Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  At the bridge one man called out when he saw the dog running onto the bridge, but no one chased Pistol. Afraid that the werewolf was about to appear, everyone turned toward the streets radiating out of the Little Quarter.

  On the Old Town side of the bridge, Pistol dashed past the guards. A horse shied at the movement, but otherwise the dog went unseen. Returning to the river bank Pistol snuffled along seeking Thal.

  Downriver by the Jewish Quarter, Pistol reunited with his master. Thal was carrying his basket up a slippery bank that was both muddy and stony. He slipped once and banged a knee.

  Thal set down the basket and stayed bent over while he caught his breath. His swim had been demanding but his body felt very warm and alive now. Pistol jumped and brushed his cheek with a tongue.

  Thal patted him. “You’re a smart little dog,” he praised.

  Picking up his basket, he found a hiding spot between buildings where the moonlight beamed down. He unpacked his fur and caressed the thick soft hide. The desire to transform was building in him, like hunger after a hard day’s work.

  Thinking of Altea, he decided to continue as a man. He needed to speak to her. He set the fur aside and got dressed. Thankfully his guns and powder were dry.

  When he set off into Old Town, the moonlight helped him avoid people. He saw them with their torches well before they reached him in the shadows. Thal advanced very cautiously once he was in the vicinity of the Fridrich household. Before turning down Altea’s street, he had Pistol go first.

  Peaking around the corner of a building, Thal watched the dog approach the front steps. He found two men and started harassing them. His quick little snaps to the ankles made the men kick and stomp comically, but the nimble dog avoided their feet and spears.

  Thal smiled darkly, surmising that the Magistrate was quiet afraid this night.

  He should be, he thought.

  Turning back, he entered the alley. He crouched behind a cart parked behind Altea’s neighbor. He could smell a man. Pistol conveniently padded up and Thal sent him to engage the guard.

  Pistol’s growls and dancing revealed a single man. Thal studied the house. The windows were dark. A bad feeling penetrated his nervousness. Quietly, he drew his sword and walked toward the house. Pistol disengaged from the guard and disappeared in the dark.

  “Damn dog,” the guard muttered. When he turned back to his post, the point of a sword caught him under the chin. Panicking, the man swung his spear. It bashed Thal’s sword aside and then they were fighting. The guard screamed when the blade hit his leg. Another swing and Thal killed him.

  The other guards were coming through the house from the front. Lantern light leered out the back door when it opened.

  “Did you call us?” someone hollered.

  Thal bounded up the steps and tackled the man with the lantern. He fell back against his colleague. A shouting cursing tussle ensued. Thal struck a mortal blow to the front man. He flopped against the wall and blood spurted darkly across the plaster. Thal narrowly avoided the thrusting spear of the second man and then yanked the spear from his hand. He threw it out the back door. The man retreated. Thal ran down the hall and caught him. He bashed his head into a door frame. The helmet protected him from the blow and he tried to stab Thal, but his new armor kept the dagger out of his guts. Thal punched the man hard on the jaw. After tearing off his helmet, Thal knocked him hard enough to leave him senseless on the floor.

  The dark house was eerily quiet. Thal’s heavy breathing intruded on its emptiness. Bounding to his feet with his sword back in his hands, he raced upstairs and found all the bedrooms empty. In Altea’s room he paused. Her aroma was heavy here and it made him ache to hold her, but the disturbed state of the room pushed aside the dreaminess of his fond lusting.

  A table was knocked over. A ceramic basin lay in pieces. The bedding was torn off. When he looked into the cracked mirror, the dim moonlight showed the jagged line transecting his reflection.

  Awful worries burned across his mind like fuses flashing into canons. The assault on Regis, Raphael, and Carlo came to mind and he feared some similar thing had happened to Altea.

  He stormed down the stairs and surprised an old man stepping over the guards toppled in the hall. Thal descended on the slow fellow in a nightshirt and seized him by the shoulders.

  “Where’s Altea?” he demanded.

  “Ahhh!” the terrified man cried.

  Thal slapped him. “Tell me what happened here!” he said.

  “Don’t hurt me!” the old man cried.

  “Talk or your blood’ll be on the walls next,” Thal threatened.

  “The girl’s a witch and taken away,” the aged servant said.

  Thal gasped. The old man tried to wriggle loose, but Thal pinned him against the wall.

  “Where’s the Magistrate?” he said, sick with the knowledge that Altea had asked mercy for a man who had let her be arrested for witchcraft.

  “Nooo!” the old man said, shaking his head vigorously.

  Thal flung him to the floor and pressed his face against the dead man-at-arms in a bloody puddle.

  “Adding another dead man to my list of crimes is NOT going to make things worse for me,” Thal said.

  The old valet reassessed the value of loyalty to his master and chose to answer. “The Magistrate is at the Court,” he whimpered and begged for mercy.

  Thal let go of the man, forgetting him in his fury. He roared in distress. His criminality brought harm onto those he loved.

  While he staggered beneath his burdensome guilt, the old man dragged himself toward the back door. Pistol pounced on him and tore at his nightshirt. Thal ignored the meaningless tussle and the old servant finally threw the dog off and escaped.

  “Altea,” Thal moaned, thinking of the torments she may already have suffered. Battling through his despair he reasoned that she must have been taken to the jail as his mother had been. Thal reeled from an overwhelming sense of failure. His mother would have never meant for him to bring disaster upon that poor young woman. He should have done a better job of avenging her and not left innocent victims in his wake.

  But berating himself over his errors would accomplish nothing. The Magistrate was at the Court awaiting his judgment.

  “I’ll gut him,” Thal snarled. A wretched desire for violence overtook his better nature. This ugly passion went far beyond the normal brutality of the hunt. True malice motivated him. Even amid his mounting rage he recognized that he was descending to the level of those brutes that had dragged his mother to a horrific end. The only difference would be that what he was about to inflict was deserved.

  In a frenzy he tore the clothes from his body. With shaking hands he bundled everything except the armor and fur. He ran into the alley and hid the bundle beneath the cart.

  Looking up and down the alley, he perceived that it was empty. The servant had fled far on his old legs, and no neighbors had the courage to do more than peek through their shutters.

  He buckled the armor over his naked chest and left the straps very loose. Then he wrapped the fur around his hips and started chanting. The spell had never crossed his lips with such wrath. When he reached the last word of it he shouted his name with all the force of his soul.

  The magic seized his body with glee. Muscles and skin and bones shifted and rebuilt him as a werewolf. More strength than ever before surged through his hairy body. The armor pressed tightly against his enlarged chest.

  Thal bent low and nudged his hidden bundle with his wide nose and looked at Pistol. The dog slunk under the cart and understood that his master wished him to stay with it.

  On all fours, Thal hurried into the house. He bounded over the bodies in the hall and sniffed everywhere. A particularly familiar scent further incited his rage.

  Vito! The monk had been here and Thal guessed that the meddling Jesuit had targeted Altea. The trap Rainer had warned him of was well baited, and Thal prepared himself to confront his enemies on the turf of their Earthly Hell
.

  Near the front door and shoved against the wall, Thal found Altea’s slipper. His tail sagged and his ears dropped as he sniffed the sad little sign of her arrest. He imagined her barefoot and helpless and needing him because no man or woman would aid her now.

  ******

  The pain in Altea’s swollen bloody hands prevented her from folding them for prayer. Every breath stabbed her vengefully.

  The oppressive dark was only broken by the blue moonlight in the small barred window. Faint whimpering from the next cell told her that the other woman was still alive.

  Altea closed her eyes. She had been taught that a peaceful Heaven awaited her soul after its final cleansing in Purgatory. This abstract reward was meant to ease the hardships of life, but her faith wavered as she groped desperately for comfort.

  Those who had wrought so much pain upon her body were supposed to be the agents of her God, but she could not believe it. Her God could not smile upon this torture, and she begged for intervention.

  “Dear God, please save me. I’ve done nothing to deserve this. Please God, pity me. I don’t want to die.”

  Her hoarse voice faded and fresh tears dripped. The onrushing knowledge of her inescapable execution quashed her prayers. She sagged against the grimy iron bars, muttering that she did not want to die.

  The distant sound of a door opening and slamming hushed her whimpering. Footsteps came toward the cell block. She squinted when the light spilled into her black misery. The two men who had brought her to this place were back.

  The one with the scraggly blonde hair held his lantern close to her cell. She held a hand up against the light.

  “Awake and waiting for me aren’t you, my special girl,” he said.

  Altea started trembling. Dreading his assault she looked around her cell for anything that might help her defend herself, but there was nothing but a slop bucket.

  The blonde man turned to the racks on the opposite wall and took down two chains. He gave one length of rusty links to his partner.

  He grinned while unlocking Altea’s cell. She scooted all the way back. The heavy door creaked on its hinges and he came in. He set down the lantern on the floor and descended on Altea. She could not hit him because of the state of her thumbs. He grabbed her neck with both hands and hauled her to her feet. She screamed, and then the pain from her broken ribs took her breath away. He slammed her against the bars and started wrapping the chain around her wrists. Her bound hands were then chained to the iron grid above her head. The woman in the other cell received the same treatment.

  The rogue in Altea’s cell fetched his lantern and held it near her face. “You’re the sweetest thing ever I set eyes on,” he said. He stroked her cheek. She twisted away.

  He tucked the lantern into the high window sill so that it cast light throughout the cell. Taking out a knife, he slid its point down her nose and onto her lips. The cold sharp edge terrified her.

  “Please don’t hurt me. You don’t have to do this. Let me go,” she said.

  He laughed. “You’re so good at begging. I’d like to hear you beg more, like you did today. It’s true what they say. They all beg in the torture room. I’m happy the Jesuit saved you from the maiden. Now I got something to prick you with. I won the coin toss and get you first.”

  “Don’t hurt me. Go away,” Altea said.

  He grabbed a lock of her hair and sawed into it with his knife. “Something to remember you by. They say you never forget your first. And you’re going to be my first witch,” he said and stuffed her ragged chunk of hair into a pocket.

  His hand rubbed across her breasts. She moaned and shut her eyes. He pressed against her and whispered in her ear. “Your werewolf lover isn’t going to come for you. We’ve been waiting half the night and there’s no sign of him.”

  “Thal,” Altea sobbed, wanting him so badly. He was the only one in the world who would show her any sympathy now.

  “She calls out to him,” her tormentor laughed.

  “Nice,” his counterpart grunted as he struggled with his prisoner. She apparently was not as injured as Altea. She must have confessed more quickly in the torture chamber.

  The man assaulting Altea sheathed his knife and took her face in his hands. He forced a kiss upon her. She snarled at his stinking mouth and he squeezed her cheeks with bruising force. Her chained vulnerability and defiance excited him in new ways. As a soldier he had violated women when sacking villages but it had never been like this. The chains enhanced his sense of power and the privacy of the cell invited him to take his time. He planned on enjoying himself.

  ******

  Slumped over in a chair, Miguel snored softly. Vito sat nearby. A single candle burned in the room they shared. Martin was across the hall in his office, and Tenzo and Jan were with the other men at the entrance.

  Sleep never came easily to Vito, and the wheezing slumber of Miguel was becoming annoying. But most vexing was the absence of Thal. Perhaps his lust for the Magistrate’s stepdaughter was insufficient to attract him, and Vito fretted that he might never catch the elusive werewolf.

  At least he would gain notoriety from the witch hunt that he had started. The people of Prague had taken to it with a healthy appetite for condemning others. He recalled his short encounter with Thal in Mirotice. He should have recognized him as a supernatural beast more quickly. Then he might have been succeeded in entrapping the man.

  Vito sighed. The reality of Rainer’s loss was still sinking in. He could hope someday to acquire another man stricken with the wolf curse. Vito had only begun to explore the possibilities. God smiled upon any advantage he could find in the battle against heresy.

  A gun fired. The cracking sound thrilled Vito, who jumped from his chair. Another gunshot vibrated in the hall. Vito yanked open the door and looked out. Miguel snorted and came awake.

  “Is something happening?” he asked.

  A roar shook the sturdy building and men yelled. Snarls and screams ensued.

  “Dear God!” Vito cried as he peered down the hall. The double doors burst open and a shaggy beast was silhouetted against the moonlight in the square. Carrying a dead body, presumably that of one of the outside guards, the werewolf shielded himself from the blows of the other men-at-arms.

  The werewolf tore into the men. Claws slashed and terrible jaws crunched on bone. The screaming was awful. Two men escaped the whirlwind of butchery and ran toward Vito. Thal leaped and pounced on the back on the closest man. A fast crushing bite to the back of the neck killed the man.

  Jan Bradcek raced toward Vito. His eyes were ablaze with terror. The werewolf landed on his back and smashed him hard to the floor. Vito fled. He heard the man scream once in agony and then claws scraped against the floor as Thal launched himself after Vito.

  The chase was short. The wiry Jesuit made an athletic effort, but Thal’s snapping jaws caught the back of Vito’s robe at the entrance to the main court chamber. He was dragged back into the hall screaming.

  Thal seized him with his paw-like hands and stood Vito up against the wall. He snarled with bloody teeth into the face of the Jesuit who had led Rainer to madness and ruin.

  “Think of your soul! I can save you. Come to God!” Vito cried desperately.

  Thal tore out his throat. The soft flesh offered little resistance to his great jaws. As the man crumpled, spurting blood across Thal’s slick armor, Thal clawed at him and ripped away his robe.

  Panting and snarling Thal stepped back from the body and dropped back to all fours. He looked up and saw the other monk in the hall. The man squeaked and fled in terror.

  Thal’s nostrils flared. Another quarry more important than Vito’s aide was close. Leaving bloody paw prints, Thal stepped over Jan, thinking it convenient that the man had been here.

  At an ornate door he slapped a paw upon the shiny handle but it was locked. Growling fiercely he bashed against the door with all his weight. The bolt on the inside split off the wall.

  When he burst into the
room, a bearded man squealed and cowered in a corner. Thal smelled the other one hiding under the desk. He leaped across the broad desk. Papers flew in every direction. He plunged his head under the desk. He chomped into the Magistrate’s meaty shoulder and hauled him from his pitiful hole.

  “Use the charm!” shrieked Zussek from the corner.

  Martin lifted up the silver box. “Be gone Devil!” he cried.

  Thal let him go and eased back. His growl remained sinister, but the palpable presence of his mother’s magic surprised him. Her scent was suddenly in his face and it made him hesitant to kill. He struggled against this instinctive barrier.

  Although he was shaking hard, Martin was fierce in his desperation. Holding the box out, he said, “I command you to go. I hold the charm that your witch mother used to make you. Go from me! You cannot touch me!”

  Anger surged anew in Thal. The magic she had unleashed had to be stronger than his instinct. He had to believe that his will even in the werewolf state could surmount this natural reaction.

  Thal batted away the box with a powerful paw. It hit the wall hard, and Thal attacked Martin with zealous hate. He bit his arms and legs and face and hoped that the screams would satisfy his mother’s spirit. And then Thal gripped the throat with his jaws. Martin squealed but did not last long.

  When he was dead, Thal threw back his head and howled. Zussek shrank into a ball in the corner and covered his face. Again Thal howled. A great sense of liberation washed over him. The demands of his mother’s death plea had been met, but it did not rescind the magic that had consumed his body. He was a werewolf now and forever.

  Rising up behind the desk, he swung his shining eyes upon Zussek. The quivering professor beheld the nightmarish man-beast with blood smeared across armor and dripping from his wounds. The lustrous fur was standing up and his breath came in great whooshes from powerful lungs.

  Zussek wailed and scrambled out the door. Thal did not pursue him. He had another task more important to his heart.

  Chapter 46. Hunter and Healer

  Even enfeebled by her injuries, Altea still tried to thwart the horrid man. Roughly he wedged a knee between her thighs. He kissed her and licked her and pulled her tattered clothing off her breasts. He pinched her nipples on her bruised chest. His hungry moans warped lust out of joint with natural pleasure.