Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  The professor’s idea worried Miguel. “Reach not into the bag of the Devil’s tricks,” he advised. “I recommend carrying a vial of holy water, and I read that a silver cross is a proven werewolf bane.”

  “Really? In which text?” Zussek said, annoyed that he had not come across the same information.

  Miguel chuckled, a little embarrassed. “Actually it was on a handbill someone gave me this morning,” he explained.

  Zussek rolled his eyes. “The fancies of fortune tellers and magicians are not for true men of learning,” he said.

  Folding the papers containing the hairs, Miguel said, “Yes, but keep your path with the Godly, Professor.”

  “My Brother is right. We must look to God to protect us,” Vito agreed.

  “Naturally. Your point is well taken. I can’t help being curious about these magic powers, but I assure you that I seek to destroy these monsters,” Zussek said, hoping that he had not just wiped out all the progress he had made courting favor with his new Jesuit neighbors.

  “And destroy them we shall,” Vito said. “Now ply your curious mind to learning what will bait these things so that Prague can be purified.”

  Zussek gathered up his items and closed his bag. He was going over in his mind which books he would consult when he got back to the university. He stopped in the doorway and said, “I’ve had a thought. You know how I think that witch summoned these beasts. Flushing out some more witches could draw out the beasts to ground of our choosing. With all the terror the city has endured, I’m sure the public will be enthusiastic about another witch hunt. We can’t go wrong with that,” Zussek said.

  “An excellent recommendation. I shall instruct my brothers to beseech their pupils to tell them who is practicing witchcraft,” Vito said, satisfied with the expedient plan. Werewolves were proving hard to catch, but witches were always close at hand and methods for obtaining confessions were highly productive.

  Chapter 30. Trust

  A stable hand rushed out to receive the Condottiere when he rode onto the neat gravel lane. Valentino looked over Carmelita’s home as if expecting to find something amiss. But flowers still bloomed in the boxes. Doves cooed along the eaves, and he could faintly hear Mika’s piping voice singing inside, presumably during a music lesson.

  When Valentino entered, his boots clomped upon the gleaming tile floor. Fresh herbal bouquets wafted a magical pleasantness. Pausing to savor the sweet place, he hoped that nothing would ever sully Carmelita’s feminine fortress. The dream of lounging here as the widow’s idle lover tempted him. But like Odysseus he knew he could only listen to the Siren song. He could not survive if he went ashore.

  A servant ushered him into Carmelita’s solar. She sat at a frame stitching a small tapestry. Morning sunshine beamed upon her.

  She stuck her needle in the heavy fabric and stood up. Her relief upon seeing him softened her anger more than she had expected it would.

  “My Lady,” he whispered admiringly.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded.

  “I do have a room elsewhere in Prague. It would be unseemly if I stayed here all the time,” Valentino said. He swept forward and put his arms around the little Czech lady that made him feel like he could conquer the world if she put her foot down and demanded it.

  Carmelita turned from him and wiggled against his hard arms with false resistance. “Three days! I give you my heart and you disappear for three days!” she complained.

  He turned her face toward him but did not presume to kiss her yet. “Forgive me,” he said. “I haven’t been fit for love. My mind cannot fathom what I have seen.”

  “You saw the werewolf?” she asked, discarding her jilted upset.

  The monstrous memories replayed in his head and unmoored him for the thousandth time. His rough fingers slipped from her soft chin. He nodded mutely.

  “Everyone says Thal fought it off. I heard the fight but saw nothing. I don’t know how he did it,” Carmelita said.

  “What did he tell you?” Valentino asked.

  “Tell me? He’s gone. No one has seen him,” she reported.

  “He didn’t come back here?” Valentino said.

  “No. But at least the beast has not returned either. I don’t know what we would’ve done without him to protect us,” she said.

  “The werewolf came here because it was seeking Thal,” Valentino said.

  “A beast hunting the hunter?” she said.

  “Sweet woman you’ve been in your lovely little world too long,” Valentino said.

  “Did you see what happened to Thal?” she asked.

  Valentino wandered to a chair and sat down as if the truth crippled his legs.

  Carmelita gaped. “Something really has upset you,” she worried and rushed to his side.

  Staring into space, Valentino said, “Thal is a werewolf too.”

  Carmelita wanted to protest but thoughtful silence froze her shapely lips. She wanted Thal to be a man, an extraordinary man, but just a man. But he was something more. The truth of it clung to him like mist over the river on a cold morning. His spirit was more than a man, or perhaps he was what a man would feel like if all the rules in the world were gone and all God’s creatures still roamed the dream of Paradise.

  “What have I done?” she whispered, thinking of how she had welcomed him into her home. Had her brother known?

  “I don’t know if he could land at any doorstep and be refused admittance. Even I still wish to see him again. He showed me his power. I watched him change. He could have killed me. When his eyes looked upon me I couldn’t even think to fight. He was as close to me as you are now, but he hurt me not,” Valentino said, relieved to tell someone.

  Although Valentino was filled with calm wonderment, Carmelita became agitated. “The Devil has sent this monster to punish me for questioning my faith,” she said.

  “No!” Valentino cried. “Thal is not of the Devil. God knows I have seen the worst of man. Butchery that would make the Devil blanch, but none of these things I feel in him. Why must the powers of the beast be called the Devil’s work? Maybe Thal is here to help us. An age as sinful as ours deserves no angel to defend it. This is what I’ve been pondering these past days. Perhaps he is a friend we need. The other werewolf is under the sway of Jesuits.”

  “Jesuits!” Carmelita said, remembering her political distaste for all the forces of Rome.

  Valentino related his brief adventure with the sellswords that Thal had said were attached to Jesuits. He continued, “So you see, Thal is already the enemy of our enemy. Maybe he can help us disturb the Church’s growing hold on Prague.”

  Scheming thoughts altered Carmelita’s face. Hard-edged pragmatism replaced her public persona of shallow delights. Shaking her head, she whispered, “Those who challenge the Church will want nothing to do with this Devilry, whether it is truly such or not. They seek righteousness for society not sorcery. I can’t bring him into the fold now,” she said, relieved that she had not already done so. Thal’s skillful rudeness was a courtesy to her now, and she appreciated him in a new way.

  Valentino cupped her chin and kissed her. The slick physical connection loosened her worries a little. Valentino’s stout confidence surged back and beckoned her with security. “Is this not what I am for? To tend to dark deeds and drive back sinful hypocrites who would rule us all?”

  “Yes,” she whispered between kisses.

  “Let Thal be our secret,” he proposed and kissed her on the neck in a sensitive spot he had discovered on their night together.

  Very gently she moaned. The ticklish pleasure gave her courage to continue her risky behavior.

  “What shall we do with our secret?” Carmelita asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to find him again first,” Valentino said. He reached for a breast. The fleshy swell in his palm invited him to conquer more of her body.

  Outside, the bark of a small dog startled them out of their play. After spending a night harried by such ins
istent yapping, he recognized it well.

  “His dog!” Valentino cried.

  “Thal,” Carmelita said. She sprang away from the Condottiere’s lap. They went out a side door and saw Thal outside the servants’ quarters. The pot boy bounced around the group of musicians and maids around Thal. Regis, Raphael, and Carlo were taking turns embracing him, lapsing into their native language half the time.

  Thal was smiling when he looked over and saw his hostess and the Condottiere approaching. The crowd loosened. He took off his hat. The feathers in it had gotten bent.

  “Her Ladyship does me great honor,” he said.

  “Not that you deserve it,” Carmelita grumbled, trying to bury her concern now that she embarrassed herself rushing out the door like a peasant’s wife.

  Mika came running up behind his mother. Relief for Thal’s return blazed in his boyish eyes.

  “Did you kill the werewolf?” Mika asked. Silence seized the gaggle of servants awaiting an answer.

  Thal glanced at Valentino. “The thing shall trouble this house no more,” he said, hoping it was true.

  “Really?” Mika said, astonished by the answer.

  “Did the beast hurt you?” Carmelita asked. A nasty scrape was healing on his cheek. His shirt hung open and revealed scabby scratches.

  “These are but trifles,” he said and brushed a hand over his chest.

  Carmelita said, “We shall speak of this in private.”

  Her knowing eyes told him that she knew some or all of what had happened. Presumably Valentino had told her, but Thal did not mind. She deserved to know.

  “At your convenience, my Lady,” Thal said.

  “Tonight then,” she said and gathered Mika to her hip. She withdrew to the house while looking over her shoulder at him.

  With the lady of the house now out of earshot, Thal said to Valentino, “I’d like to get that gun if you’re available to help me.”

  Valentino was stunned anew to be back in his presence. “We could do that,” he finally said.

  “Good,” Thal said.

  “Not good,” Regis interjected.

  Thal sympathized with his friend’s disapproval. His call to peace was good hearted.

  “I must speak with my friends before we go,” Thal said.

  “I’ll be here,” Valentino said.

  Thal disbursed the curious servants and withdrew to his little room with his three friends. He flopped onto his bed and let his booted feet hang over the end. The straw mattress and smooth linen reminded him that the forest did not provide all the creature comforts.

  “Thank you for sending my clothes. That was very thoughtful of you,” Thal said.

  “You must not let this happen anymore,” Regis insisted.

  “Why?”

  “Because we don’t want you to get hurt or caught,” Regis said. “We should head for Paris where no one has heard your name.”

  Thal sat up and swung his feet back to the floor. He sighed heavily. “My friends, I don’t want my troubles to touch you. We will part ways soon,” he said.

  The trio protested but Thal held up a hand. “I’ve taken on a dark duty that I must complete,” he warned.

  “Don’t do it, Thal. Vengeance has no value,” Regis said.

  “What vengeance?” Carlo asked.

  “It’s best none of you know my plots,” Thal said.

  “Maybe we can help you,” Raphael said.

  Regis flashed with anger because the proposal undermined his goal of getting Thal to forgo avenging his mother.

  “I don’t want my crimes to taint you,” Thal said.

  “You’ve done no crimes yet…” Regis trailed off. He had meant to argue but then realized that Thal might have already done something terrible during the last three days. “Where have you been?” he asked softly.

  I have been at peace, Thal thought. While he lingered in the fragrant countryside the woodland chatter and the whispering breeze through the meadow flowers had soothed his grief.

  “Mostly in the country. Then last night I ventured across the river into New Town,” Thal said.

  “What’s in New Town?” Raphael asked.

  “Everything. I saw hay markets and horse markets. There’s wool markets and cattle markets. Tanneries and weavers. Many traders. I discovered some good primero games,” Thal said and patted his purse.

  “Did you win enough to start our journey to Paris?” Regis asked.

  “But you’ve hardly even been in Prague yet,” Thal argued.

  Regis shrugged. “Paris will be better,” he predicted.

  “I hear the French lands are war torn,” Thal said.

  “Then we can go somewhere else. Please Thal, let’s stay together. We do well with you and you can’t stay in Prague, not unless you go with that Condottiere and let him change your name,” Regis said.

  “I’m not going to war with him,” Thal said. “But I do need his help buying another pistol.”

  “I beg you not to do that,” Regis said.

  “Would you leave your mother’s murder unavenged?” Thal said.

  Regis hung his head, defeated but also ashamed of his selfish need to keep Thal to himself.

  Thal set a hand on Regis’s shoulder and looked to his other two friends as well. “All of you must think about what you will do without me. I don’t know when, but it won’t be long before I must leave you. I will simply disappear. I must do this so those that hunt me do not come for you. You must disavow me,” Thal instructed.

  Raphael swore an oath in his native language and threw up his hands. “Regis is right. We should leave town together. Do what you must do and then we go,” he declared.

  “I’ll not risk your lives,” Thal said.

  Raphael started to argue again, but Thal cut him off. “Think on what I have said.” He went out the door and left them.

  Emotions roiled in Thal. Against his better judgment he had returned to his friends for the sake of seeing them. He hoped that his blunt talk had impressed upon them that their relationship could not be long term. Forsaking the company of their good hearts would be the least of the difficulties.

  Valentino was waiting outside on his horse. The bay’s reddish coat gleamed in the sunshine. Its dark eyes widened at Thal and it sidestepped away.

  “Follow me,” Valentino said and his horse sprang forward.

  Thal trailed him through the streets. The Condottiere made an imposing figure towering over pedestrians. Thal envied his stature and wondered if he could ever get a horse to carry him.

  The high ground of Prague Castle loomed closer as Valentino led him across the Little Quarter. The many storehouses, shops, and homes of those in service to the crown crowded the streets. Men in fine clothes with flocks of servants went in and out of places. Wagons filled with supplies rumbled back and forth.

  Just before reaching the main road up to the castle, Valentino turned down a side road. It twisted along an uneven ridge, passing several old buildings. One was leaning and another was tumbled down. Men with an ox cart were salvaging bricks and stones from the ruin.

  Beyond a copse of pines, lines of smoke rose, and Thal heard the clang of a smithy. After they passed the trees, a walled compound tucked against the base of the castle hill confronted them. Valentino hailed a man on the wall who let him in.

  A fume belched out the gate from a burn pile where charcoal was being made. Valentino tied his horse to a pole and waited for Thal to catch up. Thal wrinkled his nose at the acrid stink of wood smoke and hot metal.

  Valentino led him past several open air workshops. Metal was being heated and banged and twisted and molded into all sorts of tools.

  When they reached the shop farthest in the back, Valentino hollered, “Otram! Otram, where are you? Come out here you crooked son of a bitch.”

  “Who dares call me crooked?” a man responded. He clambered down a ladder from a loft and advanced on Valentino. He had wavy blonde hair and a leather apron crisscrossed with scorch marks. They shook hand
s and exchanged a few friendly insults.

  Finally Otram looked over at Thal. “Who’s with you?”

  “This is Thom Nova, a new commander who needs some outfitting,” Valentino said, retrieving one of the plainest names from his memory.

  “Another Thom?” Otram mumbled, amused.

  Thal restrained himself from protesting his new name. He supposed Valentino was being prudent.

  “Where are you from Thom?” Otram inquired.

  “Prague.”

  “I’ve never seen you,” Otram said. He scanned Thal’s weapons and figured that he was the sort of man who should have crossed his path before. He also had the look of someone not easily forgotten.

  “I’ve been gone a long time,” Thal explained.

  “You don’t look like you’ve been anywhere a long time, lad,” Otram said.

  “I’ve been in Austria,” Thal said.

  Valentino added, “Thom’s been working as a bodyguard, but he’s ready to sign on with me and make a fortune when things get hot around here.”

  Otram wiped his nose with his hand and kept studying Thal. “This one has some potential,” he muttered. “What are you after?”

  “Another pistol,” Thal said.

  “Can’t make those fast enough. The Emperor must sleep on a big pile of them by now,” Otram said.

  “He better,” Valentino said and Otram laughed.

  “Back this way, gentlemen,” he said and led them through the shop.

  Men were sitting at a long table working on various gun parts. One was filing the grooves of a wheel lock and checking the precision of the fit after each adjustment. Another man was attaching a metal barrel to a stock. Thal looked over the process with interest as he walked by.

  Otram took them into an enclosed yard. A brick retaining wall against the hill was riddled with holes. Otram yelled for a servant to bring the pistols and traded gossip with Valentino while waiting.

  “I heard that werewolf was in the Little Quarter,” Otram said.

  Valentino nodded. “I even tried hunting it myself. Stupid of me. It was too fast,” he said.

  “Half the kingdom might be hunting it after today. Council in Old Town just put up a bounty for it,” Otram said.