good. The tender radiating pain in his side spoke of at least one cracked rib, but he would manage.

  The quiet day deepened the bite of his constant fear of the dogs. If he heard them again, he would not get away.

  The waning season brought the dusk early. The croak of crows caught his attention as they gathered to roost. He scanned their black silhouettes thoughtfully. Sarputeen had taught him that crows and ravens chattered and gossiped. He engaged them in conversation often and learned of things near and far.

  Mileko wished that he could send his master a message. He doubted that any succor could result from informing his mentor of his peril, but he longed to let his master know of his true loyalty. Perhaps if Mileko died, Sarputeen might some day know where he had perished.

  Mileko veered toward the grove where they were settling in. Their throaty voices challenged his intrusion. He held up his hands and looked up at them. He could not know who among them was their leader or if they had a leader, but all of them regarded him with an intelligence as old as the ages.

  “I am Mileko, protege of Sarputeen. I wish to escape the dogs and men who follow me. Let my master know that I was steadfast in my loyalty to him.”

  Knowing he could not tarry, Mileko departed. The chatter of the birds filled his ears until he was too far away to hear them. He had given them much to discuss.

  Darkness soon covered him. A single croak warned him of an advancing bird. It swooped past his head and disappeared into the night.