by Tracy Falbe
His stomach quivered from the memory of thing’s poisonous blood. Sarputeen sniffed as well and retreated to contemplate the putrid vitality that had hit his senses. He understood the world as a circle of birth, death, and rebirth, but this perversion sickened his intellect and deepened his dislike of Tekax. These intrusions into his territory would not go unanswered.
The baying of dogs erupted, and the werewolves turned their heads in unison. They easily judged the direction from which the sound came and concluded that their enemies were bearing down on the group on foot.
Concern for Altea overtook them, and Thal leaped down the road with such furious haste that his claws sprayed pebbles and grit. Sarputeen matched his speed.
The barking ceased not long after it began, and Thal assumed that the animals had caught a whiff of something they did not wish to attack. Dogs, no matter how loyal or vicious, always shied from a werewolf, and Thal possessed confidence that his pack would at least not face those murderous jaws.
He heard Krengar shouting to his men and then the clanging exchange of weapons. Two men on horseback soon retreated from Krengar’s force because they had not expected to lose the crucial assistance of their dogs. Intent on pursuing them, Sarputeen swerved off the road into the dormant vegetation, and Thal went with him.
They instinctively selected the same target and surged toward a rider together. Hungry energy gave them the clarity to kill. Thal crashed over the neck of the horse and knocked it off its feet, and Sarputeen tore the rider from the saddle. Thal abandoned the thrashing horse and bore down on the man that his father tossed toward him. Thal turned his shoulder and sliced into the man’s throat with one of the blades. The deadly pair sped after the second rider. Farther up the slope, they took him down.
Panting over the second dying man, Thal regained his bearings. Warm blood slid down the edge of his battle blades and steamed a little in the chill.
Sarputeen disliked the clearing where they stood over the toppled man. His glance informed Thal of the danger, and the son moved just in time. A loud crack smacked the land, and a slug blasted across Thal’s previous position. He rushed into cover with his father. Peering through a thicket, Thal tried to spy the place on the hillside where Janfelter was presumably secreted. He might have been using the two men to draw Thal into the open.
His father nudged him to indicate that they should move again. They stole away with extra stealth. After having a moment to consider the shot that had been fired at him, Thal strongly suspected where Janfelter might be. He resisted the urge to reveal himself and temp another shot. Instead, he plotted a roundabout course toward the sniper’s likely position.
Sarputeen easily guessed his mind and tuned his senses to detecting the assassin. When the wind shifted slightly he caught the scent. He hated sniffing the manly odor corrupted by dark magic, but he needed to track the fext. Thal and he crept closer until they finally saw him.
He was using a gray wolfskin over his helmet to camouflage himself. They watched him move to a new position on a ridge overlooking the road. He bore a long musket and shaded his eyes as he surveyed the situation below. Obviously, he was hoping to spy Thal and Sarputeen again.
The duo observed him in silence and each considered scenarios in which they could capture him. Should they enlist Krengar and his men to capture the thing? But his firearms would surely result in someone getting hurt, perhaps mortally. Should they advance together immediately and overpower him. Could they tear him limb from limb? Would he succeed in killing one or both of them?
The variables and rightful fears stymied action until Thal was satisfied to merely have Janfelter located. He chose to be patient, and his father felt the calmness of a decision descend upon his son.
With a few simple gestures, Thal conveyed to his father that he should return to the others while Thal continued to watch the fext. He would reunite with them later.
******
Krengar cringed when he heard the gun shot, but his bold horse continued its charge up the hill. He looked back at his men. Their expressions showed their alarm about the gun shot, but they followed obediently.
Upon reaching the first body, Krengar got down to examine the brutal slash that had opened the man’s throat. As a man of battle, he recognized that a sharp edge had opened the flesh, and he wondered who was helping them against the two mercenaries who had abruptly beset them. Uncomfortably, he considered how it might have been Thal and Sarputeen who had killed so swiftly and invisibly.
Krengar spotted the dead man’s horse a short distance away. The animal was limping but might recover. Krengar told one of his men to collect the horse. Its gear might contain evidence about the identity of the mysterious attackers.
One of his men hollered that he had found the other man farther up the hill. Krengar scanned the area. He had no clue where the gun shot had been fired from or how many enemies might be around.
Mileko rode up the slope. Although he appeared calm, his blue eyes watched the landscape as nervously as the knight’s.
Altea and Thal’s servants arrived next. Pistol trotted ahead of her and sniffed the corpse near Krengar’s feet. She glanced at the dead man and went immediately toward his horse. Although the animal was injured, it shied from her advance.
“Mileko!” she called. “See the wolf hide.”
“I do,” he said, swinging down from his mount. He strode up to the horse and patted its neck reassuringly before pulling the wolf hide off its back. Holding it up for the Duke’s men to see, he said, “Here’s your wolfman.” He tossed the skin to another man and inspected the horse and tack. “This horse is of an eastern breed. The saddle a Turkish style.”
Krengar inspected the wolf hide and told one of his men to go see if the other dead man had one. To Mileko, he asked, “Why would Turkish raiders disguise themselves this way?”
“They’ve heard stories of Thal. This ploy sows more fear,” Mileko said.
Krengar scowled, reminded of his inborn hatred of his traditional enemy. “Where is the one with the gun?” he wondered.
“I don’t know,” Mileko said. “We should stay out of the open.”
Everyone withdrew to the cover of trees near the road. The musicians joined the group, and everyone waited for something to happen. Tension ground on their nerves as they waited for another shot to be fired, but the eery quiet persisted.
Altea leaned against a tree apart from the group. She worried about Thal and Sarputeen and hated that she could do little except wait.
At last she heard the soft crinkle of dried leaves, and her enhanced sense of smell rewarded her with a familiar scent. She soon spotted her maker moving carefully toward her. He held his fur around his waste. His bare skin showed no wounds. Blue tattoo runes across his chest attested to the secret paths he had traveled during a long life.
“Sarpu,” she whispered. Thal’s absence concerned Altea, but she could sense his father’s calm and believed that he was unharmed.
He drew her to his side and took care that a tree covered them from the view farther up hill.
Mileko had also noticed his return and brought his clothing. Sarputeen pulled on underdrawers before calling to the others, who soon gathered around expectantly.
“We have located the fext,” Sarputeen announced.
“Shall we move against him?” Ansel asked bravely.
“We must wait for dark. His gun gives him too great an advantage in the daylight,” Sarputeen explained. He accepted his robe from Mileko and finished dressing. He adjusted the crucifix over his neck and patted it before approaching Krengar.
“Take your dead back to Zilina. We shall hunt the dark creature. You can do no more for us,” Sarputeen said.
“I agree,” Krengar said simply. If he looked too long upon the sorcerer, a foggy dread crept over his mind. Gladly, he would go, and he did.
“We could have used his men,” Altea whispered to Sarputeen.
“Give him a chance to bring tidings of Thal’s innocence
back to Thurzo,” Sarputeen said.
“Where is Thal?” Altea said, and the others leaned closer awaiting the answer.
“He watches the fext. He will join us later, and we’ll attack in the night,” Sarputeen said. “For now, we must head cross country until we reach the road south.”
The pack members exchanged excited looks, but Regis heaved a sigh. He was sundered from the soft living that he had enjoyed in Zilina.
“And so we start our return trip to Venice,” he said to his musical comrades. Carlo and Raphael nodded. With their wanderlust satisfied, they longed for home but expected much more adventure now that they were in Thal’s company again.
Chapter 24. Living the Lives of Ten Men
Janfelter fumed over his missed shot. Incriminating smoke curled away from his musket. Tekax crafted muskets of the best accuracy, but even that obviously left much to be desired. Missing Thal made him curse the whims of fortune. He suspected that the very wind had protected the beast born of Sarputeen’s elder magic.
Despite his anger, Janfelter maintained his vigil for a second shot, but the monster had disappeared as if he had never been there.
While surveying the land, Janfelter sighted that wretched escapee Mileko and wanted to put him down, but he chose not to risk revealing his position with another shot.
He hoped to salvage his plan that had dissolved into ruin. The two mercenaries had died with unexpected speed, and he did not know where the kennel master had gone.
At least the attack on the couriers the night before had drawn Thal out. Janfelter had gone into Zilina two days earlier and confirmed that the murders in Strecno had been attributed to Thal. Janfelter had even shot a wolf and turned it in for a bounty before returning to the countryside to sow more terror.
“Where are you?” Janfelter whispered, craving another shot at Thal. “You’ll not get your teeth into me again.”
He watched the Duke’s men withdraw with dead men over confiscated horses. Their possessions could provide ample evidence that killers were posing as wolfmen, and Janfelter disliked that his ploy seemed to be unraveling. And how had Thal come to be moving so closely in the proximity of Thurzo’s servants? Was it impossible to dislodge whatever hold the sorcerer and his spawn had upon the local Duke?
His patience endured until midday when he accepted that his vantage point would no longer yield a view of his quarry. He had observed only a few travelers headed for Zilina. The signs of bloody struggle staining the thin snow had caused them to increase their speed. As for Thal and his entourage, they had seemingly moved on.
Cautiously, he left his hiding spot and moved over the hill where his horse was hidden. He hoped to find the errant kennel master unless that man had managed to die as well.
That thought made him pause as dread tickled his intellect. Tightening his hold on the musket, he reminded himself that he hunted a powerful predator.
He soothed himself with anticipation for the glory that would come when he killed Thal. Once Janfelter possessed the notoriety of killing Thal, he would be without peer among men of arms.
He relaxed when he reached his hidden camp. His horse and the one used by the kennel master browsed on dormant twigs, and the kennel master hopped up from his seat with visible relief when Janfelter arrived.
“Why are you hiding back here?” Janfelter demanded.
“The dogs would not join the battle,” he explained.
“And why did you recall the dogs? Your fellows are dead because of it,” Janfelter complained.
“Sir, I bade those animals to kill but they hurried back afraid for their lives,” the kennel master said. The mysterious behavior terrified him for he had never seen the savage dogs hesitate to attack anything.
Janfelter caught the man across the face with the back of his hand. “Get those curs. We must follow the trail of Thal,” he said.
Rubbing his jaw, the kennel master scuttled over to the pair of dogs that lounged with their noses tucked under their paws. They lacked their usual enthusiasm as the man took them over the hill.
Janfelter led them to the place where he had shot at Thal. The dogs whined and resisted their leashes. The kennel master cursed at them and smacked them, but they refused to approach, and their strength was such that they could not be forced to advance.
Janfelter frowned, beginning to suspect that the scent of the werewolf drove all courage from the dogs. He disliked being deprived of their support, which had already been disastrous.
“Leave them and come with me,” he snarled. The kennel master went with him and the dogs withdrew.
“It takes no special skill to see tracks in the snow,” Janfelter said and scanned the marks left in the thin snow. He studied the areas where both mounted men had been knocked down and killed and concluded that the tracks of two werewolves clearly advanced on each rider.
“Two?” he whispered. He had known of the other werewolf Rotfeng, but that man had only changed with the full moon. Whatever had aided Thal possessed the power to shift at will.
“Sarputeen,” he decided, and the realization fell heavily upon him. The sorcerer had left his castle, and Janfelter accepted that he had two great adversaries somewhere in the landscape to contend with.
He ordered the kennel master to fetch the horses and then followed the tracks down to the road. Staying close to cover and moving in short quick bursts, he tracked the group across the road. They appeared to be heading cross country in a southwesterly direction. Judging from the tracks, he guessed that a half dozen or more people were in the group, and he confirmed that Mileko remained with them on horseback.
Janfelter went back to the road and waited for the kennel master. The man arrived with their horses and the reluctant dogs.
“Sir, my dogs dislike this course,” he protested.
“Forget them,” Janfelter said, eager to pursue.
The kennel master resisted the notion of turning his dogs loose. In his dark way, he counted the killers as his companions and did not want to be parted from them. Stymied, he remained in place on the road.
Looking back, Janfelter realized that the servant did not want to follow but rightly lacked the will to dispute him boldly.
“Your dogs might find their ways home,” Janfelter said by way of encouragement.
“Sir, we should return to our master and learn what next to do,” the servant proposed.
“My duty is to find and kill these enemies,” Janfelter said. He narrowed his eyes, and his undying glare provoked the fears of the kennel master. He slipped the collars off of his dogs, patted their heads, and reluctantly followed the elegant killer who he dare not desert. With much envy, he watched his dogs trot away on a safer course than he.
******
From his vantage point on horseback, Mileko was the first to spot the road that connected Zilina with the south. He informed Sarputeen, who then decided that they would rest and wait for Thal.
He selected a place sheltered by pine trees, and everyone hunkered down in a circle. They had trekked hard with the fear of firearms drilling into the back of their heads, but the countryside had remained mercifully silent.
Altea sat next to Sarputeen and asked, “What is Thal doing?”
“He observes the fext. This could be our chance to defeat him. He is exposed and with limited resources,” he said.
When Raphael suggested that they have a fire, Sarputeen said no. The red-nosed faces of the musicians drooped unhappily. They stuck their hands in their armpits and huddled together. Altea pitied their exposure, but she no longer shared in it. The cold was bothersome, of course, but a new inner fire gave her the strength to embrace the elements.
“Sarpu,” she said sweetly. “This trip is difficult for my friends. We must look out for them.”
He nodded but insisted that they could not risk a fire when a killer with a gun was hunting them.
Regis chose to distract himself from the cold with conversation. Looking at Lenki across the circle, he said, “Why a
re you dressed in men’s clothes?”
“I thought it would be more comfortable for travel,” she explained.
“Do you really think you’re fooling anyone?” Regis said. His charming grin lit up his face.
“No one seemed to notice me in Zilina,” she said.
Raphael nudged his friend and said, “Maybe some can be fooled, but there’s no getting a woman by Regis.”
Carlo nodded knowingly, and Regis shrugged in modest acknowledgment of the truth.
“So, Lenki,” Regis went on. “How did you come to serve Thal?”
She glanced at Ansel as if he might know how to respond, but he kept his lips tight. The other men avoided eye contact, and Regis knew that something was being kept from him.
“Not prying into Thal’s business might be best,” Carlo suggested quietly in their native language.
“He’s involved us,” Regis insisted and scanned the group waiting for an answer.
“Let there be no secrets among friends,” Altea said. “I’m sorry if we’ve not explained everything, Regis, for things were happening quickly in Zilina. Thal has given these people the werewolf power.”
The pack seemed collectively relieved that she had explained things because none of them had known if they could speak of it openly.
“And what of you?” Regis asked pointedly.
“I have it too,” she said.
Regis stared at her, trying to imagine the beast that she would become when the moon grew fat.
As if knowing his mind, Sarputeen lifted a lock of her golden hair and said fondly, “She’s a radiant she-wolf worthy of one of your songs, Master Singer.”
To be addressed by the rich voice of the elder lord made Regis feel a strange humility, as if he had attracted the attention of someone he wished not to disturb.
“To compose a song worthy of Altea might be beyond my talents,” he murmured.
Pistol jumped up from Altea’s feet and hustled off into the bushes. Sarputeen hauled himself up with his staff. “You might mind such romantic words at the approach of her husband,” he warned.
