by Tracy Falbe
To his son, he said, “Are you accustomed to towns?”
“Yes and no,” Thal said. “The comforts of stout houses and hot fires are easy for a man to like, but the noise and activity can overwhelm. Prague was much bigger than this, and I had to learn quickly how to move about that place.”
Because they were on the verge of town, Thal decided to express a concern. “In my opinion, this monk’s costume of yours is a poor choice,” he said.
“How so?” Sarputeen said and brushed a hand protectively across his crucifix.
“Your fur is ostentatious and not in keeping with any Jesuit I’ve seen,” Thal complained.
“It’s a reasonable choice for a man traveling in cold weather,” Sarputeen defended. “And I’ll have you know that I’ve often traveled in the guise of a Church man.”
“Really?”
“People will accept me as who I say I am,” his father assured him.
“There could be people here who know what Brother Miguel looked like,” Thal warned.
“I’m sure Miguel is a common name and more than one monk might be known as such,” Sarputeen said.
“I suppose I shall have to trust in your charisma,” Thal grumbled.
“You’re the one who looks like a mercenary. Trouble will seek you like a pig to a tasty mushroom,” his father scolded.
Thal frowned, and it was his turn to lay a protective hand upon the stock of one of his pistols. He realized that his weapons were provocative, but it was best to be armed.
“I am wanted,” he grumbled in his defense. When his father said nothing, he added, “I need these guns. They are the future.”
“And a woeful future it shall be,” Sarputeen murmured sadly.
“That reminds me. I should get more gun powder while we’re in town,” Thal said.
Before entering town, Thal advised his pack to walk with confidence. “None shall recognize you for you have been remade,” he said, and the men’s chins lifted a bit because they recalled the feeling of the wolf magic. Those who had known the dispiriting toil of the mine shoved aside their misery, and Mitri reminded himself to forgo his criminal habits, even if he saw a plump and vulnerable purse. A stern look of determination overtook Ansel’s features as he tried to rise above the pain of betrayal. He wanted his new life. Only Lenki seemed unchanged by the encouraging words. Her darting eyes failed to hide her discomfort.
Coming alongside her, Thal said, “Let people see what they expect to see. You’ll just be a young man that they don’t look at twice.”
As someone who had always been looked at twice and without good intent, she said, “I hope it’s as you say.”
“We’ll protect each other if anything bad happens,” Thal said, and his promise calmed her.
A chilly dusk had drawn over Zilina when the group reached one of the gates. Sarputeen pulled a hood over his head and took the lead. The watchmen stepped forward as if to question the motley group, but Sarputeen strode between them with serene confidence. He lifted one hand in a gesture that could have been a greeting or a vague blessing. His staff parted the way for his followers like the prow of slender boat. The two men turned their heads to watch him go, and they seemed blind to the others who followed in the wake of the strange monk.
Thal had Altea on his arm as they entered the town’s traffic. He felt the walls of the human enclave truncate the reach of his powerful senses. He felt like he was walking willingly into a cage. After spending weeks in isolation at Vlkbohveza, entering a town felt disquieting. He imagined how striking the feeling must be for his reclusive father.
Within these perilous surroundings, the familiar urge to be bold crept over Thal. Stealth was for the forest, but among men he must hide in plain sight for the townsfolk were mostly blind.
The group kept to the side of the avenue so that horses and wagons could pass. They took care not to slip on the icy patches outside doors where people emptied wastewater and it trickled toward the river in a brown stream. Commerce and trade occupied the citizens of Zilina enough to prevent them from regarding the strangers in their midst with much suspicion, and Sarputeen’s religious costume prompted people to move out of his path.
Thal moved up next to his father and told him that they should go to the inn across the square from the ducal palace.
“I’ll get a message to Regis once we’re there, and we can get lodging for the night,” he said.
When they reached the tavern, Pistol yipped happily and bounded up the steps and was soon lost among the feet of the taproom’s patrons.
The place was crowded for supper time, and half the occupants had their focus on the musicians playing in the corner.
“They’re here!” Altea exclaimed.
“I had not expected that,” Thal said.
“I’ll find us a table, Master,” Ansel offered.
“We’ll join you soon,” Thal said and drew Altea close so that he could guide her through the crowd to the musicians.
She recognized the fine voice of Regis. During their travels, she had sung duets with him, and hearing his voice reminded her of the joys and dangers of the vagabond life that had been her lot since condemnation as a witch.
The song ended, and men and women lifted their mugs and cheered the performance. Thal moved through an opening and made eye contact with Regis.
The handsome Venetian recognized him but seemed startled by the sight of his friend. Raphael strummed a chord on his lute to launch their next song, but stopped when he saw a familiar brown and white dog at his feet.
“Thal!” Raphael blurted upon looking up, but the noisy crowd did not notice.
Regis coughed and declared that he needed a fresh drink before he could keep singing. A few friendly moans protested, but the crowd loosened up into cliques of conversation and drinking.
Thal and Altea slipped up to the musicians, and everyone exchanged happy hugs, especially with Altea.
“You look radiant,” Carlo commented.
Altea grinned at the compliment. Carlo was a good friend, and she was not surprised that he had noticed a change in her constitution. Her step was lighter than it had ever been, and she felt a strength in her limbs that continually startled her.
“Why are you playing in here?” Thal asked.
Regis slapped a hand on Thal’s armored chest. “What are you doing here?” he whispered urgently.
“I’m here to see you,” Thal said.
“You are not safe here,” Regis said.
“I know,” Thal chuckled. He accepted the imperial price upon his head as readily as the moon in the night sky.
“My friend!” Regis said. “Do you not know about the attack?”
Raphael shifted his lute onto his back. “Come, let’s get out of sight a bit,” he suggested.
They moved away from the corner that served as a stage and found an adjoining room where everyone else had already occupied a large table. Sarputeen sat at its head looking majestically out of place. His dark eyes observed the intense surroundings with great curiosity.
Thal, Altea, and the musicians found spots after some shifting of chairs. The plaster walls reflected the warm light of candles, and a murky jumble of people mixed and conversed nearby in the main room.
Although highly aware of his friends’ agitation, Thal took a moment to introduce his father. Sarputeen exchanged greetings with the musicians.
“You’re as talented as I’ve been told judging from the song I just heard,” Sarputeen said.
“Thank you, my Lord,” Regis said. For a moment, the presence of Sarputeen distracted him, but he could delay urgent conversation no more. “Thal, you’re accused of killing people, including children, in a village down the Vah River. Everyone is looking for you.”
Thal glanced over his shoulder. The tavern’s occupants seemed blissfully unconcerned with any type of recent tragedy.
“I’m serious,” Regis insisted. “The Duchess dismissed us because of you.”
Finally, Thal scowled. �
��Why would anyone think I killed people in that village?” he said.
“They say it was the work of werewolves,” Raphael explained and shared the grisly details of the crimes that the last full moon had looked upon.
“Has the Duke turned against us?” Altea asked.
“You must assume so,” Regis said.
“Is it another werewolf?” Carlo wondered.
“You didn’t really think it was me?” Thal complained.
“I know you wouldn’t kill children,” Carlo said with gentle certainty.
“Why do they say it was werewolves did this thing?” Thal wondered.
“The people of Strecno said they saw wolfmen,” Regis explained.
Thal looked to his father for an opinion. He had not expected this complication. Thal accepted his notoriety for the men that he had killed, but he disliked being blamed for something that he had not done.
Regis said, “If you’re here to see the Duke again, I can’t get you in the palace this time.”
“Actually, I’m here to see you,” Thal said, glad to change the subject. “Altea and I wanted to see you before we start on a dangerous quest. We’ll be gone on the morrow.”
The Venetian’s brow furrowed with genuine concern. He disliked the notion that he might not see Thal again. “We’ve decided to head home to Venice,” Regis said and gestured to his comrades.
“Then let us travel together as far as Pressburg,” Thal said brightly.
“Pressburg?” Regis repeated suspiciously.
“It’s on the way to Venice, correct?” Thal said.
Regis shrugged. “What’s your business in Pressburg?” he asked.
“It’s for Lady Carmelita,” Thal explained, and the musicians were intrigued to know how their former patron in Prague had suddenly become involved.
“We’re on a mission to save Valentino,” Thal said and explained the situation.
Each musician recalled how gallant the Condottiere had been when he rescued them from mutilation and perhaps death.
“I think we should travel together,” Carlo said, and Raphael nodded.
Regis looked around the inn. It was a good place to play but a big step down from the Duchess’s palace. Other elite families in town would not want players deemed suddenly unfashionable by the Duchess. And if he stayed in Zilina much longer, he feared he might not dodge matrimony. “We could find a new patron to see us through winter in Pressburg,” he mused.
“It will be like old times traveling together again,” Thal said. The three musicians grimaced and then laughed.
“Will it be that bad?” Raphael asked.
Thal looked down, a touch embarrassed.
“And who are your new friends?” Regis asked and looked at the other men at the table. His gaze lingered on Lenki suspiciously.
“They are in my service,” Thal answered and introduced everyone.
An overdue and overworked serving wench finally made it to their table with baskets of bread and mugs of beer.
“Platters of meat please,” Thal said and produced a coin for the maid.
“Of course, gentlemen,” she said and withdrew.
With an air of resignation, Regis proposed a toast to their new journey, and everyone clinked cups and enjoyed the distraction of drink until their supper arrived.
“This feels like old times already,” Carlo remarked happily.
“Hopefully I won’t have to kill anyone tonight,” Thal said and drained his mug. He leaned back in his chair and hailed the wench to bring the pitcher again.
Regis noticed that people were glancing toward them, impatient for more music. “Let’s get back to our trade before the barkeep nags,” he said.
“He works us much harder than the Duchess,” Raphael said as he got up.
“The food and board are not as good either,” Regis added as if still convincing himself to travel. He set a friendly hand on Thal’s shoulder and said, “You stay out of trouble while everyone enjoys my beautiful voice.”
Altea stood. “May I sing?”
Regis ushered her forward.
After the maid refilled the mugs of those who stayed at the table, Sarputeen suggested that Mileko try to learn more about the supposed werewolf attack.
Mileko nodded eagerly and got up to leave but then paused to invite Lenki to join him. She looked to Thal, who nodded. He watched them go, a little surprised by Mileko’s sudden interest in assistance.
Thal then told his other followers to mingle in the crowd. “Watch the doors for anyone who might be troublesome to us,” he said.
Alone now with his father, he said, “What do you make of these wolfmen killing people?”
“It’s difficult to say. People are spooked by your wanted notices and could simply think they saw wolfmen when it was only common criminals,” Sarputeen said.
“Uncommon criminals I would say. Do you not think it strange that people were killed in the middle of the village. Ruthless bandits are the terror of remote roads but not inside village walls,” Thal said.
“Perhaps Mileko will gain more details for us to consider. Until then, we should take care not to attract attention,” Sarputeen said.
“You’ll find that Regis and his comrades are excellent at drawing attention onto themselves. I’ve traveled far in their company,” Thal said. He heard Altea’s voice join in Regis’s song, and he relaxed. Their words spoke of lovers separated by a river and the enmity of fathers. It was a song of defiance that ended sadly when the lovers drowned in the river instead of submitting to the will of their families.
Two women sauntered into the archway of the room where Thal sat with his father. Their slouching blouses exposed their shoulders and most of their bosoms.
“Hello again,” greeted the curly-haired blonde.
Thal remembered her from his first visit to the tavern. She had been most interested in him then, and he had to stand up quickly to prevent her from actually sliding on to his lap.
“Good evening,” he said carefully and glanced at her dark-haired companion who was pressing close on his other side.
“Oh, excuse me, Brother,” the dark-haired woman said upon seeing Sarputeen. Both women stepped back, muttering more apologies.
“You cause me no offense. My heart is open to all children of God,” Sarputeen said. “Come here my child,” he coaxed and patted the chair that his son had just emptied.
His sweet gentility drew in the blonde woman, and she took the seat before she realized what she was doing.
“Missy,” her companion whispered as if trying to keep her from getting in trouble.
“Shall I call you Missy?” Sarputeen asked, and she nodded as he gazed fully into her eyes and seemed to make her forget all else in the world.
Bemused, Thal watched the woman fall under his father’s spell. The other woman remained leery of what was happening, and Thal sought to reassure her. “The brother is not here to judge anyone,” he said.
“And what are you here for?” the woman inquired saucily, remembering her mission to entice the attractive mercenary into private entertainments. Her friend had wanted him, but now she seemed strangely preoccupied by the monk.
“Supper and lodging – no more,” Thal said and held his mug of beer defensively between them. “I’ll retire,” he announced and walked away. He supposed that his father could manage the company of prostitutes since he seemed inclined.
Pistol attended him as he moved inconspicuously along the wall. He tugged his hat low and looked back to confirm that the dark-haired woman was not following. She had already attached herself to another man while the blonde remained with his father. Thal watched them from a distance. His father made a strange sight as he obviously charmed the young woman with kind words and flirty gestures that belied his celibate costume.
Thal approached the man behind the counter and asked about the room Mileko had paid for. The man got a key from a rack and slid it across the counter to Thal.
He picked it up and remark
ed on the uncommon security afforded the inn’s guests.
“Many who come here have business at the palace and require safety for their effects,” the innkeeper explained.
“Very nice,” Thal said and swirled the key on his finger.
“I’ve got nice ladies to join you,” the man offered.
“I’ve got my own lady,” Thal said and slipped up the stairs.
The warmth of the crowded main room gave way to a chilly corridor on the second level. A row of doors provided entry to smaller chambers. Inside one Thal could hear a man partaking of female entertainments. He proceeded to the room at the front of the building. The key worked smoothly in the lock, and he entered a large chamber with four beds. Pistol’s claws clicked on the wood floor as he investigated every corner.
Thal closed the door behind him and leaned against it. He needed to think. He was accustomed to being wanted, but the fresh atrocity attributed to his name had set aflame interest in finding him in a region where he had not been much hunted.
In a flash of insight, he considered that Tekax had somehow inspired the violence in the place that sheltered him.
“Janfelter,” he whispered, hating his foul nemesis. He worried that the fext might even be in Zilina waiting for him to show up.
He opened the pair of doors onto a small balcony overlooking the main entrance to the tavern. He could see watchfires on the palace walls. Lanterns outside the doors of houses revealed the dark figures of people walking the streets.
A trio of men approached the tavern from the palace. Thal focused on the central figure because his height and bearing were familiar to him.
Krengar! He realized. The knight would recognize any of his pack inside the tavern. Thal rapidly considered what to do as the man mounted the steps with his two well-armed companions. He worried that Krengar had been alerted to his presence but then reasoned that the man would have brought more men if he believed he was about to arrest Thal.
