Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  “You started the conversation. I’m only asking polite questions,” Thal said. He observed the corners of Vito’s mouth flirt with smiling again.

  “Very well, I’ll tell you what concerns me: The salvation of all the souls under the guidance of His Holiness,” Vito said rather self importantly.

  “Are they in danger?” Thal asked.

  Vito sputtered. No one had ever called into question the constant peril of the souls of Christendom. “Yes!” he declared and launched into a well-practiced rant. “Heretic Protestants threaten the whole continent from within as infidels gather at the borders. Sorcerers and witches plague the common folk and invite the Devil into every parish. God has called upon me to battle back these terrible forces that would see all God’s children suffer in Hell fire forever.”

  “I’ve heard of these things too,” Thal said gravely, hoping to encourage the subject. Perhaps this Brother Vito knew of things that would be helpful to Thal’s understanding of his situation.

  Vito warmed to this response and asked Thal what he had heard.

  “Just stories from drunken mouths. I thought little of them until you said something, but I’ve heard people speak of a beast upon the land that hunts at night,” Thal said, feigning some innocence but inwardly eager to gauge Vito’s reaction.

  Vito narrowed his eyes as if he knew exactly what Thal was talking about. The expression was almost imperceptible, but Thal was skilled at noticing such subtleties.

  “The Devil often appears as a beast in the night,” Vito said blandly. Looking meaningfully at Thal’s pistol, he added, “You seem to be a man who would not shy from hunting beasts.”

  “I am a hunter by trade,” Thal said proudly.

  “Then let us talk further. The Jesuits are always seeking new brothers. What is your name?” Vito said.

  To lie seemed wise, but Thal did not wish to disown himself. He would risk that Jan’s pledge to make him a wanted man had not reached the ears of this monk yet.

  “Thal.”

  “That you are alone on the street at night tells me you have no proper home. You are the type of man who could join us and do good in our Lord’s name,” Vito said encouragingly.

  “Is your monastery close?” Thal asked.

  Vito shook his head. “The world is our farm. The defense or our Lord’s souls is too important to hide ourselves away,” Vito explained. “Come break bread with us. You seem to be a man waiting for God to call him to service.”

  Thal hesitated. Although curious about the strange one in the midst of Brother Vito’s group, his intuition warned him against this man with the execution victim dangling so vividly around his neck. Thal knew that his very nature made him the enemy of these men. Jan had spoken of their redemptive fires, but men seemed less able to sniff guilt when it was right under their noses.

  “You are kind, Brother Vito,” Thal said.

  He followed the group toward the church. Servants came out to lead away the horses, and a priest in a hastily donned frock rushed out to greet his visitors. A young man scrambled after him with a lantern swinging on a pole.

  “Welcome to Saint Gilles,” the priest declared, eager to please.

  “I trust you can supply food and shelter for the night,” Vito said tersely.

  “Of course. We extend all hospitality for the servants of His Holiness,” the priest said.

  They were led past the church that loomed into the darkness far above the torchlight. Its ponderous stone walls seemed more than adequate to withstand even God’s judgment. Thal saw structures such as these at most any settlement he had passed through. The footprints of men fell deeply upon the land. He had forgotten how it was so during his long sojourn in the forest.

  The priest took his unexpected guests into his rectory where servants were hustling to build up a fire in the main room and bring out chairs for everyone. The armed guards settled in happily along with another monk who carried a thick leather bag bulging with books.

  Thal could hear the other dozen monks settling in farther back in the house. Although nervous, he hoped that they would come forth soon. He needed a closer look at the man with the intriguing scent.

  The priest crammed chairs around his dining table and then lined the walls with more chairs. Brother Vito and his secretary took seats at the head of table along with the priest. Thal was given a spot between two of the guards.

  Servants dropped off baskets of bread, stale from a previous day’s baking but at least plentiful. Watered wine was poured. No one touched the food. Like the others, Thal watched Brother Vito for a sign of what to do. The Jesuit remained in serene silence while the other men entered the room and sat along the walls.

  Thal quickly pegged the strange man, who stole one furtive look at him. His hair was shorn short, and his thick eyelashes hid his gaze. Seen from a new angle, Thal now noted the bad scar that marred the man’s face. His beard did not quite cover the four red lines on his left cheek that appeared to have been left by fingernails or claws.

  He took a seat strategically behind Thal. Knowing that the man was staring at him now, Thal resisted his urge to whirl and confront him. At close quarters, his scent was more pronounced and the truth of his nature filled Thal’s nostrils. Thal also uncomfortably realized that the man with the beast within must sense the same thing about him. His back started sweating beneath his fur. He wondered if the other man had a magical hide hidden under his plain coarse robe.

  With all the men present, Vito folded his hands and called them to prayer. After seeing that everyone pressed their palms together and bowed their heads, Thal mimicked them.

  Vito thanked their Lord and Savior for the blessings of their nourishing bread. Genuine appreciation filled the room and Thal decided it was a thoughtful way to start a meal. He had not paused in thanks before eating for a long time.

  Slowly he began to eat the bread. The tension between him and the man behind him was distracting. Intensely uncomfortable, Thal regretted placing himself in this situation. Curiosity was not always the best guide.

  “So who do you work for?” asked one of the sellswords. He shoved food in his mouth and chewed on it placidly, awaiting Thal’s response.

  “I wouldn’t call it working,” Thal said.

  The response amused the sellsword whose grunt resembled laughter.

  Thal continued, “I’m bodyguard to a traveling musical troupe. They seem to think they need someone to provide security on the road.”

  “And can you?” the sellsword said.

  “Yes,” Thal said.

  His simple confident response gave the sellsword pause. He swilled his wine and eyed Thal thoughtfully.

  Brother Vito said, “The courage in your heart was plain for me to see. I’m blessed with the ability to judge men in that regard. Mother Church is in great need of such stout-hearted sons these days.”

  “You’re generous in your assessment of me,” Thal said and ate more bread.

  “I’d like to see you join my retinue,” Vito offered.

  “I could not abandon my companions. I feel that would be dishonorable,” Thal said.

  “Taking up the cause of the Church would absolve you of any insult you may give your clients,” Vito said.

  Wondering why the monk was so keen on him, Thal struggled for a way to decline. “I doubt that I am a man worthy of your holy cause,” he said.

  The sellsword that had spoken to him earlier guffawed. “No need to take the cloth, lad,” he commented.

  Vito added, “Taking holy vows and joining our brotherhood would give your soul a fresh start, but my associate Tenzo is correct. You can serve in a secular capacity if that suits you best. Either way I am in the market for reliable men.” The way he said “reliable” hinted broadly that reliability included unsavory deeds.

  “I will give your offer some thought. I was not expecting this,” Thal said.

  “Of course. This is sudden, but I’m not a man to let opportunity pass. God dropped you under my nose tonigh
t because I am collecting good men on my journey. I promise you that you’ll find no better master than serving our Lord,” Vito said.

  “I was not looking for a master,” Thal said.

  The remark startled the other men who ceased their quiet side conversations. In retrospect Thal realized how backhanded his truth had sounded.

  “Forgive me. I’m sure you’re a kind master. I’ll give your offer thought, but I must speak with my companions. They rely on me,” Thal said.

  Brother Vito nodded indulgently. He liked the way that Thal spoke. He supposed he should not be too surprised that he had failed to quickly recruit the lone rogue by the fountain. Men with intriguing qualities were not always easy to harness.

  “I admire your loyalty to your current charges. Should your situation change, remember the kindness of the Jesuits and the needs of Mother Church. She will always take care of her defenders. When you tire of your silly musicians, we will be here and everywhere,” Vito said.

  “I appreciate your patience,” Thal said and took a drink. “May I be excused? I should check on my companions. They might have gotten themselves in trouble by now.”

  The monk leader smiled and told Thal that he could go.

  “It was pleasant meeting you,” Thal said and dipped his head politely to the others before he put his hat back on. When he got up from his chair, he faced the man behind him.

  “You’ve met with some trouble but seem to be healed from your wounds,” Thal commented and leaned a little closer.

  The man turned his cheek to hide the scars and would not look at Thal. The monk next to him said, “We still pray for Brother Rainer to recover from his trauma, but he will not speak of it.”

  “I apologize for my thoughtless comment,” Thal said. He waited a moment, hoping the man would look up at him, but he stubbornly refused to return Thal’s interest.

  Unsatisfied, Thal left the rectory. Pistol jumped up to greet him when he went down the steps. His face was drawn with deep thought as he crossed the square and passed the fountain. The little flames in the street lanterns had burned out and a deep starry darkness pressed down on the village with the immensity of Heaven.

  The knowledge that another man existed like him both encouraged and alarmed Thal. What did the man Rainer know? Was he a friend or foe?

  This last question pressed most pertinently on Thal’s mind. Brother Vito spoke of saving souls, but he seemed intent on a darker business that involved hunting down those afflicted with devilry. Was Rainer about to start hunting him? Did Vito know what Rainer was? Did Vito suspect what Thal was?

  Panic enflamed Thal’s fears. He had to retreat and ponder this encounter. He wanted the safety of deep cover and a cold trail. Like a wolf that has hunted a shepherd’s flock, he feared the retribution that must inevitably come. Perhaps he should have accepted Vito’s invitation to work for the Jesuits. Then he would have been able to answer all his questions, but if Thal knew one thing, he knew to choose his pack carefully, and he did not want to look up to Brother Vito as his alpha. Better to stick with his merry musicians who supported him and appreciated his talents, what they knew of them.

  Thal hurried to the grungy tavern. Candlelight still spilled out the windows of the tavern, but he heard no music. When Thal reached the door, two laborers were stumbling out. Thal had to step aside to avoid their burly momentum. One of the men patted Thal on the shoulder and burped his apologies.

  Inside, his companions were packing their instruments. The barmaid had already retired and the tavern keeper was hauling a tray of dirty dishes into the back.

  “Thal, you missed a chance to play primero,” Regis said.

  “Never mind that,” Thal said. He picked up Regis’s harp and headed toward the back door. The musicians had been given lodging in the stable loft that was empty of hay because of the season. The three players followed Thal. They were stretching and yawning and ready to sleep. When they came into the stable, Thal tossed them their backpacks.

  “We have to go,” he said.

  “Why?” Regis demanded irritably.

  “I think there’s trouble for me here,” Thal said, uncertain how to precisely explain.

  “Oh, Thal, don’t worry. This sleepy town is only a threat to chickens and kegs of beer,” Regis said.

  Thal cast about the stable until he spotted a ladder. He grabbed it and told the men to pick up their things.

  “What are you doing?” Regis said, beginning to take his bodyguard’s alarm seriously.

  “We can get over the wall with this so they won’t see us at the gate,” Thal explained.

  Regis grabbed his arm. “You must tell me what happened,” he said with sincere concern.

  “A group of Jesuits and sellswords entered the village after dark. They tried to recruit me but I refused. I think I offended their leader. Please, let us go,” Thal said.

  “Don’t overreact over a few monks. I got the tavern keeper to promise us breakfast,” Regis said.

  “I’m going,” Thal said.

  Not wishing to lose his strong man, Regis argued, “We can’t just run off into the night. Who knows what’s prowling the roads.”

  “That’s what I’m for isn’t it?” Thal rejoined with a glint in his eye.

  “But…” Regis said helplessly.

  Thal did not want to waste anymore time on discussion. He had mentioned that he was traveling with musicians and he regretted his candor. Even if he slipped away, Vito might look for his companions. He could not leave them behind.

  “You could be in danger too. Please hurry,” Thal said.

  The three men muttered to each other, but they had come to trust Thal. If he said there was danger, then they would have to give up the meager roof and the promise of breakfast. Their experience in Budweis came easily to mind, and the freedom of the road was not to be discounted.

  “Oh, I suppose this place smells like how do you say…donkey balls,” Regis muttered.

  “You’d know,” Carlo snickered and put on his backpack.

  They crept through the sleeping village with the ladder until they reached the wall. Carlo went up first and crouched along the top as Raphael and Regis came up. The men waited while Thal climbed with Pistol under his arm. Once they were all at the top they lifted the ladder to the other side and descended.

  “Come along,” Thal said and led them unerringly into the darkness.

  Chapter 12. The Ferryman

  Brother Vito rubbed his temples and took deep slow breaths. The little ritual cleared his mind at the end of the day. He sat back in the hard wooden chair and opened his eyes. The local priest was still there, staring at him expectantly.

  “No need to stay up on my account,” Vito said.

  The priest took the hint.

  “If you need anything, just ring,” the priest said, not unhappy to go back to bed.

  “All I need is for the Lord to provide me a good night’s sleep,” Vito said.

  “I’ll say a prayer for you,” the priest said and left the room. He looked back as he shut the door.

  Vito let him walk away before he said, “I’ll be glad to get up to Prague soon. It’s been a long trip.”

  “Yes, Brother,” said the secretary. He did not look up from the leather bound tome he was examining.

  “The recruiting is still not going well,” Vito griped.

  “Yes, Brother.”

  “Are you listening to me, Miguel?” Vito demanded.

  Brother Miguel jerked his nose out of the book. “Once we get settled in Prague, we’ll do better. You’ll see. We need a chance to teach a while and spread the word about what is needed,” he said.

  “Yes, you’re right,” Vito said.

  “God will provide,” Miguel murmured and resumed reading.

  “You must have that book memorized by now,” Vito said. The whole trip Miguel had been studying the latest manual on ferreting out heretics.

  “It’s fascinating. With so many heretics in recent years many new deta
ils have come to light. This book offers guidance on persecution,” Miguel explained.

  “Good. Let’s hope we can adapt its system to securing Bohemia. This kingdom has long been a confused child of Mother Church,” Vito said.

  “True, but the scenery is lovely. I’ve been enjoying the journey,” Miguel said.

  Vito shifted in his chair. He was sore from riding all day.

  Miguel continued, “I suppose the weather must be bad here sometimes. After a bad storm is a good time to make accusations against our enemies, or so it says here.”

  “That makes sense,” Vito agreed. He got up and moved an extra candlestick closer to Miguel so he had more light to read by. “I appreciate how carefully you’ve been preparing for our mission. I’ll be turning in now,” he said.

  Glowing from the rare compliment, Miguel wished his leader good night. He pursed his lips thoughtfully and went back to his reading.

  When Vito opened the door, one of his monks was standing in the hallway and about to knock on it.

  “Brother Vito, you are needed. Rainer says he must speak with you,” the man announced.

  “Not tonight,” Vito said.

  “Please, Brother Vito. I fear he might be on the verge of one of his fits. He’s very agitated and you know you’re the only one who can console his ill humor,” the monk reminded.

  “Very well,” Vito said and followed the brother into a wing of guest rooms. Monks were bedded down on the floor, but Rainer was pacing among his prone brothers. He rushed to Vito when he came in. He clapped his hands together to restrain himself from seizing his superior.

  “Leave us,” Vito snapped.

  A few groans were stifled as the monks got off the floor and filed into the hall. Vito shut the door.

  “The moon is dark. Let yourself rest,” Vito said wearily.

  “It’s not that,” Rainer hissed. His blue eyes were wide. “That man tonight. The one you were trying to recruit. He’s like me.”

  The words hit Vito like a gust of wind. His mind lit up with comprehension. “My God! No wonder I wanted him so. Are you sure?” Vito said.

  Rainer nodded vigorously.