by Tracy Falbe
Regis smiled. “Thal knows I’m no fool, and that his fair wife is safe with me,” he said.
Sarputeen said, “You are a true friend then.”
“My presence here rather proves it,” Regis commented as the old man disguised as a monk moved off.
Sarputeen slipped warily among the pines with Altea close behind him. The small dog trotting ahead showed them where Thal was. He stooped to pat his loyal dog as his father and wife reached him. He clutched his fur about his waist and was naked beneath his armor. The scar from his recent leg wound was bright upon his bare leg, and his colorful eyes glittered with predatory energy.
Altea hugged him. “Did you find him?” she whispered.
“He’s tracking us as we speak,” Thal said. He rejoined the group and got dressed. He checked his pistols and slid them into his belt.
With his pack gathered close, Thal said, “Tonight you will help me against the fext. He has only one man with him and the dogs have ceased to obey. We must hide from him until darkness comes. Our eyes will have the advantage in the night, and he’ll have little chance with his musket to take a long shot at any of us. I’ll try to get close enough to disable him with my pistols and then bind him. You must harass him but avoid confrontation. He possesses much skill in hand-to-hand battle so you must not think that you can engage with him successfully. Your task is to keep him moving toward me.”
“Toward us,” Sarputeen said.
A surge of gratitude filled Thal’s heart to know that his father would battle at his side. He continued, “We’ll kill the one man left in his company first.”
“Kill in cold blood?” Johan asked.
The morally colored question did not surprise Thal, who knew what it was to grapple with his conscience after killing men. He knew the taste of human blood and the conflict that it launched in his mind. He answered, “Johan, he took part in the killing of innocent villagers, of children. We’ll be the dealer of justice.”
The allusion to the conviction once suffered by Johan sharply reminded him of his new place in the world.
“Forgive me, my Lord. I’ve yet to fully appreciate the extent of my new freedom,” Johan said.
“Shall I go with you?” Mileko asked.
“Stay here with Altea and the musicians. The fext is crafty and might get through our net. You must protect those who stay here,” Thal said.
“I’m not staying here,” Altea said, and she looked defiantly at Sarputeen, expecting him to support her decision.
“Nor I,” Mileko insisted.
Thal inwardly admitted that Mileko was more capable of handling a dangerous situation than any of his pack members, but that was why he wanted him with Altea.
Sarputeen ended his son’s gridlock and said, “Mileko, you shall join the battle in what manner you see fit. Your ability to judge an unfolding situation will serve us well.”
Mileko inclined his head, savoring a little that his lord had overridden his son.
Scoldingly, Altea said, “Thal was only making an excuse so that Mileko could babysit me. Now tell me how I might contribute or I’ll figure it out on my own too.”
Thal looked urgently to his father, hoping that he would bid her to stay behind, but he stayed silent.
“You shall come with me, my love,” Thal said, deciding that his best chance of protecting her was to know her precise location.
His decision stunned her, and she was struck by the reality of what was about to unfold. Tonight she would not stand aside and wonder what was happening. She would be near her mate inside the battle.
“Remember,” Thal said. “Tonight will not be a romp in the woods. This encounter shall be life and death. We must all do our utmost to help each other survive.”
******
Janfelter reached the place where Thal had reverted to his manly form. The scuffs in the snow told of a wrenching transformation. Much fascinated, Janfelter viewed the bare-footed tracks leaving the scene. He considered the fact that Thal might engage him in the shape of a man, which meant that he could use a gun.
With the day growing late and clouds scudding across the sky, Janfelter decided to make camp. He ordered the kennel master to gather wood for a fire, and the man seemed much relieved to go about the mundane task.
By nightfall, the man was warming his hands over a good fire. Janfelter checked over his pair of muskets and pistol. Their oiled hardware and handcrafted stocks were heavy in his hands. These weapons lacked the elegance of the sword, which was his preferred weapon, but he could not deny the attractiveness of a gun’s raw force. He knew how to handle the hard shudder when he took a shot. He had affixed thick daggers to the end of each musket so that they could be deadly still even after firing. He moved away from the fire with his small arsenal and settled in between the thick roots of a big tree.
The kennel master looked questioningly in his direction. He could just discern the dark outline of his harsh master amid the shadows.
Janfelter adjusted his position until he could comfortably aim his gun toward the area of his fire. He hoped that Thal might move against the visible man next to the fire and give him a clear shot in the night.
Despite his many travels, he never felt at ease at night within the immensity of the landscape. He felt too small surrounded by the mysteries of Nature. To reassure himself, he ran a finger along the cold metal trigger and placed his faith in his deadly tools.
When he observed the kennel master get out his blanket and lay down, he hissed, “Stay sitting up by the fire.”
The man paused before complying, no doubt realizing that Janfelter viewed him as bait. With more than the cold to make him shiver, the man wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and sat down. He stared at the flames and thought about his dogs that had wisely removed themselves from this situation.
The horses whickered nervously and tugged at their tethers. Janfelter sharpened his attention and suspected that the secrets hidden in the cold night were drawing close. The slender moon crept over the horizon and the trees cast faint shadows on the snow.
The horses snorted and stomped. The kennel master looked in all directions and slunk down a little lower.
The same unease afflicting the horses and the kennel master settled upon Janfelter. He looked over his shoulder and observed the dim landscape carefully. He tensed when a hare darted across his view. As he let out a breath, he strained his ears for some sound of what might be lurking out there.
The silence toyed with his imagination and made the breeze cackle in the tree branches. The focus that he was capable of within the mayhem of battle was put to the test by this increasingly terrible waiting in the snickering quiet of a wild wood.
The horses jumped with greater alarm and yanked hard at their tethers. Janfelter readied his musket, hoping that something was about to descend on his camp.
The kennel master stood, tightened the horses’ tethers, and murmured comforting words.
“Sir, there’s something out there,” he called.
“Did you see something?” Janfelter asked.
The fellow gaped and pointed at Janfelter, who heard the light crunch of dead leaves and whirled. A white mass that soaked up the moonlight coalesced out of the dormant trees and snow. The great spirit behind the bright eyes pierced the emptiness inside Janfelter. He fired his musket. The blast flashed in the night, and when he looked through the smoke, the phantom creature had disappeared. He had taken a hasty shot and realized that the werewolf had come close to draw the shot out. Urgently, he brought up his second musket.
He reviewed rapidly what he had just witnessed. That werewolf was not Thal, whose bestial likeness was engraved into Janfelter’s memory. This creature must be Sarputeen.
The kennel master screamed, and one horse tore away, leaving the other one still struggling with its tether. Janfelter spun toward the fire and saw a cloaked figure darting away from the kennel master.
“What happened?” Janfelter shouted, but the man did not reply. He touc
hed his chest like an actor miming curiosity and then toppled forward.
With a curse, Janfelter rushed to his camp. He skirted the firelight and grabbed the tether of the remaining horse. He got a foot in the stirrup and landed in the saddle as the spooked horse jumped away. He was just getting control when a figure emerged from behind a tree and fired a pistol at close range.
Fiery pain erupted in Janfelter’s face and he grabbed the front of his saddle as the force of the gunshot snapped his head backwards. His fierce grip kept him from falling, and then he flopped forward as the horse hurried away. A few tree branches buffeted him before he managed to seat himself in the saddle properly again.
Janfelter could not see out of one eye, and hot blood that smelled of slaughter streamed down his cheek. Despite the agony, he could feel the destroyed flesh of his brain coming back together and forcing the lead ball out its path of entry. He tilted drunkenly upon his horse and held on mindlessly.
A final spurt of exquisite pain made him cry out, and the misshapen hunk of lead popped out of his eye socket. A tight sensation told him of the facial tissues reforming and then he was blinking his eye and seeing with it again.
The massive injury and rapid healing had nearly made him forget what he was doing, but he spurred his horse because he must keep moving. His steed suddenly balked, and he glimpsed two figures in his way. Janfelter drew a sword and charged. The people sprinted away into the shadows.
He stopped and looked around urgently. His heart pounded, and he could feel the staples in his side that held the ensorcelled placenta to his body. The forest appeared suddenly empty and silent except for his own heavy breathing. A snowflake hit his face and clung to his eyelashes. He blinked away the tickling cold and assumed that he was surrounded. He sheathed his sword and brought his loaded musket off his shoulder. Yanking his horse around, he headed back the way he had come, hoping grimly to exchange fire with Thal again.
Thal obliged but only after a streak of white fur leaped behind the horse. The animal reared and kicked, but the hooves missed the athletic hunter harassing it with swift expertise.
In that moment, Thal raced forward, zigging and zagging from tree to tree. Janfelter urged his horse forward and leveled his musket toward Thal as if it were a jousting lance.
Thal whirled behind a tree, and the bayonet scraped the bark. He spun with his back against the trunk and came around to take his second shot. The pistol discharged noisily, and he hit Janfelter squarely in the back.
The fext cried out. His body vibrated like it was inside a church bell, but the armor that encased his body had kept the pistol shot from penetrating too deeply.
The magic of Tekax saved him again. The lead ball emerged from his flesh and lodged uncomfortably between his armor and back.
He slung his musket over his shoulder by its strap and drew out his pistol because the long gun was too awkward to shoot from horseback. He let the horse choose its way forward, but soon the beast became agitated and uncertain. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed flitting figures. Looking back, he scanned urgently for the white werewolf or Thal. They had to be close.
******
Altea crouched by Thal and helped him load his pistols.
“One would think a shot to the head would get him off the horse,” he grumbled.
“Shoot the horse next time,” she suggested.
“Maybe,” he said although he hated to waste a shot on the animal while Janfelter had a loaded weapon in his hand. Gun battles were a much dicier thing than hunting wild animals.
A horse squealed nearby, and he quickly determined Janfelter’s location. His pack was harassing him.
“Follow close and be ready to load for me,” Thal said, and Altea nodded resolutely.
They hurried toward Janfelter’s location with Sarputeen moving parallel to them. When they spied the fext ahead, they started moving from tree to tree. Sarputeen disappeared among the snow and shadows. Altea joined Thal behind a tree. They peeked around the trunk. Janfelter was heading in their direction. He held a pistol ready and his horse snorted angrily.
“Can you hit him from here?” Altea whispered.
“Only by luck,” Thal grumbled. At this distance, he would do just as well to shoot the pistol with his eyes closed. “We must wait,” he decided.
Janfelter slowed his advance. They watched him turn his head frequently as he tried to track the unseen movements of the pack. Suddenly, he spurred his horse and charged to the left.
“Come,” Thal said. With Janfelter’s back to him, he raced after him.
Janfelter overtook Johan and Harvath before they could elude him. They jumped away in opposite directions from the charging horse. Janfelter pivoted in the saddle and fired his pistol at a man.
Thal forced himself to greater speed until he was close enough behind the horse to take a shot. He stopped, leveled the pistol across his forearm, and fired. The acrid discharge of gunpowder smoke stung his nostrils, and he stepped forward through the smoke only to see Janfelter still seated in the saddle.
His father soared through the air toward the rider, but Janfelter drew his sword with smooth efficiency in the heat of battle and deflected the great creature attempting to unhorse him.
Sarputeen snarled and tumbled across the rump of the horse. Thal tossed his pistol to Altea and drew his second one as he ran to intervene. He meant to pursue the retreating rider, but the scent of his father’s blood halted him.
The white werewolf was getting up from his tumble but moving gingerly. Blood was spreading across his right shoulder when Thal reached him.
Altea ran up next to him and immediately started inspecting the wound. Sarputeen gently nudged her aside and indicated that he meant to keep hunting.
“Stop taking such chances drawing his fire,” Thal said, hoping his father would listen.
They pursued Janfelter through a patch of saplings. The spindly trees spoiled Thal’s chances of taking a shot. He took a knee and evaluated the situation. Faintly he could hear the fext loading his pistol. His keen eyes told him where three of his pack were lurking. All of them together had Janfelter loosely surrounded but rushing against the heavily armed foe could get one of them shot. Thal wished that they could take the fext by surprise, but the wily warrior had abandoned his camp before they could tighten the noose on him.
Janfelter spared Thal the trouble of judging his next move. He charged toward the pack members.
Thal pursued him. He understood now that Janfelter had guessed that only he had a gun and was trying to attack the easier targets.
Janfelter came upon Lenki. Instead of letting him run her down, she bravely faced his horse with her pair of knives. She shrieked a battle cry and the predatory strength of her lupine inner spirit spooked the horse that dodged aside from her at the last minute. But few things could disrupt the killer focus of Janfelter, and he extended his pistol for a close range shot. Mileko dove toward Lenki and knocked her down just as the pistol discharged. He rolled away with her toward where Ansel and Mitri had taken cover.
Thal ran after Janfelter, but the fext was done fighting. He tore through the forest on his frightened horse that was glad to leave the deadly terrain behind.
Sarputeen stopped next to his son. More blood streaked his fur, but he did not seem overly concerned by it. When he turned his dark eyes upon his son, Thal understood that his father wanted him to shift so that they could chase the rider together for as long as it took. Thal considered forsaking his weapons and going against the fext as his bestial self. Even if they dare not bite the poisonous flesh, they might overcome Janfelter with their brute force and drag him back for dismemberment.
Johan ran up to him. Breathing raggedly, he looked upon his werelord with panic. “Harvath is dying,” he said.
Thal felt the news to the depths of his visceral. Vivid memories of his connection to the man when he had bitten him returned to the fore of his thoughts, and he knew Johan’s statement to be true. He could feel the life pouring
from the man. He looked to his father and then in the direction that Janfelter had fled. He could not forsake Harvath in his dying moment. Although his service had been brief, he had willingly given everything to Thal.
But his father looked back at him with the demand to finish the chase. Thal understood that his father had seen werewolves die in his service before. Perhaps it was a consequence easy for Sarputeen to accept, but such a tragedy was new for Thal, and he could not shrug it off.
“Father, please help him,” Thal said and hurried away with Johan.
Altea watched him go, torn between her desire to accompany him and a sense of duty to Sarputeen. The other pack members and Mileko retreated with Thal.
“You too are hurt, Sarpu,” she said and reached with concern toward his wound.
Sarputeen sniffed in the direction of the withdrawing fext as if making a promise to resume the battle. He then released his magic, and Altea watched with empathy as he endured the pain that returned him to the form of a man. A long cut across his shoulder continued to stream blood, and she brought out a rag to staunch the flow.
She held the bandage against his wound as they walked to where Harvath had been shot. Thal was kneeling beside him, and Johan was on his other side while the others gathered close.
Johan pressed against the gunshot wound in Harvath’s narrow chest. He struggled painfully to breath, and each attempt forced more blood out of his body.
Raw emotion played across Thal’s face, and his eyes were moist with regret. He had tried to provide a strategy that could let his loyal followers survive.
When his father arrived, he looked up pleadingly in his hope that Sarputeen’s knowledge of healing might provide a miracle, but the old man only shook his head because too much hot blood had already melted a puddle of snow around the fallen man.
Thal cradled Harvath’s head in his strong hand. “You did well,” he said.
Harvath coughed and blood darkened his lips.
“Go quickly, Harvath. Let your suffering end,” Thal said softly, entreating the cosmos for the swift mercy that he contemplated delivering himself.
