by Tracy Falbe
“So the wolves in this forest have a taste for men’s flesh,” Thal commented. As a leader of wolves, he had always avoided contact with humans.
“For men I don’t like, or, in this case, a man your wife did not like,” Sarputeen said.
“He chose his path and met a fate he deserved,” Thal grumbled.
Sarputeen brushed away snow from the gutted remains. Icy fabric clung to a few ribs, and he pried what was left of the thorax away from the ground. When he turned it over, a silver crucifix glittered against the dirt and frost encrusted on the corpse. Sarputeen brushed a thumb across the scrawny figure hanging from the cross and contemplated the powerful symbol. He took the crucifix off the disrespected remains and put it in a pocket.
“What do you want that for?” Thal wondered.
“No sense in leaving good silver down here,” his father replied. “Are you ready to go back?”
Thal nodded. As he followed his father up the cliff, he wished that he had been as wise as his dog who had avoided a great deal of exertion.
“Come,” his father urged when he reached the top and put down a hand for his son to grab. Thal liked the feel of his father’s strong grip when he helped him over the top. A new energy had seemed to enliven his father since the casting of the rune bones, and he wondered if the divining had revealed some encouraging message that his father had not divulged.
They passed beneath the wind-gnarled limbs of the pines and entered the side entrance to the castle. Sarputeen took Thal to his study. Stacks of ancient books filled his father’s desk. Some Thal had seen out before, and others were new to him.
Sarputeen patted a stack as he passed his desk. “I’ll need your help with these,” he said and bent beside the iron rack that held wood for the fireplace. From beneath it, he slid out a thick pry bar and went to a back corner of the room. He felt along the fitted stones until he found the lip that he was looking for. Using the pry bar, he forced open a stone panel. Behind it, a dark recess was revealed.
“Let’s put my books in here,” Sarputeen said.
“Why?”
“If I’m to leave my sanctuary, I must secure these materials. Most who might find them would burn them, and if they fell into the wrong hands...” he trailed off as if the possibilities were too numerous to describe.
Each man grabbed a stack of books and took them to the hiding spot.
Sarputeen slid them into the back of the recess and moved aside as his son deposited more books. “These are to be yours. I wish we had time for me to teach you of their contents,” he said.
When Thal straightened, he gave his father a questioning look. “We’ll prevail, Father, and I’ll have time to learn your arts,” Thal predicted.
His father made no comment and fetched another stack. Once they stashed all of the books and scrolls, Sarputeen told Thal to put the stone panel back.
Thal grunted as he slid the slab back into place. It fit tightly, but he took note of the little lip that his father had used for the pry bar. He brushed off his hands when he stood up.
“I’d like you to introduce me to our guest,” Sarputeen said.
“Of course,” Thal said. “I’m sure that she’d be intrigued to meet you. She’s curious as a cat.”
They went to the room given to Carmelita, and Thal knocked softly on the door.
“Just a moment,” she said. The swish of clothing occupied the pause before she opened the door. Thal recognized the robe she wore as one of Altea’s. The petite woman’s pregnancy was just visible within the loose fabric.
“If you’re not indisposed, I’d like to present my father, Lord Sarputeen,” he said.
Although hardship had roughened her face, her expression naturally blossomed with her bright charm that perhaps no sorrow could entirely make dull.
She curtsied and said, “I’m flattered. The lord of the castle should have summoned me so that I might present myself better.” Carmelita smoothed her loose dark hair over her shoulders.
“Your journey has been difficult and I’d not inconvenience you. Please be at ease,” Sarputeen said with gentle sympathy and ushered her to the bed so that she could sit.
Thal watched how the aura of his father encompassed the woman. Her guard dropped utterly as she gazed into his eyes with dreamy contentment.
“Thal has told me of your many ordeals, and I offer my hospitality such as it is for as long as you may require sanctuary,” Sarputeen said and took both of her hands.
His words only expressed his surface thoughts. His deepest attention was taking in the details of her body and spirit through his senses. Her scent, her pregnancy, her emotional state all soaked into his mind for consideration.
“Until we return with your husband, you’ll have the women of my modest estate to rely upon when your baby comes.” He patted her hands and added, “I predict that your baby shall come easily and be healthy.”
She felt joy upon hearing him affirm her deepest hope. “My first child came without problem,” she recalled.
“And so shall it be with this one,” Sarputeen said and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She leaned briefly against his hand as if forgetting the world until he withdrew his touch. Then her eyes fluttered with some shame for her neediness.
Sarputeen cleared his throat and said, “I must also give you a warning. You’ll likely be safe here, but in my absence I cannot fully promise your security. Heretic hunters or other trouble makers might find their way here. If that happens, I suggest that you hide among the villagers. They will shelter you, and their loyalty to me will never allow them to betray you.”
Carmelita nodded bravely. “I suppose they’ll never really stop looking for Thal,” she murmured.
“That danger is remote, but there is another,” Sarputeen said. “An old rival of mine has taken hostile action toward us. Although it’s my full intention to hunt him down and destroy him while I’m away, a small chance exists that his servant might elude us and come here to cause misery.”
“A servant?” she said, leery of the sorcerer’s desire to leave the thing unnamed.
“A fext,” Thal interjected. “He was a man once, but now magic resurrects him even from mortal wounds. He’s very dangerous as you can imagine.”
“This place will be watched over. You’ll have warning before danger gets here. If it’s serious, Emil will let the villagers shelter in here and defend the castle.”
“Oh my,” she whispered. She had thought that her recent miseries had much expanded her courage, but the thought of being in a castle besieged by a bewitched creature truly startled her.
“You’ll be in good hands with Emil. Despite his youth, you’ll find him extremely reliable. And, as I said, it’s most likely that Thal and I will keep this threat far from here for that is our intention.”
Carmelita considered the alarming details and asked, “How will you stop this fext if you’re rescuing Valentino?”
“The fext will hunt me,” Thal said. “He’s likely to notice once I’m traveling again. It’s his duty to kill me.”
“I see,” she said.
“I wish we had more time to become acquainted, but please consider yourself an honored guest of my castle while you await your child,” Sarputeen said.
“Thank you,” Carmelita said, grateful but subdued.
******
The entire household assembled in the courtyard after morning chores. The servants shared solemn expressions as if recognizing that this day marked a shift in their existence. Sarputeen had always been present their whole lives.
Emil stood at the head of the line. He held the bridle of Mileko’s horse, now recovered from the ordeal of its previous mission. The members of Thal’s pack were next to Emil. Carmelita along with the two men in her company and the castle servants were arrayed along the wall.
Thal emerged from the castle with Sarputeen, Altea, and Mileko. Thal wore his usual voluminous cloak that covered most of his precious fur. His breastplate was clean and bright
even beneath a cloudy sky. Its lovely design of roses marred only by the pistol ball embedded in the metal. His pistols were crossed in his belt, a falchion hung in its scabbard, and knives stuck out of each boot. Altea had a new cloak of heavy wool dyed a burgundy color by the juice of beets. A talented weaver in the village had made it for her, and it made a pleasing contrast to her golden hair. Beneath the cloak, she wore a plain black dress and leather vest. Mileko kept to his custom of wearing black, but his breeches and jacket were new, and the leather pouches on his belt were freshly oiled.
Sarputeen surprised his observers with his overtly mystical bearing. His snowy white fur wrapped his shoulders, and his head was precisely shaven. A coarsely woven brown robe covered him from neck to toe, and a silver crucifix lay against his chest. He bore a large pack on his back and walked with a hawthorn staff.
Thal approached his werewolves and smiled at their ranks. They wore simple clothing and boots newly made of thick leather. Lenki dressed in breeches as the men did. Sarputeen had armed them with as many knives and swords as he could spare after leaving a supply for the village men should the worst happen.
Instead of cloth cloaks, the five werewolves wore fleece ponchos. The shaggy wool would give them ample protection from the elements.
As Thal pondered their appearance, Johan offered, “Wolves in sheep’s clothing.”
Thal laughed. Even without considering the magic that he had given them, they appeared much transformed from the beaten-down group of prisoners that he had collected. Their condemned and dispirited souls had been given new life, and the dangers ahead seemed already to invite their courage. He was proud to be their leader, and he took a moment more to admire them. He walked their line and regarded each of them face to face. He allowed himself to briefly recall his connection to each one that had been forged in the violence of his bite. His men looked back at him with respect, but when he met Lenki’s eyes, he saw something more that was difficult to define. He attributed it to the raw energy of her spirit. Perhaps it was something that confused the thoughts of all who interacted with her. He imagined that he was feeling her innate ambition that drove her to act. It had driven her to murder, and now it might drive her to new notoriety.
Completing his inspection, Thal nodded approvingly and moved on to Carmelita. He took off his velvet hat when he spoke to her.
“Lady Carmelita, you have my promise that I’ll do all that is necessary to free Valentino,” he said.
“You’re his only hope,” she murmured gratefully and wiped at her eye. She then embraced Thal and said, “Godspeed.”
He patted her shoulders and let her rest against him. Her weariness weighed against him like a boulder. While Thal continued to reassure her, Sarputeen approached Emil. The young man handed the horse to Mileko and kneeled before his master. Sarputeen set his hands on the loyal man’s shoulders. “The castle is in your hands, Emil. I have complete confidence in your abilities,” he said.
“My Lord, I wish that I was in your company,” Emil said.
“I wish it too, but someone must stay here. The people of Vlkbohveza are your kin, and you must watch over them,” Sarputeen said.
Reluctantly, Emil accepted his duty. He knew better than the others of Vlkbohveza the peril that might descend in the absence of their great lord, but he reminded himself to have faith in Sarputeen. The cunning sorcerer would take the battle to his enemies so that his people could remain in peace.
“Stand up now,” Sarputeen said, and Emil rose. He glanced into his master’s eyes and then bowed his head. Sarputeen was content to leave his castle in the care of its native son.
He gestured for Thal to lead the procession. His werewolves followed him, and Sarputeen walked after them with Altea. Mileko got on his horse and rode slowly in the rear.
They descended the lane from the castle heights and entered the village. Every man, woman, and child had come out to see off their lord. The mysterious village that seemed mostly empty was now thronged with inhabitants, and they watched Sarputeen walk through their village as if witnessing a moment of Biblical importance.
Except for the tread of feet and the gentle clop-clop of Mileko’s horse, respectful silence ushered Sarputeen down the road. Not one baby cried out and no impatient children squirmed as the lord of the castle departed with his little war party.
The privacy of the great alpine woodland soon enveloped everyone. The new werewolves smelled and heard and saw the wild surroundings with new intensity even in their human forms. They could judge by the quiet burbling of water in the canyon how much of the river had frozen and how much remained flowing.
Thal asked Harvath to take the lead, and he dropped back to walk next to his father and Altea.
“Why did everyone come out to see us off?” he wondered.
Sarputeen said, “They’ve never known me to go anywhere. Never have I formally gone off on a trip. Only the very oldest among them remember a time before I occupied the castle, and before me it stood empty for as long as anyone could remember.”
Upon saying those words, he moved to the side of the road and looked back at his castle. A gap in the trees granted a view of the old stone tower.
“I’ve stayed here a long time,” he remarked. “Perhaps too long.” He considered how comfortable it had been to remove himself from the world. He had allowed four walls to encase him for decades. Too many times he had stared at a ceiling instead of the stars. He accepted that he had intended to fade away because he had thought that his son was forever lost to him. Gretchen had vowed to never complete the spell, but in the end she had and everything had changed for Sarputeen.
“I should have done something to renovate the place,” he said.
Thal regarded the castle. Its style was plain, and its edges ragged after forgotten winters of wind and frost. Vines choked on the lower walls. The place looked like it had grown up from the Earth instead of been laid down by the hands of men.
Thal thought that it suited him well, but, because his father seemed melancholy, he said, “We’ll build something when we return.”
“Mmmm,” his father said and turned his back on the place. “I’m looking forward to camping on the land. The winter is the season of the wolf. We have the advantage,” he said.
That night the clouds cleared away, and a spectacular display of stars oversaw the little band of adventurers. Their three campfires blazed upon the landscape like the belt of Orion. Sarputeen cared little about camouflage at this moment. He was still upon his territory, and if someone unfriendly in the valley noted the camp on the mountainside, then let that person be on notice that the Lord of Vlkbohveza had began to hunt in earnest.
Sarputeen smiled at the thought. The firelight blazed across his face, making the lines around his eyes look like they had been drawn in ink.
He observed the others who had gathered around a single fire to talk. Thal and Altea were sharing stories of their journey from Prague to Zilina. Thal carefully described Janfelter’s features to his new pack and warned them to never bite him because of his poisonous blood.
Mileko added his own experiences with the fext. Sarputeen noted that Mileko sat next to the woman, which was a departure from his protege’s usual solitary habits. Lenki looked tricky in her male costume. Her delicate features and disorderly short locks suggested a bushy-tailed youth, but the truth lingered in her appearance and was sure to confuse or intrigue.
Thal eventually approached his father.
“They seem excited, my son,” Sarputeen said.
“They are,” Thal agreed and admired his pack.
When Thal sat next to his father, Sarputeen opened his bag. Packed among items of spare clothing were the blades of his battle gear. The firelight gleamed upon the notched but still sharp blades that Sarputeen strapped to his back and arms when in werewolf form.
“You should start training with these,” his father suggested.
Thal carefully exposed one of the curving blades. He had seen his father slay
a deer with them. Thal supposed that they would take some getting used to.
“You should develop your technique,” Sarputeen encouraged.
“I’ll try them tonight,” Thal said.
“They ought to fit pretty well. Your build is not so different than mine,” his father said. He unpacked the three blades. Leather straps and buckles dangled from them. He helped his son undress and then put his armor back on.
Altea came over, and Mileko followed. He noticed that Sarputeen seemed a bit befuddled by the buckles as he tried to put the blades on his son.
“Allow me, my Lord,” Mileko said. He took over the job because he was the most accustomed to doing it. When he finished, he said, “These ought to feel firm but not too tight once you change.”
Thal thanked him for the help. He stepped back from the fire and started to chant his spell of changing. Once the wolf form consumed his humanity, he shrugged and shifted inside his new weapons and nudged at the straps slightly.
“Practice moving in them,” Sarputeen said and pulled off his robe. “I’ll catch up.”
The older man shifted with ease, and his great white form bounded off into the dark night. Altea watched them go, wishing she could be at their sides. One was her maker and the other her mate, and a savage loyalty to them swelled in her chest.
Chapter 22. A Boorish Brawl
The sight of Zilina disturbed many in the group that came from Vlkbohveza. The members of Thal’s pack saw the place where they had been prosecuted and abused. Altea recalled her tense days in that town fearing for Thal’s life and hoping that the Duke would not deliver them into the hands of their wicked enemies.
Sarputeen noticed most of all how much the place had grown since last he had traveled so close to urban places. He saw grassy hills where forests had once stood. Their ancient trees were beams and boats and houses now. Muddy paths and rutted lanes stained the snowy landscape around the town like veins on a drunkard’s nose. Wood smoke and the stink of rendering pots and chamber pots wafted over the river town, and Sarputeen reminded himself that he was entering one of the most dangerous environments that existed, where plague and violence bred like flies over carrion.
