

Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

By

Tracy Falbe

Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

Copyright Tracy Falbe, all rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

First published 2013 by Brave Luck Books ™ an imprint and trademark of Falbe Publishing.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events described herein are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not done on purpose by the author.

This work is protected by U.S and International copyright law. All rights reserved to the copyright holder, Tracy Falbe, who spent a year of her life developing and crafting this story and whose written works generate one of her few sources of income. Except for reasonable quotes and excerpts by reviewers, the content of this book cannot be reproduced or distributed in whole or part in any medium without express written permission from the publisher.

To contact Tracy Falbe, please visit her website at www.braveluck.com.

Cover image copyright Tracy Falbe. Stock images used in its design are licensed by Fotolia.com.

Dedication

To Barbara

Table of Contents

Other fantasy novels by Tracy Falbe

Chapter 1. Water and Blood

Chapter 2. Humanity

Chapter 3. Mother Shadow

Chapter 4. Fire in the Night

Chapter 5. Much Devilry Afoot

Chapter 6. From the Forest

Chapter 7. Wheel of Fortune

Chapter 8. True Nature

Chapter 9. A Fearsome Sign

Chapter 10. Protector of the Weak

Chapter 11. Another Like Him

Chapter 12. The Ferryman

Chapter 13. Soul Shadow of Man

Chapter 14. The Castle of Lord Patercek

Chapter 15. Talk of Monsters

Chapter 16. The Devil Instead

Chapter 17. The Thirteenth Witch

Chapter 18. The Great Question

Chapter 19. Voice to His Grief

Chapter 20. Bound by Loss

Chapter 21. Kill Without Sin

Chapter 22. Blood Scent

Chapter 23. An Unmapped Kingdom

Chapter 24. Holy Guidance

Chapter 25. Irresistible Gateway

Chapter 26. A Helping Hand

Chapter 27. Twice Cursed

Chapter 28. Forgotten Secrets

Chapter 29. An Excellent Recommendation

Chapter 30. Trust

Chapter 31. The Invitation

Chapter 32. Live In Fear

Chapter 33. No Rules or Light of Day

Chapter 34. A Rendezvous Observed

Chapter 35. Not Really a Thief

Chapter 36. Altea, I Love You...

Chapter 37. Thal's Merry Little Retinue

Chapter 38. Sacrifice

Chapter 39. A Cross to Bear

Chapter 40. Yield or Die

Chapter 41. No Solace

Chapter 42. Ten Little Points

Chapter 43. The Side of the Law

Chapter 44. Hunted

Chapter 45. Deserved and Undeserved

Chapter 46. Hunter and Healer

Chapter 47. He Bids Thee Come

Chapter 48. Three More Fugitives

Chapter 49. The Joyous Place

Excerpt from Journey of the Hunted

Excerpt from Rys Rising: Book I

#  Other fantasy novels by Tracy Falbe

Werewolves in the Renaissance series

Journey of the Hunted: Book 2

Rys Rising series

Rys Rising: Book I

Savage Storm: Book II

New Religion: Book III

Love Lost: Book IV

The Rys Chronicles series

Union of Renegades: Book I

The Goddess Queen: Book II

Judgment Rising: Book III

The Borderlands of Power: Book IV

<http://www.falbepublishing.com/free3/>

Find all novels in multiple formats at www.braveluck.com.

He raised his mouth and howled like he never had before. A huge sound trumpeted from his great throat with an intelligent rage that put the world on notice that he would defend his right to live.

The sound filled the vale with shuddering energy. Peasants clutched their covers and stared into the darkness. Children whimpered in their little beds. Praying monks faltered in their entreaties to a higher power when the voice of the Earth beneath their knees called them to attention.

#  Chapter 1. Water and Blood

"I'll show them the Devil's own magic," Gretchen snarled.

She held a sapling while she caught her breath. Her legs were shaking. The incline was defeating her old knees. Many years had passed since she had run up and down hills, and this would surely be the last time.

Her pursuers were crossing the pasture at the bottom of the hill. Her path across the thick grass was easy to see because her skirt had wiped the sparkling dew away. The sun rising behind the four men cast their shadows across her tracks. Two burly dogs pulled at their leashes.

Gretchen had been fleeing since the middle of the night when a line of torches had come up the weedy lane to her cottage. She dreaded when the dogs would bring her down. She wished they would maul her to death right here and leave her body on the fragrant Earth, but the men would pull the dogs off and take her away to even worse torments and burning death.

Gasping for breath, she watched her pursuers disappear into the coppiced woods at the bottom of the hill. She hauled herself up by the sapling and forced her creaking legs to run again. She knew where she was going. She had a secret place back in these hills.

In former days she had lived in secret places where magic was still strong and the world unsullied by the careless tread of ignorant men. She had been young then and known love and learned of powers that tapped into primal mysteries with open eyes. The nonsense magic her judges attributed to her was nothing compared to what she knew and what she had done.

Her heart thudded and her vision blurred. When she fell, her spine rattled, but she sprang back up and ran onward. She reached the top of the hill and started skidding down the other side.

The trees were old on this side of the hill. They were just far enough from the needy axes of village and town. Gretchen felt the spirits of the thick-trunked oaks swell against her flesh. She tripped again and twisted her ankle. Pain flared, but madly she limped toward the granite boulders jutting from the dark leafy humus farther downhill. Finally she flopped against the mossy stone. Even in her frantic state, she noticed a cluster of mushrooms in the shadow of a boulder. Their peculiar caps told of another cold spring.

The baying dogs slapped her mind away from its habitual cataloging of the land. She slid around the cool boulders until her feet splashed into a tiny spring. Above the pure water Gretchen brushed the leaves and dirt out of a cleft in the rock. Her dirty fingers found a silver box. Blackish corrosion crusted the metalwork. Her shaking hands cracked open the box that she had left here when she was a much younger woman.

She gasped at the lock of hair within. A rush of memories overtook her mind. The curving tuft of reddish brown hair with fine streaks of black and silver summoned vividly her son's face. He had looked at her so trustingly when she had snipped the hair on their last day together.

"To remember you by," she had whispered, and he had believed her.

He had thought that he was going to the forest forever, beyond the reach of all, but Gretchen had plotted a way to bring him back to her.

Despite her selfish trick, she had resisted the longings of a mother's heart and not summoned him. She had lived her life and grown old, but now...

Voices were at the top of the hill. The dogs barked insistently. Their paws pounded down the slope and vibrated with her doom.

Tears wetted Gretchen's cheeks. She was afraid, not of death but of the brutality that would bring it. She should leave her son free and not trouble him with the wickedness of her nasty world, but she wanted to lash out and not only for herself but for the dear friends who had died so terribly. Her name had been dragged across their lips in the butcher shop of authority.

When she bent over the pool, a tear fell into the glistening spring water. The spell would be all the stronger for it.

"Forgive me, Thal, but I would have them know my justice," Gretchen said.

She dipped the lock of hair into the water.

"From the birth waters of our Earthly womb," she murmured reverently.

The hair darkened in her wet fingers. She drew a knife and slashed across her wrist. Gushing blood obscured the meat and vessels beneath the skin. Blood flowed over her hand and pooled in her palm and soaked the hair.

"From the birth blood of the woman who bore thee, I call my son to me! Thal!" Gretchen cried and the dogs hit her.

Jaws gripped her upper arm. Another set of happy fangs dove for an ankle. She was thrown down. Water splashed. The animals tore at her and shook her. She cowered in the most useless shock, screaming.

Boots muddied the delicate ground along the spring. Grungy men in leather waded into the clean water. Deep-voiced cursing and grunting mixed with the dogs' snarling. When the animals were finally hauled off, half her clothes were ripped away. The snapping servants back in the grip of their grim masters chomped triumphantly on the remnants.

Two men flung her blood smeared body against the boulder.

A dour man with a narrow face and a lanky height loomed over Gretchen. A heavy black cloak encased his shoulders and the pendant of the Prague Court hung over his chest, shining with his right to abuse her.

"Holy Christ protect us from this Devil bride," he said.

Her brazen misery disgusted him. "You make us chase you till dawn and add to your sins with a try at suicide," he criticized.

"More proof she seeks the Devil's favor," another man put in.

"That it is," the tall man agreed and yanked out a handkerchief. He wound the pitiful bandage around her bleeding wrist and tied it tight against her scarlet defiance.

"What's in your hand, witch?" he demanded upon noticing her clenched fingers. He pried open her hand and pulled out the redly sodden tuft of hair. Gretchen moaned.

The gathered men gasped when he lifted the odd find. "Fur pulled from the very back of your goat lover," he said, almost in awe.

Gretchen shook her head desperately and struggled.

"Constable, look," a man said and held up the tarnished box.

"Give that to me," the leader said. He looked over the box but could determine no meaning from it. He put the lock of hair into it and pressed the lid back in place. He knew someone who paid coin for such rare objects.

"No!" Gretchen yelled.

He struck her across the face. "Bind her mouth before she speaks some spell upon us," he said.

#  Chapter 2. Humanity

The wolf lifted his head. His pack mates dozed around him comfortably, except for the alpha male. His long legs and thick paws were twitching. The mighty pack leader grunted. His lips pulled back and revealed heavy canines.

The loyal subordinate watched with growing concern. The alpha's legs jerked harder. His head tossed. The other wolves awoke and blinked in the morning sun that warmed the meadow outside their den. They stared at their alpha male and then got up and sniffed toward him cautiously. The alpha female came out from the den, her teats swollen with milk. She licked his face. He grunted and then rolled away in a twisting seizure. His family circled him nervously.

A raven flew into a tall pine and screeched. The wolves glanced up at the dark sentinel whose abrasive voice warned of an intruder.

The alpha male writhed across the ground, tearing up the grass. The other wolves whined around him. With eyes rolling back, he flailed his legs. Garbled howls tumbled clumsily from his throat. His body distorted. The wolves jumped back. His howls turned to rasping screams.

He raised his paws over his face and rolled into a ball. The raven screamed. A strong wind blew through the trees from nowhere. The wolves fled into the den, except for the alpha female. She lowered her head and whimpered as the body of her mate changed. Fur fell away. Smooth flesh bulged with muscles. His tail retracted into his spine. Claws evaporated and soft naked fingers grew out. Painful yowling accompanied the wrenching transformation of the face. The snout and powerful jaws shrank. The back legs curled under his torso and then burst into new legs and feet.

At last his tortured screams ended, but the revered alpha male was gone. A man, naked save for an old wolf hide across his loins, lay shivering upon the disturbed ground.

He touched his face. For a long time he stared in disbelief at his hands with his many colored eyes. Then he ran his hands up his smooth arms. Each prickle of the relatively tiny hairs against his palms puzzled him with the absence of his luxurious coat. He brushed his fingers over his head. Here remained fur but the texture was different. He had hair.

He met the alpha female's eyes. Understanding remained but a gulf had opened between them. She tilted her head sadly, wondering at the alteration of her mate. The wind gradually quieted and the other wolves ventured out. They snarled and rushed forward to attack the man because all men were traitorous brothers, but the female intercepted them. Reluctantly the pack heeded her call to patience. With her tail up she padded toward the man while her pack growled unhappily.

The man reached out to her but when he saw the five-fingered evidence of his humanity he pulled his hand back. He looked down, knowing he was unworthy of her. How could he provide for her now? He was just a naked man in the forest.

Gradually she came closer. Her moist black nose sniffed at his altered scent. She sensed the agony of his heart and knew it was breaking because of her.

Her gentle whines were the essence of empathy as she edged closer. When the man looked into her eyes again, he wished he could give her an explanation.

She licked his cheek. He buried his face in her soft fur. She tensed against the alien feel of his arms but did not pull away.

The man tried to speak to her, but his throat and lips made erratic sounds and the attempt flung his mind into confusion. When she finally slipped out of his clinging arms, he looked at the pack. The guarded expressions on their familiar once-trusting faces terrified him.

Nervous little yips came from the den entrance. His pups! The man jumped up. When he came so abruptly to his full height, the wolves growled and the hair went up on their necks. The pups, sensing the alarm, hung back in the shadowy hole.

Unable to believe that his pack would harm him, the man took a step toward the den, but the alpha female jumped into his path. She doubled in size as every bit of fur lifted. She was majestic in her fury. Never had she defied him like this, and the man admired her power anew.

He knew why she blocked his way. No man must ever come near the pups. Men were death. Merciless hunters. Beasts without reason. Best to snoop only on the fringes of their mad domain than seek again the kinship of joint dominion of the land. A pup allowed to be curious about a man might ignore the elders' hard lessons of caution and be killed. Or worse yet, trapped by some circus traveler and thrown alone into a bear pit.

These awful truths twisted his guts and churned the raw meat he had feasted upon in the night. Sickened, he ran across the meadow and collapsed against a pine tree.

His former pack mates spread out around the den. The alpha female threw back her head and howled. Her lingering notes sang of apology. She would not let him enter the den, but she regretted the pain it caused him. The rest of the pack howled with her. Their sadness drew tears from the man. When the salty drip reached his lips, the taste forced him to recall his humanity. He had been a man once. Memories fluttered into focus. Images of people peeked into the blankness of his mind.

But how could he be a man? He had been given a choice, and he had chosen.

He clutched his head. The wolf music spoke to him. He heard their dismay but could give no proper response to reassure them.

Slumping to the ground, he petted the old wolf skin that had remained at his side after the transformation. Turning it over, he gasped. Dark designs were painted on the bare leather. Blocks of various shapes were lined up in rows. The alien shapes bombarded his mind. His eyes that were so adept at spotting movement struggled with the bizarre information. Finally, a small block of four little images took shape in his understanding. At the end of the last row, he saw: THAL.

He cried out and folded the fur to cover the lettering.

Thal stayed on his knees for a long time. The tree shadows crossed his body as they moved with the sun. His pack settled protectively around the den and watched him with sad eyes. His alpha female approached again and snuffled the wolf hide in his hands, seeking the scent of her mate. Gently he stroked her long snout and ran his hand up her cheek and behind her ears. To touch her this way was soothing to him. She pressed against his rubbing hand. He savored the affection, but his human hand against her silver pepper fur impressed upon him the fact that he was her mate no more. How unfair that some unexpected fate should seize him when she needed him most.

As if in agreement, she pushed aside his hand and licked his face. She slurped at the saltiness of his tears. Then with her swift silent grace she trotted toward the den. She looked back once. Thal had only disappointment to offer her. Resigned, she entered the den to nurse her pups.

One by one the other wolves crept up to him, but none let him touch. They whimpered and sniffed and then retreated. Last to come was his most dependable companion. The maturing male was clever and a pleasure to hunt with. He would have to guide the pack now. Thal dipped his head to him, and the sign of respect surprised the wolf.

The raven squawked. Thal regarded the dark silhouette in the towering evergreen. The bird was right. He had to go. He did not belong here anymore.

Thal needed space to think. The presence of his family was too distracting. He struggled to remember his life before the forest, but the blissful liberty of many seasons hunting with his kin blocked it out.

He flung the old wolf hide over his shoulder and walked away. Like his alpha female he looked back once, very wistfully. He hated to leave, but the world of humans had reclaimed him and he could not stay.

#  Chapter 3. Mother Shadow

Altea folded a towel over her basket of eggs to protect them from the hot sun. The market had been especially busy with new produce flowing into the city. The cool spring was finally warming, and hope for a bountiful year was cheering the folk.

Her maid Cynthia pressed close as they worked their way through the bustling crowd. She was carrying a bucket of little strawberries. Altea expected her brothers to gobble them up before they could sweeten a custard. She smiled when she imagined washing the juice off their faces and fingers. Despite the constant work her brothers required they were adorable. Altea tried to dote on them. They all had splendid dispositions like their mother. Happily they lacked the hard humor of her stepfather, although she supposed he would adjust their boyish gears to fit the cogs of adulthood sooner or later.

A heavy wagon drawn by two thick-limbed black horses rumbled by Altea toward the Kamenny Most. People jumped out of the way of the ponderous load. She noted the Habsburg seal upon the barrels in it.

"No one cares about those who walk in the street," Cynthia groused.

"It's not hard to watch out for wagons," Altea said, wondering at the maid's sour mood.

She supposed the crowd was bothering the woman, so Altea applied herself to advancing their progress. She lifted her chin. "Excuse us," she said many times and wove through the people.

Some men lifted their hats to her. She acknowledged their manners pleasantly while maintaining just the right amount of aloofness. A young man with new clothes that showed off his physique rather nicely ushered her forward with his walking stick. "May I have the privilege of walking you home, Miss?" he said with smiling eyes.

The presumption of the stranger was shocking even if his daring proposal tantalized Altea.

"We can manage, Sir," she replied brusquely and brushed by him.

Even if his roguish attention tickled her curiosity, she relished her power to deny and disappoint.

"Can you believe him?" Cynthia muttered. "As if a decent lady would walk the streets with a stranger."

"Of course not, Cyn," Altea agreed.

Cynthia glanced over her shoulder. She flashed with disapproval but deep down wanted one more look at the handsome bachelor. "Probably some baron's bastard who just fleeced a tailor for that set of clothes," she said.

Altea smiled. Cynthia was a good judge of the occupants of Prague's streets.

The crowd thinned after they left the Knights of the Cross square and its adjoining river docks where various provisions were being constantly unloaded. Riders and wagons went both ways down the center of Karlova Street. Altea and her maid kept to the side. The street jogged to the left and then Altea reached her house. A workman was installing a new sign by the front door. Its red and silver paint displayed a racing hound jumping over a hammer. Below the image in ornate letters was the name Fridrich. She did not understand the symbolism of her stepfather's new house sign, but she supposed it was not embarrassing. Some people's signs made even less sense with pictures taken from books about exotic places that Altea was not sure existed. The world offered up so many wild tales these days.

Without a glance at the new sign, Cynthia trotted up the front steps, but Altea paused. She still had to prepare herself to enter her home since her mother had died. Her mother's absence was like a choking smoke that would not clear. Father Refhold had advised her that time would lessen the pain. Until then she was to pray for her mother's soul and speed her out of Purgatory. Although Altea believed the advice to be good, she resented that her mother had not gone straight to Heaven. She did not intend to confess that thought.

Altea looked away when Cynthia opened the door. The dark gate to the fortress of loss repulsed her. She needed to gather courage a moment longer to tackle the sharp feelings within.

Looking up the street, she thought about her stepfather who would be in his office at the Court by the Town Hall. It was not far. In her mother's final year, she had often sent Altea with messages to her stepfather. Altea had come to realize that it was her mother's way of giving her a break from her bedside care. She had enjoyed the little breaths of freedom. Her stepfather had not necessarily appreciated the needless interruptions, but he had seemed to enjoy letting his associates have a look at his fetching stepdaughter.

But Altea had no reason to bother him today, and she disliked going near the Old Town Square since the dreadful executions that spring. She still could hardly believe that Gretchen had met such a grisly fate. Unlike most of her neighbors, Altea had not gone to witness the event. She could not imagine seeing that kindly old woman, who her mother had depended upon so much, dragged to the stake with her head shorn.

A haunted shudder shook Altea. She did not want to believe the crimes the old midwife had committed, even if her stepfather had insisted they were all true.

"Altea!"

Yiri's piping voice tweeted her name with delight. The seven-year-old boy ran down the steps and grabbed her arm. Hauling her inside, he blathered about a dead bird.

"Mind the eggs," Altea scolded as her basket swung.

"Come see. We're going to do a funeral," Yiri said.

"Don't say it's in the house," Altea said.

Cynthia's shriek from the kitchen revealed the maid's discovery of the avian body. Her shrill scolding put an end to the boys' elaborate plans.

Elias hustled toward the door with the limp sparrow dangling from his fingers and flung it in the street.

Yiri protested loudly, and Patrik and little Erik wailed.

"What were you thinking?" Altea asked of Elias. At fourteen he was the oldest and presumably capable of preventing the deposit of corpses in the kitchen.

"There's dead birds in the kitchen all the time," he said defensively.

"Those are for cooking," Cynthia said.

"We were considering a cremation," Elias shot back.

"Enough of this prattle," Altea declared. The boys hushed, except for four-year-old Erik who whined and leaned against Yiri.

"We have strawberries. Now isn't that better than a dead bird?" Altea said and everyone trooped back to the kitchen. They indulged liberally in the fresh berries. The tart sunshiny juice delighted everyone, and the boys forgot the bird.

Altea got them cleaned just as their tutor arrived. She welcomed Master Holub and steered her brothers toward the room where they took their lessons.

"Why don't you study with us?" Erik asked, clinging to his big sister's hand.

Altea bent and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. "I finished my studies before you were born. I'm grown up," she explained.

He gave her a hug and ran to catch up to his brothers. His shoes banged on the floor, and Altea recalled how their mother would have admonished him not to stomp.

She went to the sunny front room to work on her embroidery. She carefully unfolded the corner of the tablecloth and resumed stitching the design of vines and acorns that she had developed. The work was slow but she had almost the entire edge of this tablecloth finished. She had others in her hope chest along with dozens of towels, head wraps, handkerchiefs, aprons, coverlets, and shawls. The lid was getting difficult to shut. Altea frowned as she considered that she had almost enough linen for two wives now.

Even so, she enjoyed the work. Her skills had improved over the years, and she was proud of her designs. She tried not to copy other women too much, and she had gotten many compliments on her work.

Her home was still filled with linens from her mother's lifetime of creation. All the fabric in the house had passed through her mother's hands. The signature of her soul was upon everything.

Altea set down her little hoop and shut her eyes. Her mother's absence was consuming her. She tossed her embroidery aside and fled to her room. The tears came easily, but she muffled her sobs. Her brothers did not need to hear. She knew they cried at night too, and she wanted to be strong for them.

The day grew hotter and the stuffiness of the house lulled her mercifully into a nap. She awoke to Yiri shaking her shoulder.

"Papa's home," Yiri said.

Rubbing her face, Altea sat up.

"He says he wants you," the boy added.

He always wanted something. Altea got up and unraveled her frazzled golden braids. While brushing her hair, she relished taking so much time to respond to her stepfather's summons.

Yiri sat on the edge of her bed watching her. He was fascinated as her fingers deftly plaited her hair anew.

"Hand me my wrap," she said.

Glad to be useful, Yiri bounced off the bed and gave her the white linen headdress she had tossed aside earlier. She wrapped it around her hair and checked her face in the mirror. She touched her smooth cheek and was satisfied that she had a good youthful glow. Witnessing the prolonged demise of her mother had made her appreciate her vibrant skin.

"You're pretty," Yiri commented.

"Thank you," she said and smiled warmly.

As if embarrassed to have complimented his sister, Yiri ran off to play. Altea went downstairs and sought her stepfather in his study. He was in a chair with his feet on a stool, unwinding from a hard day of acting important while sitting in another chair.

Martin Fridrich was studying a pamphlet and frowning. Inky fingerprints smeared the side of the paper facing Altea. His chin was pillowed by his jowls. He tapped his fingers on his belly. His brown hair was gray at the temples and retreating from his pudgy face.

"Altea, why can't my valet find my slippers?" Martin demanded.

"Because he's incompetent," Altea suggested.

The pamphlet snapped onto the table by his chair and he puffed at her reproachfully. "He says he gave them to you," Martin said.

"He gave me old slippers to throw out, and I did," Altea said.

"And you did not get new ones?" he asked.

"Wouldn't that be Hynek's task?" she asked back.

Martin grumbled. His aging valet was misplacing and forgetting more and more things, but Martin knew Altea was not going to accept any blame. His stepdaughter was many things but meek was not among them.

"At least it's warm," he muttered and wiggled his toes in his stocking feet.

"It may be time to refresh the valet's position," Altea said.

"That's putting it nicely," Martin said. "But I don't need you to tell me how to employ or not employ my valet. Hynek's loyal and honest. Rare things in this city these days." He commenced to complain about the rising crime and how it was bollixing up the jails. "We ought to do like the damnable Turks. They cut off the hands of thieves and are done with it. That would surely put an end to all this pick pocketing and highway banditry."

"And how would you expect all these one-handed men to earn livings then?" Altea said.

Martin wrinkled his nose. "That's why women have no place thinking about the law," he said.

Altea rolled her eyes. "I'll check to see how dinner's coming," she said as a way to excuse herself.

Esther the cook was nearly done preparing the evening meal. Altea set the table and rounded up the boys.

"Wash your hands and faces," she said.

"Why?" the youngest two asked in unison.

"How will you be proper gentlemen with dirt smeared on your faces?" she said. Her stern look reminded them that she would scrub them herself if they did not comply.

At dinner, Martin presided over the meal from the head of the table. Altea sat on one side with Yiri and Erik across from Elias and Patrik. Elias was closest to his father, who was sharing with him court cases he had presided over and the day's gossip. Altea cut meat for Erik and tried not to look at the empty seat at the foot of the table. She would not presume to fill it even if she had taken on the bulk of her mother's duties.

"There's a new archbishop on the way I hear," Martin announced.

Altea looked up. The news was quite shocking. An archbishop had not been in Prague since the Hussite Wars.

Martin added, "Finally an archbishop again. It took till 1561 but it's a sure sign this Protestant madness won't get its claws in Bohemia."

"It's so heartbreaking to think of whole kingdoms of people going to Hell," Altea said. Protestantism had consumed half the Empire. The German States and the Low Countries were sick with it. Father Refhold had urged everyone to pray for the return of Papal guidance to those under the sway of fanatics.

"Heartbreaking?" Martin humphed disparagingly. "If this chaos doesn't get snuffed out there'll be war till Judgment Day."

His dramatic prediction disturbed Altea, but she could do nothing about it so she put it from her mind.

After dinner she helped the younger boys get ready for bed. Elias read a book while she tucked in the three boys. Their soft voices were filled with sadness as they prayed on behalf of their mother's soul. Elias set aside his book and blew out the candle. Dusky light silhouetted him gently against a window. He would say his prayers later in private.

When they left the younger boys, Altea noticed that Elias was still dressed.

"Going out?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm old enough. Father does not mind," he said.

"Enjoy yourself," she said.

He told her goodnight and ambled down the stairs with his long awkward legs. Altea passed her bedroom door and stopped at the top of the stairs. She listened to Elias and Martin talk and waited for the door to slam when her brother went out.

She seized the opportunity to speak to her stepfather alone. She had put off this conversation long enough.

He was dozing in his chair when she entered his study.

"Papa Fridrich, may I ask something of you?" she said.

He sat up and folded his hands over his belly. "What is it?" he said as if preparing to hear testimony.

"At Church last Sunday I was speaking with Mrs. Janleb and learned that she can recommend a very well referenced governess to us," she said.

"A governess?" he muttered as if the concept were quite foreign.

"Yes, of course, Sir. The boys need one. I'm sure people think it strange that we don't employ one. A Magistrate would surely have a governess for his children."

"Stop trying to embarrass me. I know better than you what is expected of a Magistrate," Martin said. "Now, why this fuss about a governess? You do a splendid job with the boys. I dare say you're as good as your mother."

"No I'm not!" Altea cried.

Martin winced and recalled that he still needed to be sensitive to her grief. "Now, now, hush girl. We all miss her. Don't you realize I thought it better to have you care for the boys during this difficult time? Imagine them losing their mother and then me foisting some impoverished old maid on them when we got home from the funeral. It's much better that you care for them."

"Oh," Altea whispered, losing some momentum. She had not considered that Martin might actually have something akin to a compassionate reason.

"It's too soon," he decided.

Sensing that he planned to save the expense of even a paltry governess's salary, Altea rallied. "Sir, I'm nineteen now. My girlfriends are married and you leave me to be an old maid auntie to care for your sons. I have no time for suitors, for parties. How will I ever marry?" Altea demanded and felt great relief to have spoken her piece.

Martin surprised her by rising from his chair. He walked around her and looked her up and down.

"Suitors? Parties?" he said.

"I trust my dowry still exists," she added.

He narrowed his eyes. He did not appreciate her snide reference to his potential for miserliness. Martin wandered away to a window. Revelers passed in the street singing. Altea held her tongue because he actually seemed to be thinking about her plight.

At last he came back to her. He set his hands on her shoulders. She tensed a little.

"You're as lovely as your mother was. She was a fine catch for me. I didn't fuss about taking in a young widow," he reminisced. "I see that little girl hanging off my bride's skirts is all grown up now," he added and took her chin and tilted her face one way and then another.

"Your dowry is not much, Altea. That stony patch of hog pasture was all that was left after your father's debts were settled. The fool certainly spent money like he knew he was going to die young. But the days of your Kardas name being worth anything are over. Knights don't get the credit they used to. The future belongs to more clever men, not proud brutes. Still, there's some value in you, if you'll help me find it," he said.

"Help you?" Altea whispered, confused.

He let her go and she relaxed a little. His hot thick hands had been disturbing.

"It's not by the Grace of God that I'm a Magistrate. And you're a fine looking woman capable of conversing with important men. If it's a husband you want, then we must try to get you a good one who's in a position to advance my status. Do you understand?" he said.

She nodded.

Scratching the back of his neck, he sat back down, muttering about parties.

"May I begin looking for a governess?" she pressed.

"I'll take care of it," he said.

Knowing his attendance to the task would be purposefully lethargic, she quickly rejoined, "It's best I see to it, Sir."

"It's best?" he challenged.

Stout as the New Tower gate, her attitude deflected his disapproval. "I know what the boys need when it comes to their nurturing," she said.

Martin grumbled but declined to argue. She took the wave of his hand to mean consent.

"Thank you, Sir," she said.

"Off to bed with you. Not going to get a husband with circles under your eyes are you?" he said.

Her step was lighter as she headed for the stairs. She was proud of herself for confronting Martin, who had surely meant to leave her in bondage to his sons while her dowry remained in his care. She was not overly concerned about his desire to gain influence by marrying her off. It only meant that she might gain an affluent husband, but most importantly she could move on with her life and gain her own home and not live as a shadow of her mother.

#  Chapter 4. Fire in the Night

The forest was different now that Thal was a man. He stubbed his toes and seemed to snap every twig. His noisy blundering alarmed him. He had to learn how to move again.

When he reached a ridge that overlooked rolling lowlands, he judged that he was far enough away from the den to prevent polluting the pups. Thal recognized where he was, but the colors were intense through a man's eyes. Many shades of green unfolded before him, revealing shifts in vegetation as the forest descended from the highlands. Sunlight danced happily on rushing white waterfalls that glided like living glass down smooth black steps.

The visual bombardment stimulated his mind in ways that it had not felt for a long time. Memories colored like this world flitted through his thoughts but made little sense.

Thal sat in the shadow of a tree, knowing the patch of darkness would hide him. Habitually he sniffed the air. At least his nose was responding normally and that was a comfort. No people were in this remote forest uncrossed by roads.

Idly he stroked the wolf fur that he was sitting on. Recognizing his name in the letters had opened a door in his mind. He considered looking inside. Perhaps if he could remember his past, then he would know why he had so unexpectedly become a man.

Thal looked at his body. His feet were dirty. His ankles scratched. His nakedness bothered him. He supposed he should tie the fur around his loins when he continued.

Where was he going? He did not want to go anywhere. He wanted to guide his pack and provide for his mate and pups. Those straightforward duties had kept him content for a long time. With sudden hope, Thal considered going back. He could find a way to help the pack. He flexed his hands and recalled that he could use them to make things like spears. Then he could hunt.

But his mate had not wanted him in this state, and there was no undoing her rejection. An alpha did not err in her judgment. He must have faith that his pack could go on without him. He had shared his deep knowledge of this forest and raised them well.

Thal wondered how long he had hunted throughout these mountains. He had never wondered such a thing before. Perhaps wanting to put a number to something was how a man thought. Many seasons had passed. Hard winters and milder ones. Welcoming springs with delicate flowers. Bounteous summers and leaner ones. Autumns of rutting deer and colorful leaves falling.

After thinking about the wolves he had guided and raised to maturity and of the mates that had come and gone, he tried to remember who had raised him.

He contemplated his origin for a long time. Birds sang their songs many times while he stroked his fur or played with his fingers. Slowly a woman emerged from his memory. She had a striking face and a prominent nose that managed to be magnificently beautiful in its boldness. Her hair was light brown and her eyes blue. She smiled to him and stroked his cheek with rough fingers that knew hard work.

Mother. He was sure of it as soon as he dubbed her thus. A very natural longing for her consumed him, but her name eluded him.

He struggled to recall his father. As he delved for this memory, his body tensed like he was in danger. Gradually Thal recognized that he was not afraid of some memory of abuse but rather of immense respect. Apparently his father had been a man who made even a leader among wolves cautious.

Unfolding a flap of his fur, he peeked at the letters. A vision of a strong man with a shaven head writing the letters in blood slammed into Thal. He gasped and jumped up. He could almost hear again his father chanting words while carefully inscribing his spell.

He wanted to flee and leave the strange old fur in that lonely spot. But the ragged old hide suddenly became shiny and fluffy. Its silvery sheen with tones of brown pulled at his heart. He could not leave this thing behind. Its renewal forced him to covet it.

Rushing back to the fur, he clutched it lovingly to his chest. Its softness brushed him reassuringly, like snuggling with mates in a warm den. His heart was racing, but gradually the thudding subsided and he was comforted by his decision to keep the fur. It was his only connection to his perfect wolf state.

With his decision made, he examined its lettering. The symbols arranged in straight lines tugged at his thoughts, but the system was so wildly alien that comprehension remained mired in a morass of forgetfulness.

When he looked across the landscape again, the sun was sinking. Thal was startled to realize that he had been so absorbed in the writing that he had neglected to check his surroundings. He rubbed his temple. His head hurt and he was exhausted.

Moving off the ridge, he sought a place to rest. He tied his fur around his hips to alleviate his nakedness. Places that seemed like good spots to sleep soon proved wholly inadequate to his new form. The wind was kicking up with the promise of a cold night. Gradually he realized that he could fashion a shelter. He broke off pine boughs and propped them up into a little conical tent. Rather pleased with the result, he curled up inside. He sniffed the air and was reassured by the absence of people, but a whiff of his pack cracked his broken heart more deeply.

He wanted to return to his wolf kin, but his transformed life demanded that he take another trail. Thal knew how to move on. He had done it before. In times past he had slipped away so that a maturing wolf could rise to a rightful place as alpha. And when mates had faded away, their ferocious glory undermined by the passing of too many seasons, Thal had known that it was time to hunt alone again.

Why he had not aged he did not know. Touching his face, he tried to judge if he was old. Smooth skin seemed to indicate youth. Stubble on his chin made him hope that his fur was growing back.

Deep exhaustion hauled him into a slumber of vivid dreams. Men, women, children, buildings, fields, tools, songs, bells, fences, gates, carts, oxen, the clang of a smithy, and all manner of civilized sights roiled out of his hidden memories like a pot of soup boiling over. Then he was on a forest path. He preferred its mossy scent. The trees loomed larger when he entered an ancient grove. A man was in front of a fire with his back to Thal. When he turned, his dark dilated eyes were stark upon his white face. His head was shaven.

Thal struggled to ask him questions, but the singing soul of the night interrupted his dream. He opened his eyes. Howling serenaded the stars. His pack was lamenting his loss. The operatic grandeur made him forget any meaning he might have extracted from his dream.

A new born crescent moon hung in the sky like an eye just cracking open from a heavy sleep. Perhaps as the days passed more memories would illuminate his mind.

Forcing himself not to cry, he listened to the howling. The exquisite expression of his pack mates' affection for him told him that he had been a good and dutiful wolf. When the howling stopped, he resigned himself to an unknown future and fell asleep.

In the morning rumbling hunger rumbled in his belly and sparked his interest in hunting. At least his manhood had not robbed him of that natural urge. He returned to the ridge and walked to the waterfall. After quenching his thirst, he followed the winding stream down the mountain. When he saw fish, he contemplated how to catch them. He knew from experience that nabbing a fish with his snout from rushing water was possible but not easy. He looked at his hands and wondered if he could grab one. He decided that his hunger was not yet sufficient to spend time getting cold and wet on a potentially fruitless task.

All day he hiked. The day warmed pleasantly. Bumble bees cruised the young flowers. Susliks rummaged in leaf litter seeking nuts and seeds. Thal eyed them out of habit even though he knew better than to try catching one.

Taking a break, he settled among some tall dead weeds. Keeping still, he soaked up the sunshine. Its hotness on his bare skin felt strange but he liked it. He let his mind flow with the surroundings until the scent of deer focused his senses.

Across the stream a doe and her toddling fawn emerged from cover. His mouth watered at the sight of white spots on a red coat. The doe sipped from the stream and looked around. When she moved along the bank, the fawn floundered in the muddy edge. Thal leaned forward as he observed its shaky struggle to pull its tiny hoof free.

Before his excitement deepened, Thal considered the impracticality of trying to slay the fawn. He touched his teeth. Their bluntness seemed almost useless. How was he supposed to kill?

Men use tools, he told himself. They had tools for everything, especially killing. I need to find men, he decided.

After the doe and fawn disappeared, Thal hiked onward. The land flattened and the stream slowed down until it was entirely lazy. The forest grew wetter until the trees gave way to bog. His bare feet squished into the peat, and dark water squirted between his toes. After only a few steps he knew that he did not want to cross the matted vegetation that would likely give way to sucking mud. He glanced around and saw where the forest grew past the bog. He spent the rest of the day hiking around the bog.

Once he was past the wetland, he found another stream and followed it down the next drop in elevation. At the end of the exhausting day, he broke from the forest into a pasture land. Only patches of woods remained, and sheep and cattle dotted the hillsides. Men would be close to their livestock. Thal had long known not to hunt in these grounds, no matter how tempting. To kill here invited the wrath of men who would slaughter a whole family over the loss of a few lambs.

On the horizon he discerned a hill with walls encasing large blocky buildings. A pointy tower rose above them. The sinking sun splashed the old stone complex with rosy light.

Mindful to keep himself hidden, he waited for dusk before hiking across the open land. As night fell, his eyes continued to serve him well. The land dipped again and he walked down wooded slopes. He could smell water in the vale. The mountain streams were gathering into a river. The scent of smoke and people made him draw up next to a big tree.

He needed to gather his courage. When he was ready he started through the trees quietly. Thal had quickly gained some skill during his long hike and was no longer blundering noisily.

Orange firelight pierced the darkness. Mixed emotions assailed him upon seeing the hot fire. To an animal it meant danger, but to a man alone in the dark, it meant safety.

Closer to the firelight he heard voices. The sounds were bizarre and unlike the languages of the many creatures he knew so well. The jumble of sounds produced a hopeless complexity that made his heard hurt. Thal crept closer and spent more time listening. Three men were around the fire.

Carefully he analyzed what he smelled. There was food, cooked and mixed up. The pain of his long fast worsened and gave him more courage to proceed. Being especially quiet, he advanced. A larger camp with wagons and livestock sprawled along the river beyond the three men.

He considered how to avoid alarming the trio. He moved his mouth, attempting to smile. Although it felt strange, he was sure that this was the signal not to fight, even if it felt like a snarl.

An outburst of laughter among the men excited him. He remembered that laughter was a good thing.

He was very close to them now but darkness still concealed him. The fire made him squint and he waited for his eyes to adjust.

A dog rushed out, barking fiercely. Thal looked down at the relatively small canine with small teeth and short legs. Abruptly the dog ceased barking and backed away but a deep growl of animosity persisted.

"What have you got out there?" a man asked.

The dog snarled with a surprisingly sinister note, and the man took it seriously.

"Bless our asses, it's something big," he gasped.

Thal entered the firelight and smiled or hoped that he was smiling. He held out his hands, trying to enhance his friendliness.

The men cried out in collective terror. The dog started barking again and charged. Instinctively Thal stepped toward the brave little dog and growled back. His natural ferocity flashed from his eyes, and the dog retreated with a yipe.

In a panic the men jumped up. One reached for a branch sticking out of the fire and swung the brand at Thal. He dodged it and jumped closer.

A second man pulled a long hunting knife. The polished blade flashed in the firelight.

The knife-wielding man yelled and waved his weapon. Thal sidestepped away. Although menaced by fire and iron, he struggled to communicate. A few garbled sounds came from his throat.

While Thal was held at bay, the third man who was noticeably fatter than his companions stumbled backward until his rump hit his wagon. He had a hefty pistol and was ramming the ammunition into the barrel and fumbling shakily with the wheel lock.

The stinging smell of gunpowder blazed across Thal's mind. He realized that the man had a killing tool. Thal had to assert himself. Trying not to hurt anyone he slipped around the slashing knife and grabbed the man's arm and tossed him forward. Then he spun and avoided the hot impact of the burning stick and knocked it from that man's hand.

The third man was raising the pistol when Thal reached him. The man's eyes were wide, and Thal thrust his potent gaze into those circles of fear. Power surged into his spirit and sapped his opponent of the ability to function. In that timeless moment of inflicted paralysis, Thal seized the pistol barrel and angled it upward. It discharged with an awful noise and blast of smoke. The man threw up his hands. Thal yanked the pistol into his possession and stepped away.

Everything had happened very fast, but already a yelling and barking horde descended on him. He had to find a way to communicate his peaceful intentions. Submission did not come easily to him, but he was just a naked hungry man with nothing. He was not the leader of this pack.

Thal went to his knees and set the pistol in the dirt. The little dog rushed him again, yapping victoriously, but one low growl from Thal made the dog rethink its desire to gloat. It dropped back to its pudgy master's heels.

Men and women rushed up. Their dogs encircled Thal. His wild eyes darted among the barking jaws but none of them tried to bite.

"Oh! It's just a young man. He's naked," cried a woman who pushed to the front.

The man with the knife threatened Thal again and yelled, "Be off with you crazy wild man!"

"Hush, Petro, he means no harm," the woman argued.

Latching on to her sympathy, Thal looked at her earnestly. Her dark skin was lined and her round face was friendly. Gray streaked her dark hair. A colorful and patched shawl wrapped her broad shoulders.

More people pressed closer. From the back rows children squealed for information. Men yelled at dogs to be quiet and pulled them back. More weapons were brandished. Thal cringed lower.

A man with long hair, a leather hat, and a cloak embroidered with fish and vines arrived.

"How many are there?" he asked.

The fat man answered, "Just this one. He appeared like a ghost."

"Get your pistol," the long haired man snapped when he saw it in the dirt.

Reluctantly the fat man stooped in front of Thal. He snatched the pistol and scurried back.

"He doesn't seem violent," the long haired man observed. He motioned for the others to lower their weapons.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Thal hung his head in frustrated silence.

The people began asking more questions.

"Where did he come from?"

"What people have hair like that?"

"Do you suppose he's an escaped prisoner?"

That suggestion caught the leader's attention. "All the more reason that we should show him kindness," he said and he received a few agreeable chuckles.

"Yes, be kind to him," said the woman with the patchy shawl.

The leader took off his nice cloak and approached Thal. The fluttering of the voluminous cloak made Thal nervous. It seemed like a net was about to be thrown over him, but he sensed no malice in the man.

When the fabric settled over Thal's back, the covering was unexpectedly pleasing. A man had so little to separate him from a harsh world, and clothing was a welcome gift.

The camp leader put his hands on Thal's shoulders and drew him to his feet. Strength and confidence were in the man's grip, and Thal met his eyes.

"We won't hurt you," the leader said, and Thal did not doubt his sincerely. He tried to respond, but words still eluded him.

The woman came to Thal.

"I'll take him to my wagon," she said. "Poor creature, whatever could have happened to him? Not in all my days have I seen one such as you appear in the night."

She prattled on about her experience with wanderers and fugitives as she led him away. Her motherliness comforted Thal. The leader kept a hand on his shoulder probably in case he became dangerous, but Thal was glad of the contact. With the swarm of people around him, his sense of humanity was rushing back.

He was set down by a fire. Its heat was shocking, but he controlled his initial alarm, and the discomfort soon passed.

"I suppose he's hungry. Never met a fugitive that wasn't hungry," the woman said. She turned and barked at a skinny girl peeking around the wagon to bring bread.

The leader folded his arms and regarded Thal thoughtfully. Two other men joined him and studied the newcomer. The rest of the people filled the darkness in every direction and stared with open curiosity. Dogs circled but did not come close.

"Andreli, what do you make of him?" one man asked the leader.

"I'm not making anything of him yet," Andreli admitted.

Thal had listened to the short exchange closely and grasped that he had just heard the man's name. All men had names he recalled.

"An...drel...i," Thal said slowly. He was very pleased with himself to have formed some coherent syllables.

"Yes, Andreli, that's me, and who are you?" the man asked excitedly.

For a moment Thal struggled but then finally said, "Thal."

Andreli came back with several more questions, but Thal was not able to converse. The woman insisted that Thal should eat. She handed him a chunk of rye bread.

He accepted it gratefully. The texture was odd and lacking the satisfying carnality of raw meat, but the graininess was pleasing in a new way.

Happy to see him eating, the woman sat back on her heels. "Since none of these louts have the manners to introduce me, I'll have to do it. I'm Emerald," she said with an imperious air.

Thal nodded but did not attempt to say her name while his mouth was full of bread. Emerald caught the eye of the scrawny girl and told her to find some clothes and a blanket. She rummaged through a couple wagons before returning with a threadbare shirt, holy pants, and a heavy felt blanket. Thal accepted them happily and after a glance at the men to see how the clothing went on he gave the cloak back to Andreli and untied his wolf skin. He set the fur on the ground and stepped into his pants.

"Oh, he's not shy," Emerald remarked as she covered her eyes while still peeping through parted fingers at his nakedness. A few female giggles came from the crowd.

Once he had the shirt on too, he bent to retrieve his fur. Andreli glimpsed the writing on the inside.

"What's that?" he asked and reached for the fur.

Thal snatched it to his chest.

Andreli took back his hand. He gathered that this single item possessed by the naked stranger was deeply precious.

"I saw writing on it. Maybe it can tell us about you," Andreli tried to explain.

Thal frowned and held his fur tightly.

"It can wait till morning," Emerald proposed.

Andreli nodded. The strange young man had likely experienced some awful trauma. Andreli chose to extend hospitality and be patient for answers.

When he withdrew, he shooed the rest of the people back to their respective camps. Thal draped his fur across his shoulders and settled on the ground with his blanket. He looked up at Emerald. Her heart melted for him. He was communicating so much with his eyes, and all of it was so kind and good. She planned to make him a fine breakfast.

Stooping beside him, she gently ran a hand over his peculiar hair because she could not resist. The firelight glinted off every color that hair could be, just like his eyes seemed to be every color at once. Thal did not mind the hint of intimacy. Her kindness was easy to trust, and he was relieved to no longer be alone.

"You'll remember how to talk. I know it. I'm good at knowing things, Thal Forest-Born," Emerald said.

Her choice of words lit up his mind with comprehension. Thal sat up abruptly and startled her. He grabbed the edge of her shawl to keep her close. "Forest!" he said, using the word easily and properly. "I...chose...the...forest," he said.

Emerald patted his hand. "That's plain to see. Rest," she insisted.

Thal fell back. "Rest," he agreed.

Emerald watched him drift into sleep. He was like some demigod in a wicked dream, beautiful and troubled.

#  Chapter 5. Much Devilry Afoot

The next morning when Thal opened his eyes four children were leaning over him. They squealed, clutched each other, and then ran in separate directions. He sat up and scratched his head. The sun was well up and people were going about their business throughout the camp. He was quite surprised to have slept late amid so many people, but his exhaustion was much alleviated.

Emerald and Andreli were sitting by the cooking fire. The woman was frying sausages in a pan that looked like it had survived canon fire. Andreli was fussing over his mustache while looking in a little metal mirror.

"Good morning," he said.

The words parted the clouds of Thal's mind.

"Good morning, Andreli," he said slowly.

The man lifted his eyebrows. "Your head is clear this morning," he remarked.

"I told you he spoke last night," Emerald said. She grinned at Thal. Her teeth were big and broad like her hips. "He was just waiting for a chance to speak to me alone," she added saucily.

Andreli humphed.

Emerald slid the sausages onto a plate alongside some freshly plucked greens and a dilapidated hunk of rye bread. "Eat up, Thal," she said.

He accepted it gratefully. He bit into one and hissed at the burning juice but kept chewing.

Andreli put away his mirror. "Be grateful, stranger. Emerald never shares her sausages with anyone," he said.

"How would you know?" Emerald said. "Anyway, the poor lad needs his strength back."

Andreli glanced at Thal's physique. Judging from what the men who had encountered Thal last night had told him, the young man had no lack of strength.

Thal finished his breakfast while the man and woman observed him in fascinated silence. He licked the grease off his fingers.

"I thank you," he said.

"You're welcome. You needed help," Emerald said softly and took his dish.

"Your Czech doesn't quite sound like people around here," Andreli noted, obviously wanting to steer the conversation to Thal's origins.

"Czech," Thal repeated and pondered the word. It was the language his mother had spoken.

Thinking of her made him tense. Her striking face flashed through his mind. Shaking off his distracting feelings, he asked, "Where am I?"

"Up the road from Vyssi Brod Monastery," Andreli answered. When he got a blank look from Thal, he added, "South of Rosenberg Castle. The Rosenbergs rule in the Sumava."

The Sumava sounded familiar to Thal. "That's the forest," he said.

"Yes, the mountains and forest," Andreli said.

"Do you know who we are?" Emerald asked.

Thal looked around the camp. None of the people looked very prosperous. They seemed to be living out of their wagons. He shook his head.

Andreli chuckled. It was pleasantly surprising not to be recognized and reviled.

"We're Gypsies. I am Andreli Suprinova, Lord of my Clan. I guide us as best I can," he said.

Thal dipped his head to the leader, which pleased him. "What are Gypsies?" he asked.

Emerald and Andreli burst out laughing. When Andreli composed himself, he explained that they were descendants of a people forced into exile. Their ancestors in Egypt had refused to give shelter to Jesus and his virgin mother, and they were cursed to wander. Thal found the information quite bewildering although the name Jesus was familiar.

"Oh, stop giving him those nonsense stories meant to soften the hearts of Church-going simpletons. We travel. We have no home," Emerald said.

"You must've had a home," Thal said with heavy sympathy.

"We're driven out over and over, but don't trouble yourself about that," Andreli said. "Where have you been driven out from?"

"You wouldn't understand," Thal said.

"Who better to understand than Lord Andreli?" he countered and touched his chest.

Thal hung his head. Who indeed? "I don't know how I got here. I shouldn't be like this," he said and looked at his body.

"That's right. No one should wander the woods naked," Andreli agreed. "So you don't know how you got here?"

Thal decided that explaining his transformation would be unwise.

"If you have no home, how do you survive?" he asked.

Andreli noticed how his guest had flipped the conversation, but he chose to be indulgent. "We survive as people wandering the land always have. We have some livestock. We fish. We trade. And well...not everything men need is available in the village. We're flexible in ways that others are not," he said.

Thal sensed additional meanings behind Andreli's words.

More bluntly, Emerald said, "Sometimes we steal, if we have to."

"Is stealing bad?" Thal asked.

Again the man and woman laughed. Emerald sighed and wiped her eye.

Andreli said, "I don't like having my things stolen, but sometimes a Gypsy must take something from someone, but only when it's better that one of us have it and not so much harm to the person who lost it."

Thal tried to wrap his head around the notion of material possessions. It had been a long time since he had had anything, except for his fur, but a wolf needed his fur. Thal asked philosophically, "Does anything really belong to anyone?"

"No!" Andreli declared. He grinned broadly and decided that he liked the stranger despite his mystery.

"Did someone steal your clothes?" he asked, growing serious again.

"I had no clothes," Thal said.

"Were you attacked by men?" Andreli asked, guessing this was the likeliest explanation. He had noticed some mercenaries around the castle, and he knew it did not bode well.

Thal shook his head.

"Oh, you must've been hit on the head," Emerald insisted. She leaned over to look at the back of his head. He recoiled a little and insisted he was fine.

Andreli slapped his palms against his thighs. "So, Thal, you've been wandering naked in the Sumava your whole life," he concluded sarcastically.

"Not my whole life," Thal admitted. His gaze drew inward as he absorbed the onrush of memories released by his use of human words.

"Where are you from?" Andreli pressed, hoping he was getting somewhere.

His hosts were patient until finally he answered, "The word Prague is in my mind. Is Prague a place?"

"Ho ho, it is!" Andreli said. "It's a great big city and a lovely fancy place. Puts the Bohemia in Bohemia so they say. It seems fitting that one as strange as you is from there."

Thal was not sure what Andreli meant by that.

"How long have you been away from Prague?" Andreli asked.

Thal struggled to answer. "What year is it?" he said, remembering how people measured time.

"1561," Andreli said.

The answer did not help Thal. He had no other date in his head to compare it too. "I'll try to remember more and tell you, Lord Andreli. You've been kind and I understand you want to know more about me," he said.

"I can't help wanting to know, and it's my business to know things, but if you must have your secrets so be it. I'll not put you on an Inquisitor's rack just because you're a wild man," Andreli said.

"A wild man?" Thal said, intrigued.

Emerald explained, "Sometimes there's stories of a boy or even girl that ended up in the woods and survives without people. When they're found, they walk on all fours and can't talk."

"Have you seen such a one?" Thal said.

"No, just stories. Gypsies hear lots of stories. Sometimes people drop a few coins to listen to me tell them," she said. She caught sight of the skinny girl slinking behind the wagon and hollered for her to come clean the pots. The girl glanced at Thal as she obeyed her mistress. She had dark hair and a gentle face and a string of glass beads around her neck. His gaze held her for a moment. Her attractiveness pleased him.

Forcing his attention back to Andreli, he said, "What can I do to help?"

"What are you good at?" his host rejoined.

For a moment Thal felt useless. He had no idea if he had ever possessed any skills, but then he knew his answer. "Hunting," he said.

Mildly impressed, Andreli said, "Only a few of the men have bows or spears, but it would be nice to get a deer or boar."

"You have many to feed," Thal commented while scanning the camp. Having enjoyed the kindness of these people, he very much wanted to contribute in some way. It was only natural.

"Best not let any locals notice," Emerald warned.

Andreli frowned at the unnecessary comment.

Addressing Thal, she continued, "We've not been given leave to hunt these lands, but we can fish."

"Someone can tell you not to hunt?" Thal said, disturbed by the notion.

"Rosenbergs, or any baron for that matter, can say how their lands are used or not used," Andreli said.

"But how can that be?" Thal wondered, confused. Hunting was so basic to life, and he could not conceive of denying anyone the right.

"The common lands aren't as common as they once were. And even less so for interlopers such as we, but worry not, friend Thal. If you're a good hunter, as you say, then you must be good at not being noticed."

"When need be," Thal murmured. Of course he knew how to be stealthy, but there were also times when revealing his predatory presence gave the advantage of unnerving a target, but this was not one of these times. He did not want to bring trouble to the Gypsies, but obviously Andreli was not against sidestepping rules.

"I'll look around for game and come back. Have your men and dogs ready," Thal said.

"Very good. We'll be waiting for you," Andreli agreed.

"Good luck getting some work out of them," Emerald said.

"Oh, blunt your sharp tongue you mouthy witch," Andreli said teasingly.

She rolled her eyes and then smiled at Thal. "Find me a boar. I like that meat," she said.

"You think he can take requests like a musician?" Andreli said.

"There's no reason not to tell him what I want. I'll give any man a chance to do what I tell him," she said.

"I shall try," Thal said.

When he stood up, the clothing moving against his skin still felt a little weird. He tossed his fur over his shoulder and slipped out of the camp while trying to ignore the many curious looks that tagged him.

******

Thal patted one of the dogs trotting happily alongside him. The explosive excitement of the dogs at being taken on a hunt was only beginning to settle. Game was proving sparse so close to settled lands. Peasants hunting through a cold hungry winter had thinned the local stock, but Thal found signs of deer slipping into pastures and budding orchards.

Then the dogs dashed off chasing rabbits. They caught a couple and tore them up and gulped them down before any men got close. Thal could not blame the lean beasts for claiming the meal, but he asserted his leadership and got them back on the trail of larger game.

Near the edge of the woods, he spotted grazing cattle and felt the old temptation, but that easy meat plodding along had consequences. Thal suspected that Gypsies killing a local steer might earn the same punishment as hungry wolves that dared to take livestock.

Eventually, he led his hunting party into brushy canyons. He and the dogs circled ahead of three deer and drove them toward the hunters.

One was slain. In the privacy of the woods, the men gutted the buck. The dogs feasted gruesomely on the entrails. The bloody sight triggered powerful feelings in Thal and he needed to look away.

Instead of retracing the meandering route of the hunt, the group cut straight across country back to the river camp. The sinking sun cast lovely golden shafts and intensified the flowering green of springtime.

Andreli and his men were jubilant. The prospect of plenty of meat was a welcome boon to their community, even if it was not the season for fat game.

Walking beside Thal, Andreli said, "A fine hunt, Thal. You must've been apprentice to a kennel master at some castle. I swear these dogs have only eyes for you now."

Thal was growing used to Andreli's frequent speculations about his background. The comments were not unwelcome. They helped to loosen details that had been long forgotten.

"I don't recall being apprentice to anyone," Thal said.

"So you worked the fields with your father then," Andreli guessed.

The face of Thal's father loomed in his mind. His bare head was bright like a full moon. A fleece hung around his shoulders and tattoo runes crisscrossed his bare chest.

"I don't think my father was a farmer," he said.

"No," Andreli agreed pensively. "I suppose that does not fit."

"Emerald will be disappointed we didn't find a boar," Thal said.

"I'm proud of our venison. I think we can force her to admit that we did a good job," Andreli said.

The woods grew thinner and the land opened on fields and orchards. The Gypsies hung back in the shadows of the tree line so hopefully no one would spot them with their poached game. But Andreli steered Thal into the open while the other men went on. Thal shooed the dogs toward the men carrying the meat.

Once clear of the trees Thal saw what Andreli was showing him. Blooming orchards and orderly gardens surrounded an impressive cluster of red-roofed buildings inside a stone wall. Tall poles radiated cords tethered in a circle and the first thick green shoots of hops vines were twining up the cords. A few men in white and black robes were working throughout the property. A church tower overlooked it all.

"The Vyssi Brod Monastery," Andreli said.

"It's a nice looking place. What goes on there?" Thal asked.

"They're men devoted to God and Christ," Andreli explained.

Thal nodded, starting to recall the omnipresent role of religion.

"But they're really not so boring as that sounds," Andreli continued. "Some here are literate, and I have a friend who might be able to read the words on your fur."

Thal touched his fur possessively. He feared that whatever the words revealed would best be kept private, but he was undeniably curious.

"We'll visit here tomorrow," Andreli said. "And let's pray that my Devil's tongue will convince them to share some beer with the needy of the world," he added with a laugh.

The throbbing metallic ringing of a bell called the brothers to prayer as Andreli and Thal slipped back into the woods.

******

Thal was excited as he approached the monastery. The thick stone walls encircling the hill overlooking the river beckoned him back to a realm that had become alien to him.

Strolling toward the main gate, Andreli waved pleasantly to the lay brothers working the land. Fresh soil dirtied the bottom edges of their undyed robes. Simple wooden crosses hung around their necks on leather cords. No one said anything, and only two brothers waved back.

"No women live here?" Thal asked.

Andreli rolled his eyes. "It's a monastery," he said, and Thal gathered that it was a place of only men.

The gate was wide open. Two monks in the courtyard spotted Andreli and rushed into a dormitory.

"They don't seem interested in your arrival," Thal noted.

"Brother Ondrej is a very pleasant fellow. Wasted on the Church in my opinion, but he's got a nice life here I suppose," Andreli said.

When they walked through the gates, Thal paused to take in the scene. A church naturally dominated the collection of buildings. Stone pavers connected all the buildings and green turf filled the gaps. Andreli headed toward a large building opposite the church. Ivy and moss clung to the creamy stucco walls. The main door stood open to let in the fresh spring breeze. The exuberant morning sun fell on the stone front steps and a trio of tabby cats sprawled on the warm stone. They scampered away at impressive speed when the men trotted up the steps.

"Brother Ondrej!" Andreli boomed like it was his own house. He called a few more times until a scrawny buck-toothed young man rushed out.

"Who let you in here?" the lad demanded with more temerity than his appearance could lend him.

"I go where I please. Where's Brother Ondrej," Andreli said.

"He's not receiving visitors," the monk said. His eyes strayed to Thal.

"Ondrej loves visitors," Andreli protested.

The monk tore his eyes from Thal and stamped his foot. "He's got no more alms for you. He should've never given you begging Gypsies so much as a turnip. You'll be hanging on our gate till next spring," he complained.

"You awe me with your Christian sentiment," Andreli said.

Thal studied the fascinating exchange. He wondered why the Gypsies were disliked. They had been kind to him, and Andreli's resilience in the face of rejection was inspiring.

"We have work to do. What do you want?" the monk said.

"Ah, so you're willing to give me something," Andreli said triumphantly.

The monk stamped his foot again.

Thal was weary of the confrontation. Gently he said, "I seek a man of letters to help me read something. I mean no dishonor to your God."

"You have a letter then?" the monk said, irresistibly curious.

Thal touched his fur.

"Nothing for you to read," Andreli interjected. He barged past the monk and shouted for Ondrej again.

The monk finally came puffing down a staircase. The black scapula over his shoulders and chest bisected his white habit that draped his bulging frame. Dabs of ink stained his right hand. His round face lit up pleasantly upon seeing Andreli.

"I should've known who was shouting down here," Ondrej said.

"Good morning, my good brother," Andreli said and bowed elaborately.

Then he patted Ondrej's tummy. "It seems you've not been getting enough hard labor."

"Accuse me not of the sin of sloth. My labors are not done with axe and shovel," Ondrej said.

The feisty monk was annoyed by the friendly exchange and said, "Brother, we told these Gypsies we'd only help them through till spring."

Ondrej scolded, "Be more charitable."

"The Abbot will hear of this," the monk warned.

"And then forget about it before the next bell rings," Ondrej said without the slightest concern. He flapped a pudgy hand in the face of his scrawny colleague and the disgruntled monk stomped away.

"He's a man truly moved by the example of our Savior," Andreli noted.

"Oh hush you troublemaker. You'd be no more pleasant if he walked into your house uninvited," Ondrej said.

"I don't have a house," Andreli noted.

"Then join us Cistercians and have a home," Ondrej proposed but he could not keep a straight face and guffawed at his own idea. Andreli laughed as well.

"And who is your new rogue?" Ondrej asked, looking Thal up and down.

"A wanderer," Andreli said.

Ondrej lifted his eyebrows. That designation had to mean something coming from Andreli.

"I am Thal."

"Pleased to meet you," Ondrej said a little dreamily, suddenly lost in his contemplation of the young stranger.

Andreli explained that Thal had something that they needed help reading.

Ondrej perked up. "That sounds interesting. That's why I welcome you, Andreli. You're always interesting," he said.

Ondrej led them upstairs. Thal looked around as he climbed the steps. The feeling of the building enclosing him was distracting. The straight lines of cut stones, the wood grain of the door trim, and the creak of the floor boards pressed hard on his senses and herded his brain toward a once familiar pen. He imagined the trees that had once been green and growing upon the hills and now their guts were split and entombed in stone and none of the smell of the forest remained. This complicated structure crafted by the hands of men stimulated him immensely. Being inside was strange yet comforting. It gave Thal an unexpected sense of safety. He supposed this was why most people lived inside.

A cluttered desk, a table, and two stools furnished Ondrej's study. Books lay open on the table and stacks of blank paper awaited his quill. Broken wax seals clung to opened correspondence. The man seemed to be in the middle of five writing projects. He hauled a tome off his desk to make room and set it on another table with bang.

"Oo, watch it," he muttered in apology to the book.

Ondrej sat on his stool. His prodigious ass overhung the edges and the situation did not look too comfortable. Andreli grabbed the other stool.

He leaned over the desk and peeked at what Ondrej had been writing. "Copying some holy scripture?" he inquired.

"Copying? Get thee with the times. Scripture is done with the printing machine these days. These are of more important matters," Ondrej said and patted the paper. "I'm recording my latest beer recipes."

"Oh, a very sacred subject," Andreli agreed. "And then you will get it printed?"

"Yes," Ondrej said, rather looking forward to it. Then he scowled. "Now how did you bring up the subject of beer so quickly?" he complained.

"You brought it up," Andreli said.

The monk chuckled. "You are such a tricky Gypsy," he said.

"He's very much hoping to get some of your beer. He praised it much while we walked up here," Thal said.

Andreli gave him a startled look. Thal's forthright approach seemed to be spoiling his game. Thal ignored the look. He was curious about beer, recalling that it was a pleasant thing.

"Ah, Thal the wanderer, you do know that people typically pay for our beer," Ondrej said.

"But not always," Thal hinted.

"We could help your brewers sample the latest batch and offer opinions," Andreli put in.

Ondrej sighed. "There's no shortage of volunteers for that duty. Now what about this letter you need read? Or was that just a pretense to gain my audience?" he demanded good naturedly.

"It's not a letter," Thal said. He drew the fur off his shoulders.

Andreli said, "There is writing on the skin."

Turning over the lustrous fur, Thal proffered it to the monk.

"Oh," Ondrej breathed, immediately entranced. He leaned over the artifact and scanned the brick red lettering. Gently he took the fur and spread it on his desk.

"These are Latin letters," he said confidently. "But..."

He trailed off and Thal and Andreli looked on impatiently. Ondrej turned the fur around and looked at the letters and then turned it back the other way.

"What is it?" Andreli asked.

Ondrej patted his round cheek thoughtfully, obviously a little confounded. Finally, he explained, "The characters are Latin but they do not make Latin words. I can sound things out, but I don't recognize the words." He ran a finger along the words and read, "Bin rum aptudarn. Cass lupu trinostulio. It's just nonsense. I've never laid eyes upon this language. Where did you get this?"

"From my father," Thal said.

"And where was he from?" Ondrej pressed.

Thal did not answer.

"He has trouble remembering his past," Andreli put in. "He wandered out of the Sumava with only this fur. He told me he's from Prague."

"My mother is from Prague but not my father. I can't think of where he was from," Thal said.

Assuming Thal was the bastard of some harlot, Ondrej returned his attention to the intriguing lettering. "Is this written in blood?" he asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

"It looks like it is," Thal said. "Can you read it all to me? If you teach me all the sounds of the letters I think that will help me remember what it is. I recognized my name at the bottom." He pointed to the word and Ondrej saw that it definitely said Thal.

"But these words are just nonsense," Ondrej protested, beginning to suspect that Thal was crazy and had probably been wondering the land suffering from fits. Perhaps he had even scrawled the nonsense in his own blood, driven by some strange delusion. Yet Ondrej could not entirely accept his logical guesses about the stranger. Thal looked healthy and lucid. He had no outward traits of a madman, and Ondrej had seen more than a few of those lost souls over the years.

Thal wanted to overcome the monk's reluctance and suggested, "The words might be a code. If I hear them all, it will help me remember."

"A code?" Ondrej whispered. He had heard of such things. Some scholars liked to correspond in codes, but it seemed a bit devious and un-Christian. And the blood ink was certainly unholy.

The monk glanced at Andreli a bit reproachfully and then leaned toward Thal. "Young man, I fear this might be the work of some devilry," he said.

Thal did not doubt it but said nothing.

Ondrej continued, obviously wishing to show off his knowledge on the subject. "There's much devilry afoot these days. A group of Jesuits just passed through here, heading north. They told me how heresy and witchcraft are getting out of hand. Mother Church needs her faithful to set things right. The door to the Devil's barn has been left open since Luther tricked people with all his lunacy."

"Yes, the northern lands have all gone over to Luther's ways I hear," Andreli commented.

"Not all of them," Ondrej said pointedly.

"Tell me about this devilry," Thal said, impatient to get to the heart of the matter.

The gravity of the subject did not suit Ondrej, but he was honestly concerned about the wanderer.

"Young man, I fear that you were taken captive by warlocks or witches and who knows what happened to you in the forest. They left this strangely lettered fur as some spell upon you. It's probably why you can't remember much. I suggest we burn it right away," Ondrej said.

Aghast, Thal snatched the fur off the desk. "It's from my father," he insisted. "And I was not attacked by anyone."

"You must give it up. Your soul could be at stake. This evil hide must have some charm upon it that will probably drive you back into the forest," Ondrej said.

Thal contained his anger. Ondrej meant well. There was no malice in him, and Thal took that into account. He did not wish to be a poor guest. "Thank you for your time. It was kindly given," he said.

He stepped toward the door but Ondrej stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Son, stay for Mass and take the Eucharist. You can confess to our priest," he said.

"I must think on what you have told me," Thal said evasively and pulled his arm loose.

The abrupt conclusion of the meeting disappointed Andreli who saw no way to bring up the subject of beer again. Wishing to leave on good terms with the monk who had always been generous, he said, "Please don't think ill of Thal. I never expected you to say his fur was unholy."

Thal arranged the fur over his shoulders again. The soft hairs caressed his neck. His heart told him it was an exceptionally sacred thing although certainly not in a way that Brother Ondrej could accept or understand. Thal left the room, unwilling to stay near the man who had suggested he burn the fur. Andreli could handle the goodbyes.

Thal walked straight out the gate and stopped by a hedge to wait for Andreli. He took off the fur again and looked at its lettering. Although the monk had not given him much information, he remembered the words that had been read. He ran a finger along them and said slowly, "Bin rum aptudarn. Cass lupu trinostulio." Then he struggled onward sounding out more letters. The knowledge of how to read it was in his mind, but long disuse had left his literacy stuck like stones in a frozen field. As he ground out a few more words, he heard in his mind his father chanting the words. The meaning eluded him but this was a powerful message, and Thal suspected that it was a path back to his wolf form.

But should he pursue it? He suspected that some spell had yanked him back into the world of men for a reason.

"Thal?"

He whirled. Andreli was behind him. The Gypsy flinched because Thal wheeled upon him so defensively.

Clearing his mind, Thal said, "I'm sorry if I spoiled your chances for beer."

Andreli waved a hand. "Not your fault. Our stay in this area is about played out I fear."

"So you'll be moving?" Thal said.

"It's what Gypsies do, but I'm not sure where to go. No one is ever happy to see us," Andreli said. Complaining to Thal felt safe. In front of his people Andreli had to project confidence. He must not burden them with confessions about his weariness of heart. His father had taught him that.

The two men walked along in silence. They skirted the village and cut into the woods along the river.

Thal feared that he was the cause of Andreli's heavy mood. "Do you think I am bewitched?" he asked.

The Gypsy kept staring straight ahead and walking. "Do you think you are?" he finally asked.

"I think I'm more than bewitched," Thal admitted.

"Oh," Andreli said. He was quite out of his league he realized. Believing in the supernatural was easy except when it walked and talked and put meat on your plate and was pleasing to be around. Then the supernatural just seemed like a man who had no home and needed some clothes on his back.

"Do I frighten you?" Thal said.

"No!" Andreli declared. He set a fraternal hand on Thal's shoulder to show his sincerity.

"May I stay with you, at least a while longer?" Thal asked.

"Yes," Andreli said.

"Please don't tell anyone what Brother Ondrej thought about me," Thal said.

"All right," Andreli said although he was not sure how he was going to sidestep questions about it. His people already talked of Thal ceaselessly and they would want to know what had happened at the monastery.

Andreli looked at the clear sky. "The moon will be a little brighter tonight. We'll have visitors," he said.

"Visitors?" Thal said.

"People from the village or even the castle like to visit us, especially on nice nights. And the curious might come to see you now. Ondrej will be wagging his tongue about you no doubt," the Gypsy said.

"I can hide in the woods if it will help you," Thal offered.

"No, no," Andreli insisted. "I either take a man in or I don't. You don't need to hide but don't give anyone a reason to think you're bewitched."

"I won't," Thal promised. Although nervous about causing his host a problem, he was excited to see more people and learn why they visited the Gypsies when they seemed to not even want them around.

#  Chapter 6. From the Forest

Thal kept busy when he returned to the Gypsy camp. He helped Petro mend holes in a fish net and then gathered firewood. While hauling back a load of dry driftwood from upriver, he encountered the girl that served Emerald.

White cloth wrapped her head and a patched up smock hung around her body, but her graceful neck and shiny olive skin revealed the lithe young girl within. Her glass beads caught the sunshine filtered by the green leaves overhead. Their sparkle matched the twinkle in her dark eyes.

"Thal," she said with a big smile.

"Hello."

She shifted her load of sticks off her back and plopped down on an old log to take a break.

Thal stayed in place still holding his load across his shoulders. He was uncertain of what the social situation required of him, but he knew that he liked looking at the girl in the privacy of the riverside trail.

"I'm Medina," she said.

She grabbed a small canteen that hung over her shoulder and took a drink.

"Thirsty?" she asked.

He nodded. He set his firewood down and wiped the sweat from his brow. Medina handed her canteen to him. Thal took a small drink because he did not want to empty her canteen.

"I could use one of these," he commented and returned it.

"You aren't a man of many possessions," she commented. "Except that nice fur. It's so beautiful."

She petted the fur over his shoulder. Her fingers moved through the lovely luxury of the dense coat. The slight pressure of her fingers made him hold his breath.

"Is it really wolf?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Did you kill it yourself?" she said.

"I don't think so."

"You can't remember," she said.

"I remember more every day," he said but had little wish to talk about himself. "I notice Emerald keeps you busy."

Medina laughed. "No one would know what to do without Emerald to tell them. She takes good care of me."

"Is she your mother?" he asked.

"The most mother I've ever known. She says she found me on the side of the road, but I don't know if that's true," Medina explained.

"It seems Gypsies find lots of people," Thal said.

"We're not so quick to judge as village folk," she said.

"I'm grateful for the help. You don't have to fetch things for me anymore, even if Emerald asks. I can see to myself now," he said.

"I don't mind," Medina said.

Thal believed her.

She kicked off her shoes. Daintily she trotted to the riverbank. Holding up her smock and skirt, she waded into the water.

"That cools me off," she declared. "This is the first truly warm day. Maybe it'll be a hot summer."

She gathered up her skirt into one hand. Her knees and bare thighs above the flowing water entranced Thal. She bent over and washed her face with one hand and then flicked water up at him. The drops hit the trail by his feet.

"Come in. You wouldn't be so warm if you didn't keep that fur on," she said.

Thal had not really thought about that. He draped the fur over the firewood and came down the bank. He sat on a thick tree root, slipped off his sandals, and wiggled his toes in the water.

"That's nice," he said.

Medina sloshed over to him. "What happened at the monastery?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"You're not a very good liar," she chided.

"We didn't get beer. That's the truth," he said.

"Someone will bring strong drink tonight and trade a little with Andreli," Medina predicted.

"What does Andreli have to trade?" Thal wondered.

"This and that," Medina said and rocked her shoulders.

She leaned close, seeming to expect something from him, but when a bemused Thal did nothing, she slogged out of the water. "I better get going. I have to change my clothes and comb my hair for tonight. I'll be dancing," she said.

"Dancing?"

Medina tossed her hips. "Will you watch me?"

He nodded. She scrambled up to the trail and he followed her. She put a hand on him to keep her balance while she put her shoes back on. Thal retrieved his fur. Medina glimpsed the inside and grabbed its edge.

"It does have words," she said.

Thal eased it out of her small hand. "Everyone must talk about me all the time," he said.

"You're very mysterious," she explained, unashamed of the gossiping.

"I don't mean to be," he said.

"Will you read it to me?" she asked.

The way she batted her eyelashes intrigued him, but the meaning of the signal eluded him.

"I'll carry your wood," he said and hoisted both bundles, one in each arm.

"Thanks," Medina said and started down the trail. She chattered to him pleasantly. While walking behind her, he daydreamed about the contours of her body hidden beneath the loose clothes.

When they got back to camp they delivered the wood to Emerald's area. Medina climbed into the back of the wagon and started rummaging around. Emerald was sitting on a big rug with two women from the nearby village. Sapling poles held a faded canopy over them. One woman was older with a bent back and narrow shoulders. Next to her was a plump rosy-cheeked lady with a swollen belly. They were deeply involved in their conversation and did not look up.

Thal recalled that he was supposed to avoid attention so he sat down a discreet distance away. He observed them slyly. Emerald sometimes flourished her hands and touched her temple. Then she started waving her hands slowly over the woman's belly.

Thal gathered that she was pregnant. He recalled the big bellies of his mates before pups were born, but he pushed away the image. After only a few days in his man-form some memories from his wolf life were feeling weird. His human mind was asserting itself. He supposed that was why the young female had been so interesting.

The village women concluded their meeting. They gave Emerald a basket with yarn and two loaves of bread. They seemed well pleased with whatever she had told them. Emerald tucked her gifts into the back of her wagon and then climbed into it to take a nap.

Thal crept away from the camp. In a sunny spot where an old tree had died, he took out his fur and opened it on his lap. The blood lettering was grim in the bright sunshine. Recalling the sounds the priest had given some of the symbols, he labored to sound the rest of the words out. Gradually more of the letters reignited in his mind. He was literate after all, and he quietly whispered the words. As he gained confidence that he was pronouncing them correctly, he read them aloud again.

They became more familiar to Thal each time he read them. Finally his memories buzzed to life like a shaken hive of bees. From the depths of his mind the voice of his father took over the reading. Thal remembered his father chanting the words in a specific rhythm. Thal's lips stopped moving and his skin went cold as the past consumed his consciousness.

The icy glow of a full moon illuminated the sky. Tall pines black against the night framed the moon. Their boughs creaked in the wind. Thal was strapped naked across a cold slab of stone. The moonlight twisted down the trees like frosted lightning. He had been given something to drink. Some nasty potion of his father's brewing, but he had taken it willingly. Thal's father lifted the fur over him on the secret altar. The fresh blood ink still glistened. His father's chanting became more strident until he was only howling. Then the howls of many wolves erupted. The fluffy beasts filled the spaces between the trees. Their shining eyes encircled the altar like a swarm of fireflies.

A raven screeched and Thal gasped. His awareness returned to the sunny spot beside the Gypsy camp. The raven cawed again and hopped around the bare weathered branches of the dead tree.

Thal touched his chest. His heart was hammering. The memories had been terrifying.

"Thank you friend raven," he said to the bird, grateful that it had snapped him out of the intense flashback.

It cawed modestly and flapped down to the ground near his feet.

"I've nothing for you," Thal said.

The bird's piercing black eyes regarded him seriously.

Thal gestured to the lettering on the wolf skin. "What do you think? Should I rid myself of this like the man of God suggested?" he said.

The bird stayed silent.

Thal ran a hand over the fur. He was certain now that it was crucial to transforming him into a wolf. It was the only explanation for why it had been at his side after he had returned to his man-form. But why had his father changed him? HOW had his father changed him? Did Thal want to change back? That question was at the heart of the matter. He was growing to like his new body. He especially liked his hands. Being around people excited him. There was so much to learn and do. He had mastered life in the forest and perhaps it was time that he did new things.

"But I'm not just a man am I?" he said.

The raven cackled and flew back into the tree.

Thal went back to studying the words his father had written. He still could not recall where his father had lived, but he distinctly remembered living with his mother near Prague. Thal resolved to ask Andreli how to get there. He must go look for her. She might have answers.

"Thal? Thal?"

Andreli was calling him. Thal liked being wanted. He waved to the raven and left his hiding spot.

Andreli spotted him when he emerged into the worn ground of the camp.

"There you are. I have a question for you. Do you know anything of playing cards?" he said.

Thal's blank look did not surprise him. "Worry not. We'll teach you primero," he said and gestured for Thal to follow. They settled on a thick rug with exotic patterns with Petro and another man named Sal.

Andreli said, "I've got an important way for you to help us."

"Good," Thal said. He watched Sal slide a stack of rigid decorated papers out of a cloth sack.

Andreli continued, "The roads will be busier with the warmer weather. Once the moon starts filling up we can expect more visitors at night. We'll teach you to play primero because sometimes we need an extra man to get a game going. And well, to be honest, some of the local fellows are getting wary of playing with us, but a new face will get them playing again because that's what they really want to do anyway."

"But you asked me to stay out of the way," Thal reminded.

Andreli shrugged, dismissing his cautious attitude. "Where's the profit in that? All hands on deck to lift the sails as a Venetian sailor would say, right?"

"As you wish," Thal said.

Sal spread all the cards out face up on the rug and explained them. Thal scanned the pictures stenciled in bright colors. He easily memorized the look of the kings, queens, jacks, and aces. The others were simply numbers two through seven. He understood the symbols for the suits readily, but once Sal dealt out the cards and they played a hand, the game became quite mystifying. Andreli shared Thal's hand and explained to him what to do. He placed bets and then more bets and the other men did the same or sometimes dropped out of the hand. Eventually two of them got to a showdown and the hand with the highest score won the coins that had been wagered. After about ten hands Thal was grasping the basics of scoring although he gathered that the betting was a bit of fine art.

When they took a break from the lesson, Andreli explained that Thal was to tell other people that he was a wanderer from Prague.

"He'll need a last name," Sal noted gruffly.

"Yes, I suppose people will ask about your surname. Let me guess, you don't remember," Andreli said.

"Lesky." Thal answered so readily that Andreli gaped in shock.

Petro laughed. "Ha, ha, 'from the forest.' A nice choice, Thal," he said.

Thal grinned to him agreeably. He was rather pleased with it himself.

Andreli slapped Thal's back. "Thal Lesky from Prague it is," he said. He gave Thal a handful of coins. "Your stake. And don't be afraid to lose," he explained.

"Lose?" Thal wondered.

"Petro and Sal can concentrate on winning it back plus hopefully everything else from our guests. But you need to get them excited about playing," Andreli advised.

Thal grasped the concept. He must lure the prey into a false success so that they did not see the true threat.

"I think we best practice some more," Thal said.

"Of course. Here, Sal give him the cards and let him practice dealing. Remember as dealer you start the betting," Andreli said.

Thal felt clumsy with the cards at first, but his nimble fingers soon gained some competence. He enjoyed the interesting portraits on the cards and the sense of expectation and occasional delight created by their random distribution to the players. He was slow at adding his score and determining his bids, but repeated efforts kindled better mathematical ability.

Andreli commented that his bluntness with numbers was a nice touch for his persona.

At dusk they broke up their practice session. The first quarter moon brightened the balmy spring evening, and Thal looked forward anxiously to what the night would bring.

******

Three young men from the village ventured first into the Gypsy camp. They did not seem to have any particular aim except to gossip. Thal lounged near Andreli's fire. After the men sauntered by for a second time, he asked his host if he should invite them to play primero.

"No. Those bumpkins couldn't get a copper between them if they had a fairy godmother to cheat," Andreli grumbled. "They're just hoping something will cook up here and they can enjoy some free entertainment."

Thal glanced at the moon. The young crescent only had a couple hours left in the sky. Then he heard horses on the road.

"Someone's coming," he said.

Andreli did not hear anything but then the dogs started barking. He took note of how keen Thal's senses were.

After running his fingers through his hair, Andreli put his hat on. He stroked the peacock feather in the hat for luck and stood up.

"Riders could be men from Rosenberg castle," he said hopefully. He gestured for Thal to stay behind.

Petro and Andreli greeted the newcomers at the edge of camp. Boys rushed up to take the horses. They were fine animals with good tack, but one shied unexpectedly when it was led past Thal. The horse snorted and its wide eyes lolled at Thal. The boy held on and tugged the horse away.

"Come meet our other guest. It appears he was admiring your horses," Andreli said, guiding the new visitors toward Thal.

Thal faced them. They were strong men with quality clothes and nice weapons. Good swords and knives advertised their ability to finish fights, and the one with a paunch had a pistol in his belt. He had a touch of gray in his beard and thick locks of sandy hair cascaded from beneath his hat. His companion was bare faced with darker hair. Both of them looked over Thal with the critical eyes of locals inspecting an interloper.

"This is Jan Bradcek guard captain at the castle," Andreli introduced.

"Pleased to meet you. I am Thal Lesky of Prague." Thal said.

Jan raised an eyebrow. "Prague? What brings you so far from home?" he asked.

"A pilgrimage to Rome," Thal said.

Andreli twinkled with amusement. Thal impressed him more each day.

Jan chuckled and looked at his friend. "On a pilgrimage by yourself?" he asked, finding the statement boldly incredulous.

"You may join me if you please," Thal said.

"I don't get paid enough to visit the holy city," Jan grumped.

"I myself have only a small inheritance to squander and thought I would see a bit of the world with it," Thal explained.

Andreli loved it.

"Well, I suppose you've seen a bit of Bohemia at least," Jan commented.

Andreli cleared his throat so he could finish the introductions. "And with our esteemed captain is Lucas Gardenzy."

The two men nodded to each other.

"Thal only just joined us. I thought you'd be entertained to see a new face. I'm so glad you came back. I'd feared you'd decided we were boring," Andreli said.

"A man's face is not what I came to see," Jan said, but to Thal he added, "Not that I'm saying you're not nice looking."

Lucas chuckled like it was an inside joke.

Andreli called for music. A drummer and two pipers emerged from the shadows. The three men from the village cheered their arrival.

Andreli spread a nice rug by his fire for the captain and his companion, and everyone sat down, except the uninvited serf lads. After a look from Jan, Lucas flipped open his sack and drew out two crockery bottles.

"A little birdie told me you're thirsty, Andreli," Jan said.

"Parched, truly," the Gypsy lord agreed readily. "But I'll venture that the little birdie was flightless as a farmer's goose and sings at the monastery."

Jan unstoppered a bottle as a boy scurried forth with cups. "Why that monk is so charitable toward you I can't imagine," Jan said. He poured for everyone.

Andreli raised his drink in sincere appreciation. "I thank you Captain for your most kind delivery, and let me remind you why you enjoy our hospitality," Andreli said.

One his cue the music changed tempo and three dancing girls slinked out. Tambourines jingled in their hands. Their arms and shoulders were bare. Bright cloth bound their torsos and bright beads sewn into their bodices reflected the firelight.

Thal saw Medina. A loose wispy skirt fluttered around her thighs and she swayed beautifully with the music like a flag on a balmy breeze.

She did not meet Thal's intense gaze. She focused on the guard captain. Her eyes flashed at him after every spin. Her long wavy hair spun around her shoulders. She stayed perfectly in step with her dancing partners, and they created a fascinating female synergy.

The men drank to Andreli's toast. Thal looked at his beer. It was foamy and smelled grainy. He drank and reflected on the flavor.

"What think you of our local brew, Lesky?" Jan said.

"Very good," Thal said and drank some more. As it dispersed through his stomach, he felt a little more relaxed. Liking the feeling, he drank some more. The effect surprisingly helped him not mind that Medina was not looking at him.

The women circled close to the men around the fire and then moved back. In and out they came and went as the men emptied their cups and conquered the second bottle.

Flushed from their opening act, the dancers took a break. One of the musicians started singing a ballad, and many in the camp gathered to listen.

At Andreli's fire, a few ribald jokes were exchanged and the laughter was pleasant. Feeling the ice to be well broken, Jan said, "Lesky, our friend Brother Ondrej said he met you today."

Alarm scampered along Thal's dulled nerves. The monk might have blabbed all kinds of startling stories. Thal resisted his urge to touch his fine fur.

Jan continued, "He didn't mention anything about your pilgrimage to Rome."

"It did not come up," Thal said.

Andreli offered, "Ondrej had some wild ideas about my guest that rightly made him uncomfortable. The good brother's imagination was all ablaze after a recent visit by Jesuits."

"I can understand that," Jan said and drained his cup. The Jesuits who had passed through had stimulated the Rosenberg household as well.

Still hoping to inoculate the captain from suspicion, Andreli said, "Thal has a family heirloom with code writing. Ondrej called it devilry and Thal took offense but excused himself instead of losing his temper among holy men."

"Very good manners," Jan commented.

"I'm just looking to enjoy my travels," Thal said. He almost mentioned that he wanted to play cards but he thought it might be premature. Best to let Andreli bring that up he reasoned.

Thal's mildness did not match the fresh gossip Jan had heard at the monastery. He figured he would keep an eye on the stranger but not add to the monk's dramatic suggestions. Baron Rosenberg liked his scenic vale to enjoy quiet living. Agitating the superstitions of the folk was not to be done lightly. And it would inevitably mean more work for Jan.

Turning to Andreli, Jan said, "Do you think you'll be moving on soon?"

The Gypsy sighed. He knew he had worn out his welcome. "You wound me, Captain. I thought that we were friends. Can I not petition Baron Rosenberg for permission to settle, even in the hills?"

Jan scoffed. "Spare me any saintly proposals about becoming swineherds and paying taxes. And I do come here as a friend. You know I enjoy your liberal charms, but it is your way to move on."

Andreli knew gentle suggestion would not stay gentle forever.

"Your advice is kindly given. I shall take it to heart, but surely we should enjoy a few more hands of cards before we part," he said.

"I want more music," Jan said.

The dancers roused themselves back to action. The audience clapped as they increased their tempo. Jan eyed the young women closely and enjoyed their individual attentions as they broke from their group one by one and circled him and touched his shoulders and swung their hips.

Their enticing solos went on and the music became more seductive. Thal's head swam with more than just the effects of alcohol. He realized he wanted the dancers to come to him, especially Medina, who had been so friendly by the river.

To his silent dismay, Jan pulled Medina into his lap. She nuzzled his neck as the music ended.

"Andreli, let's save primero for another night. Your Gypsy angel needs to play a game with me," Jan said.

"You'll find she knows all the rules," Andreli said.

Jan stood up and kept Medina close with an arm around her waist. He withdrew with her across the camp to a dark tent. Lucas tossed some coins to the other dancers and told the musicians to keep playing. He took out another bottle. Andreli and Petro held out their cups, but Thal excused himself.

Once on his feet he felt the effect of the beer more strongly but he adapted and liked the extra swagger in his step. He wondered the camp. The crowd was loosening up now that the dancers were done, but a few would stay up to listen to music. Thal drifted toward the tent where Medina had gone but then stopped. He could hear faintly what was happening. The big guard captain was on top of her, but she did not seem to be in distress. Realizing the situation he moped back to Emerald's wagon.

His hostess was kicked back by her fire with her feet raised up across a small barrel. Her hands were behind her head as she gazed up at the stars. Twigs crackled in orange flames next to her. She smiled her big-toothed smile when Thal stood over her.

"Lose at cards already?" she inquired.

"There's no game," he said. He had been looking forward to it, but now he was troubled. "Why does Medina go mate with that man?" he asked.

"Oh you're jealous," Emerald surmised and sat up.

Too confused to be properly jealous, Thal said, "She just met him. Is this how people mate?"

"My innocent babe," Emerald purred. "Sometimes yes it's done this way. But Medina's met him before. He visited all through the winter. It's something young women do sometimes. A girl that age is going to be lying with somebody, so she might as well help her people. Don't worry about her. She knows what she's doing. Andreli taught her well and we'll always take care of her."

Andreli? Thal thought and wondered how much he controlled everyone.

Hoping to soothe him, Emerald said, "She might fancy you."

"Why would she want me? I don't have anything," Thal said. He was increasingly aware that he was not an alpha among men.

"You have plenty to offer a woman I suspect," Emerald said and patted his thigh.

"Were you like Medina when you were young?" Thal asked, trying to gauge how normal it was.

"Maybe I still am," Emerald proposed. Flustered, he looked away, uncertain if he was repulsed or interested.

Emerald hauled herself to her feet with a groan and rummaged through a chest under her little canopy. "Let me help you out. A young man wants to know when he'll find love. I know this."

Into the firelight she raised a big deck of cards. "I can show you another type of cards. Let's read your future with the tarot," she said.

#  Chapter 7. Wheel of Fortune

"Is love your word for mating?" Thal asked as she lit an oil lamp.

"Love's more than mating. It's romance as the poets say. It's caring. It's devotion," Emerald explained while gently shuffling the cards. She set the deck between them on the rug.

"Cut the deck," she commanded.

"Aren't you going to show me the cards and how to play them?" Thal asked.

"This isn't like primero," she said and wagged a finger over the deck.

Intrigued, he cut the deck and she gathered the cards into a stack by her knee. She directed him to draw one off the top and turn it over.

The card had a picture of a craftsman carving a pentagram on a door. More pentagrams in circles ran down the edges.

"The eight of pentacles," Emerald said. "You can profit from your skills."

"The card tells you that?" Thal said skeptically.

"I know that because YOU turned over this card," she said a little reproachfully. Thal folded his arms and waited. She turned over the second card and placed it perpendicular to the first card. The card had swords on it along with a picture of a sleeping woman with shadowy swirls around her head.

Emerald took her time before saying anything until finally she asked, "Do you have bad dreams?"

He nodded but was more concerned by his visions when he was awake. Deciding to trust Emerald because he needed someone to talk to, he shared a few details about his waking vision earlier that day.

She was startled although she tried to hide it. Emerald was accustomed to people sharing uncomfortable and even unsavory personal details, but Thal's experience was disturbingly extraordinary.

"Draw another card," she said.

With her guidance he flipped a card and set it below the sword card. This picture showed a human skeleton in black clothes flanked by bare trees.

"The card of death," Emerald said with well practiced drama.

"I'm to die soon?" he asked.

"We all die, Thal, but this does not mean your doom is nigh. But something in your life has died. You're shifting to a new phase. You may have a new purpose," she explained.

Her interpretation dispelled some of his skepticism. He stared at the death card and suspected that he did have a new purpose in life.

Emerald studied him. His silence was informative. She drew another card and placed it perpendicular to the death card. Her light gasp yanked Thal from his thoughts.

"This is a powerful combination," she murmured.

The card showed a beautiful woman with wavy golden hair. White robes flowed around her body and she held a staff of crystals. Above her, berry-laden rowan boughs hung down from a sunburst-filled blue sky. She wore a crown of blue flowers.

Emerald said, "This is the High Priestess. You must have secret knowledge. Seeing the Priestess right after the death card means you've gone through great change and will in time understand more about it."

She spoke with confidence, and Thal wanted to be comforted by her apparent authority.

Emerald added, "The Priestess tells you that women will influence your life."

"Like my mother?" Thal said.

"Mothers influence all lives," Emerald said.

"Yes, but is she alive?" he asked.

The question flustered Emerald. Spreading her hands, she said, "This is not something the cards can tell, but if you ask that question you must have reason to think she might not be alive."

"She could be old," Thal muttered. His heart ached. He wanted to see his mother.

Emerald waited patiently while he stared into space. His eyes gleamed in the darkness and she wondered what secrets he beheld.

Softly she advised, "The Priestess is ruled by the moon. When next it is full will be the best time for you to gain your secret knowledge."

Thal nodded and drew another card. He turned over a man in heavy armor upon a prancing white horse with a flowing mane. Instead of a lance he bore a large chalice.

"Oh that's a promising thing to see after the Priestess," Emerald said. "The Knight of Cups brings you exciting changes, maybe even romantic love," she hinted with a bawdy tone.

"And that's a good thing?" Thal asked. He understood that he was feeling physical attraction to women but romance was presumably more desirable.

The Gypsy lady grinned and said, "In the beginning it's always good, but the Knight also bears a warning that you could be easily led astray. I know that when a girl gets a man's heart, she can be very demanding and selfish just for her own fun. Beware of that if you want to be happy."

Thal appreciated how the older woman was helping him think about these confusing things.

Emerald turned over a new card. "The Tower," she whispered. "I've never seen so many powerful signs over one man. You've experienced great loss or will soon know ruin. You must be careful, my friend Thal," she said with much sincerity.

"Should I be afraid?" he wondered. His future was a blank canvas and he had no paints to color it.

"Have courage and be ready for change," Emerald said.

Having much to think about, he said, "Enough of this."

"One more card," Emerald said.

Without his permission, she flipped a card. A naked man and woman were embraced in a garden with birds singing around their heads. "The Lovers," she said and smiled.

"So I will find a lover," he said.

"Oh, a young man like you will have no trouble finding a lover," Emerald said. "But this card means more than just the pleasure of flesh. The Lovers tell you to be guided by your feelings when you make important choices."

"I feel that I should think on what you have told me," he said.

She tapped the top of the deck. "Want to see another card?" she coaxed.

"No."

"But we might discover your next steps in life," she said.

He yawned. The day had been long and stimulating. The moon had set and the darkness felt safe and restful.

"I've had enough for now," he insisted.

"Very well," she said, disappointed.

"I think you want to learn more about me than I do," Thal scolded.

"You're a very interesting man to read," she admitted. "The tarot cards seem to fit you more closely than other people."

Thal fingered the edge of the Priestess card that was still in front of him. "Do these cards tell the future for other people?" he asked.

"More or less," Emerald said dodgingly.

"And do they pay you to tell them what they mean?" he said.

She nodded.

"What do you want of me?" he said.

"A kiss on the cheek," she said. Her wide grin made him smile as she tapped her face impatiently.

Thal leaned over the cards to her. Emerald fluttered her eyelashes, and he suddenly realized what Medina had been fishing for that afternoon. He pressed his lips against Emerald's soft face. The warmth of the human connection washed away his concerns for a moment.

He sat back, grateful for Emerald's gentle coaching.

"You can kiss more of me if you'd like," she said.

"I'm not ready," he confessed.

Emerald laughed. "That's first I heard a young man use that excuse. The girls aren't going to wait for you long, Thal. I suppose you don't realize how handsome you are."

He touched his chin. The stubble was longer and he had figured that he looked rather scruffy. "Good night," he said.

******

Every evening the fattening moon stayed in the sky a little longer and extended the camp festivities. More people visited from the village. Music, games, drinking, and dancing entertained everyone. Emerald engaged a few people in tarot readings, and Thal got his chance to play primero. Jan and Lucas came back on the same night that two imperial couriers were camping nearby. Andreli and Thal played with the four men. Thal lost his few precious coins most efficiently but felt that he had learned more of the nuances of the game. He was surprised in the morning when Andreli happily staked him again and told him to be ready that night.

But the weather turned cool and rainy. For several days the drizzly weather persisted and kept the camp quiet. Thal hunted again with the men and dogs and poached another deer. He helped with chores and spoke sometimes with Medina. This time he recognized how she was flirting with him. Although curious about her bodily charms, he remained carefully platonic. Knowing how she contributed to her community subdued his attraction. He was used to being the revered mate of glorious alpha females, and the chance to be one man among many did not fire his enthusiasm. He wanted to be more to a woman than just an entertaining trifle.

He spent more time examining his fur. Softly he mouthed the words on it, and each time he heard them he felt closer to understanding them. Emerald's tarot reading had been correct about secret knowledge.

When a morning dawned full of sunny excitement, Andreli expected to enjoy a busy night. The Gypsy leader got out his pistol and started cleaning it. Thal observed with interest. Gerling brought over his pistol and borrowed a rag from Andreli.

Gerling was the portly man who Thal had taken the pistol from when he first entered camp. Thal still sensed some apprehension from the man who had witnessed his feral energy up close, but Gerling was making an effort to get past his first impression because of Andreli's fondness for the newcomer.

He showed Thal how the pistol worked and let him trigger the firing mechanism a couple times without gunpowder so he could see the spark.

The wooden stock of Andreli's hefty pistol had a dark patina and the brass embellishments had been lovingly polished. He handed it to Thal who weighed the weapon in his hands.

"How did you get this?" Thal asked.

"I salvaged it from a battlefield," Andreli said.

"A very fresh battlefield," Gerling put in while scrubbing his barrel.

"You have to be quick to get a weapon. Something like this does not stay on the ground long," Andreli said. He took the weapon back from Thal and continued, "Lousy barons shouldn't fight their battle so close to my camp if they don't want things to come up missing."

"Have you ever killed anyone with it?" Thal said.

The question startled Andreli. "A man? No! I shot at an old bear once to scare it off. To tell the truth, it's hard to hit a bull in a shithouse with this thing, but just holding it will triple anyone's respect for you. By the Saints, that's true."

"Unless you haven't the sense to be afraid," Gerling said, alluding to his first encounter with Thal.

"I was afraid. That's why I had to take it from you," Thal explained.

Gerling chuckled. "Most practical of you."

The men showed Thal how to load the guns, but they did not fire them. Gunpowder was hard to come by and not to be wasted.

Thal watched with envy as the men lovingly put their weapons in their wagons. Most people in camp had noticeably cleaned and organized their possessions and were packing.

"Where will we move to?" Thal wondered.

Andreli shrugged. Whatever direction he had in mind he had not revealed to anyone yet. "You're always so full of questions," he said.

"I have much to learn," Thal said.

"You've mastered losing at cards," Andreli noted.

"You told me to lose."

"I know. It makes our guests happy so they'll bring back more coin and play again. But hold back tonight. Give us a chance to clean them out. We must bring in our harvest before we move on," Andreli explained.

Thal understood. He felt bad about squandering coin even if it was part of Andreli's plan. He would try to restrain his play as directed, but he felt edgy and inclined to action. A craving for excitement nagged at him.

At dusk Captain Jan showed up with Lucas and another companion named Gruder. They were keen to gamble and did not waste time with the dancing girls.

The pleasant weather drew out a couple dozen people from the village, mostly young men but also some young married couples who browsed the few oddities for sale. Lanterns were strung between several wagons and singing and dancing ensued. The gamblers were ensconced away from the noise on rugs by Andreli's wagon. Jan had brought bottles of wine and was kind enough to share.

Thal enjoyed the strong fruity drink. As the alcohol relaxed him he realized that he was nervous. The round moon glimmering like an opal in the purplish sky kept drawing his attention. In another life he had howled his songs and listened to the chorus of his pack. In his mind he could almost hear the wolves far back in the hills. He tried to push away the thought. His broken heart still bled for his forsaken kin, but he was a man now and had new concerns.

A flush of heat coursed through his body. With a shrug he eased his fur off one shoulder and tried to concentrate on the cards. He had a deuce and a four of different suits. When his turn to bet came, he folded.

"Not so eager for cards tonight?" Jan inquired, a touch disappointed.

"Everyone folds sometimes," Thal said.

"He needs to save a few coppers to get back on the road to Rome," Andreli said.

"How did I forget your pilgrimage?" Jan said and shook his head.

Indifferent to Jan's snide attitude about his reason for passing through the area, Thal watched the next round of betting. Three men stayed in the hand. After two more cards were dealt, Jan knocked out, satisfied with the potency of his hand. His companion folded but Andreli called Jan's bet and drew more cards before knocking. The two men then had to reveal their hands.

"Christ on a stick!" Andreli swore and turned away in disgust. His hand scored high, but Jan had a fluxus.

Laughing, Jan pulled in the coin pile. "I'll have to remember to leave you enough coin so you don't have to beg your way out of Rosenberg lands," Jan said.

"The night is young," Andreli grumbled.

Jan mollified his opponent with more wine. Small pots and unmemorable hands filled the next hour, and the men were content to chat and drink, but gradually the competition intensified. Thal started betting more aggressively. After he won three pots in a row, the men from the castle backed off.

"Someone's been coaching you," Lucas said.

"I'd like to think I'm able to learn from my mistakes," Thal said cheerily. He stacked up his coins. The cool metal clinking within his sensitive fingertips was pleasing. He ignored Andreli's questioning look.

Now that Thal had a better grasp of the combinations of cards and the possibilities within any given hand, he could pay greater attention to his opponents. He had a keen sense for reading their body language and judging their feelings. Subtle shifts in their moods were palpable to him, and he was beginning to match their feelings to what cards were in their hands. Thal even sensed deception from Gruder once. The man knew he had a bad hand and was betting against him anyway. When Thal did not fold, Gruder dropped out and abandoned the pot to him. Thal had not realized that players could attempt to act like they had a good hand when they did not.

But his opponents were generally genuine in their beliefs about their hands, and Thal's run of good cards faded. He tried to restrain himself, but his taste for winning kept prodding him back into the chase. His carefully stacked coins eroded until only a meager hillock was left.

The slow drain of putting in his ante hand after hand worried him. Finally when he caught a strong pair of kings he stayed in the hand. All the players bet the first round. More cards were dealt and Jan bet a bold amount that made everyone fold except Thal. He had three kings at this point and could still hope to get a fourth one. Even if he did not, his hand remained strong.

But he sensed confidence from Jan as well. The man had something decent. His burly bet was no bluff. For Thal to put out the last of his coins was surely a gamble. He avoided looking at Andreli, who radiated a lack of amusement.

Thal wished he had more money so he could raise Jan and get a better sense of the man's cards, but calling was his only option. Silently he slid out the last of his money.

The men's eyes widened at the risky move and then looked in unison at Jan for his reaction. A smile lifted the captain's beard.

"You wish you could raise me don't you, Lesky?" he surmised.

Thal regretted that his thoughts were so obvious. He would have to work on that too he realized.

"Show me your cards," he said.

"If you're so sure you have the best hand, why not try to win even more?" Jan said.

"There's a goodly amount in this pot," Thal said.

"Raise with that lovely fur of yours and I'll put ten more thalers in," Jan proposed.

"Want do you want with an old fur?" Thal argued.

"It's the nicest wolf fur I've ever seen. It would look good added to my winter cloak," Jan said.

Thal bristled with the natural need to reject him, but this was the pot he needed to win to make things right with Andreli. He could use some winnings for himself too. Depending on Gypsy charity was slim pickings. His ragged sandals and threadbare clothes were never going to impress anyone.

"How do you keep that fur so shiny?" Jan asked.

Thal narrowed his eyes at the man who seemed extraordinarily eager. Surely the captain had the means to get a nice fur if he wanted one. Suddenly Thal realized that the man wanted the fur because he believed there was something special about it.

He could not risk losing it. But he wanted to know why Jan wanted it. Did he know something about it? Thal suspected many things about the fur. The seemingly meaningless words whispering in his mind were becoming meaningful. Like listening to a beautiful song in a foreign language, he was beginning to feel the knowledge.

"This fur is a dear family heirloom," he said. He pulled it off his shoulders because he was sweaty.

Jan joked to his companions, "The rag man has an heirloom."

"Traveling in poor clothes keeps the bandits away," Thal explained coolly.

"Then accept my bet. If you lose, you'll make your costume more effective," Jan said.

"I'd keep more bandits away with that pistol," Thal said.

Jan caressed the weapon at his belt. It was his turn to feel violated by someone's interest in a precious possession.

"I'll bet my fur against your pistol and powder horn," Thal proposed.

"This is worth more than ten thalers," Jan protested.

"That's my offer. The fur against the pistol. If you don't like it, just show your cards. I matched your bet already," Thal said.

Conflicting desires played across Jan's face. Something about the fur sorely tempted him. Thal decided that if he lost the fur, he would stalk Jan and find out what he did with it. Perhaps he knew something about such things and Thal could learn crucial information. Then he would take the fur back. He would steal it without guilt because it was his.

And if he won, then he would have the pistol, which he wanted with a need akin to avarice.

"I'll take the wager," Jan decided.

His startled companions choked on their protests. They knew Jan had no interest in the opinions of his underlings. The deal was Gruder's and he asked Thal if he wanted to discard and draw.

"One card," Thal said and set one on the playing area. Gruder dealt him a new card. Thal pulled it into his hand. He locked away his reaction, determined to deny Jan any hint of what the next moments would bring.

Andreli spoke up. "Captain, I'd think it proper to place your pistol on the pot."

"I don't need a Gypsy to tell me what's proper," Jan groused.

Careful to hide the lettering, Thal folded his fur in thirds and set it next to the coins. His shining eyes goaded Jan to follow his example.

"You'll not win," Jan said as he pulled the pistol out. The lamplight showed its brass details with golden twinkles. The thick curving handle was smooth hardwood. The straight smooth metal barrel was dull and surely indifferent to the power it could exert upon a man's fortunes.

Ready to squash the hopes of his opponent, Jan flipped his cards with a triumphant flourish. Andreli groaned to see that Jan had a supremus, but then the Gypsy leader looked to Thal who spread his cards for all to see. He had gotten his fourth king and the pot was his.

"You cheated!" Jan exploded.

"Your man dealt!" Andreli cried, ready to defend the win.

Thal reached for the pistol. Jan flopped forward meaning to take it back, but Thal was quicker. He pulled the pistol close to his chest, snatched up his fur, and jumped to his feet. All the men were on their feet in a trice.

"And your powder horn," Thal said. His calm further infuriated Jan.

"I'll put it up your ass!" Jan yelled.

Andreli grabbed the captain's arm in a firm grip. "It was a fair game and you know it."

The powerful man shook off Andreli with a fierce sweep of his arm. Andreli fell back against his wagon. Jan stalked toward Thal who stood his ground. The captain swung his fist and Thal dodged it without moving his feet. Jan recovered his balance and swung at Thal again and missed.

Jan's companions jumped into the tussle and Thal had to move back.

"The powder horn too please," Thal said calmly. He was hoping to diffuse the situation. He even sympathized a little. If he had lost the fur, he probably would have gone crazy despite his plan.

Jan yanked the horn off his body, breaking the strap, and hurled it at Thal, who dodged the projectile.

All the dogs in the camp rushed into the fray and circled Thal's feet, barking with unhesitating defense. Jan kicked the little dog that charged him and it flew aside with a yipe.

The sound triggered Thal's temper and reddened his vision. He barely restrained himself from counterattacking. The half dozen camp mongrels kept Jan's men back. People were rushing up and forming a circle around the scuffle. With more men at his back, Andreli bravely attempted to seize control, but Jan's fury was beyond reach.

"You think that's the only gun I have? Plenty more arms at the castle, but we'll hardly need them to burn out you tinkering tricksters. You should have left when I warned you the first time. Try and run now!" Jan yelled. He pushed through the crowd toward his horses with his companions in tow. They mounted up and lashed their horses into a run through the camp to scatter the Gypsies and their guests.

Thal picked up the powder horn. Happily the cap had stayed on. The short dog that had earned a kick looked at him, and Thal patted his head and murmured praise.

He held his pistol up to a hanging lantern and admired his new prize, oblivious to the alarm around him. The villagers were leaving quickly. The Gypsies were shrill as they yelled to each other.

Andreli stomped up to Thal and shoved him.

The hostility took Thal aback.

"Why?" Andreli demanded.

A confused frown was Thal's first response until he managed, "Did you want me to lose?"

"That would have kept my life easy," Andreli said.

"But all the money you need is right here," Thal said and gestured toward the abandoned game. Petro was already sorting the coins.

Andreli clasped his forehead. After composing himself, he patted Thal's shoulder. "I'm sorry I yelled. Of course you had to try and win with that hand. What luck!" He smiled wistfully and accepted that the wheel of fortune was spinning tonight.

Thal tossed his fur over a shoulder. "That man wanted my fur. I think he must know something about it," he said.

"Know something about it?" Andreli fretted. "What is that thing?"

"I don't know how to explain," Thal said.

Andreli shook his head. "Mother Mary help us. We have to leave now or we'll lose everything."

"What do you mean?" Thal said, finally registering the panic around him.

"He'll be back with men-at-arms this very night. He'll set our wagons on fire. Take our livestock. Maybe even kill us. He can do whatever he wants!"

Pleas from several people at once tore Andreli away. He moved off into the crowd, yelling orders.

Thal looked down at the gun in his hand. He was very glad to have it, and apparently he was going to have an education in its use very soon. Resolutely, he tightened his grip on it. He knew how to kill. Countless times he had felt the final throes of life kicking while his jaws crushed the pulsing flow.

As if hopeful for divine guidance, Thal looked up at the moon. Its gentle light illuminated new memories. He had to defend these people who had been kind to him, and he believed he had a way.

#  Chapter 8. True Nature

Within an hour the bells were raising the alarm at the monastery. Their clangs carried through the clear night. The Gypsies scurried in the moonlight bundling their possessions and harnessing their horses or donkeys. Babies cried and children chattered questions that their parents were too overwrought to answer. Most people hurriedly rolled up their tents and canopies with resigned faces. The task was too inevitable.

Guilt needled Thal like thistles stuck in his shirt. He had not been thinking about the consequences of his actions for the other people.

He loaded up Emerald's rugs, pots and pans, and canopy because she had no husband to help her. She tucked little items among the big bundles he lifted into her wagon and told him where to put what and not to crush this or that.

Concern clouded her face that was usually confident and jovial.

"I'm sorry," Thal offered.

She paused in her packing. "Don't blame yourself. Things like this happen. We'll get away. It'll take a while for that bully to get men up and armed from the castle," she said.

"But the villagers could be coming right now," Thal worried. He was confused by the contradiction of the locals. They liked to play at the Gypsy camp, but the Gypsies' presence was barely tolerated.

"Oh, those fools will fuss and yell but won't march up here until Jan gets back with some real men," Emerald said.

"I still regret causing this," he said.

His concern was endearing to Emerald. "Oh, Thal, I'm more worried about you. You're the one he's coming after," she said.

She had expected that dire fact to fill him with dread, but instead resolution to face mortal danger hardened his youthful features.

"He'll find me waiting for him," Thal said.

"By yourself?" she criticized. "Stop your foolishness. Flee with us. We'll get away and be laughing about the story around the fire soon enough," Emerald said.

"I have to delay him so you can get away," Thal said.

"One pistol won't be enough for that," she argued.

"I shall see," Thal said thoughtfully as his mind strayed down a path toward the far off forgotten magic of hunters long long ago.

Andreli rushed up to Emerald. "I need you to get the families moving now. Take the old road straight south. We'll make for Austria," he said.

Emerald nodded and hollered to two lads to get her sagging old draft horse harnessed. The beast looked ready to spend its final years at pasture, but instead would haul a wagon into mountains.

Catching Andreli's arm, Emerald said, "Our friend here thinks he'll stay to fight off the castle guards."

Andreli rolled his eyes at Thal's juvenile chivalry. His nod to Emerald told her that he would take care of her precious guest. She gave Thal a hug and told him not to be stupid. Then she got her wagon going so she could start the procession away.

Proud of his people for their swift reaction, Andreli had some hope that they would get away unscathed. Experience had taught him to camp a certain distance away from local authorities.

Sternly to Thal he said, "So you think that you're going to shoot your new pistol?"

"I think I'll have to," Thal said.

"You've got three lead balls and no experience. How is that going to stop Jan and twenty of his henchmen? Be reasonable. I know it's hard for a young man, but you must flee," he advised.

"I must make sure you're not pursued," Thal said.

Admittedly Thal's bravery impressed him, but Andreli still said, "Thal, you can't kill any of them. You'll be condemned by the Rosenbergs. They could send word near and far of your crime and make you a fugitive. If they catch you, they'll hang you. Don't try to fight. It's not worth it."

"But he can threaten to burn your things? Why doesn't the law protect you too?" Thal challenged.

"Laws do not apply to Gypsies in positive ways," Andreli said. The injustice of it was dull to him. Coping with reality was the concern.

Thal considered the potential of being declared a murderer and understood that he would have to be careful. "He's coming for me to take the pistol and probably my fur. If I go with your people, he might keep chasing. If I stay to defend your retreat, he'll have little motive to follow you," he said.

"You may be right," Andreli murmured as he watched wagons and carts lurch away surrounded by men and women bent beneath heavy packs. Medina trotted by leading a milk cow with bags tied across its bony back and a bawling calf in tow. He had to think about the welfare of the group, but guilt on Thal's behalf nagged at him.

"Don't blame yourself. I got you into gambling with that ass. I should've stopped that nonsense about the fur and pistol," Andreli admitted.

Thal drew his new pistol. "Give me another lesson on loading this and then go," he said.

Andreli sighed as if he were disappointed in himself. "Come let's get my pistol. I can't leave you here alone. You haven't any more sense than a tree. Now that I think about it, we could shoot a few balls over their heads and scare them back. Jan won't be expecting it, I promise you that," he said.

Thal grinned. He welcomed a companion in the face of danger.

Andreli's wagon was the last to leave with Petro at the reins. Gerling had been willing to stay as well, but Andreli wanted at least one firearm to stay with the group.

They followed the wagon until they reached a quiet crossroads south of the river. Large trees stretched their boughs over the narrow old road, making it a dark tunnel into the hills. The last of the Gypsies slipped away and a pregnant quiet overtook the two men who stayed behind. The moonlight brightened the monastery on the hill overlooking the river. The straight lines of the church tower confronted the soft infinity of the mystical light. The bells had stopped ringing, but a line of torches was on the road coming from the direction of Rosenberg castle.

Thal tracked the torchlight as it blinked in and out from behind trees. Thal whirled when he heard the soft paws of an animal pattering down the road behind him. Out of the shadows emerged the short dog that had befriended him.

He bent to pet him. The soft short fur on its brown and white head soothed his nerves. "Go on. Catch up to your friends," Thal said and gestured up the road.

"It seems Gerling's dog prefers you now," Andreli remarked.

Thal scratched the dog's ears. "You're a good boy, but go on." After a gentle shove the dog retreated back up the road.

Thal checked his pistol. He had been warned that the wheel lock was notoriously unreliable. Andreli did the same and then said, "We shouldn't stand in the middle of the road. Let's get over by that thicket. We can fire from there and then slip into the woods. If they keep going we can sneak along the road and shoot at them again. But remember we're just trying to scare them. Don't kill anybody."

"Yes," Thal agreed.

When they could hear the riders approaching, Thal leaned out of the brambles. He could see the dark figures on the road. His nostrils twitched to judge the situation.

"They have dogs," he said.

To affirm his statement, their baying began.

"Dogs!" Andreli cried, aghast. He had not thought that Jan would break out the hunting dogs. Trying to spook the castle guards from a hidden position was pure folly now.

Thal moved out of the thicket. Andreli grabbed for his sleeve but the young man pulled away.

"What are you doing?" Andreli hissed.

"I'm about to get some practice that won't be a waste of powder," Thal answered.

The barking intensified and the hounds sprinted ahead of the horses. Thal's keen eyes provided sharp detail in the silvery light. The big fangs of the lead dog gleamed with ivory malice. Its fat tongue flapped with spittle. Its claws tore into the road. The thundering hulks of other hounds were close behind.

Thal raised his pistol and set aside his fear. This was not the first time he had joined in combat with a fierce animal, and this domesticated beast was not going to be the end of him.

The hound leaped at him like a stone hurled by a catapult. Thal discharged his pistol. The powder flashed. The bang vibrated at the end of his arm like a miniature thunderstorm. The ball hit inside the dog's open mouth and its head blew out the back in a bloody spray of brains and fur. Its body skidded to a stop at Thal's feet.

The next dog, crazy with the hunt, leaped at Thal. He bashed its head with a hard sweep of his smoking pistol. The clubbing force of his steely arm crunched its skull.

When the third dog attacked, he ducked. The dog sailed over him and he rose from his squat and caught it across the stomach with his shoulder. Reaching up with his free hand, he seized its throat and hurled it against the charging pack.

Flaring with savage intensity, Thal screamed at his attackers. The dogs ceased their eager barking and lowered their heads. Whimpering and confused, they retreated with the sharp tang of their alpha's spilled blood in their noses.

The riders arrived and the men were confused by the wave of hunting dogs slinking behind their horses. They saw Thal still standing in the road. Two dark heaps were spread upon the threshold of his defiance.

Undeterred by the unexpected weirdness, Jan moved forward on a fine destrier, its chest lathered from the long run. His armor gleamed faintly beneath his bearded face, and his rich voice was filled with victory.

"Having fun with my pistol?" he said.

Thal itched to reload, but he supposed it was futile. Glancing among the men gathered behind Jan, he saw one rider raise a pistol at him. Thal resisted glancing toward Andreli. He had scared back the dogs so they would forget his hidden companion. He hoped that Andreli was taking his chance to slip away.

"I'll be needing my pistol back," Jan said.

Thal tossed it onto the road. He considered again what he was about to do. What would actually happen he was not sure. He was counting on the half remembered magic of what his father had done.

"Give up that Devil's hide to me and maybe I'll let you run off after your worthless friends," Jan offered.

Thal pulled the fur from his shoulders and held it out like bait. "Why do you think it is of the Devil?" he asked.

Jan chuckled darkly. "Don't play a fool. You know what you are. God will tolerate your secret rites no more. The Jesuits told us to be on the watch for warlocks and Devil worshippers and their sick charms," he said.

"I worship no Devil," Thal insisted proudly although an egg of doubt hatched in his heart. What had he been doing with his father? What else would people call it?

"Throw down the fur or we'll shoot you like a mad dog right here in the dirt," Jan said, growing impatient. His man with the pistol came forward menacingly.

"What if my Devil protects me from bullets?" Thal asked cockily. His body felt hot. Sweat ran down his back. The moonlight cast heavenly brightness upon his enemies.

"Shoot the dog," Jan ordered.

"You'll not kill a man for his only possession!" Andreli cried. He sprang out of the bushes and fired his gun.

The horses screamed and bucked until their riders brought them under control. The dogs slunk back farther, wanting nothing to do with the situation. The man about to shoot Thal was spooked into pulling the trigger, and his ball shot off wildly over Thal's head.

But another man farther back in the group pulled a pistol and shot Andreli. The powder flash in the night was followed by a sharp scream. Andreli stumbled back clutching his shoulder. His pistol fell to the road.

Thal gasped. Panic ambushed his stout resolve. He had gotten Andreli shot! The horror of that consequence maddened him. He hated his rotten judgment. He should not have let Andreli stay with him, but the temptation for help had been irresistible. He did not want to be alone. Now he must fight to help Andreli.

"You weary me," Jan huffed. He got off his horse and drew a sword. His men pressed closer on their horses. Thal retreated a few steps from Jan's lifted blade.

"There's only the cleansing fire for you now," Jan said.

Thal raised his voice and began to recite the words written on his fur that he had memorized. Unlike his hushed tones of practice, he intoned each word with the full force of his voice and the mysterious meanings of the unknown words resonated with the unseen primeval forces of the world.

He pulled the fur around his hips and kept reciting the spell. He did not have to think about it. The words were swelling out of his being as easily as he had once howled his songs with his pack.

Jan's draw dropped as he beheld the transformation. In the space of a few heartbeats, Thal's body rejoined with his wolf spirit. His clothing ripped and fell away as his body swelled with muscles and its shape distorted into a beast man. Fur magically covered his powerful body. Once again he felt the chomping confidence of long powerful jaws instead of a soft small mouth. Heavy claws armed his hands and feet. And most pleasing of all was the return of his tail that stiffened with aggression.

Thal leaped forward onto all fours. His padded paw hands met the road and his legs were filled with the familiar animal power that had propelled him on hunts for many years. He charged Jan who hacked sloppily with his sword. Thal dodged the blade, grabbed the man around the torso, and hurled him off the road against a tree. His head bashed the trunk and he slumped to the ground.

Then Thal rushed into the riders, slashing horses and men with his claws and snarling savagely. The dogs fled first, racing down the road with better sense than their masters.

Thal tore a man from the saddle. His screaming and thrashing invited Thal to clamp onto his throat, but he resisted. He was not hunting. He was fighting, and the purpose was to win and only kill if it came to it. He threw the man against a horse and bounded toward the next rider. He nipped at the animal's legs and sent it galloping away.

The shouting men on their circling and bucking horses could do little in the chaotic close quarters. Unnatural terror mauled their normal courage. Flashing eyes reflected the moonlight with greenish blue, and the beast wove between their mounts with untrackable speed.

A horse kicked Thal, and the blunt force hit him hard and sent him flying against another horse. Despite the flaring pain, he chomped on that animal's leg. Bleeding, the horse fled with its rider.

Thal circled the remaining riders, relentlessly trying to spook their steeds. His slashing hands and snapping teeth soon overcame any remaining will to stand and fight. The men yielded to the irresistible panic of witnessing superstition flower into fact. The man on foot was helped onto a horse by a friend and they fled with the others. Thal chased them down the road, snarling and snapping just out of range of the kicking hooves. He did not want to get clipped by a hard hoof again. Despite the surging strength of his powerful body, he was realizing that he had taken a hurtful blow.

When he halted, his tongue lolled out dripping in the cool night. The thunder of his retreating enemies satisfied him greatly. He raised his mouth and howled like he never had before. A huge sound trumpeted from his great throat with an intelligent rage that put the world on notice that he would defend his right to live.

The sound filled the vale with shuddering energy. Peasants clutched their covers and stared into the darkness. Children whimpered in their little beds. Praying monks faltered in their entreaties to a higher power when the voice of the Earth beneath their knees called them to attention. The Gypsies laboring into the hills looked over their shoulders and feared to believe what they dreaded to suspect.

Thal finished his song, and dropped down to his altered hands and feet. He panted heavily but enjoyed an immense relief to have connected with his true nature. The horse blood in his mouth spiced his elation.

After catching his breath, he raised back up onto his legs. Although wolfish, he had discovered that he still seemed suited to walking upright. He rushed to Andreli who was moaning in the road. Thal nuzzled his shoulder. The fresh aroma of human blood worried him. Andreli gasped and quivered in terror. Thal wanted to comfort him. He licked the wound, and Andreli squeaked like a mouse.

Thal decided he needed to get Andreli away. The castle guards might come back looking for their captain. Thal found their pistols on the ground. He tried to pick them up but his hands were not as good in this form. He fumbled a while before gathering them crudely into the bend of his elbow. He had to pick up his powder horn with his mouth. Then with his other arm, he hauled Andreli over a shoulder. The Gypsy groaned and then blathered in terror as he called upon any Saint he could think of to redeem him from the bestial nightmare.

Thal felt his injury acutely under the heavy load. He loped up the road into the forest and found a place to put Andreli down. When he was set down, he tried to scramble away. Pebbles and leaves were flung aside by his scraping feet. Thal restrained him and propped him against a tree. He patted and licked his face, trying to calm him. Finally the insistent mystery of Thal's animal eyes entranced Andreli. They stared at each other for a timeless moment, bound by a connection that the man could not fathom. A yipe startled Andreli so much he shrieked.

Thal looked over and saw the little brown and white dog trotting up. They sniffed noses and the dog's little tongue flicked across Thal's lips. Thal nudged Andreli with his nose and imparted to the dog that he was to stay with the man. The dog climbed into Andreli's lap and curled up companionably.

"Thal?" Andreli whispered as his mind tumbled into a hole of impossible comprehension.

Thal stood up. He wished he could communicate properly with the man. His wish suddenly revealed his ability and he let go of the transformation. His body contracted and convulsed and returned to its manly form. His fur lay at his feet.

"Wait here," Thal said. He grabbed his fur and ran down the road.

******

Jan felt like he had been run over by a beer wagon. His head hurt all the way through to his chin. His back felt like a kinked up chain. Groaning, he sat up and groggily figured out that he was alone. When he tried to piece together his last memories, he cringed against the tree whose gnarled roots gouged his buttocks. Jan resisted believing what he had seen. He was not accustomed to feeling such intense fear. The Jesuits had spoken truly of the devilry now rampart in the land.

He shifted off the uncomfortable roots. His throbbing head disliked moving, but he crawled into the road. His hand slipped on something wet and his face flopped against a dead dog in a pool of blood. Jan had to admit that it took a stout-hearted man to face down a pack of dogs like Thal had.

He's no man, Jan thought, forcing the reality to stay in his mind. The blow to the head notwithstanding, Jan knew that he was not afflicted with hallucinations.

His solitary state was frightening. Being alone in the desperate hour before dawn with a werewolf made all other monster stories tame.

Groping around the road, he climbed over another dog body. It was darker than earlier. The moon was lower in the sky and wooded hills were blocking its topaz shine.

Barely audible among the night songs of crickets and frogs were gentle foot falls. Jan frantically sought his sword. He grabbed its handle but a bare foot stomped onto the blade and kept him from raising it. Jan looked up. Naked except for a fur tied around his loins, Thal backhanded Jan across the face. The captain spun into the dirt and Thal pounced on his back. He wrapped an arm under Jan's chin and choked him until his struggles started to fade. Then he flung him back in the dirt and yanked off his boots.

Gasping and hacking, Jan could not stop him, not even when he pulled off his pants. Thal flipped Jan over and punched his jaw again. Stunned, Jan could only feebly hinder Thal as he removed the armor, a padded vest, and a shirt.

Thal got up and retrieved the sword. He stood over Jan and pressed the point into his throat.

"Don't go after those Gypsies. I won't be traveling with them anymore," Thal said.

"Bugger yourself," Jan said.

Thal nicked Jan under the right earlobe. The man cried out. Thal set a foot on his stomach.

"If I ever hear of you doing anything to those people, I'll hunt you down and kill you," Thal said.

"Best do it now or you'll regret it," Jan dared him.

With a quick swirl of the sword, Thal nicked below Jan's other ear.

"Andreli told me not to kill anyone. You owe him your life for he's the only reason I'm feeling charitable with you," Thal said.

Jan lashed out, but Thal stomped on his stomach. He stepped away and let Jan writhe and gasp.

"Don't pursue me. I'll smell you long before you reach me. And don't think to get me with dogs. No dog alive can take me," Thal said proudly.

After grunting through his pain like a laboring woman, Jan said, "You can't take a man's clothes."

"You wanted my fur," Thal countered without any guilt. He expected that Jan could readily replace his clothing and gear whereas he had nothing. The Gypsies had a point about stealing.

Jan growled in frustration. His humiliation was overtaking his terror. It would almost be better if the monster killed him. "You won't get away. I'll see that the Rosenbergs and the Church make you a wanted man. There'll be a bounty too," Jan threatened.

"Then be ready to offer a handsome amount because hunting me will be a costly affair," Thal said.

Jan lurched to his feet. A sharp pebble bit his foot and he cursed. His battered body and throbbing head made him stagger.

"You'll be sent back to Hell in greasy ashes!" he fumed.

Walking away, Thal lifted a hand as if in farewell. Without looking back, he said, "You should've been contented to lose your pistol in a fair hand of cards. That's what an honest and decent man would have done."

Ugly curses gouted from the guard captain's mouth. Thal took note of them for their linguistic novelty, but did not reply. He hurried up the road with his bundle of clothes until he found Andreli. Dropping his stolen items, he kneeled beside the wounded man. The little dog danced around him and licked the swelling bruise along his ribs.

Andreli had wadded his cloak against his bleeding shoulder and appeared asleep, but he started awake when Thal touched him.

The cloak was wet with blood and its meaty reek made Thal's head swim. Conflicting feelings vied for control of his senses. Part of him was desperately worried for his kind host, but his deeper nature was excited by the prospect of fresh meat.

"My foolishness has gotten you killed," Thal lamented and hung his head.

"Thal, I'm not dead yet," Andreli said.

"But you're so hurt," Thal moaned.

"I'm hoping to live," Andreli said, and there was some vibrant force in his voice.

"Oh," Thal said. It had not occurred to him that Andreli could be helped. A bad wound to a pack member usually meant a sad lingering death.

"What can I do?" Thal asked.

Andreli sat up with a groan. He kept pressure against his shoulder.

"Thal, are you naked again?" he asked.

A little sheepishly Thal sighed. That was an embarrassing side effect of his alternative existence. "I have new clothes," he said and pulled his bundle forward. He set his fur aside and started dressing in Jan's clothing. The pants were loose, but the boots fit reasonable well. He was pleased to have the sturdy foot coverings that denoted a man of some regard. The first glimmer of daylight thinned the darkness and Andreli saw Thal clearly for the first time. A nasty horseshoe-shaped bruise was on his ribs. Thal pulled down the shirt and covered his injury. Then he reached for the armor.

"Is that Jan's?" Andreli asked with alarm.

"Yes."

"He'll hunt us down and feed us to hogs," Andreli said.

"I told him I'd kill him if he ever troubles you. So if he does, try to send me word," Thal said.

"Where are you going?" Andreli wondered.

"Prague to look for my mother," Thal said.

"But Jan will spread the word about you...about what you are," Andreli said. He shrank away from Thal a little, overwhelmed by the dark truth about his forest foundling.

"The stories of back country men-at-arms that got their noses bloodied by a simple vagabond," Thal countered as he planned how to discredit the wild tales that would surely billow from the region like the smoke of a forest fire.

Dressed now, Thal tossed his fur over his shoulders and tucked his new pistol and powder horn into his pants. He offered Andreli a hand and said, "We might need to hurry."

Both men grunted when Thal hauled Andreli to his feet. The pain in his ribs was growing intense.

They hustled up the road as dawn broke the horizon. The morning was lovely. Mist curled in the low places and dew sparkled on the yellow kingcups. Not much time passed before they heard a rider ahead on the road. They quickly hid behind some pines, but the dog ran ahead barking happily. Petro appeared.

"Here!" Andreli cried.

Petro swung down to the ground and soon spied the blood on his leader's clothes. He had to look twice at Thal, who was unexpectedly in Jan's garb.

"What happened?" Petro asked.

Thal deferred to Andreli. "I'll explain later. Get me to Emerald," the Gypsy leader said.

"Christ," Petro whispered when he looked at Andreli's shoulder.

"Got myself shot defending Thal," Andreli said. "I've been waiting for him to thank me."

Recalling the steadfast bravery of the Gypsy, Thal quickly thanked him. "It was my fault," he told Petro as he helped push Andreli onto the horse. "Get him out of here. I must bid you goodbye. Thank you for everything. Tell Emerald I send my gratitude."

"Where are you going? What happened to the castle guards?" Petro asked, mystified.

"I scared them off. I think you'll have time to get away in peace," Thal said.

"Scared them?" Petro said incredulously.

Andreli laughed despite his pain. "He scared them better than the wrath of God," he said.

Thal offered Andreli his hand. The man gripped it. Blood was dried under his finger nails.

"Thank you, Andreli. I'm in your debt for helping me when I was helpless. But I think that I shall manage better in the world now. I am remembering myself. But I must go before I bring more grief upon you," Thal said.

Wearily Andreli nodded. He appreciated that Thal cared for him and his people, and he did not regret the kindness he had shown the stranger.

He gripped Thal's hand and said, "Thal, you can't go about in that armor. The roses on it show you to be a man of the Rosenbergs. You'll never get away with wearing it."

Thal touched his chest. He liked the metal and the protection and prestige it conferred. He did not want to give it up but doubted it wise to ignore Andreli's warning.

Fortunately the Gypsy offered a solution. "Go downriver. The first town you reach is Budweis. There's a smith there named Jakub. He has red hair. Tell him I sent you. He'll trade you fairly for that armor and not wag his tongue about its origin."

Grateful for the advice, Thal noted the name Jakub the Smith. "If you have need of me, seek me in Prague," he said.

Andreli cracked a smile. He hoped he would not have need of one such as Thal, but perhaps a man could do well to have a beast for a friend. Andreli patted Thal's hand. "You're a good man," he said softly.

The words meant a lot to Thal.

In the distance the monastery bell started ringing, and it was not marking the hour. "We must go," Petro said.

"Farewell," Thal said and stepped back.

Petro led the horse onward but the dog stayed behind. Gerling had lost a pet, and Thal bent down to welcome his new companion. The pain was sharp in his battered ribs, but he endured it so he could scratch the dog's ears.

"I'll call you Pistol," he decided, and his dog wagged.

They slipped off the road, careful to leave scant trail, and started cross country toward the river.

# Chapter 9. A Fearsome Sign

Altea caught hold of the door trim to stop herself when little Erik smeared jam on Jarmila's apron. The new governess patted his head forgivingly. Jealousy nipped at Altea, but starting today she no longer needed to swoop in and fix every little thing.

The governess was attending the boys at the kitchen table for lunch. Jarmila took the jam covered spoon that Erik had been fumbling with and spread the jam for him. Altea thought that it was time he learned to do such things himself, but she admonished herself to stop overseeing the new governess. All morning she had been hovering as Jarmila learned her way around the house.

She'll be glad to see me leave the house, Altea thought. Cynthia and Esther could handle the new woman's questions. Jarmila seemed more at ease speaking with the servants anyway.

Having the afternoon free shocked Altea now that the reality had actually happened. Her prodding had kept the hiring of the governess on schedule with Martin, and now only a month later Jarmila was officially employed. Altea supposed she would have to leave her brothers alone in the governess's care eventually, and she might as well start on the first day. If anything egregious happened, the eldest Elias was mature enough to handle it or at least report it to her.

There were some cloth merchants that Altea had been intending to visit. She needed fabric worthy of nice gowns. Dour dresses of mourning were not suitable for catching the eyes of suitors. A tingle of unfamiliar anticipation startled her as she imagined being the object of male attention.

"I'm going to the market," Altea announced from the doorway.

Cynthia who was sitting at a smaller work table with her lunch plate between two bowls of rising dough said she would be ready to go when she finished eating.

"No need. I'll go by myself," Altea said.

Elias glanced up as he bit into bread. His natural protectiveness was aroused at the thought of his sister going out alone, but Altea was already down the hall.

A little smile brightened her face as she walked down Karlova Street. She admired the blue sky with perfect fluffy clouds and made sure not to look at the noxious trickle flowing along the low point of the street toward the river.

When Altea reached the Knights of the Cross square, she headed straight for the covered booths in the textiles section. In the nice weather the cloth sellers set up displays outside their shops to catch more eyes. Passing by the plain wools and linens was a pleasure. The exciting colors and textures rolled up on shelves beckoned her. The man behind the table greeted her like he understood all her hopes for what the fabric might bring.

He had some lovely soft weaves of delicately dyed linen and wool and even silk. Her fingers lingered against the exotic fabric brought from places beyond any map she had ever seen. Bright green leaves and vines full of flowers and fruits adorned the cloth. She imaged all the work that had gone into the weaving and dyeing. Altea fell in love with a pale blue silk enlivened by pointy artichoke plants and highlighted with yellow threads. Martin would surely bark at the price but she ordered it anyway. When he inevitably complained she planned to remind him that he was not going to use her to fortify his position if she was cheaply bedecked.

Her next choice was a fine glossy linen. Deep burgundy vines and white doves spread across the buff background. She selected solid burgundy silk to trim the new dress with and then she envisioned making a little cape out of it too.

After arranging for the delivery and advising the merchants on how to collect from Magistrate Fridrich, she went home. She trotted up the front steps on light feet and was pleased to find her brothers minding their tutor. No disasters had occurred in her absence and she thanked Jarmila for keeping the boys on task.

"You're welcome, Miss Altea," Jarmila said in a modest tone even if her expression was a tad smug.

When Martin came home that evening, he was also pleased that his children had nothing bad to report about the governess. Altea was relieved as well and appreciated the boys' cooperation at least on the first day. Having pushed for the addition of a governess, a miserable start to the arrangement would have made Altea look bad. Instead she looked mature and capable. To maintain her stepfather's good mood, she decided not to mention her shopping.

After dinner, Jarmila took the youngest three boys outside to play with other neighborhood children. Elias wandered off to look for his friends. While Esther cleared the dishes, Martin asked Altea to stay. She waited patiently in her chair while Hynek poured her stepfather some wine. His hand shook while holding the carafe but he did not dribble.

"I've arranged for us to attend a Sunday luncheon at Alderman Feik's next week. I expect that should please you. It'll be a big affair," Martin said.

Although a Sunday lunch party was not as exciting as an evening banquet, Altea accepted it as a good start toward showing herself off. "Wonderful of you to arrange the invitation, Papa Fridrich," she complimented.

"Perhaps I must agree that I kept you shut away too long. The news that you would attend was greeted rather happily, I am told, by more than a few eligible men of Prague," Martin revealed.

"Oh who? Tell me names," she said.

"Now, girl, we don't want this game to end in a day. For now it's your part to arouse interest, not yourself," he advised.

Altea grasped that he wanted to enjoy many invitations to many important households. She did not resent his strategy that would give her a chance to make up for lost years of youthful socializing.

"I understand," she said.

"Remember not to make anyone hate me with your sharp tongue," he admonished.

"A tongue is only sharp to blunt ears," she said and headed for the door, not bothering to wait for him to excuse her.

Martin grumbled into his glass.

Altea spent the rest of the evening planning a dress design until the light faded. Then she kissed her brothers good night except for Elias who was still not home and left the governess with them to say their prayers. Afterward Jarmila retired to her new room in the attic looking quite exhausted.

After getting a drink of water in the kitchen, Altea mounted the stairs lost in a daydream about meeting a handsome alderman's son or perhaps even an administrator at the royal castle. The front door bell interrupted her entertainment. Hynek shuffled into the foyer. Easing herself into the shadows halfway up the steps, she positioned herself to spy. A rectangle of light cast by a lantern spilled across the floor when Hynek opened the door.

"Professor Zussek, please enter. I'll announce you to the Master," Hynek said.

Curiosity pinned Altea in her hiding spot. She was acquainted with her stepfather's law professor friend from Charles University, but she wondered about the late visit.

Martin's surprised but happy voice welcomed his friend, and they exchanged pleasant greetings. Hynek lit more candles. Altea heard the clink of crystal as schnapps was poured in the study.

She sat down on the dark steps when Martin dismissed his valet. Hynek walked out of the study slowly and shut the doors behind him. He headed to the back of the house where he had a room. Altea crept down the stairs.

Excitement fluttered in her chest. She softly tiptoed to the study and pressed her ear against the wooden door. The men were gossiping about the new archbishop. They continued to talk about the Church's increased efforts against Protestant influence until Altea got a little bored. A yawn seized her face.

When she put her ear back to the door, the schnapps decanter tinkled against the crystal glasses again and both men soon sighed with satisfaction.

Zussek resumed their chat. "It's not just Protestants to worry us."

"You've something intriguing to tell me don't you?" Martin said.

"I've been holding something a few weeks. It should've been presented as evidence but it was brought to me instead," Zussek admitted.

"Evidence?" Martin said. His tone perked up considerably.

"It was taken from one of those witches you processed this spring," Zussek said.

Altea gasped silently. She heard Zussek set something on a table.

"Which one? We put down at least a dozen," Martin said.

"The last one that was caught," Zussek said. Altea covered her mouth. Gretchen had been the last one executed. The professor continued, "Your constable took this from her. I have an academic interest in cataloging demonic items, and he knows to bring me such things when he runs across them," Zussek explained.

"I didn't know he did that," Martin grumbled.

"Forgive me then. I should have mentioned it to you sooner," Zussek said.

"I suppose it doesn't matter," Martin said. "It's just a little box," he added, presumably finding its demonic potency dubious.

"Inside is the Devil's own hair, taken from the hand of the witch. I'm certain of it," Zussek said with authority.

Martin commented, "Yes, that's hair." Altea assumed he had opened the box. "Why are you showing me this?"

Altea imagined Zussek's disappointment at her stepfather's lack of excitement at what sounded so shocking. He was famous for not showing excitement. The professor said, "Martin, I wanted to impress upon you the importance of this witch situation. Our society is beset by evil from within as well as without."

Martin chuckled. "I assure you I get to oversee the tedious details of that truth most every day."

"This is serious," the professor insisted.

"I know, and I've never hesitated in my duty to see the worst of this world sent from it. If the Church sends us heretics and witches to prosecute, we'll do it. If the King wants traitors hanged, they'll swing. If the rabble gets in a froth about some hag hexing the cows, the Court is ready to deliver judgment, as long as there's somebody to pay the Court's costs."

"I know," Zussek said. "Forgive me, my friend. I know you do your best, but this charm is very disturbing. I wanted to talk to you about this particular witch. You knew her. She had been in this very home many times."

"What are you implying?" Martin said, growing defensive.

"Nothing. These magic workers ensnare all manner of decent folk," Zussek said soothingly.

Quietly Martin admitted, "I had come to wonder if my wife was under some kind of spell from that woman. She always tried to avoid the doctors I brought to her. Always she wanted Gretchen. She delivered all the boys..."

"Did you notice anything extraordinary about her case?" Zussek said.

"It was reported to me that she was attempting suicide when she was caught," Martin divulged.

"Aha! She was trying to invoke some dark spell. I'm sure of it. We must be vigilant. More's to come of this," Zussek declared.

"More? What do you mean?" Martin said. The nervousness in his voice was strange for Altea to hear.

"There's great wickedness throughout the whole Empire. All these heretics are a sure sign that the folk are sick with witchcraft and devilry. It's been building for years," Zussek said.

"I think we made good headway against it this spring," Martin said.

"But what if this Gretchen cast some curse? Her blood is dried all over this Devil's lock. That's a fearsome sign. These suicide attempts are common I've found, but I've never seen one so closely associated with such a strange charm," Zussek said.

Martin gulped the last drops of his drink and then said, "I did not mind seeing Gretchen go. When her accomplices named her a witch, I was not surprised. In retrospect it made me suspect that she had hastened the death of my dear wife."

Altea went cold. Her mind flashed back to that final night when Gretchen had visited. Mother had begged for her, and Altea had sent a neighbor woman to fetch her from outside the city wall. Altea shut her eyes. She hated the memories. She tried not to think about them. She tried not to believe, but she had overheard her mother asking for something to bring her to the end of the pain.

With a shudder Altea shook off the trauma and put her ear back to the door.

"We should destroy this lock of hair," Martin said.

"It's for my collection," Zussek said.

"We should destroy all evidence of her and any possible connection to me," Martin said.

"There's nothing to specifically link it to you. It'll just be an example of Devil worshipper relics in my collection. I'll be publishing a book on the subject soon. Actually, I'd like to be your expert witness when these type of cases arise again...and they will," Zussek said.

"Expert witness? Zussek, they confess during interrogation. We hardly need witnesses," Martin said.

"But my testimony would add value to the proceedings and better excite the public imagination and make your work appear most important. It'll also impress upon the Court's patrons the importance of continued compensation in the pursuit of this problem. We need to keep our leaders fixed on this menace and excite the people with details," Zussek said.

"Oh, I see," Martin said thoughtfully. "And I have your word not to mention that witch's interaction with my family?"

"I swear," Zussek said.

"Well I suppose everyone has to trust a lawyer eventually," Martin said. Both men laughed.

Zussek said, "And don't worry too much. Everyone had contact with that last slew of witches. Everyone wants to forget it and move on, but there will be more devilry to come. I promise you."

"Since you're the expert what do you think it will be?" Martin asked.

Altea held her breath to make sure she heard clearly.

"Young lady, what are you doing?" Hynek said.

She whirled and was face-to-face with the valet. The old creep was in his slippers and she had not heard him because she was so absorbed in eavesdropping.

"You know what I was doing," she hissed without shame.

"The Master will hear of this," Hynek said, staring her down.

Uncowed Altea knocked on the door herself. Martin said enter. She poked her head inside. Her sweet smile instantly beguiled the professor as she greeted him politely.

"Papa Fridrich, when I realized you had a guest I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed because Hynek had gone to bed," she said.

Hynek shouldered his way by her and said, "She was eavesdropping."

"I was not!" Altea cried. "If you weren't so lackadaisical about your duties, I wouldn't have needed to come down here. I was just trying to figure out who was here."

Outrage crinkled Hynek's wrinkled face.

"We're all right. Both of you go," Martin said.

Altea scanned the table and saw Zussek grab a little corroded silver box. "I should be going," he said.

"I'll see you out," Martin offered.

Altea and the valet backed into the hall while Martin stepped out in the street with his departing guest. While they talked some more, Altea concentrated on diverting Hynek's accusations.

"My stepfather's thinking of replacing you if you don't start performing better," she said with cold seriousness.

The stark possibility of being retired disturbed the valet.

Altea continued, "It'd be a shame if I had to speak ill of you."

Regaining some sense of self defense, Hynek hissed, "You've no influence with him, you orphan girl of a penniless knight."

The hostile words were somewhat true, but Altea did not flinch. "All of his sons value my word and he'll listen to them," she said.

Hynek grumbled but accepted that victory was hers.

Martin came back in the house. He sensed the squabble between his stepdaughter and valet and wanted nothing to do with the irritation. Hynek opened his mouth to speak, but Martin cut him off. "I wish to be alone. Both of you stop bothering me with petty things."

Altea curtsied to him and headed toward the stair. She ignored the stabbing look from the valet, who also retreated down the hall.

She was not worried about him. Other thoughts consumed her as she climbed the stairs. In her room, she removed her shirt and dress while reflecting on her memories. She had never sensed any malice in Gretchen. The old midwife had been kind and exceptionally knowledgeable. Even now, Altea could not discount the esteem her mother had shown for the woman.

The nasty dismay that had afflicted Altea when Gretchen had been executed welled up inside her. She had tried to quell her grief when it had happened. Her stepfather had insisted that Gretchen was a villain, but now Altea fell upon her bed and wept for the lost woman. Her tears were for her mother as well. The tragedies were intertwined. Altea confronted the possibility that Gretchen had given her mother some deadly potion to end her life. But her mother had begged for it. If Gretchen had done it, then Altea told herself it was sinful witchcraft, but the end of her mother's suffering had not been a bad thing. Her suffering had been so bad in the final days. Her disease had seemed to be eating her from the inside. The ended pain had been Altea's only solace.

She stared at the wall with her head on a pillow. Her blonde hair was splashed around her in a disorderly heap, and tears dried coolly on her face.

Gradually she forced herself to shake off the disturbing questions. Lingering on her grief would bring no happiness, and Altea still hoped for a happy life. She should be grateful that her soul had not been corrupted by contact with a witch, but according to Professor Zussek the danger remained.

Natural curiosity nagged at her imagination. Irritated with the valet again, she wished that he had not interrupted her. Zussek had been on the verge of revealing his opinion.

The existence of the little silver box and its Devil's hair fascinated Altea. She wondered if the old woman had left behind any other charms related to her powers.

#  Chapter 10. Protector of the Weak

Jakub paused to admire his handiwork. He was crafting an ornate gate for a new home and was finally pleased with the results. Tomorrow he would be able to connect the lettering twisted from wrought iron to the coat of arms he had fashioned. The gyrfalcon in the coat of arms had been vexing. His first attempt had gone back in the fire, but this version was worthy of his mark.

Running a finger through the looping details, Jakub savored his creation. Nothing ever left his shop unless he decided that it could pass inspection with the whole of Budweis. His days of making meat tongs and horseshoes were well behind him, but he believed a man should put the best part of his soul into his work, no matter how humble.

Thunder rumbled and clouds overtook the slanting golden rays outside the shop doors. Rain started pattering. He had dismissed his journeymen and apprentices for the day already. He liked to have his smithy to himself so he could reflect on the day's work.

A little dog surprised him by trotting into his shop on perky legs. Its scruffy brown and white fur was blotchy from raindrops. The dog barked once and wagged its tail.

"Hello, pup," Jakub said and put his hands on his hips. He did not recognize the animal as belonging to any neighbors, and a smithy seemed an unlikely place for a dog to do some begging.

"Methinks you seek the sausage maker around the corner," Jakub said.

The dog scooted closer. Unable to resist the ingratiating little beast, Jakub bent to pat its head. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed movement at the door and straightened quickly. A cloaked man had slipped inside. His body had been just a flicker of slick movement against the cloudy dusk.

Jakub grabbed up a hefty hammer. "Be gone slinker!" he cried.

The intruder moved farther inside but did not expose himself to a window. He pulled down his hood and raised his hands in a peaceful fashion.

"Good evening. Please forgive my intrusion," he said.

"Who are you?" Jakub said impatiently. He kept the hammer up and was quite confident in his ability to fend off an attack.

"My name is Thal."

"Don't know you lad," Jakub said. Despite the gloom of the shop, he discerned a young man with a pleasing face and thick glossy hair. His eyes gleamed with an unexpected intensity.

"I seek Jakub the Smith," Thal said.

"Who sent you?"

"Andreli Suprinova."

Jakub groaned knowingly but visibly relaxed. "You haven't the speech like a Gypsy," he commented.

"I was among them only a short time. They are not my kin. I hail from Prague," Thal said.

"So those beggars are going to try their luck in Budweis again?" Jakub asked.

"Not right now, but Andreli told me that Jakub could help me with something on my journey home. Are you Jakub?" Thal asked for confirmation.

The smith nodded and set down his hammer. Pistol snuffled through the ashy dirt and disappeared behind poles and boxes.

"I normally help people when there's daylight," Jakub said.

"Andreli mentioned that you are discreet on some matters," Thal said.

"Ah," Jakub murmured, unsurprised because Andreli was involved. Jakub dabbled in affairs that were not entirely a matter of written records mostly because he gained some excitement from it.

Thal slowly moved his cloak back over his shoulders to show off the armor.

"That's nice metal," Jakub remarked. He grabbed a lantern and went to his banked fire and lit it off a coal. Bringing the light, he inspected Thal's chest. "This is of Rosenberg Castle," he said. He lifted the lantern and looked at Thal for a quite a while. "You're not of Rosenberg Castle are you?" he surmised.

Thal smiled, trying to be charming.

"So you need to get rid of it don't you?" Jakub said.

"Andreli said that you'd deal with me fairly," Thal said.

"Well, that's quite a thing you've stolen there. Oh, a pistol too," Jakub said and his eyes twinkled.

"I'll be keeping the pistol," Thal said pointedly.

"I suppose a thief would want that," Jakub agreed.

"I'm not a thief," Thal said.

"So you just woke up in this situation?" the smith said sarcastically.

"I'll tell you the story if you want to hear it," Thal said.

Quite won over by the offer, Jakub said, "All right then." He plopped his thick body down on a bench and crossed his arms.

Thal glanced around the shop. The place smelled of sweat and charcoal and oil. Smoke stained the heavy timbers of the high ceiling. A rainy breeze wafted in the windows of the airy shop. Pistol jumped up and balanced on the edge of a water trough. The dog lapped tentatively at the water, but disliked it metallic and sooty flavor. Two men went by in the street chatting quietly, and Thal waited for them to pass before he started talking. He presumed to shut the double doors of the workshop.

Holding back a few choice details about his wolfen transformation, Thal explained the gambling that had resulted in his final confrontation with Captain Jan Bradcek.

Jakub rubbed his jowls as he digested the story. He sensed some gaps in the tale, but it had certainly been entertaining.

The smith chuckled and then slapped his knee and laughed loudly. After a contented sigh, he said, "You couldn't have found a bigger cock more worthy of having his feathers plucked."

"You know Jan?" Thal asked.

"By reputation. He graces Budweis with his presence regularly. Acts like he's Baron Rosenberg himself," Jakub said.

"So you'll help me?" Thal pressed.

"I can take that metal off your hands at well below market rate," the smith offered.

"Andreli said you'd be fair with me," Thal said.

"That's fair."

Thal truly hated to part with the armor. He liked the sense of security and power it gave him, but he could not go about wearing an item so obviously stolen.

"I'd like to trade it for a knife and sword," he said.

Jakub's stomach rumbled. He was on the verge of being late for dinner. His wife would probably send an apprentice looking for him soon. She did not like people showing up late for events within her domain.

"I can't be sparing you a sword, but I have some nice knives. My journeyman made them," Jakub said. He led Thal deeper into the shop and opened a cabinet. Various butcher knives and cleavers and saws were arranged on a big rack. Thal selected a hunting knife. It did not have a handle yet, but Jakub gave him a ball of leather cord to wrap it with for now.

"Now hand over the armor," Jakub pressed.

"Two knives at least," Thal said.

"You're not in a position to bargain," Jakub argued. "Captain Jan is going to have you declared a fugitive far and wide."

Thal said please so sweetly Jakub had to laugh. He wondered why he had such a soft spot for half innocent rogues. He supposed it was his pining for adventures never undertaken.

"One more but I get to look over your pistol," Jakub said.

"I'm not trading my pistol," Thal reminded.

"But I'd like to study its construction. I'm interested in learning how to make pistols. You have no idea how hard it is to get plans for such a thing," the smith said.

Thal handed it trustingly to Jakub and then he started to take off the armor.

Jakub ran his rough hands over the barrel and held the wheel lock close to his lantern to examine it closely. When he cocked back the trigger, Thal warned him it was loaded.

Jakub said, "Aren't you worried I'll turn you in now?"

Thal disliked seeing his prized possession in the other man's hands. He looked steadily into the smith's eyes and watched the effect of his hidden strength take hold.

"No, I'm not worried," Thal said.

A shiver scampered down Jakub's spine like a squirrel. He had the sense that he was looking down a little used trail into a hoary old woodland and that he should not tread upon it.

"I'm not the type to be turning folks in," Jakub said. Gently he disarmed the gun and told Thal that he needed to spend some time making drawings of its mechanical structure.

Thal selected another knife and then set to work wrapping the handles with the leather. Jakub went to his work table and lit more candles. His thick fingers were not greatly suited to drafting fine details but he did a rudimentary job of making plans for a pistol. A boy came to the shop to inquire after Jakub, but the smith shooed the apprentice off with a few gruff words.

When Jakub was finished he returned the pistol to Thal. "You don't know me," he said.

"I was not here," Thal agreed and happily returned his pistol to his belt and let his cloak hang over it. His new knives were in his boots.

"So, I expect you're off to be a bandit. Maybe get ambitious and be a mercenary," Jakub said.

"I hope to do better," Thal said.

"You'd do best to get out of Budweis," Jakub warned. "I suggest you go to the docks and get on a boat, if one will take you."

"Thank you for the advice," Thal said.

With Pistol at his heels he slipped into the drizzly night.

Jakub picked up the armor and admired the roses on it. The smith at the castle was getting better, he noted.

******

The streets of Budweis assaulted Thal's senses. The reek of livestock and people and fresh food and rotting food and burning wood and the grainy mash of breweries surged into his nostrils. He struggled to make sense of the heady blend of odors.

The light rain dripped from eaves and flowed down rainspouts with tinny gurgles. Tall buildings surrounded him like a surreal forest that offered no shelter. He kept to the shadows as he moved along with evening traffic with his head down. He did not want to draw attention to himself, and the crowded town seemed accepting of his anonymity.

As he approached the river docks, he passed a busy tavern. Warm lamplight inside revealed the shaggy heads and hats of men gathered around tables eating and drinking. One group was singing. A dog in the doorway growled at Pistol. Although tempted by the scent of roasting meat, Thal kept moving. Tonight was not a night to be social. Jan's men could be in town already.

Storehouses crowded the docks. Dark barges and boats were tied up for the night. Thal found a deserted shed stacked with crates and barrels and tucked himself out of the rain. He hunkered down between two barrels and Pistol curled up beside him. He stroked the dog gently and was glad for the company.

Reflecting on his visit with the smith, he decided that it had gone well. He was grateful to Andreli for the connection. He hoped Andreli had survived and the Gypsies were fairing well.

Exhausted after his hard cross country trek to the town, he fell asleep. The scampering of rats roused him once. Pistol tore off after them. Some snarling and banging soon resulted. The dog returned a while later with a full belly. Thal missed the simplicity of getting a meal when one had good jaws and an undiscriminating palate.

He went back to sleep but woke up again when the rain stopped. The parting clouds exposed the moon. Thal felt it illuminating the primordial recesses of his soul. Two days had passed since his transformation. He had not been able to think about it too much because he had been in such a dire hurry to get away from the vicinity of Jan.

Waning now, the circular perfection of the full moon had been reduced by a thin slice of a smile, but its eerie energy still beckoned him. Thal stroked the fur hanging over his back under the cloak. He resisted whispering the words written upon it. The temptation to change gnawed at him, but he decided that he should save that power for emergencies.

That the magical fur had not changed him back to a proper wolf disappointed him. He had become some weird beast man. The state had been exhilarating though, and he recognized now that it was at the core of his identity.

He was grateful he could control himself while transformed and change back to a man. He wondered if he could figure a way to derive any advantage from it. He had few resources but certainly possessed a unique power.

A dangerous power, Thal reminded himself. He could have hurt all those men during his brief battle. He had wanted to hurt them. If they ever cornered him, he would hurt them.

He and Pistol tensed at the same moment. The unstealthy clatter of a small group of men approached the river. With a single soft command Thal hushed the rumble in Pistol's throat.

Thal peeked around a barrel. Three men were creeping up the street. They were hugging the darkness along the buildings. Bundles burdened them. One man tripped over a lump of refuse and cried out in pain.

One of his companions complained but stopped to help him up. Thal could not make out the words they exchanged. When the group got moving again, one man was limping.

Another man emerged from a docked boat with a lantern and hailed the trio. Thal stood up to observe better because he was keen for a chance to meet a boatman.

"Praise God you're here," one of the men in the street called out in heavily accented Czech.

"Quiet," snarled the man on the dock. He covered his lantern.

His admonishment came too late. Farther up the street, two men rounded a corner and ran toward the dock. A panic set in among the first group and they quickened their pace, but the two men chasing them overtook them easily. The man on the dock fled to his boat apparently unseen.

"You'll have the master's wrath for this prank," declared the man who cut off the fleeing trio. He raised a cane and prodded the limping man hard in the chest, making him stumble back.

"Let us go," demanded another man. He tried to defend his friend but got smacked by the second pursuer.

With cane and fists the two men smacked up the trio who yelled and flailed but seemed more interested in protecting their packages than themselves.

When one of their tormentors snatched a heavy case and threatened to toss it in the water, the trio surrendered.

"That's better. We'll have no sneaking off. The master and his wife adore your music too much," the man with the cane said. He started to laugh but then choked on his humor when a cold metal tube pressed against the back of his neck and he heard the gut-chilling grind of the wheel lock arming.

"Put that down," Thal said.

The man tried to turn but Thal jabbed him with the pistol. Slowly he set down the case and its owner snatched it back quickly.

Thal hit the man in the back of the head. He screeched and went to his knees, clutching his skull. His comrade jumped at Thal, who easily sidestepped him and tripped him.

"Why do these men chase you?" Thal demanded urgently.

"The Mayor won't let us leave town," explained the man with a limp.

"Why?" Thal wondered.

"Because he never have such good musicians," the man replied proudly despite his talent causing his captivity.

The musicians called out their thanks and rushed onto the dock. They spared no time to guess at the motivations of their benefactor and hollered for the boatman that they were coming.

"I want to come with you!" Thal cried. His boots banged on the dock. More yelling up the street started when two more men, presumably in the Mayor's employ, discovered their quarry.

The musicians jumped into the boat and made it rock so vigorously its captain complained that they would sink him. He yanked his ropes free of the posts as their pursuers raced onto the dock. Thal jumped into the boat and floundered on bags. One of the musician's cases banged his head and someone climbed over him.

When Thal sat up, he yelled for his dog. The boat was loose now and the Vltava's current grabbed it greedily. Pistol leaped and landed in the boat.

The men stuck on the dock cursed the musicians and shouted many threats, but the three players laughed uproariously now that they were escaping.

Thal moved to the back of the boat and watched the lights of Budweis recede. The shouting faded and he put away his pistol. The boatman uncovered his lantern and surveyed his cargo of fugitives.

"Who are you?" he demanded of Thal.

"A wandering knight who protects the weak!" declared one of the men who then put an arm around Thal.

"I'm just a man in need of transport down river," Thal said and then introduced himself.

"I didn't figure for four. We'll be low in the water," grumbled the boatman.

Thal apologized for his presence and offered a thaler for passage, which mollified the boatman.

His new companions introduced themselves as Raphael, Regis, and Carlo. They were from Venice and traveling the world to perfect their craft and learn new songs. They had been detained since fall in Budweis after performing for the Mayor who had decided to enjoy the prestige of his exotic musicians in his household indefinitely.

Thal found the story rather shocking and was glad to have aided in their escape. The musicians gushed with gratitude for his intervention although Regis was the only one whose Czech Thal could understand.

Regis introduced Thal to the boatman, Mander. The wiry man with dark hair kept his eyes on the dark water. "I don't like being on the water at night," he explained. He adjusted the rudder and the full boat veered around some unseen hazard.

"We'll have to put into shore soon," Mander announced.

"Go farther, please," Regis implored.

Mander mumbled but kept to the middle of the water. "Somebody get in the front and watch for me," he said.

Thal took the lantern and shifted to the prow.

The boat moved along smoothly until scraping against a submerged limb. "I told you to watch!" the boatman complained.

"No harm done," Thal said as the boat glided onward.

Regis moved up beside Thal. "I not see you around Budweis," he commented.

"I only got there today," Thal said.

"We should've had sense to leave so quickly," Regis said.

"How did you get Mander to agree to sneak you out?" Thal wondered.

"A friend helped," Regis said.

Mander explained, "I wanted none of this trouble until I realized it would be good to be an unseen hand that annoys the Mayor. The docking fees in Budweis are a crime against Heaven."

Thal noted how animosity toward authority had its uses. "Will you go as far as Prague?" he asked.

"No," Mander answered.

"You're bound for Prague?" Regis asked.

"Yes."

"We're heading there. It's a place friendly to musicians," Regis said.

Although Thal's memories were spotty, he did recall that many players worked the streets of the city now that he thought about it.

"We should travel together," Regis proposed.

Thal liked the idea but hesitated. He was a hunted man, and he did not want to bring any grief upon his new acquaintances. Pitching his voice low, he confided his concern.

The aura of mystery only seemed to interest Regis more. "Maybe I'll write a great song about you," he said.

"Be careful what you wish for," Thal whispered.

"So you travel with us then?" Regis pressed.

Thal glanced over his shoulder. Carlo and Raphael smiled expectantly in the lantern light.

"It would not be safe for you," Thal said and returned his attention to the river.

"Bohemia not safe for us alone. Maybe every household is a den of slavers in this land," Regis worried. "Please Thal, I beg you, travel with us and protect us."

"Protect you?" Thal said.

"Yes, like when you save us tonight. We need strong man like you," Regis said.

Deep down Thal wanted to be a protector.

Carlo said something in Venetian, and then Regis said, "We'll share our money with you."

"All right," Thal said.

Grinning, the three men hailed Thal as their new champion.

Mander steered the boat toward the bank. Even in the night he could recognize a safe landing on the river he had traded upon since he was a boy. The gentle bank ground along the bottom of the boat as it came to a stop.

"We wait here till dawn. Can't take the rapids in the dark," Mander said, and no one argued.

With the boat stable, the men took the opportunity to better arrange the sacks of flour for their seating. Then everyone got some rest. Before Thal closed his eyes he watched the moon sink into the treetops.

#  Chapter 11. Another Like Him

Mander took his refugees downriver a few miles more in the morning. Before reaching his home village, he dropped them off on a lonely stretch of the western bank and bid them good luck. He told them they would find a road a short hike away and then he pushed his craft back into the current with just its load of flour. Pleased with his good deed, he raised one of his thick arms and waved before turning away.

Regis groaned and embraced a hefty willow. "Thank God, we are free of Budweis!" he declared dramatically. "Never have I seen a lovelier bit of woods in all my life."

"I'm also excited about our lack of shelter," Carlo commented brightly.

"I'll miss that poor girl who did so much for us," Raphael moped, thinking of the maid that had aided their escape.

To console him, Regis said, "You'll honor her best by being a success. She wanted you to follow your dream."

Raphael nodded. He hardly wanted the alternative of staying in Budweis the rest of his life even with an adoring if plain-faced maid.

When Regis realized that their native tongue was excluding Thal, he apologized and said, "Let our hero lead us to the road."

Thal spotted the easiest route through the vegetation and started up the bank. His new companions hoisted their instruments and puffed along behind him. Regis growled at his sore ankle with every step. Pistol wove in and out of sight beneath the bushes.

Bugs buzzed in the warming sun and ducks quacked conversationally on the river. Thal felt remarkably at ease. The distance from Budweis gained so quickly upon the water reassured him. If anyone had been on his trail they were certainly thrown off it now.

As Mander had said they found a road not far from the river. Its twisting lane followed the valley just above the floodplain.

Before their escape Raphael had thoughtfully packed some food from his unwanted patron's larder. The men broke their fast on the roadside. Thal ate his cheese and bread gratefully.

"Some wine would be nice," Carlo lamented.

"Perhaps we'll find a good tavern tonight," Raphael said.

"I think we better pass a few villages before we try playing for our supper," Regis said. He interpreted his statement to Thal and asked his opinion.

Thal agreed that they should avoid contact until they got a little farther from Budweis.

"We have you to protect us from bandits and warlocks now," Regis added.

Thal nodded thoughtfully. He had not really considered that dangerous people would be lurking along the roads.

"So what are you wanted for?" Regis asked, trying to sound casual.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Thal said.

Regis grinned broadly. The pleasant expression suited his handsome face. "Perfetto! You wanted for crime you not do. I shall write a grand song about you," he said.

Thal was not sure how to respond to the concept of being an inspiration.

When they started packing up, he asked them about their musical instruments. Carlo had a zink. Its slightly curving tube had a mouthpiece and holes that he played with his fingers. Raphael played the lute. His slender fingers strummed the strings confidently. Regis opened his case and showed off his harp. Its richly polished wood and shiny knobs marked it as a masterfully constructed instrument. Pride twinkled in Regis's eyes as he looked upon his precious possession.

"This is the wife of my voice," Regis explained.

He closed the case and Thal helped him settle it over his back. The four men started down the road. After a while Thal asked them how they had been trapped in Budweis.

"At first we feel only delayed," Regis explained. "Mayor Kronkeet like showing us off to his cronies. He always throwing dinner parties and we play. It nice for a while, but we were keen to get to Prague. We only stop in Budweis to rest and practice the language."

"Why are you going to Prague?" Thal said.

"It is a place of musicians," Regis said.

"Is not Venice grander?" Thal said because even he could remember the fame of the city-state renowned for its wealth.

"Yes, but we just talent in a sea of talent. We can make ourselves better by taking to the road. We'll learn new songs and ways to sing and play. The best singers must see the world. Someday when we get home, a great patron will want us because we are best," Regis explained.

"I see," Thal said, impressed with the dedication they were giving to their craft.

Regis continued, "Kronkeet say he would give us letter of recommendation. We wanted this letter to aid us in our travels in this foreign kingdom, but he always put off writing it. Finally when spring come, we simply took our leave of him. Then he round us up like livestock and lock us in our rooms at night. It was a nightmare!"

Raphael spoke up and when Regis interpreted, Thal learned that a scullery maid had begged her brother to find a boatman willing to help. Once that had been arranged, the musicians had climbed out their windows.

"We were saved by love," Regis concluded and grinned at Raphael who had been the darling of the maid during the long winter.

******

As the footsore days advanced, Thal's choice to travel with the musicians proved fortunate. He was less conspicuous in their company. Once they got farther north, they stopped at taverns every night, and the owners and guests welcomed the musicians. By himself Thal suspected that he would have engendered more suspicion, but his apparent role as a bodyguard for the musicians added to everyone's prestige. Regis often embellished their story by saying they were traveling to Prague at the invitation of King Ferdinand. Locals accepted this fabrication with smiles.

The spring days passed sublimely. Men and women worked the fields sowing their precious seeds. Pastures were abundant with frolicking calves and lambs, and fluffy ducklings and goslings waddled around ponds. The musicians were content to spend a leisurely day strolling to the next village where they could gain supper and a place to sleep.

Thal enjoyed how his companions conveniently gained him food and lodging. People liked their music and lavished them with praise. Sometimes they were even convinced to stay on another night. Thal enjoyed their music as well. Regis had a lovely voice that could bring smiles or tears. When not performing, the gregarious Regis practiced his Czech, especially with women, and his pronunciation improved. Carlo and Raphael were mostly content to communicate through music, and Thal studied the social scenery every evening and grew more at ease among people. The grip of the forest was loosened a little as he grew more accustomed to four walls around him when he slept and a hot plate of food being presented to him. But when his hand would inevitably stray toward his soft fur under his cloak, the wilds tugged at his heart.

Wanting to distract himself from the sorrow of losing his pack, he focused on the humanity around him. He learned new card games at the taverns, and sometimes played dice, but he preferred the cards because he could adapt his sensitive intuition to their play. He honed his talent for interpreting the feelings of his opponents and won more hands than he lost. He imagined that Andreli would be proud of him. The stakes tended to be low in these friendly games, but Thal did not mind. His best victory scored him a new hat. The broad brim shaded his eyes nicely, and he liked its blue felt band and the pheasant feathers stuck in it. And the hat hid much of his strangely colored hair that always drew attention. Although he tried to stay in the background while his colleagues took center stage, comments about his eyes or hair reached him almost nightly. People had never seen his coloring before. Wenches liked to look at him closely when they delivered a stein of beer. One night a girl even toyed with a lock of his hair and purred about how lovely it was. He thanked her politely and she drifted away obviously dissatisfied with his lack of enthusiasm for her.

One evening in the village of Mirotice he found the public room stuffy at a dingy establishment. In his opinion, the bleak house with watery beer was hardly worthy of his friends' talent, but Regis had not wanted to push on to the next village because the weather had turned hot and he was tired.

When the sun went down, Thal strolled the streets for fresh air. The fur hidden beneath his cloak was hot against his back. He had been careful not to let his companions have a good look at it.

A few lanterns were lit around the town fountain. Pistol hopped up on the edge of the fountain and got a drink. Thal sat beside his dog and petted him. Life on the road was stimulating and helping him to adjust to his new existence, but he worried that he was taking too long to reach Prague. He still hoped to find his mother. She would know more about the magic that was entwined with his life. Thal decided to confide his need for better urgency to Regis. His friend would understand and quit being so lackadaisical.

Banging down the street at the village gate aroused his attention. Two watchmen emerged from their guard house to investigate the insistent pounding and opened a little window in the gate. A surly guard challenged the latecomers in an irritated tone, but a terse reply sweetened him up. Begging for pardon, he and his mate scrambled to unbar the entrance.

Thal watched expectantly. His senses reached out and examined the arriving group. Men. Horses. And then a scent hit his nose that put him on his feet.

Wolf.

The watchmen opened the gates. Eight men on horses clattered inside. Their steeds snorted with eagerness for water. The two foremost riders wore long brown robes. The six riders behind them were armed and bearing torches. The smoking flames reflected off their oily helmets and sword handles.

After the riders came a dozen men on foot. They were dressed as monks and most had walking sticks. Sober looking they were in their brown robes with crosses upon their chests. Sandaled feet with dirty toes poked out from dusty hems. Beards clung to their gaunt cheeks.

Pistol jumped down from the fountain and rushed out barking. He circled the horses well out of reach of their hooves, barking for the sake of being annoying.

Thal watched the group intently. His first thought of wolf seemed a little off after closer examination. The scent was wolf-tainted but not the pure and comforting essence of his lost kin. This scent was adulterated.

Cold shock prickled his skin. Someone in this group smelled like him.

The marching monks headed straight through the village square toward the church. As they passed the fountain Thal stared at them openly. One monk abruptly looked over at him. He was in the middle of the group. Thal glimpsed his face. Dishwater hair and a wispy beard and dark sunken eyes connected briefly with Thal. He sensed a great unease in the man's emotions. The man's expression was confused. He soon disappeared as his group exited the meager light by the fountain.

The riders stopped at the fountain and their horses slurped at the fresh water. All the men dismounted. The apparent leader with his bald head and neatly trimmed brown beard dismounted and approached Thal. A finely detailed little metal Jesus hung from the cross at his neck. The shriveled little figure in a loin cloth was a disquieting image to Thal, who lifted his eyes and met the gaze of the tall man. The monk regarded him with searing authority.

"Do my brothers interest you?" the monk inquired. He spoke Czech but the accent of the Italian Peninsula marked his speech, similar to when Regis spoke.

"Yes," Thal said because there seemed no point in lying after eyeballing the group so strenuously.

The tall monk looked Thal up and down, noting the weapon and the strong body.

"I am Brother Vito of the Society of Jesus," the man said.

"Hello." Thal's greeting irked the man because it lacked any awe or respect.

"What's your business in Mirotice?" Vito asked.

"Just passing through," Thal said. He glanced over his shoulder as Brother Vito's armed guards spread around the fountain with their horses. Their expectation that Vito would command something of them was palpable.

"Idleness does not serve our Lord," Vito admonished.

"What's your business in Mirotice?" Thal asked.

Vito's regal composure wavered for half a moment. Thal recognized how he had jarred the man.

Reinstating his poise, Brother Vito said with a crocodile smile, "Just passing through."

"This little town is good for that. The beer at the tavern is watered," Thal said.

"Strong drink does not concern me," Vito said.

"What concerns you? You seem to have important business," Thal said, aching to know more about this group and the strange one within it.

"It takes a bold man to question a leader among Jesuits," Vito remarked.

"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 tonight 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 details 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.

"Is he the one that bit you?" Vito asked.

Rainer rubbed his shoulder. It was hard to be sure because the beast that had assaulted him had not been in the form of a man. "I don't think so," he said.

Vito was forced to wonder just how many were-beasts roamed the world. Rainer was valuable to him, and Vito expected to go far with the rare power of this special monk at his beck and call, and Thal enflamed his greed for an even better servant. Thal had seemed superior, more confident, and mentally undisturbed by his condition. Vito imagined excitedly what Thal must be like during a transformation with all that grace and self assurance at his core.

"Brother, he will come for me," Rainer whined.

"Why would he?" Vito asked.

"I don't know what he'll do to me," Rainer said and shut his eyes and shook his head.

Gently Vito patted Rainer's arm to soothe the man who loathed his condition. "God protects you now. Fear not. No Devil shall ever have at you again. Anyway, Rainer, we must fetch this Thal to us. Imagine what we might learn from him!" Vito said.

Rainer peeked at his master trustingly, wanting to believe that Vito could control any situation.

"Don't try to catch him. I beg you," Rainer said.

"Then why did you even tell me about him?" Vito said, annoyed by Rainer's perpetually conflicted thoughts.

"I was afraid," Rainer said.

"Don't be. The moon is dark. This Thal will only have the powers of a man tonight. Come," Vito said and urged Rainer toward the door.

Reluctantly Rainer left with Vito. He slinked behind his leader nervously. The other monks waiting in the hall regarded him with sleepy curiosity, but each man knew not to pry into Vito's business.

The sellswords occupied the next room. Vito banged on their door. After a couple grumpy curses, Tenzo opened the door.

"Problem, Brother?" he asked while scratching his beard.

"Go find that man Thal. He said he's traveling with musicians, so check the tavern. Bring him to me. Brother Rainer will help you find him," Vito said.

Rainer took half a step back, wanting to protest the order, but a hard look from Vito warned him to be compliant.

The sellswords headed across the village with Rainer. Vito waited anxiously and went over in his mind what he intended to say to Thal. Could he intimidate Thal and make him subservient? Or should he tempt him with power and rewards?

His guards surprised him when they returned quickly and empty-handed. Tenzo reported that Thal and the musicians had fled the village.

He fears me then, Vito thought. "Go after him," he instructed.

When the sellswords left to saddle their horses, Vito stopped Rainer from slinking back to his room. "Go with them and track this new beast. A horse will bear you when there is no moon."

"Yes, Brother," Rainer said, burdened by a conflicting mix of dread and curiosity.

******

Returning to the road, Thal hurried northward from the village. His companions followed without complaint. They believed that only a true danger would spook Thal.

Pistol cut in front of Thal's legs to get his attention. He looked back. A starry night barely revealed the contours of the hedgerows and fields around the dark blocky outline of the village. A mellow breeze sighed through the leaves. A disorderly symphony of frogs sang of fertility. And a hot line of torches blazed orange against the village walls. Thal guessed that it was the monk's men pursuing him.

"What does he want of me?" Thal whispered.

"Who?" Regis asked back.

"The Jesuit monk that tried to recruit me. Now he's sent men to get me," Thal explained.

"But you don't know why?" Regis said.

"No."

Raphael urged everyone to get going again. Thal led them onward and his mind raced for a solution. The riders would overtake them on the road in a short time. He assumed that the wolfman would be able to track his scent even if he tried to go back into the fields.

Up ahead he smelled flowing water. A tributary to the nearby Vltava must be close. Thal tried to calculate how to lose his pursuers. They could cross the water and put a gap in their trail, but how easy would the water be to cross? The water might be too fast or deep. He was not sure if any of his companions could swim.

"Why are you slowing down?" Regis asked.

"You must go ahead without me. Stay on the road. Keep going north," Thal said.

"What about you?" Regis said, truly concerned.

"I must end this hunt," Thal said. He took off his cloak and then his shirt.

The other three men could not quite tell what he was doing because of the dark. Thal took off his clothes and boots. He laid his gun, knives, and belt on the clothing bundle. Reluctantly he took off his hat and set it on top and then wrapped everything with his cloak. He forced the bundle into Regis's hands. The man was astonished to receive Thal's possessions, including his gun.

"Have you gone mad?" Regis cried.

Thal actually thought he was being quite careful. He had no desire to lose another set of clothes. "Keep my things until I catch up," he said.

Carlo and Raphael babbled questions in their language, and Regis begged him to use his gun.

"That won't be enough," Thal said. He understood that one good shot and two hunting knives were not going to defeat six hard mercenaries on horseback.

"But you're naked!" Regis wailed, utterly confused.

"Take care of my things. I'll need them back. Now go. If I stop them, I'll find you. If I lose, I suppose you will get away. Sell my gun. It will fetch you a good price," Thal said.

Rumbling hooves and a distant shout were ominous in the black night.

"Do as I say and don't look back," Thal said very forcefully.

Regis quailed from him, clutching the bundle of clothes. Thal's words had vibrated through him like a trumpet bombast aimed at his heart.

The musicians all possessed a healthy sense of self preservation, and the noise of the oncoming riders squashed their arguments. Thal was either insane or had the Devil on his side. Either way they could not stay with him. They ran away as he bid them to do. Pistol slinked to the edge of the road, growling low in his throat.

Thal pressed the fur against his face. Its softness tickled his lips and nose. Its Earthy scent reassured him. He wanted to use the magic and considered if the spell would work without the light of the moon. The moonlight possessed a special spice that enhanced the power given to him upon an altar in a distant glade. But with crisis descending on him, he now knew that he was not at the mercy of lunar variation. Many years he had been a true wolf, bright with the true spirit of the wild. The black heart of the night was for the cold blooded hunt. Countless times his paws had padded silently through the shadowed forest, and his jaws had delivered death unwitnessed.

He draped the fur around his hips. His lips quivered with the desire to speak the spell, but he held his tongue. The beckoning mayhem of his animal power was rushing over the walls of civilization, but he paused to remind himself that he was not evil. He had to exist as a man too, and dead bodies in his wake were not something to be done lightly. He remembered Andreli's plea to avoid murder because of the trouble it could bring.

"Don't kill the men," he whispered and then gave into the magic.

He spoke the spell, relishing every syllable. Even the pain was pleasurable when the magic stretched and twisted his flesh. Heat surged through his muscles and his skin prickled with the eruption of thick fur. He gnashed his teeth and loved the satisfying snap of thick fangs. His tail bristled to its tip. He missed having a tail and he swished it back and forth, recalling the nuances of a language lost to him when he was a man.

He threw back his head and roared at the stars. He pushed his mighty voice into the world and reveled in the quaking response of every blade of grass and creature that cringed from the sounding beast.

Frightened horses squealed. Streamers of flame shifted in circles instead of barreling straight ahead. Thal bounded toward the suddenly erratic torchlight. He loped on all fours, covered by the night like spilled ink on written words. Pistol shadowed him.

He charged the riders with a fury that would make them fear the night more properly for the rest of their days. The panicked horses were already turning to flee. Thal crashed into the first horse he met and knocked the animal over. Its rider yelled and flew to the ground. Thal reared up in the middle of the group and snarled savagely. Men screamed with total terror. Thal slashed at them with his claws and nipped at the horses. The sellswords scattered on their frightened steeds except for one man who bravely hacked at Thal with a sword. The blade sliced his chest. Thal swiped at the weapon and knocked it to the ground while surely breaking the arm that had held it. The pain of his wound triggered his instinct to kill. He leaped upon the yelling man and they tumbled off the horse. Thal landed on top of the man and lunged for his throat. The tangy fear smell of the man halted Thal's killing bite because he remembered that he should not kill men if he could avoid it. His fangs lightly grazed the skin but left no mark. His tongue felt the thumping pulse of the racing blood beneath the skin before he tore off into the darkness.

Thal chased the horse with Rainer upon it. The monk was heading swiftly back to Mirotice. Coming alongside the horse, Thal managed to grab Rainer's thigh. The man and beast tumbled and rolled off the road. When they came to a stop, Thal seized Rainer's robe with his jaws and dragged him away. Rainer yelled for help. Awkwardly Thal slapped a hand-like paw over the man's mouth and switched to walking upright. He mostly muffled the monk's pleas for rescue and rushed across a field.

The sellswords were recovering from the assault and reassembling. All but one of their torches had gone out, and a single light zigzagged along the road as its bearer located his comrades.

Tall green oats reached high on Thal's body and he left a clear trail as he trampled the thickly planted grain. Relying on darkness to cover his reckless abduction, he ran as fast as he could with his struggling burden.

Beyond the field they reached a patch of woods. Thal tossed Rainer hard against a big tree. The impact knocked the wind out of the monk and he lay gasping at the thick-clawed feet of the beast that had taken him.

When Rainer looked up, the dark outline of a powerful and shaggy man-shaped creature loomed over him. Puffing heavy breaths and greenish glowing eyes pressed down on Rainer. Remembering the horrible attack that had altered his flesh, Rainer moaned and trembled. He made it up to his knees and grabbed the precious cross hanging upon his chest. He blathered prayers and begged for protection.

Thal observed the man's groveling misery. His wits were caged by trauma. Thal pitied him and stepped back. Hope lit Rainer's face as he assumed that his prayers were working. Jabbering to his Lord, he tried to scramble to his feet, but Thal jumped close again and cowed him with a snarl.

Rainer knew that he could not outrun this creature. Desperately he held up his cross to ward it off. Thal backed off and paced. He eyed his catch with predatory intensity.

Back on the road, the other men were shouting for Rainer. When the monk tried to respond, Thal growled in his face. Rainer wilted into trembling silence. Thal snuffled him all over. He detected only normal clothing and found no trace of an enchanted skin hidden anywhere.

Rainer scooted back until his back hit the tree. Thal waited to see if he would attempt to transform, but he apparently had no spell to speak to summon the power that Thal sensed inside him.

On the other side of the field, one flickering torch was at the place where Thal's obvious trail cut across the tall oats.

Thal circled behind the tree and consciously let go of the magic. His spirit shuddered as he pried it loose from his animal state. Part of him did not want to return to the restrictive life of a man with its soft body and unnatural laws.

Rainer heard the panting and grunting and recognized what the sounds meant. Seizing his chance, he ran.

Thal got off his hands and knees. All his muscles hurt because of his transformation and the deep cut was bleeding liberally. Despite the pain he raced after Rainer. The dark could not hide the fleeing monk.

Rainer yelled for his companions before Thal tackled him. Thal rolled him over and pinned his arms against the ground. The tall green oats hid them like long hair hid fleas.

"What are you?" Thal whispered.

Terrified of the heavy breathing naked man on top of him, Rainer looked into the many-colored eyes of the one who had captured him. He was amazed by the speed and ease with which Thal had shifted. Rainer was weak and disoriented for hours after returning to his man form.

He shook his head, too frightened to speak.

The shouting sellswords were spreading through the field, heedlessly trampling the growing grain. Thal did not have much time.

"Tell me," he hissed. His eyes flashed with fierce determination that pulled Rainer's will down like a fawn in his jaws.

"Just a servant of Christ," Rainer squeaked.

"But not always," Thal said.

Rainer whimpered. "When the moon is fat I can't stop it. I become like you."

"How did this happen to you?" Thal demanded. Not far away a sellsword rushed into the woods. He hollered for his associate with the guttering torch.

"A werewolf bit me last fall," Rainer said, and he suddenly felt good about revealing this information to Thal. He longed for the empathetic bond.

"There's another one," Thal said mostly to himself. He was staggered by the information. How many creatures such as him were there? Were they limited like Rainer who was at the mercy of the moon?

Seeing Thal distracted by his thoughts, Rainer pushed hard and Thal had to grapple with him. Rainer yelled and the other men quickly focused on the sound.

Fearful of capture or death, Thal let Rainer go and ran toward the man with the torch. He approached him from behind and pushed him over. The man cried out and fell on his face. The torch went out and Thal jumped on the man's back. With the man pinned he plucked the drawn sword from his hand and jumped up. He ran to the woods to fetch his precious fur off the ground. Tossing it over his shoulder he ran away. When he got back to the road, Pistol raced along at his side. The confused yelling of the sellswords faded as Thal got away.

When he could run no more, he bent over with his hands on his knees and raggedly drew in deep breaths. Blood dripped from his chest. The fleshy smell of his hot flowing blood worried him. This was making his trail easy to follow. Gingerly he fingered the deep cut. It hurt badly. Thal resolved to take greater care at not getting hurt the next time he gave battle as a werewolf. Thanks to Rainer he now had a word for what he was.

Pistol sniffed the blood and licked Thal's ankle.

"I'll be all right," Thal said and plodded on. Enormous weariness dragged at him.

He reached a fork in the road. It twisted west and a smaller lane curved down toward the little river. His companions had gone that way. Through the trees he saw a light. As he approached it he heard Regis's accented voice and noted the pleading tone. Upon reaching the water Thal found a shack with a rickety ferry tied up next to it. His friends were inside and he hurried to the door and kicked it open.

A white haired man with powerful arms and a poxy face yelled. Already pulled out of a good sleep by three foreign musicians, he was rattled and wholly unprepared for the sight of a blood smeared naked man bursting in his door.

"Saints protect me!" he cried and dove for a window. He shoved the shutters hard and they burst open with flying splinters.

"Stop him!" Thal shouted, and Carlo and Raphael seized the old sturdy fellow.

"Thal!" Regis cried in both greeting and alarm.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Thal said, hoping he was right.

Carlo and Raphael held the ferryman by both arms. Thal pointed his sword at the man's chest and said, "I assume you were about to agree to take my friends across the water."

Habitual stubbornness overruled the ferryman's shock. "I don't cross at night," he insisted. He had not gone through the trouble of building a ferry crossing so other people could lord over his life.

"It's a lovely night. I'm sure you can make an exception," Thal said.

"I had just talked him into letting us camp here. We were going to wait for you," Regis said.

"We're crossing now," Thal said. He gestured for Regis to give him his clothes.

Regis unbound the bundle and looked for Thal's pants. Thal put his sword on a table with a metallic clang and slapped a hand over his bleeding wound.

"No need to run off, Sir. We aren't going to hurt you," Thal said.

Carlo and Raphael let him go but blocked the window.

"You rogues need to get out," the ferryman declared.

"Can you get me a rag?" Thal asked.

His unwilling host meant to protest, but the liquid warmth in Thal's eyes softened his temper. "Don't look at me like that, lad," he muttered. He shouldered his way past Regis and opened a chest full of clothes and linens. He tossed a towel to Thal. "Why are you naked?" he said.

"I didn't want to ruin my clothes," Thal said. He pressed the towel against his cut and red soaked into it. Carlo came over and helped wipe up the blood and look at the injury.

"You need to be sewn. Maybe burnt," Carlo said in his language.

Mostly understanding what his friend meant, Thal nodded. Carlo got his backpack. He carried needles and thread and took care of everyone's mending. He suggested that they heat one of Thal's knives in a candle and burn the wound, but Regis argued that he heard that made things worse. Carlo grumbled that Regis knew nothing. Thal settled the matter and said to just stitch him up. He did not wish to add hot pokers to an already difficult evening.

He got his pants and boots on and sat on the table so Carlo could work on him. Willing himself to take the pain, Thal looked over his gun and made sure that it was still primed and loaded.

"What trouble are you bringing on me?" the ferryman asked.

"Just take us across the water and it will be the last you see of us," Thal said. "If anyone accuses you of aiding us tell them I put this gun to your head."

Now that Thal was sitting down, he started shaking. He was ravenously hungry. Regis brought him a cup of water and he gulped it greedily.

Wiping his chin, he softly apologized to his companions for the trouble. The ferryman watched the four strangers warily while Pistol sniffed around his little home. Despite the strange intrusion, he gradually began to feel less threatened. These men had not harmed him, and he reminded himself that it was no sin to give hospitality to needy travelers.

Once Thal was bandaged he finished dressing. He took out a coin and offered it to the ferryman. "Shall we go?" he said.

The man took the coin and led them outside. They loaded their instruments and themselves onto the raft. It rocked and they hurried together into its middle for stability. The ferryman chuckled and took up his pole. He had the ferry secured by a heavy rope across the water and he pushed them out into the current. The tributary was flowing smoothly and they were soon across. Pistol was the first to jump onto the bank.

The musicians thanked the ferryman and trooped up the trail behind Thal.

"Don't come back," the ferryman muttered even though he looked forward to sharing his strange tale when next he went to the village.

#  Chapter 13. Soul Shadow of Man

Thal led his little party into the hills. He wanted to be well away from any roads before daylight. The dark did not trouble him, and he found paths tolerable to the footing of men even in trackless places. But branches still whacked the musicians and happy mosquitoes nipped at the unexpected interlopers.

Finally at the first light of day, Thal stopped. Although he had hidden it until this moment, he was the most exhausted of any of them. He found a spot where the boughs of gnarled pines conveniently formed a secret space, and he collapsed on the ground. His dull eyes stared at the brown bed of pine needles. He had not felt this depleted after his first transformation. He suspected the lack of a full moon had made his flesh less resilient to the forces that he commanded.

His companions flopped tiredly onto their butts and stretched out their legs. They regarded Thal thoughtfully. His wheezing breath indicated deep sleep. Scruffy whiskers were growing in on his cheeks alongside the goatee he had been trying to shape.

"Why has he led us to this desolate place?" Raphael said.

"Why did we follow him is the better question?" Regis said.

"He said we were in danger," Carlo reminded.

"Riders with torches in the night are a serious thing," Regis reflected. "But why would monks want him so badly?"

"Why did he fight them naked?" Carlo said.

The men shook their heads. Thal's bizarre performance was both astonishing and utterly disturbing.

Carlo continued, "He was in a fight. That sword cut on his chest is real. How could he fight men with swords and get away when he's naked?" The dark-haired man threw up his hands, tossing out his question for someone to catch and answer.

"He even came back with a sword," Raphael noted quietly.

"He might have killed someone," Carlo whispered and glanced apprehensively at Thal.

"We'll just have to make him tell us what happened," Regis decided. He smoothed back his long blonde hair and twirled it with his fingers at the back of his head while he yawned.

"All we can do is rest right now," Raphael decided.

The three men spread their blankets beneath the pines. Pistol curled up next to Thal, and everyone slept through till afternoon.

Thal opened his eyes first. A suslik was rotating a little pine cone and nibbling out the seeds. When it realized Thal was awake, it tossed aside the cone and scurried away. Pistol tore off after it and was soon engaged in a hectic game of hide and seek among little holes throughout the grove.

Thal pushed himself up and immediately his wound stung. The scabbing flesh pulled against the blunt stitches. He combed his fingers through his hair and noticed that it was getting longer. He slapped his hat back on and scanned the area and listened carefully. Birds and scampering wee animals rustled through the woodland, but he sensed no threats.

He pondered his brief encounter with Brother Vito. The man had an inscrutable quality that unsettled Thal, who could read most people with ease. He did not understand Vito's motivations or purpose.

And Rainer had obviously been under Vito's mastery. Thal understood firmly now that he did not want a leader. He would lead or be alone.

Appreciatively he looked over his three sleeping companions. He regretted the harrowing cross country flight he had just taken them on.

Quietly he stole away and left them undisturbed. With his hunting knife he cut and fashioned four small spears and set off in search of food. Pistol padded along with him, determined to be helpful.

The silent concentration needed to find and stalk prey pushed back Thal's anxieties. His immersion in the wild setting cleared his mind. Reducing the world to scents and sights and strategy reminded him of the simple pleasure of existence. He was flowing along with the forces of all the living things in a harmony as gentle as seedlings poking through soft soil.

With the aid of Pistol, he found a rabbit warren and the digging little dog tore into it and caused a general panic. Thal dug with one spear alongside his dog until they breached the inner sanctum and the rabbits dashed into various tunnels. Thal bounded toward one exit and speared one as it flew out at high speed. Pistol ran around trying to catch others, but he failed and went back to his digging until he found kits to fill his belly.

Thal lifted his spear with the scrawny rabbit dangling bloody from the end. It was not much to share among four men.

He noticed a little blood soaking into his shirt. His digging and thrusting had aggravated the fresh stitches. He looked in his shirt. The wound was still held shut but the skin around it was swollen and red.

The day was waning. Splendid shafts of light kissed the woods with gold, and a smile graced his face as he walked back to his friends. On his way he found some mushrooms and plucked them up. They would add greatly to the supper.

When he neared the grove of pines, he hailed the other men and held up his kill. "I thought everyone would like some fresh meat tonight," he said.

"Thank God!" Regis cried. "We thought you abandoned us. We have no idea which way the road is."

Thal gestured south with the rabbit. The direction was obvious to him. "But I plan to go straight north through these wild hills," he said.

"We'll get lost," Regis warned.

For doubting him Thal gave him a condescending look. He squatted and started gutting and skinning the rabbit. His knife cut without error and he slipped the skin off in one quick pull.

"We'll find trouble if we backtrack. Better to keep in the direction of Prague. We'll come out on a road eventually and get back to playing at taverns soon enough," Thal said confidently.

Raphael made an indignant comment that Thal did not quite catch. He glanced to Regis for a translation. The handsome Venetian picked his next words carefully. "Thal, you know we like you, but last night was, well, surprising to us. We need you to tell us what happened."

Thal stuck the rabbit carcass back on the spear and sat back. He rubbed his fingers and looked at the blood. He wanted to lick it off.

"The monk Brother Vito asked me to join his group. I'm not sure why. He said he was looking for men. I was curious and spent some time talking with him. I carelessly mentioned that I was traveling with musicians, and I feared that I offended him when I declined to join him. Once I realized he might be angry, I was worried that he would look for musicians in order to find me. He had armed men with him. I didn't want you to get in trouble because of me, and I thought if we could get out of that place quickly then nothing would come of it."

His companions believed him, but he had carefully avoided the larger issue.

"Thal," Regis said reproachfully. "You gave me all your clothes and weapons and faced riders, took a wound, but still made it back to us. How can this be?"

"I'm quite good in a fight," Thal said.

"Obviously," Regis said impatiently.

The three musicians stared at Thal, waiting for him to say more. Because his actions had been so incredible they did not feel that expressing their demands with more words was necessary.

"I don't know how to explain," Thal murmured.

Regis recognized deep turmoil in his chosen guardian. He had not seen Thal appear so troubled before, but now he realized that the steely young man had been hiding behind a façade.

He set a hand on Thal's shoulder. "We won't judge you," he said.

"It's not your judgment I fear," Thal said.

"Then what?" Regis cried.

"I don't want you to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you. I count you as my friends," Thal said, and the vulnerability of his sincerity contrasted with the normal confidence his companions had come to expect of him.

"Do you have mad fits?" Regis asked soberly.

Thal shook his head. Accepting that he had to tell them something, he said, "I have powers, but I am in control of them."

Gasps were their collective reply. Several comments in their language flew around until Regis asked, "Do you mean like a magician or...warlock?"

"Magic is the only word I have for it," Thal said.

"What can you do?" Carlo asked in awkward Czech.

Thal stood up and turned his back on them. He believed the truth would frighten them too much, but they had shown him so much trust last night, and it felt wrong to keep his secret. He tasted of the difficulty Rainer must face in daily existence. Thal pondered how his true nature would burden his life.

"I become like a beast. That's why I took off my clothes so I would not ruin them," he said.

Their stunned silence pressed against his back and he continued, "I don't want you to ever see me that way. I don't want you to be afraid of me." He faced them. "I'm a man. I want you to think of me as a man."

The men nodded weakly, silenced by their deepening shock.

Thal decided he had shared too many details. He had been a weakling and a fool. "I'll get you back to a road and we can part ways so I will trouble you no more. It'll be for the best," he said. To part with them would be painful, but he locked down his feelings like a prisoner on the rack. If he could leave his pups, he could walk away from a few traveling companions.

Although Regis was shocked by Thal's revelations, he could not escape his sympathy and fondness for Thal. "Let's not talk of you abandoning us on the side of the road. We'll get a fire going and cook that dinner. Then play a little music. Music tames the beast, right?" He laughed a little.

Thal smiled, a little overwhelmed by Regis's nervous attempt at accommodation.

Thankful for something normal to do, Carlo and Raphael gathered firewood. Thal noticed their furtive glances in his direction as they saw him from a new perspective.

After Thal got the rabbit roasting on a spit over the fire, he whittled a thin stick to skewer the mushrooms. He held them over the fire and concentrated on gently roasting them.

Carlo asked him a question and Thal had to ask him to repeat himself. On the second attempt Thal understood that Carlo was concerned the mushrooms might not be safe.

"They're good. I assure you," Thal said, rather looking forward to them. He had recognized them right away and not had any doubts about their edibility. Carlo still looked doubtful.

"If you don't want any, it's more for me," Thal said.

Carlo looked upon the crinkly capped mushrooms anew. His hunger urged him to be more daring.

When the food was ready, Carlo indulged in the mushrooms just like everyone else. They savored them and praised Thal for the find.

Still clueless as to how to digest Thal's weird confession, the musicians turned to their favored form of expression. In the twilight next to their crackling pine-scented fire, they played their instruments. Thal lounged on his side. Their music massaged his spirit. Stars slowly brightened until it was fully night, and the drooping pine boughs around their hidden camp were silhouetted by the orange firelight.

After Raphael and Carlo put away their zink and lute and stretched out to rest, Regis still plucked his harp and attempted to compose a few lines.

Thal is man and beast,  
Unbeaten west to east.  
With his hat and gun  
He walks under the sun.

Down roads then up  
With traders he will sup,  
Defending the good  
And ruling the wood.

When comes the night,  
He grows in might.  
He fears no weapon or blow,  
Always knocking his enemies low.

Music can this beast tame  
Join me and sing his fame.

Regis sighed with frustration. "Needs to be better," he muttered.

Thal sat up a little. "So you believe me then?" he asked.

Regis put his harp away with loving care. "I believe you believe what you said," he said.

"So you don't believe in magic creatures?" Thal pressed.

"Of course I do. I just never expect to keep one's company, and it makes it hard to believe," Regis said. "Did you like the song?"

"I suggest you keep working on it," Thal said charitably.

"I know."

"Even so, I'm rather flattered," Thal added.

"We've done well since you appeared. I think you're good luck," Regis said.

"You put a heavy burden on me then," Thal remarked. "Most people would think me of the Devil."

"Bah!" Regis said and waved a hand. "Everything these days is said to be wrong and Devil-inspired. If a man has a free thought, he's a sinner."

Thinking of the many free thoughts his father must have had, Thal wondered if there was a point that was too far in such things. He had been willing to become what he was. He remembered that much. Had his father needed to convince him? Or had Thal asked this magic of his father? He had so many questions. He had to get to Prague.

"We should get some rest," Thal said.

"Good night," Regis said.

As Thal listened to the trees swish in the breeze, he gently fingered his tender wound. The bleeding had stopped, but the sting was constant. With his other hand, he stroked his dog's head and drifted into sleep.

Later in the night, his eyes popped open when Pistol's head rose. He drew in the crisp night air, and his senses lit up with alarm. He sat straight up. Pistol trotted away growling.

Quickly he got his gun and hurried over to a tree. He smelled men and he analyzed the air in every direction and listened closely. Six men were advancing on the camp, coming from two directions. Thal's first thought was that it was Rainer and the sellswords, but the scent was unfamiliar. A strong reek of prolonged unwashed nastiness and foul hearts told him of a new danger. His friends had mentioned that bandits roamed remote corners. The music must have attracted them from a distance because Thal had noted no sign of these threatening men earlier.

He quietly roused his friends. "Get ready to fight. Men are coming," he said.

"We're not fighters," Raphael protested.

Thal understood despite the language difference. "They mean to kill us," he said matter-of-factly. As surely as sun warms dark metal, he felt the sinister purpose of the skulking men.

"Don't let them grab you," Thal advised.

Pistol started barking in the brush. Thal grabbed his sword and ran toward the sound with gun and blade. Someone yelled at the dog. Another man grumbled that their surprise was spoiled.

"Just rush in!" shouted a voice.

Thal spotted three figures in the dark. Crouching into the cover of vegetation, he shouted, "Who are you?"

"I'm about to be ye lord and master," yelled back one man.

Pistol snarled and a man cussed at teeth nipping his breeches. "Damn dog! Get off!"

"Go away or I'll attack," Thal warned. He saw that the two men not dancing around Pistol's persistent snaps were beating the bushes trying to locate him.

"We'll bend you over like a priest's boy," laughed a man.

Thal heard his friends cry out as they were beset by the other group of prowlers. He hoped they could fend off the nasty men for a little while.

Done with his attempt at avoiding a fight, Thal stuck his pistol in his belt and drew a knife from his boot. Armed with two blades, he rushed the closest man and hacked down with his sword into his head.

The impact of the blade with the skull made an awful sound. A spray of hot blood peppered Thal's cheek. The stink of the man gagged him.

The bandit dropped to his knees, thoroughly felled by the mortal blow, and crashed on his face. His nearest comrade swung a club. Thal ducked and then lunged forward. He thrust the sword point into the man's torso. The bandit screamed. Frozen by the sharp agony, he could not react when Thal thrust his knife into his face. The blade plunged through nose cartilage and skidded on the skull until it pierced deeply. Thal yanked out both blades and bounded toward the third figure kicking at his dog.

This man had a club too, and he swung it wildly across the darkness. Hitting nothing, he lifted his club to swing again, but the little dog shaking his leg made him look down. Thal attacked. His sword chopped into the man's biceps. Following soon afterward was a knife to the heart. The sternum split with a sharp crack beneath the knife point and Thal shoved it all the way in.

With his foot, Thal pushed the body off his blade. The man fell back with a thud and Pistol snuffled him victoriously. Thal's chest heaved. His large muscles shook from the intensity of the encounter. Swiftly he had slain three men, and he grappled with a surge of violent mania. Thal beheld the bestial soul shadow of men that could kill without hunger. It rose up before him like a mirror that reflected only darkness.

Raphael's scream broke through to Thal's humanity, and he was once again a friend of men.

"Come," he said to Pistol and ran back into the pine grove. He burst through the scratchy boughs. Struggling to make sense of the knots of scuffling and cursing, he tried to figure out where to start. Pistol started barking.

"Get that damn dog!" someone shouted.

Thal slid the knife back into his boot and pulled his gun. He would not be able to save his shot any longer. Picking out the biggest man who had Regis in a headlock, Thal circled behind him.

"Somebody's here!" cried out the bandit. He whirled with Regis still clamped in his armpit. On fleet feet, Thal danced in a backward arc and avoided a swinging spear. Then he jumped close and raised his pistol. He pulled the trigger and the powder flash illuminated the scene like a tiny speck of lightning. The explosive bark of the pistol rattled everyone's teeth. Regis screamed and was pitched forward with the falling body. Hot blood and chunks spattered his head.

Thal whirled toward the men still holding Raphael and Carlo. "Let them go!" he demanded.

The bandits yelled the names of their companions, wanting help.

"Those misbegotten wretches won't be answering," Thal said. He barreled into the man who had his hands around Raphael's throat. Thal and the bandit struggled until Thal slammed him against a tree. He killed him with his sword.

When he whirled to find the last intruder, he heard footsteps tearing off into the night. Without hesitation Thal gave chase.

The terrified bandit blundered in the dark. He tripped on a tree root and crashed to the ground. Thal landed on his back. He clubbed the man across the skull with the butt of his pistol and rolled the senseless lout over. He shoved the sword into his chest.

Leaving the sword sticking up out of the body, he clasped his forehead and sat back on the man's legs. His strong night vision let him discern the unwholesome appearance of the bandit. A matted beard clung in clumps to his face and greasy hair stood up stiffly all over his head. A badly healed gash marked the place where a nose had been.

The thrill of facing danger sped across Thal's nerves like a waterfall racing over rocks. He felt amazing and powerful, but he shoved away the ecstasy, fearing its appeal. His violence had been motivated by the need to defend his friends, and he called their names and ran back to them.

He reached Regis first. The Venetian was fumbling on his hands and knees trying to locate their fire in the hope of kindling it again for light. Thal helped him to his feet.

"I got them all," he reported.

"You killed them?" Regis said, a little surprised.

"How many?" Carlo asked as he rushed up.

"Six," Thal said. "I sense no more."

Raphael scrambled close and the musicians embraced each other to prove to themselves that they were all still alive. Then they started thanking Thal profusely. Raphael declared that he had only been a moment from death. Rubbing his sore neck, he muttered, "He was going to strangle me for no reason."

"Nasty horrid brutes," Regis remarked and kicked one of the bodies. He was still too shocked to realize bloody bits of his attacker were clinging to his hair.

"These are the worst of the worst," Raphael said. "Lost men, if you can still call them that."

"Thal!" Regis cried. "Look at you! You're not a beast at all. See, you're a man."

"I know," Thal said while he absorbed the lesson that he was quite dangerous in his man form as well. He took note of the advantages given by his good weapons and his superior eyesight.

"You don't turn into a beast," Regis said, really wanting Thal to accept this truth and not his delusions.

"Don't I?" Thal said. The drying blood was getting sticky on his hands.

Regis fell silent and reflected that Thal had just single handedly killed six cutthroats. Thal was still thinking about the same thing as he continued to analyze his advantages. The killing had come to him easily, too easily. In the thick of the fight, he had been serenely focused, and each time a chance to kill had arisen, he had seized it without hesitation.

I'll have to watch my temper, he decided.

"What should we do with these awful bodies?" Raphael asked.

Regis suggested that they drag them out of camp and then go in the morning. No one offered to dig any graves. The effort to honor their would-be murderers would have been absurd.

Thal sat down and touched his shoulder. Blood was seeping inside his shirt again and the pain was worse. He supposed he had torn most of the stitches loose. Pistol licked his cheek and he praised the good dog for his fierce assistance.

#  Chapter 14. The Castle of Lord Patercek

By morning flies were gathering in the pine grove, and everyone was eager to be off. Thal found his spent lead ball in the dirt and salvaged it. He rolled the sticky hunk of metal in his fingers and contemplated how he had delivered death with it. He felt no remorse about slaying the nasty human refuse that had come to kill in the night. They surely had darker deeds than he upon their souls. He doubted anyone would charge him with murder for this, if the bodies were ever found.

He tugged his cloak across his chest to hide the blood soaking his shirt. Vultures wheeled in the sky behind them as Thal led them straight north. They crossed a clear stream and quenched their thirst. Regis washed his hair, appalled by the cruor stuck to his golden locks.

Plucked berries and greens eased their hunger. Despite the horridness of the men that had assaulted them, the wild area was lovely and lush. The rugged land with its outcroppings of granite made traveling hard work, but the cloudy day kept the air cool.

The musicians were noticeably quiet as they followed Thal mile after mile. Normally the men grumbled good naturedly about slight hardships, but not today. The performance of their bodyguard the night before weighed on their minds. Thal felt their eyes upon his back. Despite his pain and mounting fatigue, he kept his head up and broke a trail. He did not want to fail those who relied on him.

Upon reaching an especially tough-looking incline, Thal paused to study the rocky tree-studded slope so he could judge the best way to ascend. The other men were puffing closer with their loads. Regis reached him first. He scanned the rugged slope with dramatic dislike.

"We must rest," he declared.

"I want to keep going," Thal said.

"We're taking a break," Regis insisted. He set down his harp case and flopped onto his butt. Carlo and Raphael plodded up and joined their friend on the ground.

Thal frowned at their little rebellion, but taking a break before a tough climb was prudent. He worried mostly about himself. When a wounded animal finally stopped, it did not always get up.

Staying apart from his companions to lessen their chance of seeing his blood, he sat down too. As he expected, his body wanted to collapse, but he rigidly commanded himself to persevere.

Pistol whined quietly and nudged his legs. "I know. Don't worry," he whispered.

The break gave him a chance to examine the incline more carefully, and when they resumed their hike, he had a good plan. In a criss-crossing fashion, he made a trail that was not too strenuous. Regis even commented that the going was not as bad as he had imagined, and Thal smiled at the compliment.

When they were almost to the top, Thal looked back. A wondrous view surrounded the little wilderness he had dragged his party into. Rolling hills and forests nurtured the glistening serpent of the distant Vltava.

Gesturing across the green horizon, Thal said, "Was this not worth the walk?"

"Inspirado," Regis muttered.

Carlo made some joke in his language and the three men chuckled.

Even without their enthusiasm, Thal still appreciated the natural beauty that had made him forget his discomfort for a moment. For a long time his thoughts had existed only on this plane of Earthly contentment.

"Let's go," he said.

The ridge was steepest at the top and they had to grab jutting rocks and roots to haul themselves over the edge. The musicians groaned when they finally crested the ridge because another higher wrinkle in the land confronted them.

"Oh, we are lost. We must go back," Regis complained.

"We will come out on a road," Thal said.

"Do you know this land?" Regis challenged.

"We'll come out on a road. Every step takes us closer to the city. These wilds will not last," Thal said. He sensed clearly how this patch of Nature despite its ruggedness lacked size. Civilization with mortared stones and plows that cut the Earth chomped on this sanctuary of unbroken life.

"As you say," Regis muttered.

The afternoon delivered a grueling hike. Thal's feet began to fall more heavily. His attention was slipping. The trickle of blood remained steady. The icky wetness reached into his waistband, and he disliked how his clothes were getting stained.

Halfway up the slope that seemed to have become a mountain, the men took another break. Thal did not mention the view this time.

Sitting with his back against a tree, he sniffed the air carefully. The wind was coming from the south. He sensed no loathsome lurkers, except for those he had killed. A bear browsed a berry patch but was unlikely to trouble them. His eyes drooped shut.

Pistol licked his fingers to wake him. Raphael dumped sticks on the ground with a woody clatter. The clouds had parted and a distant hill cut into the sinking sun. The tree shadows were long as if yawning at the end of a hard day.

Thal jumped up. "Why did you let me sleep?" he demanded.

Regis was napping against a tree. Rubbing his eyes, he said they had all needed rest. "Let's camp," he proposed.

"No, not here. We must keep going," Thal said.

Tossing in a few Czech words, Raphael protested that he had already gathered firewood. He thought he had been rather practical to get the task done well before dark.

"Come," Thal said and started up the slope without looking back. He had to get them to a road. Then he could send them on their way, and he could find a place to hide and heal. He needed to recuperate.

Regis, Carlo, and Raphael looked among each other helplessly. No one wished to be stuck in the wilds without Thal watching over them, and they grumpily shouldered their packs and followed.

The top of the hill was heavily forested and they could not see beyond it. At least the land was level again and walking among the towering trees was easy, but the evening gloom was gathering quickly. Thal pressed ahead and eventually emerged onto a ridge overlooking a small vale.

"Come!" he shouted.

The musicians hurried to him and laughed with happy relief. A castle occupied a thick granite ridge across the little vale. A road meandered through the thinning forest. Pastures and fields were dotted with a few cottages.

"I think I can smell food cooking," Raphael commented excitedly.

"I say we make for that castle," Regis said. "A fine gentleman with a fancy larder surely needs to hear some good music. I'm tired of rustic inns."

His colleagues agreed readily.

Regis tossed an arm across Thal's shoulders. "I'm sorry about my complaining. I should've known you'd find us a good place. And it is a fine looking place," he said.

Thal eased his shoulders away. Regis remembered his wound and apologized.

"This is where we part ways, gentlemen," Thal announced heavily.

His companions cried out with surprise and forced Thal to explain himself.

"I don't want to involve you in what troubles may come my way. I've enjoyed your company, truly I have, and for my part I think of you as my friends. But that is why you should go from me," he said.

"No, Thal, we will not leave you. We're going to Prague together. It was our agreement," Regis said.

His devotion touched Thal, and he saw that the other two men felt the same way.

"I am a wanted man. Please think of yourselves and be free of me," Thal insisted even if he hated to speak the words.

"How can we go enjoy a roof over our heads and earn our supper and leave you here?" Regis said. "I won't do it."

Carlo and Raphael agreed.

"I don't want to put you in danger like I did fleeing the Jesuits," Thal said.

"That's very thoughtful, but you've saved us as well and we still need you. I don't know what would have happened in Budweis if we had been dragged back to the Mayor. He might have whipped us or broken my fingers. Who knows? But you appeared and made it all go away. You say your power can bring danger. Well I say I want your power on my side," Regis declared.

Pistol barked.

"Even your little dog thinks you're daft," Regis added.

Pistol wagged his tail. The Gypsy dog did not want to miss a chance to go inside a castle.

The deeply familiar caw of a raven high in a tree spoke to Thal. A second raven seeking its evening roost settled on the branch next to the first. It screeched at Thal as if telling him to quit upsetting his friends.

Such birds had long been his dark partners and their wisdom was not to be discounted.

"I've warned you," Thal grumbled in surrender.

Regis laughed, happy that he had won the argument. "Come, Thal. I have a good feeling about this place," he said.

"You say same thing about Budweis," Carlo pointed out.

"I have more experience now," Regis defended. With a fresh spring in his step he started down the slope.

Although concerned about his friends' blithe dismissal of his warning, Thal did not really want to rest on the cold ground with a half open wound. And the castle artfully placed in the landscape and catching the last rays of the sun on its ramparts excited him.

When they reached the road, a farmer hailed them from across his field. He stopped at the stone fence that hemmed his green barley. Curiosity twinkled in his eyes as he looked the four travel-stained men over.

"Did you fall out of the sky?" he asked.

The musicians waved back and praised the loveliness of the vale. Their accents thwarted the man's attempt to understand them.

"Good evening, Sir," Thal said. "Is your lord at the castle friendly to travelers?" he inquired.

The farmer squinted at Thal. His cloak hid his weapons but the farmer guessed the character of the bulges beneath the fabric.

"Friendly enough," the farmer replied cryptically.

A dog bounded over the stone fence and barked furiously at Pistol. The two animals raced down the road yipping and nipping until the local dog finally turned back. Pistol pranced along Thal's side on spritely paws, well pleased by the sport.

A blushing twilight outlined the dark blocky castle by the time they reached it. Everyone was plodding after the steep hike up the winding road to the old fortress. Open meadows carved by several dirt trails surrounded the stone walls. On this open height the wind was stronger and flags snapped. It was getting too dark to discern the color and design of the banners.

The drawbridge was down. Its elder timbers were worn smooth by generations of traffic. A weedy vine from the edge of the moat climbed one of the thick chains, proving how little the bridge was raised. The moat was overgrown and murky with green puddles. No people were in sight.

The windy emptiness was obliterated by the deep baying of dogs. The castle hurled out two hulking beasts. Their wide paws thudded on the bridge.

Raphael cried out. Carlo gripped him with dread. Regis retreated and called to his fellows to run. Thal slipped a hand inside his cloak and touched the soft fur. The gentle connection to his truest nature gave him a supreme confidence in the face of the onrushing canines. He unflinchingly met the slavering challengers.

The two massive war dogs slowed to a stop. They continued barking. The booming calls vibrated from their heavy jaws like the striking of drums.

Thal walked toward them. Their barking ceased and their heads lowered. He stroked their broad skulls and scratched their floppy ears. Both dogs whined.

Pistol trotted up and the three dogs engaged in a comical series of sniffing as the little dog proved hard for the big dogs to pin with their noses.

"Shall we go meet your master now," Thal proposed in a friendly tone. He called to his friends who clung to each other in amazement.

A man rushed out onto the bridge with a stiff limping gait. He lifted a lantern and gaped at the guard dogs wagging their tails for a strange man like he was their dearest master.

Confused but trying not to be rude, the man asked who it was.

"I am Thal and my friends are Venetian musicians traveling to Prague. We ask for shelter this evening," Thal said.

"Musicians," the gatekeeper murmured.

"Gladly will they entertain your household for some food and a place to rest," Thal said.

Although pleasantly surprised by the news, the gatekeeper reminded himself that suspicion was the foundation of security. He called the dogs by their names and scolded them for their sudden lack of discrimination.

"This is not a roadside inn. Who sent you?" he demanded.

"No one. We're weary travelers. We were attacked by bandits most foul and lost our way for a bit. Where are we?" Thal said.

"The Castle of Lord Patercek. How am I to know that you're not bandits?" the man said.

Carlo took out his zink and put it to his lips. A few beguiling notes as mysterious as a night bird answered the gatekeeper's question.

"Oh, that was nice," the gatekeeper said. Regis and Raphael came forward and showed their instruments.

"The master will be pleased with this surprise. I'm Orsh," he said.

The musicians thanked him and gave their names. Orsh ushered them inside, but Thal lingered on the bridge. The dogs went back and circled him. His shoulders sagged suddenly and he gestured for Orsh to come back to him.

Softly Thal said, "I'm hurt. Is there anyone within who can help me?" He opened his cloak. Orsh leaned closer with the lantern and saw the wide streak of blood soaking the shirt. He noted also the weapons and wondered what sort of mercenary was tramping about the countryside with foreign musicians.

"Looks bad," he whispered.

"I'm hoping to live," Thal said.

"I'll take you to the master's mother Lady Zsazi. She'll know what to do," Orsh said.

Everyone passed under the ponderous barbican and entered the courtyard. A servant was lighting a couple braziers alongside the main steps of the castle. A recent addition of nicely cut stone hugged the bottom of the more elderly main keep. Most of the windows were dark, but the stained glass above the ornate doors glowed faintly.

Orsh hauled open a heavily carved wooden door. A cat scooted out and darted past the dogs. Orsh bid the guests to enter but admonished the guard dogs to stay in the courtyard. He frowned at the wagging beasts, still wondering at their odd permissiveness with the strangers.

Inside, an enormous hall branched off into three doorways and two staircases. Smooth marble flooring flickered fluidly in the candle light. Shiny tin tiles on the ceiling glittered. Footsteps echoed in a shadowy hallway. Tapestries and portraits hung on the wood paneled staircases, and a coat of arms with two rams and crossed lances hung opposite the main door.

Thal's companions noticed him lagging and checked on him after their initial admiration of the glitzy interior.

"Go on and meet our host," Thal advised. "I must have my wound looked at first."

Regis presumed to pull aside Thal's cloak and was dismayed by the bloodiness. "Thal," he cried. "Why did you not tell us how badly it had gone?"

"I didn't want to stop until I found secure lodgings. If we stayed afield and murdering lurkers came upon us tonight, I would not have wished to fight them," he admitted.

With his neck still sore, Regis felt a new surge of gratitude for the effort Thal had made for all their sakes. The exertion had aggravated his wound. Knowing now that Thal had hiked all day while bleeding deepened Regis's appreciation for the man.

"Go wash your face. Get a drink and sing well tonight for this Lord Patercek for I have need of his charity," Thal said.

"I will," Regis said. Although he wanted to stay by his friend, it was important that he and his companions ingratiate themselves to their newest host.

A valet came to investigate the visitors. Quite interested, he invited the musicians to meet the lord.

A big man came in the main door and stopped next to Orsh. He was the first man Thal had seen in the place that appeared to be a guard. Despite his late appearance, his thick arms and the baton at his belt hinted broadly that he knew how to twist an arm or crack a skull.

Orsh cleared his throat. "We ask that you disarm," he said.

Naturally Thal was reluctant. The request was like being asked to give up his teeth, but if he was to go into the care of the lord's mother, he supposed it was a reasonable request.

"You'll get them back," Orsh added, eyeing Thal closely.

"Yes," Thal agreed and pulled out his knives and handed them to the big man. Next he gave up his bare sword. Its lack of scabbard suggested that it had been salvaged. Lastly he offered his pistol and powder horn.

"Take care with that," Thal said.

The guard shifted his already full hands and received the gun. The weapon lit his eyes with interest, and he admired it on his way out.

Lifting his lantern, Orsh led the way up one of the stairs. His stiff gate made the going slow, and Thal studied the fine portraits staring at him. The little strokes of colors on canvas or wood amazed him. The faces looked so real. The jittery candle light enlivened the eyes staring down noses with noble confidence. Delicate strokes made buttons and beads and leaves and flowers appear. Thal marveled at how the carefully chosen placement of pigments could recreate the glow of living flesh.

At a landing they started up another flight of stairs. They reached a hall and turned into its long dark emptiness. He stumbled a bit on a low ledge in the floor. He put a hand out to catch himself. The thick stone was cool against his palm.

"Forgot to mention that bump," Orsh said.

The character of the walls had changed and Thal realized that he was in the inner castle that was much older than the outer portion. An Earthy smell had crept into this place. They turned another corner and firelight marked a distant archway.

When they reached the lighted room, they interrupted three women spinning and chatting. Wool twirled fuzzily from the spinning distaff in the hands of a lady in a blue smock. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes popped with surprise at the sight of Thal.

"What is this?" she cried.

Her two companions looked up from their carding and spooling. Pistol waggingly flirted with them.

"What a cute little dog," the lady with gray hair said. She squinted up at Thal.

"I've got a man here needs a wound tended. Says his name's Thal. He and his friends were attacked by bandits," Orsh explained.

The female trio exclaimed with sympathy and tossed aside their work.

"Nasty bandits," muttered the lady in blue.

The youngest maid stared at Thal with fearful excitement. She twirled a lock of hair from beneath the edge of her head linen.

The elderly lady took charge. Stooping shoulders cut down her already tiny stature, but she had an air about her that expected all to take heed. Although stiff and slow, she shuffled toward Thal purposefully and people kept out of her way.

"Lady Zsazi?" Thal said.

"I am," she said.

"I humbly ask for help with a bad cut on my chest," Thal said.

"Yes, of course, young man," she said. Zsazi grabbed his elbow with gnarled but firm fingers and steered him toward another room with a cot. She told her serving women to fetch clean water and bandages and her medicine basket.

Orsh settled into one of the chairs still warm from the spinners and stretched out his legs. He fingered the fluffy pile of clean wool and wondered which sheep it was off.

The serving women soon returned with supplies and more candles. They set to work on Thal with curious eagerness. The maid blushed as his cloak and fur and shirt were taken away. The lady in blue smiled like she was enjoying a treat. Thal relaxed into their care, quite unfettered of modesty, and relished simply the chance to lie in a soft place. The rest of his clothing was taken off and a soft blanket laid over him.

Zsazi pulled up a chair and the maid held close a light. The elderly lady leaned close and even sniffed the wound.

"Well somebody made a good attempt at these stitches but you've pulled them all loose," she said.

She set a hand on his forehead and then his cheek. "You don't burn with poisoned blood, but you are tired," she determined.

Weakly he agreed.

"We'll get you fixed up," Zsazi said. She bade the two women to wash the blood away and then she carefully removed the old stitches. They were crusted into the skin and hurt coming out.

It was the young maid who stitched Thal anew while Zsazi oversaw the task and often gave advice. "Very good," the elder lady praised when it was done. She sent the servants off to fetch food and drink. Placing a bowl in her lap, she rummaged through her medicine bag and selected herbs. After pouring in a little water and a dollop of honey, her knowing fingers mixed everything into a poultice.

While dabbing the medicine over his wound, she said, "Where are you from?"

"Prague."

"Ah, a fine city," she said and glanced up at his face. She had been concentrating on his injury but now the uniquely enticing colors of his eyes caught her notice. He held her gaze.

Finally she broke the contact and started patting his wound again.

"It feels better already," he complimented.

"You'll need to rest a couple days or you'll tear it open again. I'll tell Augie to extend all hospitality," she said.

"Is that Lord Patercek?" he asked.

"Yes, he's a good boy," Zsazi said with a mother's love.

"Are my friends safe with him?" Thal said, seeking her confidence.

The question took her aback. "Certainly. Why do you worry?" she said.

"They've been ill used on their travels. I met them in Budweis and they asked me to protect them on their journey," he said.

She wiped her fingers on a rag. "We're all friends here. Augie is not a man who makes trouble. A trait too rare among men I would say," she said.

"Indeed," Thal agreed. "My friends are musicians. Talented ones. I think you'll find they earn our keep."

"Musicians. Lovely," Zsazi murmured. "And what is it you do?"

"Of late I keep bad people away," Thal said.

"Oh yes, the bandits," she said but was interrupted when the servants returned. Zsazi seemed to have more to say but she stood up. "Eat and sleep, Thal," she advised.

"I doubt that I could do anything else," he said. His eyes were wide for the trencher of bread and stew, steaming on a tray. He had to wait while the servants bandaged his chest, but finally the maid propped him up and he could eat.

All the women withdrew and let him be. He set aside his empty tray. Every drop of gravy was licked away. As he fell asleep he heard familiar music in the heart of the castle.

******

Zsazi listened to the same music as she lay awake thinking of her youth. When she did slumber, odd dreams frightened her. On a dark winding trail she ran for her life but could not see what was chasing her.

A predawn cock crow down in the courtyard roused her. She was glad to be in her bed instead of running from an unknown dread. Dressing as quickly as she could, she was careful not to wake her maid. Zsazi crept out of her chambers. The castle was quiet. Everyone had stayed up late enjoying the music.

The groggy gray light that precedes the rising sun revealed the windows and drove back some of the gloom. Even in the dark with her aging eyes, she knew every step of the castle that had been her home since the age of fifteen.

Thinking of my youth again, she thought and wondered if she was trying to remember something. She slipped through the kitchen and tore a scrap of meat from a cold roast before heading to Thal's room.

At the door to his room she slowed to a tiptoeing silence. She cracked open the door. As expected, Pistol jumped off the bed and met her, but he did not bark because he recognized her as one who helped his master. She gave him the meat scrap and slipped inside. She heard the deep breathing of Thal's sleep. Carefully she went to the chair where his things had been set. Most of his clothing had been taken for washing but his cloak, hat, boots, and fur were still there.

With great care she slid the fur out of the bundle. The glossy coat was pleasing against her chilly and aching fingers. It seemed as if a living warmth came from it. She turned it over and nearly gasped.

The bloody script entranced her. She squinted at the words in the dim light. Her heart beat harder because she knew that she was looking upon something secret, something forbidden.

"Can you read it?"

Zsazi squealed and tossed the fur down. She whirled and saw Thal looking at her from the bed.

Feeling foolish and guilty as a girl breaking Lent, Zsazi tried to reclaim her dignity. "I'm not one for letters," she said.

"Bring it to me," he said.

His voice did not threaten but it did command, and Zsazi complied. Thal spread his fur across his lap and petted it.

She said, "Do you know what it says?"

"I do."

"But you shan't tell me," she surmised.

"No, Lady."

"I apologize for snooping," she said.

"You don't mean it," Thal said. Polite words could not hide her immense curiosity. "Was there something about it you recognized?"

Zsazi looked down and shook her head. "No...but your name Thal is an ancient word," she said.

"Do you know what it means?" he said.

A frustrated frown tightened the wrinkles on her face. Her memories were like fallen trees buried in leaves and dotted with fungus. When she was a maid there had been an old woman who had mentored her in herb lore. She had known many stories and legends.

"Once upon a time I heard that Thal was a word from the old times, the very old times, before even the Romans. It is uttered to complete a spell," Zsazi said. Giving voice to the old memory depleted her a little. When she looked upon Thal in the growing light of day, she sensed the magic of legend clinging to him.

He smiled, and his natural charm was disarming. "Does not every mother see magic at the birth of her son? Surely that is why she chose such a name," he suggested.

His logic was soothing and Zsazi relaxed. "You stay in this bed all day," she ordered, needing to assert herself.

"I will," he said. When she turned to leave, he said, "A favor, my Lady?"

She looked over her shoulder with noncommittal interest.

"Don't tell anyone about the writing on my fur. There are men in the land seeking such relics and they would trouble me and perhaps those with me," he said.

Zsazi thought of her son. He would be delighted to examine such an esoteric thing, but his tongue would be wont to wag. Mothers always had more secrets than their children, and she knew better than to entice the greedy cravings of the larger world into her home.

"All right," she said softly.

#  Chapter 15. Talk of Monsters

Thal's friends visited him in the morning. They reported that Lord Patercek was as wonderful as the Mayor of Budweis had been horrible.

"I feel friendliness here as well," Thal said.

"Most people are good when they are not afraid," Regis observed. He strummed his harp quietly and adjusted a string.

"In five days Lord Patercek give banquet just because we're here," Raphael said.

"We should stop at castles more often," Thal said.

"We need to play for higher social circles unless that Budweis bastard ruins our names all the way to Prague," Regis said.

"No one in Prague is going to care what anyone in Budweis thinks," Thal predicted.

"Ha, and you'll make sure for us, right friend Thal," Regis said.

"I doubt the need will arise. Your talents are more charming than mine," Thal said.

"Let us hope," Regis said and a few soft notes tinkled from his fingers.

Carlo stood up and pushed his chair back against the wall. "I glad you are healing. Sorry my stitches did not hold," he said.

"Your stitches were not at fault. I was too active after the wound," Thal explained.

Memories of the terrifying attack quieted the group for a moment.

Ending the silence, Carlo said, "Lord Patercek ask me to ride with him. I must go."

After he left, Regis mentioned that Patercek had taken quite a liking to Carlo.

"He speaks Venetian very well too," Raphael added.

"He sounds like a well traveled man," Thal remarked.

"Yes," Regis agreed. "He's been to Paris, Nuremberg, and Rotterdam. He said he's even expecting a friend to send him something from the New World. I didn't understand what he was trying to get."

"The New World?" Thal said, intrigued by the term.

"Lands beyond the ocean. You hear wild tales about the place more and more," Regis said.

"Empires of gold and a thousand savage paradises," Raphael chimed in.

Intrigued, Thal could not recall hearing about such a place when he was a child, but much of his life before the forest remained vague.

Regis put his harp in its case and flexed his fingers. "I'll go find someone to find us wine. Want me to bring some to you Thal?" he offered.

"No, I truly wish to rest," Thal said.

"As you wish," Regis said. He and Raphael left Thal in peace. Pistol curled up at the foot of the bed.

Thal stroked his wolf fur. He flipped it over and looked at the brick red runes and thought of his father. He remembered his blue eyes, dark like stormy skies. They had always rained fondness upon him. Gentle memories surfaced. Walking through a forest with his father. Sitting around a fire. Hunting. Skinning animals.

Shutting his eyes, Thal looked farther within himself. Finally an image of his father with a woman appeared. She had a strong nose and a challenging gaze. Auburn hair flowed to her shoulders.

Mother, he thought.

He still hoped to find her in Prague, and he reminded himself not to tarry long in the home of Lord Patercek. If she was still alive, then she could tell him more about his powers and maybe how to find his father.

His encounter with Rainer had informed him that his powers exceeded the abilities of the other werewolf. The monk had said that during a full moon he could not stop the transformation. Thal was grateful that he could control his changing. Recalling that a werewolf bite had caused Rainer's condition, he wondered if his bite would have the same effect.

The implications aroused his curiosity but worried his morality. Lost in the labyrinth of possibilities he did not hear the maid approach until Pistol lifted his head.

Thal welcomed the distraction of the young woman bearing a tray of food.

"I don't recall getting your name last night, Miss," he said.

"People call me Frannie," she said.

"Is that what you want me to call you?" he said.

"Francesca," she said.

"What have you brought me, Francesca?"

His playful use of her full name made her giggle. "Just bread and cold pork," she said.

He pushed up onto an elbow. "Don't strain yourself," she said and quickly set down the food and reached behind him. She supported him and made sure he moved slowly. "Lady Zsazi would slap me if I let you tear open those stitches again," she said.

With her arm still across his back, Thal discovered her bosom at eye level. He was sure that more cleavage was showing this afternoon than last night. His palm suddenly itched from the idea of placing his hand against the firm flesh bulging from her bodice.

She dared one quick look into his eyes and then backed off. She folded her hands as if to make sure they did not cause mischief. Focusing on his primary appetite, Thal reached for his food.

"Do you need anything else?" she said, sounding hopeful that he would ask for something.

"No thank you," he said.

"I'll be back to help when Lady Zsazi changes your poultice," she said.

He swallowed his mouthful of food. "I look forward to it," he said.

Francesca bobbed a nervous curtsy and left, a bit reluctantly. Such recurring interest from women was becoming harder for Thal to ignore. Regis had snickered at his timidity with women more than once on their journey already. Perhaps he should be more receptive and see what happened. Encounters with females often provoked a nagging physical tension that seemed to be prodding him to act. But mating when he had no home or steady food supply ran counter to his sensibilities.

Despite his natural good sense, he still daydreamed about the maid while eating. Scenarios in which her curvy breasts spilled out of her shirt entertained him. He imagined the soft skin across her womanly chest and then a long lost fantasy escaped his cloudy memories. He recalled an apple-cheeked maiden who had sold milk at a market near his mother's home. Thal had been barely a man when he had pursued her. She had rebuffed him. Not even a kiss.

Her words of rejection had been cruel. "Don't touch me you bastard, you witch son."

She had hated him because of some stigma attached to his mother and the absence of his father. He could not remember why he had lived in Prague with only his mother. They must have been all together as a family once, somewhere.

Pistol put his paws on the edge of the bed and looked at the pork hanging from Thal's fingers. He was glad to come back to the present and share with his dog.

"At least you like me," he murmured. Thinking of the young woman who had scorned him undermined his emerging curiosity.

Feeling gloomy, he fell asleep until the women returned. Lady Zsazi was acting especially imperious. Francesca obeyed her attentively. He saw that the angry redness around his wound was receding. Zsazi admonished him to restrict his activities while she dabbed on a fresh warm medicinal poultice. Although her fingers were a little shaky, her touch was light and caused him no extra pain.

When she sat back and wiped her hands, Francesca put on a new bandage. Then Zsazi dismissed her. Francesca looked disappointed but she flashed a friendly look toward Thal when she left.

Zsazi reached for a bundle that she had brought with her. "I found you some fresh clothes. There was no getting the blood out of your other things," she said.

"You're so very kind," Thal said.

"My son is coming to see you. I thought I should get you dressed first," she said.

"I'm honored," Thal said, suspecting that the lord of the house did not typically visit the bedside of a stranger.

"He's as curious as everyone else about you," Zsazi said.

"What's curious about me?" he said.

A critical eyebrow lifted on her wizened face.

"I suppose you told him about my fur," Thal grumbled.

"No..."

"But?" he pressed.

She looked at his fur that was draped over his legs. The stunning wolf coat glistened with vitality.

"Are we safe in your presence?" she said with deep motherly suspicion.

"You've taken my weapons," he said.

"Are you a magic worker?" she demanded.

Her question proved that it was pointless to lie to her. "Only upon myself," he whispered.

She gasped, apparently not expecting such an easy admission.

"Young man, you must renounce such Devil's works. For the sake of your soul," she urged.

As a creature who had known the uncomplicated purity of a natural existence, he possessed great comfort with the state of his soul. It was the world around him that threatened his spirit.

"May my good deeds be the guardian of my soul. I have known only kindness in this place, and I shall show you only kindness. I promise, my Lady," he said.

She relaxed. His earnest promise made her regret flinging accusations at him.

"Don't show Augie the fur," she said.

"You may hide it under my cloak for me," Thal said, knowing that she wanted to touch it again, despite her talk of devils and souls.

She folded the fur over her arm, shuffled over to the chair, and tucked it under his cloak. Her hand lingered against its softness but she had been careful to avoid glimpsing the writing again.

"Do you want help getting dressed?" she asked.

"I'll manage, thank you," he said.

"Then expect Lord Patercek soon. Good night, Thal," she said.

"Sleep well," he said.

She frowned. Normally she did sleep well, but his presence unsettled her. An old woman knew when something was amiss, but he seemed so lacking in malice. Zsazi told herself not to judge too harshly or too quickly. People said terrible things about her dear son too, but she still loved him.

Once Thal was alone again he dressed slowly. Taking care to move his upper body as little as possible he slipped on a shirt and tied up the laces. The linen was nicely woven and felt sleek against his skin. The wool pants were dyed a deep blue. At first he thought they were too tight but as he got used to them he realized they were made to fit closely. The pants seemed designed to emphasize his loins and thighs. He recalled seeing some men dressed like this in towns he had passed through.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed trying to decide if he should bother putting his boots on when he heard footsteps in the hall. Pistol jumped into the doorway and greeted the lord of the house.

Lord Patercek filled the doorway. He was tall and well muscled from an active life, but he was thick around the middle from lording over a bountiful estate. Not at many meals did he miss meat.

The gray at his temples made his dark hair look even darker. His meticulously trimmed beard was much frostier, like snow clinging to freshly turned soil. A maroon doublet outlined his belly and chest, and matching pants disappeared into riding boots. Jeweled rings glittered in the light of the candle he was holding.

Thal stood up and bowed a little.

"So our mysterious mercenary is going to live," Patercek said.

"I am not a man of war," Thal said.

"But you carry weapons and give brave battle," Patercek countered.

"Perhaps defending myself comes easily to me because the world is so dangerous," Thal said.

Patercek chuckled, warming to him. He pulled up a chair. "So you are the one they call Thal," he said and put the candlestick down with a thud.

"Thal Lesky of Prague," he said, feeling the need to be formal.

"And I'll let you know that you are benefitting from the hospitality of Augustus Patercek."

"My thanks. I am in your debt," Thal said.

"Debt? That sounds exciting. How shall I make you pay it," Patercek said teasingly.

"I have a bit of coin," Thal offered.

Patercek waved his hands like gnats were between them. "I've enough coins to keep me happy," he said. "Do not think yourself indebted to me. 'Tis Christian to aid the hurt and needy." Leaning closer he added, "You could repay me by fixing up your face. You're a handsome lad but you need a proper trim. Let Carlo work on you. He did a fine job on me today," Patercek said and traced the top edge of his beard with a finger.

Thal touched his scruffy face. He had tried to cut in a goatee but had not thought of letting another man help him.

"I'll see to it as soon as I can, Lord Patercek. I'm very grateful to you. My wound needed attention and Lady Zsazi seems well able to cure me," Thal said.

"Oh, yes, Mother can put people back together. She even sewed one of my father's fingers back on, or at least that's what he used to tell me," Patercek said.

"I fear that I make her nervous," Thal said.

"She's probably just trying to intimidate you. Obviously you and your splendid friends are not bandits," Patercek said, not the least concerned.

"I expect you'll be a little less troubled by bandits, at least for a while," Thal said.

Happy that Thal had raised the subject, Patercek said, "Carlo tells me you killed six of them."

Thal nodded as the brutality replayed in his mind.

"You must jest," Patercek said. "I assumed Carlo was just trying to entertain me with wild tales."

"It was six. I had good weapons and Pistol held one by the ankle, which was most helpful," Thal explained.

Patercek's good natured skepticism budged a little. "Well, there certainly would be six bandits to kill. They've been getting worse. Dark days are ahead for Bohemia I fear. Perhaps the whole Empire," he said.

"Yet you see no need to raise your bridge," Thal noted.

Patercek ducked behind a hand to his forehead. "I know. My bad judgment is quite indefensible." He laughed at his own joke and continued, "Truth is the damn old hulk is broken. It's so much more pleasing to pay for pretty things to be built instead of fixing boring gears or I know not what. I'm sure you admired my new great hall. It's just finished last year," he said.

"Lovely, Lord Patercek," Thal said.

"Thank you. If some army came into the vale, I think we could draw up the bridge if we really put our backs into it. And I'm blessed with living at the end of a road few turn down. I've relied on my dogs to keep bandits out. Nothing ever gets by Brutus and Lucky, well, until you," Patercek said.

Rather pleased by his distinctiveness Thal said, "I must thank Brutus and Lucky for endorsing me."

"If I can't trust their judgment, then I've got nothing," Patercek agreed.

He relaxed against his chair. Seeing Thal in clothes he had not been able to fit into for ten years was a bit disconcerting to Patercek, but maybe not in a bad way.

"Your friends tell me they rely upon you to protect them," Patercek said.

Thal suspected the amiable lord was trying to cross reference details among his guests. Thal opted to be honest and related an abbreviated account of their meeting in Budweis.

"I often hear nasty rumors about that mayor being greedy and unfair, but I must declare that I understand his temptation. Your associates made wondrous music last night. To let such talent go will be hard," Patercek said.

"I assure you Lord Patercek if you keep them too long they will grow lazy and drink too much," Thal said.

Patercek laughed, admiring how Thal put his warning. "I pray they still have the verve to play well at my banquet."

"They're looking forward to it," Thal said.

"I am too, even though it's just a thrown together affair on short notice. Just a few local families and villagers, but it will be fun and I can gossip. I do love to gossip," Patercek confessed.

"Have you heard any good stories lately?" Thal said.

"Oh, only local peasant nonsense, not something I really believe but it does make good talk. Orsh was telling me just a few days ago that he heard talk of a werewolf to the south. That's the direction you've come from. Have you heard this?" Patercek asked.

Thal smiled. The glistening eyes of his host begged for an exciting response. "I hear of these things too, but consider this: Those bandits we encountered were most foul, but they were men. With such nasty souls stalking the land people will naturally turn to talk of monsters," he said.

"Very reasonable of you," Patercek commented, more impressed than disappointed. He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. "Back to your bed rest, my fine lad. Mother's orders," he said.

"I feel I'll be fit enough in another day. Is there any work to be done?" Thal offered.

"You're NOT a mercenary are you? They're lazy fellows unless harsh deeds are needed. So what skill do you have that could help me?" Patercek said.

"Does my Lord like hunting?" Thal said.

The man's face softened with affection. "That's one of my primary reasons for living in my country castle," he said.

"Then let me find you prize game for your banquet table," Thal said.

"A huntsman you are! Now that makes sense. We shall plan a hunt if you feel able," Patercek said.

"I do," Thal said.

******

The next day was sunny and hot. Thal stood on the ramparts with Patercek and the burly guard who was introduced as Markus. Patercek had brought out his three muskets, and Markus was busily loading them.

Out on the meadows surrounding the castle two boys were toting out wicker frames with ragged canvas targets stretched over them. Thal watched them place the last target and then dash off as if they expected to get shot.

Patercek accepted a loaded musket from his man and offered it to Thal. "This is my first one from Spain," Patercek said.

Thal accepted the hefty weapon with both hands. It was more exciting to hold than his pistol. Its greater range made it more threatening. Examining the decorative brass plates on the stock, Thal saw little skeletons and angels in the polished metal. The name Augustus Patercek was engraved beneath the pictures.

Markus gave Thal a forked stick to prop up the end of the gun. It took some of the weight off Thal and helped him aim it. Running his hand up the barrel, Thal admired the craftsmanship.

"Let me see you shoot it," Patercek said.

"You first, my Lord," Thal said.

Patercek smiled at the courtesy and stepped up to receive the gun from Thal. Markus lit its match for his lord. Patercek aimed carefully. The thunderous blast jolted everyone. Patercek coughed at the blue smoke and laughed.

"You hit it!" Thal cried.

Patercek waved the smoke out of his face. "I was aiming for the one on the right," he said.

"Good thing there's two targets then," Thal said, trying to stay positive.

"Markus, reload," Patercek ordered.

When it was ready, Thal set up the heavy gun on the fork and looked down it. Markus lit its fuse. Thal shuddered from the loud discharge. The smoke stung his eyes as he squinted at the targets. Neither target showed a sign of impact, but the wound on his chest stung from the recoil.

"Try this one from Munich. It's a wheel lock like your pistol," Patercek suggested and handed Thal the next musket. It was lighter, shorter, and did not need the forked stick. His second shot struck the edge of a target frame and knocked it askew.

"Now for my new one from Nuremberg," Patercek said with obvious fondness.

Thal noted its construction was noticeably more refined. Every part was fitted to a demanding perfection, and it had less ornamentation except for a small circular plate showing Patercek's coat of arms. Thal hit the target close to the center.

"Isn't that satisfying?" Patercek said. "Every gun is a little different. That's the best one I have. It will penetrate armor, even at a distance."

"I'll have to find you something exciting to shoot at tomorrow," Thal said, anticipating their hunt.

"Markus is a good archer and I still like a good old fashioned spear, but we'll take the two light muskets if you want."

The men continued to load and shoot. Like his host, Thal found the newest musket to be the most reliable. They had great fun, laughing at hits and misses and generally delighting in the noise. Markus enjoyed a few shots himself as payment for all his loading.

Patercek wiped some soot from Thal's face. "We go first thing tomorrow morning," he said.

"I'll be ready," Thal said. "And thank you for letting me shoot your guns."

"You can carry the one from Munich. I'm still too in love with my new one to share it," Patercek said.

"I understand," Thal said.

Patercek retired for the rest of the day as is the privilege of castle lords, and Thal relaxed with his friends. They were recuperating marvelously from their recent ordeals, lounging about the castle, generally close to the kitchen, and befriending the steward who controlled access to the beer and wine.

When the sun dropped lazily toward evening Thal feigned going to bed to rest for the hunt. He lay in bed while twilight deepened over the castle. Gloom filled the hallway and he smelled tallow candles being lit. When most of the servants had settled in for the night, he got up and slipped outside. Pistol padded after him and Brutus and Lucky greeted him in the courtyard. Thal scratched their thick heads lovingly. They were powerful beasts and their respect meant a lot to him.

When the dogs tried to follow him he turned them back. They whined and slunk away slowly. He even bade Pistol to stay with his two new companions. Reluctantly the little dog sat down at the end of the bridge. Thal ran across the meadow toward the craggy hills overlooking the vale.

He jogged into the woods. Its shady aroma was comforting. A sliver of moon peeked through the tree branches.

With his sensitive nose he studied the web of life radiating from the castle. Fungus and little animals and secret little flowers and baby birds in their nests and a prowling cat paraded across his senses. Weaving through the trees, he hiked fast up an incline and down a gully and then up a higher hill until he was deep in the wild reserve that was the playground of Patercek. After crossing a stream, Thal caught scent of what he sought. The stinky dung of wild hogs was scattered nearby and he soon found their fresh tracks.

When he heard their rooting and happy chomping, he slowed. Creeping silently through the woodland he came upon them from upwind. A dozen of them were spread out along a huge rotting log. They snuffled apart decomposed wood and gobbled mushrooms and grubs.

Enclosed by a darkness he did not fear, Thal toyed with the idea of transforming. A chance to experience his werewolf state while unmolested would likely give him greater insight into his power.

He took off his hat and hung it on a branch. Then he removed his cloak but as he pulled off his shirt his wound stung. He paused. When his body expanded and shifted shape, he supposed that the strain would tear loose the stitches.

Disappointed, he let his shirt fall back into place. He really needed the wound to mend. Experimenting with his power would have to wait.

Retuning to his main task, Thal trailed the hogs and took note of where they went to bed down before dawn.

A splendid bird-chirping morning heralded his return to the castle. Pink and gold bouquets of fluffy clouds blazed around the rising sun, and the greens of the blooming spring soaked up the power of their heavenly benefactor.

Pistol jumped in circles around his feet while he crossed the bridge. Brutus and Lucky barked to him from their kennel where they were put every morning.

The courtyard was empty and Thal headed for a side entrance that led to the kitchen. Inside servants were loading bread loaves into an oven and churning butter. He filled a cup from the barrel of drinking water and slaked his thirst. He was taking a second cup when Francesca entered.

"Thal," she whispered and sidled up to him. "Where have you been?"

He wiped the water off of his lips. "Who was looking for me?" he asked back.

She looked down. "You weren't in your room last night," she whispered.

Her nocturnal interest in his whereabouts excited him a little, but he tried to ignore it. He suspected she would not really want him if she knew what he was.

"Where were you?" she repeated.

Thal said, "I was scouting the woods for the hunt."

"Oh, that's sensible," she said. "Let me get you some breakfast."

"I think it best to stay hungry," he said.

"Why? It could be a long day," she said. A woman did not like to be put off from fetching food for a man she liked.

"Motivation," he explained.

His sensitive ears picked up the clopping of horse hooves in the courtyard, and he assumed Patercek would be out soon.

"Have a nice morning," he said and started off.

"Good luck," Francesca said, disappointed that he was leaving so quickly.

In the courtyard Markus and Orsh and a half dozen young men were assembling. They carried spears and bows and Markus had two muskets. Two horses, one black and one brown, were saddled. Their wide hooves danced with anticipation. The dogs woofed insistently to be let out of their kennel.

Patercek burst out of his castle, filled with exuberance. His glossy dark boots contrasted with the beige leather breeches he wore. A green half cloak encircled his big torso and silver pendants glittered on his shoulders. A green hat shaded his eyes. Its plume of multi-colored feathers seemed more suited to a costume ball.

He greeted his servants warmly. Orsh held his horse while he swung up into the saddle. His favorite steed pranced as his master took up the reins.

"Come, Thal. The other horse is for you," he commanded.

Trying to hide his uncertainty Thal approached the brown horse. The animal swung its head toward him. The big delicate nostrils snorted, and it backed away.

Inviting the trust of a herd animal seemed beyond Thal's capacity. The horse dragged the lad holding its reins. Then the animal neighed in alarm and pulled loose. Patercek's horse balked a little.

"Easy," Patercek said in a soothing yet strong voice.

The other horse stopped near the stable door and looked at Thal warily.

When the servant ran to catch the horse, Thal said, "No need for me to ride."

"Nonsense," Patercek said. "Surely you're a man who can ride."

"I'll run with the dogs. You'll see, my Lord. It'll be for the best," Thal said.

"Very well," Patercek granted.

Thal said, "Does my Lord desire to kill a boar today?"

"Saints yes! But that old bully out there is as hard to find as a unicorn," Patercek said.

"I know where he is," Thal said.

Astonished by the confidence, Patercek hoped that his guest's cockiness was justified.

"I would appreciate the return of my knives," Thal said.

"Of course," Patercek said. With a glance to Markus he conveyed the request, and Markus had a boy fetch the blades.

When Thal got back his knives he slipped them into his boots. He did not intend to face a boar without tusks of his own.

Brutus and Lucky were jumping against the bars of their kennel. Thal let them out himself. Bursting forth, Brutus and Lucky led the hunters out the gate. The dogs soon picked up the trail where Thal had come and gone across the meadow. They snuffled back and forth along it waiting for the men to catch up.

"Let us take the north trail," Patercek advised.

"I recommend we bear straight west," Thal said.

"It's so refreshing to be contradicted," Patercek noted sarcastically.

"If we go north the wind will betray us," Thal said.

Placated somewhat by Thal's reason, Patercek said, "I suppose on the hunt the huntsman is the lord."

"Excuse me," Thal said, not really listening, and rushed ahead.

He diverted the dogs from a game trail of little value and kept them on the course he had figured for catching the hogs in their hiding place.

About halfway around the second hill, Patercek caught up to Thal. "The going is too rough this way," the lord complained.

Only a faint trail scratched at the jutting stones, boggy patches, and thick woodland. Thal checked the wind again and insisted they continue. When Patercek frowned, he added, "We can carry the boar back by the easy trail."

He disappeared into the foliage that had overgrown the trail. A few seconds later he looked down from higher ground and beckoned the hunters. A few men groaned.

After tramping through a horde of biting flies, the hunters emerged into more open woodland with the wind in their faces. Brutus and Lucky howled at the same time and dashed down a slope. The abrupt excitement of their baying erased the hardship of the hike and everyone ran to catch up with the dogs. Thal hollered to the young man carrying his musket to keep up. In the lead, he raced through feathery ferns. Their bent fronds flapped with his passing. He jumped off a little ledge, skidded down a slope, and started running again. The great dogs were bashing through the brush at the bottom of the hill. Branches and leaves shook and large and small squealing bodies fled in every direction.

Thal burst onto the scene as the dogs were running amok among the wild swine. The boar and two sows were standing their ground. The mighty tusks of the boar lashed out like chaotic saw blades. The dogs jumped back. A sow plowed into Brutus and the heavy dog went flying. Lucky snapped at the portly female but the crafty animal dodged the dangerous jaws.

Thal pulled out his knives and charged the boar. With his focus so confidently on a target, the dogs joined him. Despite landing hard Brutus rolled up fighting and jumped on the back of the wild boar. His fangs sank into its thick neck, and the dog tried to unbalance the boar by dragging on it with his weight. Lucky dashed in and got a back leg. The boar kicked wildly but not even its significant strength could shake loose the bear trap jaws.

Thal jumped close and slashed the boar on the cheek. Even with two dogs restraining it, the boar lunged at Thal with a mighty effort. He danced back from sturdy tusks that could tear open his gut. His wolf sense told him that this mighty boar was a ridiculous target, but Thal was a man now, and the thrill of the great battle was intoxicating. The nasty screaming of the boar raised the intensity of the confrontation. Thal could smell the blood dripping from its wounded face. His hunger lashed him to a final effort. With both knives he jumped close to the boar again and thrust the blades into its ribs.

The other hunters streamed down the hill, beating back branches and trying to see what was going on. Patercek had to abandon his mount. Markus hustled behind him with the new musket.

The young man toting Thal's musket caught up. His eyes were wide as he entered the noisy battle. Thal pushed his bloody knives back into his boots, and hollered for the musket. The young man tossed it to him and Thal caught it by the stock. The jarring force of the throw set off the gun. It fired and the ball burst into the leafy ground beside a struggling dog.

Appalled by the error, Thal jumped back from the murderous boar, clutching the gun like a club.

Patercek ran up. His hat flew off. Markus handed him his favorite musket and he aimed. Despite the blood streaming from multiple wounds, the boar still battled with unflagging ferocity. The dogs held on fearlessly, flopping in every direction as the boar spun and kicked.

"God damn it, I'll hit my dogs!" Patercek yelled and lowered his musket. "A spear!"

A servant dashed to his side and gave him a spear. Armed anew, Patercek waded in toward the boar. With a supreme effort the huge boar shook off one dog and lunged toward Patercek. Thal cracked it across the skull with his musket. The beast turned aside and Patercek seized his chance. He stepped forward and thrust his spear into the animal just behind its left shoulder. The deep wound finally made it drop.

Pistol yipped triumphantly from the periphery while the big dogs tugged and shook the dying boar. Gasping for air, Patercek put his hands on his hips. He laughed and everyone else cheered except for Thal who stared at the dogs with their teeth clamped into coarse hide. He was hot from primitive pleasure rushing through his thudding blood. This hunt had been dangerous and the thrill of success was ecstatic.

"What a hunt!" Patercek cried and slapped his new huntsman on the back.

Thal wheeled on him, having nearly forgotten that men even existed. Patercek stepped back, startled by the sparkling intensity in Thal's eyes.

Shaking his head, Thal forced back the pulsing joy of the kill that made him want to feast on raw flesh while others waited their due.

"Excellent kill," he praised quietly.

"Just a formality. That blow to his head took the fight out of him I believe," Patercek said.

Thal looked at the musket in his hand. He had cracked the wood loose from the metal barrel. "I'm so sorry," he said.

Patercek was mostly impressed by the evidence of Thal's strength. "No matter. Now I can justify buying a new one," he said and pulled Thal close for a hug. "Now let's get this beast back to the kitchen. We'll have a fine story to tell my guests won't we?"

Patercek let him go and kneeled beside the boar. Its bulky body promised to provide a fine feast. He ran a gloved hand across its hairy back and then pulled out his bloody spear. He dabbed his fingers on the blood and then smeared some on Thal's forehead.

The energy of the brother beast tingled against Thal's skin. His cares and concerns slipped away for an instant and he was at peace.

"How did you know where to find the boar?" Patercek asked.

"I told my Lord I was skilled hunter," Thal reminded.

"But honestly, tell me your method. I've been living with this crazy beast and couldn't sneak up on him," Patercek said.

"If I gave up my secrets there would not be much call for my help," Thal said.

"Oh please," Patercek pestered boyishly.

Thal rubbed his wound while thinking of a response. Finally he divulged, "Just follow the werewolf tracks."

Patercek was nonplussed until he decided to laugh at the joke.

#  Chapter 16. The Devil Instead

Augustus Patercek hesitated before signing his name. He moved his hand aside so the quill would not drip on the paper while he paused to think.

On his smooth dark desk already sat the three letters he had written for Carlo, Regis, and Raphael. His coat of arms was neatly pressed into the wax.

He had not intended to write a letter for Thal. Although he had developed a genuine fondness for him, Patercek had also glimpsed deep cold danger beneath the thin ice at Thal's surface. Should he really send his sister a letter of introduction for a man who freely admitted to killing six men? Since the boar hunt, Patercek had stopped assuming that Thal was boasting about his victory over the bandits. The man had an uncommon ferocity. It was almost casual.

And Patercek did not discount the suspicious looks Thal drew out of his mother. But she had not complained about Thal, not even when Patercek had directly asked her if Thal disturbed her. And Zsazi Patercek was not a woman to hesitate in an accusation.

Ultimately Patercek knew that his sister would just hate him if he did not send this exciting specimen her way. He signed the letter.

Then he added a post script.

"I recommend him to you and your associates as a man of arms and courage."

Satisfied with his decision, he folded the letter and heated the sealing wax. After pressing in his symbol, he gathered all four letters and slid them into a deep pocket of his loose vest.

His study was in a tower across from his bedchamber. The leaded glass window framed a view of his beloved hunting woods. He looked out at his estate with a fondness that would never fade.

Down in the yard Brutus and Lucky started barking, and he expected that his first guests were arriving. Once he got down to the main level the stimulating aroma of roasting pork caressed him. The meaty smell was wafting through the corridors and into the great hall.

******

Thal was very impressed with the presentation of the roast boar. Herbs sprinkled its crispy brown skin. A bundle of dried fruits was dripping from its mouth. Roasted baby carrots and turnips were piled along the flanks of the great animal. Its meaty bulk was spread out on a pile of sausages that had cooked inside it.

Six men carried out the boar on a monstrous platter that was set down on a table equipped with many plates, knives, and rolls of bread. The guests exclaimed happily at the presentation of the main course. The double doors to the castle yard were open and the crowd of serfs banqueting on outdoor tables cheered as the meat course came forth. They would be last in line for the boar, and many would not get any, but there were other tables of roast ducks and pheasants and fish. Wheels of cheese were carved into countless slices and four kegs of beer were going to keep the common folk happy for a while.

Thal returned to the seat he had been given at one of the indoor banquet tables. He had been placed among some small landholders and local tradesmen. Although he had nothing in common with them, his mysterious differences made him a focus of interest. Men and women asked questions about the musicians or they wanted to hear his account of the boar hunt. Everyone seemed to think that he had killed the same boar that was tearing into their own fields.

The servants carved into the boar and served first the prestigious guests gathered at Patercek's long table. Thal observed these guests that included the local parish priest. He was given a seat of honor next to Lady Zsazi. Judging from her expression, Thal believed she was quite bored with her dinner partner, who looked like he got invited to many banquets.

Imported fabrics with intricate designs and many more buttons than were necessary clothed the wealthy guests. Lovely headdresses with felt trim or beaded headbands adorned the women. The tops of their bosoms bulged invitingly from their bodices. Glass beads and cut crystals were strung around their necks. Artfully arranged sprigs of flowers were clipped to their shoulders or tied to their wrists. As Thal watched them, he noted how they eyed each other competitively and vied for attention.

Patercek stood up and the crowd quieted. He raised his chalice. It was an ancient silver cup with garnets set around it.

"Welcome! Welcome!" he cried as servants continued to deliver food and pour drink. His hefty voice filled the room. "I am so heartened to be surrounded by my affectionate community."

People clapped and cheered.

Patercek continued, "I thank you for coming on such short notice. Before I reveal my reason for inviting you here, I want to express my special gratitude to my guest, Thal. He's an extraordinary huntsman and we have him to thank for tracking and cornering the wily boar that now graces our plates."

Thal received applause as well. Skill as a hunter seemed to be universally appreciated. He stood up and dipped his head in every direction as he had seen the musicians do on many occasions. Then he bowed to Patercek before returning to his seat.

"And now for my surprise," Patercek said. A few guests giggled before he went on. "Yes, I'm sure the rumor mill has been grinding and many know what I've been hiding. But I'll keep them to myself no longer. I am hosting a trio of talented musicians from Venice. I do hope you enjoy them. Come out Carlo, Regis, and Raphael!"

The musicians emerged onto a staircase. Carlo's zink serenaded the crowd with a splendid tune new to people's ears. Raphael strummed a rhythm on his lute while taking care not to stumble on the steps. Regis was first in line and he led them to their chairs in the center of the banquet tables. He set his harp on his chair and bowed to the audience.

"Thank you. Thank you," he said as the clapping subsided. Always nervous before a performance, he absorbed the energy and let it consume his fear. He need only give a few notes and then the bliss of performance would take him the rest of the way.

"My colleagues and I are very appreciate of the opportunity to perform here at Castle Patercek," Regis said.

"Almost," Thal whispered to himself. He had been coaching Regis on his opening line because his friend had wanted to speak Czech perfectly.

No one else minded the little linguistic error. It added to their exotic appeal.

Without another word, Regis seated himself at his harp and made his last adjustments to his tuning. Then Carlo resumed his zink playing, and the lute and harp joined in the music. It was a lovely yet gentle tune that pleased people but let them return their attention to their arriving food.

"Why doesn't he sing?" asked a woman sitting across the table from Thal. She looked rather miffed. "He's supposed to have a lovely voice."

"He does," Thal said.

When he spoke, he instantly drew the attention of his table companions.

Thal explained, "Regis does not like to sing when people are eating. He does not want your attention divided."

"Isn't that presumptuous," the woman huffed impatiently.

"Eat woman. I know you like to," her husband said as he happily received his plate of pork. She scowled.

A plate was set in front of Thal. The slow roasted pork yielded beneath his knife without any more resistance than applesauce. He savored every bite, which was an ability of his man body that he was growing to appreciate.

The man who had hushed his wife struck up a conversation. Easing back in his chair with a fresh beer, he introduced himself to Thal as Hubert the Miller. He had a thriving operation on the river.

"You are a fortunate man to have so much," Thal said.

"Well, my family has worked hard at it," Hubert pointed out, but he had gossip on his mind. "I've heard an extraordinary tale this spring and thought you might be able to confirm it since you've been traveling."

"What have you heard?" Thal said absently as he pulled a shred of pork off his knife.

"Some imperial couriers coming up the south road told of a werewolf in the region of Rosenberg Castle. Did you pass that way?" Hubert said.

Thal smiled. He set down his knife and glanced around the table, silently inviting everyone to listen. "I have heard that story," he announced.

A couple ladies gasped and all eyes widened.

He continued, "The Rosenberg guard captain and his men were supposedly overcome by a beast on the night of a full moon."

"Were they butchered?" the Miller's wife asked.

"No," Thal said. "They were robbed. When I was in Budweis, I heard that it was just a wild story the captain made up to cover his embarrassment about being overcome by bandits."

Everyone laughed.

"So that's how these stories get started," Hubert commented and drank some beer. Foam clung to his mustache. His wife tried to dab at it with a napkin but he fended her off.

Thal returned his attention to his food while the dinner conversation recalled historical werewolf sightings. He was pleased with himself for how he had deflected the story of Captain Jan.

Later when Regis did sing, he opened with cheerful songs. Then he sang a ballad about Adriatic pirates that would be new to the Bohemians and they were riveted by the exciting yet sad story.

As the dinner party dwindled into drinking and nibbling, couples approached the dance floor, and the musicians switched to dance tunes. Thal accepted a refill of beer and strolled outside. The party in the courtyard was getting rather rollicking. Pipers and drummers were playing for a line of male dancers who kicked their feet high and competed for attention from the crowd with their rapid steps. Then the men came back together and locked arms and danced in a circle while everyone laughed and clapped. Women took hands and formed their own circle and joined the men.

The cheerful energy put a smile on Thal's face. To be among people and feel welcome and safe were good things.

"Thal the huntsman," a woman said. Francesca slipped an arm around his waist.

"Hello," he said.

"Will you dance with me?" she said.

He hesitated to reply.

Emboldened by the festive atmosphere, she poked him in the ribs playfully. "I'm not going to let you ignore me today," she said.

"I don't ignore you," he said.

Francesca tugged him toward the dancing area where laughing men and women cavorted in alternating circles.

"Dance with me," she said.

Thal was surprised by his lack of confidence in this situation.

"I don't know how to dance," he said.

Francesca faced him. Her skirt hem swished against his boots. "Does not Thal the great huntsman slay the beast and then dance around his fire in the forest like the pagans of old?" she said.

"Is that what all this is?" Thal said and gestured around the courtyard where Patercek had set loose his little Bacchanal.

Francesca nodded. She took his beer stein and put it on a table. Then she grabbed his hand firmly and pulled him into the dancing.

"Just watch what the men do and do it," she said. "And make sure you get me when it's time to pair."

Thal yielded to the situation. He was awkward at first, but the men in the circle encouraged him and laughed when they messed him up by changing direction. Quickly he adapted and sensed in the music and the mood of his fellows when it was time to change direction. The women dancing on the inner circle were mirroring their movements and calling flirtatiously to the men. As the music quickened the men sped up but then someone would slow down the progress. The circling women were becoming more erratic in their movements too. When Francesca popped up across from Thal he realized that the men and women were trying to line up with or avoid certain partners.

The music stopped and Francesca jumped close to Thal.

"Ow!" she cried as another woman banged into her.

Francesca grabbed Thal and fended off the other female with a look that any animal would understand.

She placed her palms against his palms and they danced together until the music changed tempo again and the circles reformed. Thal was smiling when Francesca paired with him again. She put her body closer than before, and his body tingled with a deep response. The sensation was both pleasing and confusing. There was a wildness to it. Francesca was making her desires abundantly clear, and his increasingly bothered body urged him to toss aside caution.

Their hands came together again. Her hips brushed against him, and he was suddenly certain of the pleasures that women had to offer. The promise of the coming dusk whispered to Thal of activities to be done in the dark.

When he rejoined the men's dancing circle again, he understood why some people slowed or sped up to avoid individuals. The cravings set loose by the dance could lead to regrettable actions. Although tempted by his inner cravings, Thal began to resist his manly needs. He had no intention of staying at Castle Patercek very long. Should he really mate with that girl and leave her? He knew what Regis would say to that question. Such behavior was the musician's lifestyle.

But Thal had a darker reason to belay his passion. Should he really inflict himself on a woman? He was not altogether a man.

Thal did not have the heart to avoid partnering with her again. It seemed too publicly rude, but he danced her out of the crowd. His firm insistence thrilled her. She had never touched a man who projected such palpable power.

Beyond the ring of clapping spectators, she slid her arms around his lean torso. She felt the fluffy fur stuffed inside his loose shirt and wondered why he had it there.

Thal gently took her arms off him.

"Francesca, you've been kind to me and I appreciate that," he said.

She was still catching her breath from the dance and did not get out a response before he continued, "I'm just a wandering rogue. You don't know anything about me. Don't throw yourself at me." He was proud of himself for rejecting her. It was for the best even if his body disagreed strenuously.

"I'm not throwing myself at you," she said and jerked away from him.

He was not sure what to say to her incredulous denial. His gaping silence only offended her more.

"No wonder Patercek likes you so much!" she snarled and pushed him out of her way as she stomped back to the dancing.

Thal was not quite sure what she meant, but he regretted hurting her feelings. Perhaps he should have discouraged her more gently. But he feared that if he had not been blunt, then he might have succumbed. His arousal had been edging toward a state of abandon.

Thal looked around for his beer stein but he could not spot it. A boy rushed down the steps from the hall yelling for him.

"What is it?" Thal said.

"Regis says come. He has a song for you," the boy said.

"I hope he's made some improvements," Thal muttered as he went inside. At least it gave him a good excuse to leave Francesca's vicinity. He meant to avoid anymore dancing.

The better dressed guests of Patercek were gathered tightly around the musicians and the dance floor. Thal had expected as much. His friends' talents never disappointed.

Patercek cried, "There he is!" His face had gotten rosy from the influence of wine. "You can go ahead with your new song, Regis," Patercek said, and everyone agreed heartily.

Regis flexed his fingers that had been working hard at his harp. "We have compose a new song. Our travels from Venice have been good and bad. Good because so many people love to listen to us, but sometimes the roads are dangerous. Lucky for poor us we have our friend Thal to protect us from bandits."

Heads turned to Thal. Men looked at him quizzically as if seeing a man like no other although they could not quite mentally accept it. And women's eyes swept over him with a measuring curiosity, as if he possessed something they had never experienced but subconsciously wanted.

Thal nodded modestly. His friends began to play. Regis took to the deeper notes on his harp and crafted a rhythm that the zink and lute beautified with melody.

The rhythm suggested the plodding hike of the open road, and the melody spoke of fair weather. Then Regis began to sing, using the Czech language. Oddly he had less of an accent when he sang. Something Thal always wondered at.

Long roads, good people and beer  
In Bohemia are always near.  
The troubadour's voice  
Brings girls of his choice.  
Bohemian forests green and sweet  
Cast shade for our weary feet.  
All was well in village and farm.  
We players never thought of harm.  
Then one night the fire went out.  
We musicians awoke with a shout.  
A plague of men so foul  
Came to make players howl.  
Hands on the throat to strangle,  
With bandits we did wrangle.  
I begged for an Angel to save us  
But got the Devil instead.  
He hit the bandits on the head.  
I begged for an Angel to save us  
But got the Devil instead.  
With his sword they were fed.  
I begged for an Angel to save us  
But got the Devil instead.  
Their souls are in Hell  
We players sing on well.  
I begged for an Angel to save us.  
But got the Devil instead.

The applause was uproarious because of the excellent music and the scandalous lyrics. People liked to think about the forces of evil helping them even if such thoughts were wrong.

Patercek praised the song effusively, and he received many compliments from his friends for the quality of his players. Thal eased himself away from the crowd. He did not want to field any questions about his role in inspiring the song. It was no secret that he had killed some local lurkers but he hardly wished to brag about it.

He ventured to the buffet where the bones of the boar lay in juice and a few leftover vegetables. He picked out the tail and tossed it to Pistol who retreated happily under a table with his prize.

******

Thal folded his cards. His luck had been solid all evening and he figured he had taken enough coin from Patercek's guests. His two opponents in this hand of primero appeared quite relieved that he had relented and they focused on each other.

One man was an aging knight with a limp and crooked fingers. Thal had seen him borrow money from his companions twice. The other man was a lord who Thal had learned owned a quarry. They placed a few more bets, and the knight actually won a hand. Thal was happy for him. The man had been making terrible plays all night.

Thal had not started at this table in Patercek's private game room. He had been betting with the tradesmen and farmers and horse breeders until they tired of his winning streak. They had all been as easy to read as typeset words. He would have been content with his modest winnings, but as the party wound down, Patercek had invited him into the game with his upper class guests. Thal was pretty sure Patercek did it to show him off and tell the story of the hunt again. Their shinier coin had added up nicely, and Thal was feeling quite confident about his finances. He would be able to finish his journey to Prague and not have to rely so much on his friends for dinner.

"More wine?" Patercek said. He tilted the decanter over Thal's crystal glass.

"Thank you," Thal said.

Patercek clunked the decanter against the crystal but it survived the impact. He was getting bleary now that it was late.

"Well I'm not going to let Gregor win back any more tonight," the man who had just lost the hand announced. He pushed the cards sloppily into the center of the table, refusing his deal.

"How about you, Patercek?" the old knight asked.

Patercek looked at Thal. "Do we really want to give our friendly traveler any more money?" he asked.

Thal glanced down and sipped his wine. "My luck could sour," he murmured.

"Oh, to Hell with it. I'm going to bed," Gregor decided. "This will have to do. A fine game gentlemen."

"Orsh can show you to rooms. I do so hope you rest well," Patercek said.

After Patercek bid the two men good night, Thal stood from the table. "I'll be retiring as well. You were kind to include me in your game," he said.

Patercek chuckled. "That's a mistake we shan't make again," he said.

"If it consoles you at all, my Lord, I do rather need the money," Thal said.

Patercek plucked his wine glass off the table. Being a little drunk, he swept his eyes wistfully up and down Thal's body. "Tell me, Thal, you could have won that last hand couldn't you?"

"Perhaps."

"So you were just being merciful," Patercek said.

"I did not wish to upset your guests, as a courtesy to you, Sir," Thal said.

"Thoughtful of you. Good thing they are better losers than most men," Patercek said.

"Indeed," Thal agreed, knowing too well how tempers could flare over a lost pile of wagers.

Patercek covered a yawn and then grabbed a candlestick off a side table. He yipped when drops of wax hit his wrist. "Shall we go find our musical friends?" he said.

"If you wish," Thal said.

They found the musicians sitting with people around a fire in the courtyard. Crackling flames snapped orange cinders into the starry night framed by the walls. Drunken singing set the friendly mood. Regis had his arm around a young woman, but he excused himself from her soft company when Patercek beckoned.

The men followed their host into the castle. Not much of an effort had been made to clean up after the banquet yet. Greasy dishes and empty cups and bowls were strewn across the tables. Someone was snoring in a dark corner. Brutus and Lucky and Pistol lolled lazily near the buffet having licked the floor.

Patercek ignored the clutter and took the men back to his game room.

Regarding them fondly, he said, "Such lovely music tonight gentlemen. I offer my utmost compliments."

The musicians thanked him politely. They had honestly made their best effort on his behalf.

"I will admit that I'd love to keep you all to myself, but your talent deserves to reach Prague. That exuberant city will inspire your music. I admire the journey you fellows have undertaken for the sake of your craft, and I'd like to help you on your way," Patercek said. He removed three letters and passed them out to Regis, Raphael, and Carlo. He patted Carlo's hand as the young man received the letter.

"I'm providing you with letters of introduction to my sister Carmelita Hrabe who resides in Prague. She'll appreciate you as much as me and love showing you off to her friends," he said.

"Lord Patercek, thank you!" Carlo cried. His friends added their gratitude and clutched their precious letters lovingly.

Patercek continued, "Carmelita is recently widowed and I gather that she is rather enjoying it. She's likely throwing lots of affairs and can put musicians to good use."

Overjoyed, the musicians thanked Patercek again and again until Regis said, "What of Thal?"

Thal appreciated his friend's loyalty, but he did not want to make Patercek uncomfortable about the omission. Thal understood that he might not be the sort who ever got letters of recommendation from anyone.

Patercek drew out his fourth letter. "I haven't forgotten your beloved bodyguard," he said.

Thal was surprised by the happiness that swept away his disappointment. He had meant to take the rejection stoically and inclusion caught him off guard.

"You're so kind to me," he murmured as he accepted the neatly folded and sealed letter. It seemed as if a token of civilization was passing into his hands. This was a little piece of strange magic that could not be found in the forest.

"I'd have a word with Thal alone. Now shoo, shoo. Go back to that girl Regis," Patercek said.

He waved them away. Carlo bounded forward and kissed Patercek's hand before departing.

Thal turned the letter over in his hands. "Letters such as these are not lightly given are they?" he asked.

"Not when I recommend someone to the household of my sister," Patercek said.

"I am flattered by your approval, Lord Patercek. You shan't find it misplaced," Thal said earnestly.

"I'd like to have your promise on that," Patercek said with great seriousness.

"I'll bring no harm to Lady Carmelita," Thal pledged.

"Thank you. When mother finds out what I've done, I'll need that promise to placate her," Patercek revealed.

"Does Lady Zsazi not like me?" Thal said.

"You bother her woman's intuition," Patercek said.

"It's not my intention," Thal said regretfully.

"I know, but I'm certain Carmelita will adore you. I decided to send you to her because she might be able to steer you toward some work that suits your talents. Her in-laws have radical ambitions. These are prickly times. Frankly I worry about her, but I'd take some comfort knowing a good man was watching out for her," Patercek explained.

Thal absorbed the information. He knew nothing of the intrigues of the upper social circles of Prague, but if Patercek asked him to support his sister, then he would.

"I shall help her as best I can," Thal said.

"Good, good. But don't let her push you around. She'll try to do that," Patercek advised.

"I look forward to meeting her," Thal said.

"I'm sending a caravan of supplies to her household. You and your friends can ride with those wagons. I'm sorry to see you go, but I know that you won't stay much longer anyway," Patercek said.

"I do need to get to Prague," Thal murmured. His need for his mother flared again. He was fully healed and needed to move on.

#  Chapter 17. The Thirteenth Witch

Brother Vito admired the city. Its cosmopolitan splendor and numerous construction projects relieved him after the colloquial tedium of his long journey. Prague was not a dull place at all, and he intended to further provoke its passions.

The traffic was bottlenecked where a big scaffold blocked half the street. Vito and Miguel got pushed together as they shuffled through the crowd behind a sagging cart of bricks seemingly hauled by a team of snails.

Vito looked up the scaffold. Workers were on its four levels plastering and painting and installing statues along a balcony rail.

"The whole city is being built or rebuilt," Miguel remarked.

"You can't expect the Emperor and the new archbishop to occupy some tumbled down ruin," Vito said as if it were all very normal.

They got past the scaffold and were able to scoot around the cart. The street opened onto a square.

"Oh, look at that!" Miguel exclaimed at a palace across the square.

Vito spotted the crosses mounted on the gables. "That has to be the archbishop's palace," he said.

"No vows of poverty there," Miguel joked.

Vito's reproachful look was especially severe. He generally tolerated his colleague's sarcasm, but not within sight of the archbishop's doors.

Although Vito hoped to visit the palace in the near future, he needed to get across the river and find the new Jesuit Academy. He had left his group at the city outskirts because he had wanted to avoid leading his men around a foreign city and taking them on inevitable wrong turns.

While crossing the square, they looked plain in their brown robes compared to the rest of the people in their white linen shirts and head scarves and dyed wool and merrily embroidered bodices and doublets. Men with boots and silver encrusted sword handles contrasted extravagantly with the simply clad Jesuits.

The monks aimed for the bridge tower they could see over the jumble of roofs. The traffic on the Kamenny Most was thick. The summer season was nigh and the whole world seemed to be busily alive. Thick as debris from a severe flood, small boats and heavier barges clogged the waters of the Vltava.

Once they reached Old Town and the Knights of the Cross square, jugglers, dancers, and fortune tellers filled the gaps among vendor's stalls and carts, and men-at-arms marched toward the bridge, presumably bound for the Emperor's castle. Their battered pikes still glinted in the bright sun.

A nighttime rain had washed the city. The rainwater still glistened freshly on the cobbled streets and dripped from the eaves. Vito and Miguel admired the towers and steeples and statues. The chatter of Czech and German and a little Spanish and Italian crossed their ears as they moved through the crowds.

Vito had Miguel ask a pedestrian for directions to the Jesuit Academy at the Clementinum. The local man easily pointed down the correct street. The old monastery at Saint Clement's chapel was a well known spot. When Vito reached the place, he found disheveled buildings and much activity. Servants were scrubbing the steps and a pair of men was repairing a hinge on one of the priory doors.

Inside, cloths were draped over benches and tables, and workers were polishing freshly installed wood panels. Farther in, the monks entered a long hall. Artists were working on a mural and a scaffold filled half the room as men installed a new ceiling.

Vito scanned the bustling mess and spotted the dark clean robe of a monk. He had trouble getting the man's attention. The man was complaining to the workers on the scaffold. A white-haired tradesman of some sort was at his heels toting rolls of paper.

They argued briefly and then consulted the plans until finally the monk was satisfied that the directions were being followed.

The monk looked back at Vito and Miguel. His visible disappointment showed that he had been hoping the two new monks would have found their own way by now.

"My apologies. You can see I'm quite busy. Who are you?" the monk said.

Vito introduced himself and Miguel.

"There's only the two of you?" the monk said.

"I've recruited a dozen new brothers plus I have sellswords in my company," Vito said.

A little more satisfied, the monk said, "A decent start. The more men to defend against the accursed Protestants the better. Where are you from?"

"Rome. I have letters of introduction. The Papacy has condoned my mission," Vito said.

"Very good. We're expecting more brothers from Rome. It's so pleasing to see Prague a priority. The Emperor has done the right thing in drawing a line against those German heretics. God knows Bohemians have had their lapses in faith," the monk said, shaking his head at the locally libertine attitude.

Irritated that the man had not introduced himself, Vito pointedly asked for his name.

"I am Brother Alanse."

"Can you direct me to Abbott Krunek?" Vito pressed, recalling the name of the local administrator on record.

"I serve as his secretary. I doubt he needs to be bothered with your arrival. His hands are quite full with the academy and helping prepare the city for the arrival of the new archbishop. We hear he'll be underway from Vienna any time now," Alanse said. "Here, show me your letter."

Frowning, Vito opened his leather sack and retrieved the small bundle of folded and sealed parchment. With the lovely Papal seal showing brightly on the top, he extended the letter but did not let go when the man took it.

"We intend to actively reinforce love of Mother Church among the good people of Prague," Vito explained.

Alanse tugged the letter free. Every new man from Rome thought he was going to personally lead the battle against heresy. Alanse worked to make sure the influx of new brothers understood that the Jesuits in Prague already had leaders.

He held the wax seal to the dusty light streaming from a high window to confirm its Papal origin. Satisfied, he cracked the wax and read the letter carefully. The monks shifted on their feet impatiently.

"This seems to be in order," Alanse said. Folding the letter sloppily he shoved it back to Vito. "Find the steward. His name is Otto. He'll get you the lodging you require," Alanse said. When he turned away, Vito intervened. He disliked the man's dismissive attitude.

"Brother Alanse, I would appreciate it if you showed us the way," Vito said.

Alanse glanced around the hectic scene and decided his temper would benefit from leaving it for a while. "Very well. Come this way," he said.

Once they were out of the noisy work area, Alanse asked, "What talents do you have to offer the academy?"

"My mission is to focus on recruitment. Brother Miguel hopes to earn a teaching position. My new brothers are not scholarly but can serve well preaching and attracting the young to our school. Over time that will reinforce the people's love of the Church. Let not the next generation be guided into literacy by the rantings of those Devil-begotten Protestants," Vito said.

"Your help is badly needed," Alanse said. "People seem willing to believe anything these days. All sense of right or wrong is being lost. We had to burn a dozen witches earlier this spring," Alanse said.

"Really?" Miguel said.

"Dreadful scandal," Alanse said, warming to the gossip with the newcomers. "Many important households were mixed up with those Hell brides, but they're all acting like nothing happened now."

"This is exactly why His Holiness has made Prague a priority," Vito said. "The Jesuits will never tire in the battle to save the people from wickedness."

"You'll need much fortitude. Our prayers alone can't wish away the sins released by that accursed Luther," Alanse said.

"Indeed action is needed," Vito agreed, pleased to be overcoming the monk's initial annoyance with him.

Nodding absently, Alanse stopped at a door and looked into a room. It was empty and he continued down the hall and said, "You should look up Professor Zussek at Charles University. Although that disgraced institution is still on probation after the mess Huss made of things, Zussek is a scholar with rare accomplishments. He trained in the law, and he's our local expert on witchcraft and Devil worshippers. He'd enjoy telling you about our local issues."

"My thanks for the recommendation," Vito said. He exchanged a look with Miguel who had noted the professor's name. A chance to meet with a scholar was always welcome.

Alanse turned down a narrow little hall. They went down some steep steps and out a door into an alley alongside the priory. A wagon was unloading barrels of supplies, and Alanse found the steward counting bundles of firewood as workers stacked the fuel.

He explained the lodging needs of the newly arrived group and rushed back inside. Vito found Otto the steward equally harried. Eventually the steward dispatched another servant to show Vito where his men could stay. The Dominican monastery that had been transferred to the Jesuits for the purpose of opening their academy was in a borderline decrepit state. And the building presented to Vito was perhaps the worst of the situation. The dank and nearly windowless north-facing stone building looked like it had been built before the Crusades. Moss was creeping inside at the few windows. The front door did not latch. The rushes on the floor were desiccated twigs, and the rooms in back smelled of cat urine.

The servant departed swiftly. Vito and Miguel looked around. Circling back to the front door, Vito put his hands on his hips and tried to decide if the place showed any potential as a base for his schemes.

"There is plenty of room for everybody," Miguel declared hopefully.

"That's one good thing. Come now, Brother, we must fetch the others and have them clean the place up," Vito said.

******

The monks that Vito had recruited complained not at all about their accommodations. They understood that they must focus on their spirits instead of physical comforts, but the sellswords were much less enthused. After crossing a lively city burgeoning with a variety of entertainments and stylish homes, they had been hoping for something better.

Vito ignored their grumbling.

He claimed two private rooms at the end of the building that had not been a den of cats. That night on a bed of fresh straw he stared at candlelight flickering on the ceiling. He was excited to finally be in Prague, closer to the front lines of heresy. He whispered prayers thanking God for his safe arrival. At some point he fell asleep, but a creaking old door and footsteps on the upper story woke him.

Glancing at the blue moonlight glowing through the little window, Vito guessed that Rainer was up. Although babysitting the troubled man was often tiresome, he could not neglect that duty.

His exhausted Brothers were all sleeping, and Vito crept by them toward the attic ladder. In the attic the gaping remnants of a rotting dormer window led to a broad stone ledge. Poking his head outside, Vito saw Rainer standing on the edge. The light from the fattening gibbous moon was entrancingly colorless upon his light hair, but his troubled face harbored shadowed eyes. The breeze toyed with the edges of Rainer's ragged robe. The prayer beads dangling from the man's fingers trembled in his shaking grip. Rainer's furtive prayers whispered of miserable longing.

"Rainer," Vito said and stepped out on the ledge.

The monk snapped out of his prayers. When he looked at his leader, a bestial gleam sparked inside his eyes. This sign of Rainer's power excited Vito.

"Brother Vito, I cannot stay in this place," Rainer said urgently.

Vito looked around. Distant watch fires dotted the castle walls on the ridge overlooking the city. Moonlight reflected off the waters of the Vltava, pierced and poked by docks and bridges. Lanterns and torches winked in and out of sight among the narrow streets. Dreamy sprays of clouds sculpted like wind-blown snow surrounded the moon.

He sat on the ledge. Taking in the view, he invited Rainer to sit. Reluctantly the monk joined him.

Shutting his eyes, he said, "Please take me back into the country. I should've never agreed to come to Prague."

"But here we can root out the most heretics. Only through good deeds can you redeem your soul," Vito said.

Rainer sighed and gripped his beads. "But when the moon is full, the beast will take me. There's too many people here. I'll hurt someone," he said. The excruciating guilt of past deeds tightened his aching chest.

Since meeting Rainer in Austria when he had enticed the bewitched man into his service with the promise of salvation, Vito had made sure to be between towns during a full moon. Then Rainer had run loose in the night and come back in the morning. Now the problem of concealing Rainer's werewolf power in an urban setting confronted Vito. He must not lose his precious servant just when he could exploit him the most.

Finally he said, "Rainer, we will secure you in the cellar."

Rainer clasped his face. The thought of being an animal was made worse by the prospect of being a caged animal.

"Do you think that will work?" he asked.

"Of course it will. I promised I would help you get past your troubles and do God's work," Vito said.

Rainer rubbed his face and kissed the little cross on his beads. "I'm not sure I can do this here. I thought I could. I want to, but what if I break loose?" he worried.

"I won't let it happen," Vito said firmly.

Rainer slumped. "Why did this happen to me? My sins have been venal. I always tried to be good," he whispered.

"You're a victim of evil magic. You did not deserve this. I see what a good and pious man you are. That's why I'm trying to help you. Maybe if you do enough service in the cause of Christ and Church, our prayers will be answered and you will be released from this wicked magic. Also..." Vito paused and leaned closer. He set a brotherly hand on Rainer's back and continued, "As we defeat the Devil-worshippers we shall learn of their secrets. Perhaps we'll learn a way to undo what was done to you. Just today I learned the name of a scholar here in Prague whose expertise is witchcraft. I will go to him. Mayhap he knows of something that can help."

Rainer perked up. He was so grateful for Vito's compassion. "Do you think he will have such knowledge?" he asked eagerly.

"I don't know, but I will never stop seeking your redemption. But you must also never stop working toward it. By defending the Church and saving the souls of Her children you can earn God's intervention with the Devil," Vito said.

"I'll do anything I can," Rainer said earnestly.

"I know you will," Vito said. "Now go to your rest. I order it."

******

Vito brushed some dirt from his sleeve and untwisted the crucifix chain on his chest. He had dispatched his monks to wander the city in pairs to preach and hopefully attract pupils to the academy. Miguel had gone first thing in the morning to find Professor Zussek and had rushed back to announce they had an open invitation. Charles University was close to the Clementinum, and Vito saw no reason to delay. Getting to know influential men around Prague was a priority.

With a book bag over his shoulder, Miguel tapped on Vito's door. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes."

As they crossed the monastery complex, they met new brothers. Vito took note of their names and was invigorated to be among so many with a shared purpose.

Leaving the Clementinum they entered the secular world of citizens on the streets. Strolling groups of young men were common near Charles University. Some were begging on the busier intersections. Others sat in groups, talking and sharing books. A row of booksellers had their doors open to the warm day. The stacks of books visible inside beckoned Miguel. His steps strayed toward a shop door.

"Later," Vito said, and Miguel corrected his course.

At the campus, a smattering of professors in their dark and voluminous robes moved among the buildings, their heads bent together in conversation. One man was giving an impromptu lecture on the steps of a ponderous old stone building to a half dozen men.

"If only the whole world could be like this place," Miguel said.

"Not everyone has the wit to learn of higher things," Vito said cynically.

He scanned the area with a purpose beyond stimulating the mind. This seemed a ripe venue for recruiting. Literate young men looking for a chance to lead influential lives would make for useful brothers. The Jesuit Society would gain more from them than the half literate landless sons he had managed to ensnare to his program so far.

Miguel guided Vito around the back of a hall. The first door Miguel tried was locked and then he realized he had the wrong one.

"It's the next door down," he assured Vito.

That door was open. "Zussek said he would wait for us until noon," Miguel said.

They entered a storeroom. Crates were stacked along dusty shelves stuffed with smaller boxes and bundles. Cob webs clung to the windows. The men walked around three piles of rusting metal artifacts that ranged from weapons to astrological instruments.

"Hello!" a man called from a balcony. "Come up here." He spoke Italian for the sake of his guests and the chance to practice.

A man with a brimless black cap, a frilly lace color that was dingy, and a black and gray robe greeted the monks at the top of the stairs. His chin length blonde hair was streaked with gray as was his frizzy beard.

"Professor Zussek I presume?" Vito said.

"Yes, and you must be Brother Vito," Zussek said. He extended a soft hand to Vito. Then he shook hands warmly with Miguel.

"So very glad to make your acquaintance. I'm excited by the prospect of the Jesuit Academy reinvigorating the university community," Zussek said.

"We are united in our battle against ignorance," Vito said. He was trying to get a feel for what the professor's motives might be. He was coming across as a bit of a toady, which Vito found interesting.

"I brought that heretic prosecution manual I was telling you about," Miguel said and patted his book bag.

"Excellent. I'm happy to see the latest publication out of Rome," Zussek said and invited them toward his office.

His chamber had the expected clutter of paper, books, ink bottles, and quills. Printed pamphlets and various public handbills with tattered corners were stacked on the professor's desk. Outside the windows the spreading limbs of a larch filtered the sunlight. Ivy leaves crept along the corners of the windows and sparrows pecked at seeds left for them on the sill.

Vito and Miguel sank into deep cushy chairs. Zussek took a seat facing them, eschewing the formality of sitting behind his desk.

"Thank you for meeting with me so quickly," Vito said.

"We just finished for the summer, so my schedule is much less demanding although I intend to catch up on my writing," Zussek said.

Miguel unpacked his book and gave it to the professor who accepted it excitedly. He recognized one of the author's names and confirmed him as a reliable scholar. "Oh why hasn't this title reached Prague yet?" he lamented as he carefully paged through the book, scanning the chapter headings. He took a bit of paper off his desk and dipped a quill.

"The Identification of Heretics, Sorcerers, and Witches and Methods for Gaining Confession," he murmured as he wrote.

"I've found this one to have the most precise research on the lifestyles of Devil worshippers and how their influence steers innocent populations toward heresy," Miguel said. He directed Zussek to some pages deeper in, and they happily discussed nuances of witchcraft.

When Vito tired of their scholarly chatter, he said, "I was told that many important families in Prague were familiar with the witches recently put down."

Zussek straightened up from the book open across his knees. "Please don't think ill of us, Brother. Those families were victims. These magic workers are capable of great deceptions, even upon pious minds. We must avoid grouping the innocent with the evil. The people of Prague honestly welcome the help of holy men to fight what we're up against," he said.

"And what are we up against in Prague?" Vito said.

Zussek handed the book back to Miguel and got out of his chair. He folded his hands behind his back and frowned as if on the verge of making a grim proclamation.

"I fear the whole city is bewitched," he said.

"But you just defended your fellows as pious," Vito argued.

"I mean that I fear a spell has been cast that endangers everyone," Zussek clarified. He sat down again.

"A spell cast by whom?" Miguel asked. He leafed through his book seeking the section on spells.

Zussek tapped his fingers on the armrest. Concern clouded his face. "You've heard about the witches burned already this spring," he said.

"Yes, twelve of them," Vito said.

"Thirteen," Zussek corrected dramatically. "The court condemned twelve of them but then a final woman was brought in after her acolytes gave up her name. Many tortures were needed to get that information. Thank Heaven the Empire endorses torture against these tight-lipped magic workers. She was obviously their coven leader."

Miguel nodded and ran a finger along a line of text he had found. "Each coven has a leader, a diabolical priestess who mates with the Devil and entices her followers to do the same. A coven usually numbers thirteen to mock Christ and His Apostles," he quoted.

Zussek agreed, "Exactly. And I harbor no doubt that the thirteenth witch was one such as that. She was hard to catch. No ordinary old woman could have run so far. I personally attended her execution. She shrieked at the crowd of the retribution to come. She said that all who had harmed her would know brutal death. Her vicious oaths went on well after the fire reached her body." Zussek leaned forward and lowered his voice as if the next detail would be a mortal sin if he said it too loudly. "The flames burned white around her body. I've never seen that before, and that's why I believe that she cast some parting magic upon the city. The minions of the Devil are surely coming to Prague," he concluded.

"How long ago did this happen?" Vito asked.

"Two months ago."

"I see," Vito murmured, wondering what he might do with the information.

Now that Zussek had shared his local tale he was eager to derive information from the newcomers. "Miguel hinted this morning that you had heard fresh tales of devilry on your travels. I collect such information and would appreciate hearing any news you have. I'm writing my own book on the subject. What was the incident recently at Mirotice?"

Vito glanced at Miguel, disapproving of the detail Miguel had apparently let slip when introducing himself to the professor. Miguel avoided the critical gaze of his leader, and Vito reluctantly accepted that his associate had been trying to start a rapport with their new acquaintance. Miguel was sneaky like that.

"The sellswords in our company described an encounter with a wild beast of great size," Miguel said.

"A wolf perhaps?" Zussek suggested.

"I don't know," Miguel said.

"A werewolf," Vito said.

Miguel's mouth dropped. He had not heard Vito express that idea before.

Vito continued, "There's been talk of werewolves to the south. We encountered a transient in Mirotice. Something about him did not set well with me and I sent my men to find him. He had fled the village and then they were attacked by something on the road at night. We never saw him again."

Miguel easily recalled Thal and how Vito had even attempted to recruit him. "You think that man was a werewolf? But there was no moon that night. A werewolf is always associated with the full moon," Miguel insisted.

"Quite right," Zussek agreed.

"This one must be different," Vito said. He could still see Thal in his mind. Those entrancing eyes had looked back at him from an unknown world. A rare charisma spiced with mystery had encompassed him, and Vito wondered what it would take to bring such talent under his control.

After giving the professor and Miguel a moment to absorb his startling idea, Vito said, "Mirotice is not particularly far from here. If we encounter a werewolf again, as I fear we might, do you know any way to contain it?"

Zussek looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I would say that a man who you suspect of being a werewolf should be held in a windowless cell where the moonlight cannot reach," he said.

I'll be putting that idea to the test soon, Vito thought to himself and then said, "But what if there is one that does not need the light of the moon? How could his magic be subdued? How can he be killed?"

Zussek frowned, clearly disliking the suggestion that a werewolf was not bound to the full moon. It went against everything he had read, but as a researcher Zussek understood that there were always more mysteries to unveil.

"Kill it by attacking it when it is a man," Zussek decided. "When it is a man, it is just flesh like us. When it is a werewolf, the creature may be too powerful to kill. Its magic is in full effect then. But the great difficulty lies in striking at the right man. One must be sure of the identity of the shape-shifter. To wrongly execute would be a sad mistake."

"Right," Vito agreed absently. "And have you ever read of any way to cure a werewolf?"

"Cure it? No. Such victims of sorcery are irredeemable. I have no doubt," Zussek said.

"So they are made by sorcerers?" Vito asked.

"Presumably, but no decent man is sure," Zussek said.

"Does the literature suggest any way to control a werewolf?" Vito asked.

"Clever thought," Zussek said. "If you can control it, then you can wait for the moon to go away so the lost soul will become a man again and you can kill him. Maybe even give him a chance to confess."

"Of course," Vito said.

"Unfortunately I've never exactly heard of controlling such a thing. But I will look into it and get back to you. I do know, in general, that magic workers are known to control others by acting upon some intimate possession of the target, like a head scarf or even a lock of hair." He looked at Miguel, obviously considering him the more knowledgeable person, and asked, "Does not the Church have any rituals or incantations for such a situation?"

Although Miguel did not want his Church to appear anything less than omnipotent, he admitted, "Nothing precisely for werewolves." He was still getting used to the possibility and wondered at Vito's sudden fascination with the subject.

"Well, you've rather got me intrigued. I think there are some Polish and Russian texts that might address such beasts in detail. Many legends come from the endless forests of those lands," Zussek said.

Vito stood up and extended his hand. "It's been a pleasure meeting you. If you learn anything please find me at the Clementinum," he said.

Shaking his hand, Zussek rose as well. Then he shook hands with Miguel, who thanked him for the appointment and offered to leave his heretic manual there until the end of the day.

"You honor me," Zussek said.

"I'd be interested in hearing your expert opinion on it," Miguel said.

"That I will most definitely promise to provide," Zussek said. He turned to Vito and added, "Brother Vito, please consider my services at your disposal if anyone else at the Jesuit Academy would like to consult with me on these subjects. I personally see no reason that the talent at Charles University cannot benefit from contact with your brotherhood's scholars."

"That is very reasonable," Vito said, pleased by the overture. He hoped that building his own network in Prague would come as easily as this first auspicious meeting.

After some more parting compliments, Zussek saw out his guests. Tapping a finger thoughtfully against his lips, he strolled through his storeroom. He was trying to recall where he had placed his books about magical forest creatures.

Abruptly he stopped. Excitement shot through him. Vito's questions had opened a new possibility for the origin of one of his newest items. Zussek rushed upstairs to his office. He took a leather-bound box disguised as a book off a shelf and opened it. From inside he plucked out a key and went to a heavy wooden cabinet. After unlocking the cabinet, he drew out a small corroded silver box. He had cleaned the mud and blood off of it but the chunk of hair matted with old clotted blood clung dirtily to the inside. He did not touch it but now considered that it was not the hair off the Devil's back pulled out during some unholy orgy. The hair was from a beast and the witch blood had cast a spell to summon it.

His fingers snapped the box shut. Cold rushed through his body despite the balmy day. Beyond any doubt he believed that a werewolf was coming to Prague.

#  Chapter 18. The Great Question

Altea felt conspicuous walking by herself. Trying to dispel her discomfort, she casually swung her empty basket and lifted her chin. Carts, riders, and pedestrians passed her in both directions as she headed to the New Tower gate. Its immense presence jutted up from the Old Town wall like a knight in bulky jousting armor.

When she passed beneath the hulking tower, fresh air greeted her. The scent of green land reminded her that the odiferous grime of city life was not necessarily desirable.

The innate freedom beyond the city walls beckoned her. With more confidence she hurried down the lane that she had traveled with her mother in happier days.

Cottages, taverns, stables, smithies, and shops sprawled along the roads radiating out from the gate, but their arrangement was looser than within the walls, and muddy livestock paddocks and green gardens filled the gaps. She took several turns on the crisscrossing roads until she was following a track up a hillside. Dwellings became more infrequent and the traffic diminished until she was alone on the road.

The empty path ahead was unnerving. She looked back at the jumble of small holdings clustered on the lower reaches of the hill. Bushes and mature trees crowded the weedy track. Boulders bulged out of the vegetation like the weathered tombstones of giants. If she went around the next bend, she would be out of sight of the nearby dwellings.

She drew courage from the warm sunny day. Birds were singing and in the distance she could still hear children playing. An empty hill was nothing to fear. Altea continued up the half forgotten path toward the cottage where Gretchen had lived.

"Oh!" she cried sadly when she saw the burnt out rafters and blackened stucco walls. The thatch was all gone except for some singed chunks on the ground. The fire had burnt part of the big old tree that shaded the cottage. A wound of blackened branches undercut the remaining green crown.

At the threshold she hesitated for a long time. Ashes spilled out the charred door frame. Rain had left little indentations across the ashes. Inside only black hunks remained of Gretchen's meager furnishings.

Looking over the sad ruin, Altea scolded herself for her stupid adventure. Her nagging curiosity about Gretchen's witchcraft had compelled her to come out here. She had wondered if she could find some magic relic. Mostly Altea had needed to convince herself that Gretchen had indeed been evil as everyone now claimed.

Altea was about to step over the threshold when she noticed boot prints in the ashes. There were more tracks throughout the cottage along with the paw prints of a small dog. She supposed the neighbors had looted pots and pans, and she expected to find nothing left of value.

Cautiously she stepped inside. The collapsed roof left the cottage open to the sky. Altea recognized the arrangement of charred furniture. The bench and table in front of the single window. The chair in front of the hearth. The cot where an old woman had curled up to sleep alone every night.

While growing up Altea had come here several times a year with her mother. For every pregnancy her mother had come to consult with Gretchen. She had sometimes traded for medicinal herbs, especially for her young boys. Seeing the cottage in ruin emphasized the loss of her mother. A nostalgic wave of pain hit her. How she wished her mother was alive and everything was as it had been.

Many times Altea had sat with her mother and Gretchen and sipped tea that tasted like flowers. She had listened to the women talk and learned about the mysteries of womanhood that would be hers to experience someday.

Altea rushed out of the cottage. Her plan to poke through Gretchen's things struck her as nearly sacrilegious now. Yet she lingered and went to the southern side of the building. The herb garden was trampled and a few of the larger bushes uprooted. Altea remembered when the spot had been lush and blooming. Gretchen had crafted her medicines from her clever harvesting. Although Altea was generally a healthy person, once she had fallen ill with a bad cough and Gretchen had concocted a relieving poultice for her chest. Altea had trouble reconciling the helpfulness of that medicine with the witchcraft that Gretchen had died for.

She rubbed her forehead, fighting her confusion. Only now she understood that she had come to this place to privately pay respects to a woman now officially reviled. She owed it to her mother to give that condemned woman some passing regard.

Altea kneeled and fingered a trampled Valerian plant that was sending up some fresh shoots. She supposed the Constable's men had needed to destroy this place of witchery, but the little sign of resilience cracked her control and tears spilled down her cheeks. With her mother gone, she felt like the little green shoots beside broken branches.

She cried. She missed her mother and missed Gretchen too. The old woman had been there her whole life. She had been so old as to seem undying, but now she was gone. If she were here now she would pat Altea on the head and say something weird to make her laugh.

Altea sobbed harder and grabbed a cloth out of her basket to wipe her nose.

"Do you cry for the woman who lived here?"

Altea screamed and jumped to her feet. Her handkerchief fluttered to the ground. She whirled and looked upon a man. A small brown and white dog was wagging at his heels.

Her next scream caught in her throat. Her body shook with the urge to flee, but the strangeness of the man trapped her curiosity. His striking eyes reached inside her. They were bright, a little sad, very alert, and fixed on her with a force she had never felt before. It was not the common lust of crude men that was flung at women in the streets. This man was beholding her.

"Did you know her?" the man asked.

"Gretchen," she sputtered, finding herself barely able to speak. Her mind raced for her next action. She worried that running away would be an invitation to chase. As long as he stayed back, perhaps she could walk away. Slowly she squatted and picked up her handkerchief.

"Gretchen," the man whispered. He looked down as if forgetting Altea. She edged away a step. He did not seem to notice so she started walking away.

"Miss," he called.

Altea did not turn back. She did not want to look at him again. If she did that she might not be able to stop looking at him.

"I'm Thal. Thal Lesky!" he called.

Altea kept walking. Then the little dog trotted up next to her. She looked down before she could stop herself. The canine's perky ears popped up as if begging her to please listen to his friend.

"She was my mother!" he called.

Altea faltered and then stopped. The pain that had cracked through his voice had been too much for her to ignore. The vibration of his agony still resonated in her chest.

Slowly she looked back. He was still standing where she had left him on the edge of the herb garden.

"Hello, Miss," he said.

His voice warmed Altea. Its rich sound seemed distinct from other men. His courteous greeting loosened her knot of fear. She studied him. An auburn goatee set off his attractive face. He took off his hat. His reddish brown hair glinted in the sun. It was wavy and a little unruly. It gleamed with luxuriant health. His strong lean chest was exposed by his shirt hanging open on the warm day. The smooth lines of his pectorals scattered her thoughts. Willfully she resisted the distraction of his masculinity. Her eyes widened when she noticed the pistol angled inside his belt.

She looked back at his face as if she could not believe that he had beguiled her at all, and then Altea saw it! Gretchen's strong nose and high brow. Old age and wrinkles had not obscured Gretchen's features entirely, and Altea recognized the kinship in Thal.

"What did you say your name was?" Altea said.

"Thal Lesky," he said.

She stared at him, trying to convince herself that he did not look like Gretchen.

"The woman who lived here was my mother," Thal said. Looking over the ruins, he whispered, "I remember the place well now."

Altea shook her head. Thal was her age. "You're too young. You can't be her son," she said.

Her statement confused him. He touched his cheek as if to confirm that his skin was young and smooth.

"She was an old woman. The oldest woman I knew," Altea said.

He looked around as if the truth were closing in on him, and Altea began to wonder if he was stricken with delusions. Gretchen had never mentioned having children, but Altea had never asked her either.

"I have to go," she announced and started walking away again.

The man shook off his confusion and followed. "Please wait. How did you know Gretchen? What were you doing here?"

She walked faster.

"What happened to her?!" Thal demanded.

Again Altea pitied his agony. If he was some long lost son of Gretchen's and just returned to Prague, then he would be baffled and alarmed.

She turned around. He stopped a few paces away. His terrible anticipation for her answer pained her.

"I'm so sorry. She has died," Altea made herself say. Her generic words entirely avoided the true horror of her demise.

His hat slid from his hand. Fury and grief rippled across his face, transforming it with savage intensity. Altea's instincts quaked with warning. The immensity of his emotions bulged against the cage of his self control. She wanted to run away, but to leave after giving him such awful news was intolerably rude.

Blinking his eyes and looking away, Thal said, "She died of old age?"

Obviously he wished for her fate to be so normal, and Altea wanted to lie to him, but her hesitation made him suspicious. Slowly his eyes turned on her with the promise that he always knew truth from falsehood.

"I'm so sorry," Altea whispered.

"Tell me what happened," he said.

She struggled to find the words. Her wit that was normally so quick-footed was stuck in mud.

"Where is she buried?" Thal pressed.

"She's not," Altea confessed.

"Everyone is buried," he argued.

"Not witches! Her ashes were dumped in the river," Altea moaned.

"She did not die in this place," Thal said and pointed back at the burned out cottage.

Altea realized that he thought she meant that Gretchen had died in the house fire. "A witch. Everyone said she was a witch. The Court condemned her and she was killed in the square," Altea said quietly.

She watched the man go cold, frozen by the ugly monstrous truth.

"Who did that to her?" he asked with enormous seriousness simmering with brutal intent.

Altea's mouth fell open. How could anyone do what had been done to Gretchen? That was the great question. It had been boring through Altea's guts since the execution. She knew who had done it but would she ever understand how?

"Who did it?" Thal hissed.

Altea whirled away from him and ran. She ran faster than she had ever run before. The little dog yipped at her heels but then relented and fell behind. She sped down the hill and rounded the bend. The city's towers and chimneys and walls filled her view and welcomed back its daughter that had dared to tread beyond the walls.

#  Chapter 19. Voice to His Grief

Pistol ran back to Thal and whined.

"We'll track her soon," he whispered.

Woodenly he retrieved his hat from the dirt. He brushed it off and put it back on. As the brim shaded his eyes tears fell. He looked back at the cottage where he had last seen his mother. After arriving in Prague yesterday, he had remembered the place. The desolate ruin had punished him for taking so long to get here. Perhaps he could have saved her.

He had spent the morning following a cold trail that bore her scent. After losing it quite a distance from the city he had come back to start over when he heard the young woman in the house.

My mother was burned at the stake.

He shuddered. Captain Jan had threatened him with the cleansing fire. Thal hated himself for not protecting her, but he had been a wolf in the forest. He had chosen the forest and left the world of men behind. Left his mother behind. The poignant memory of their parting came back to him. Her smile had been sad. A little snip of hair to remember him by had been all she asked.

But this world had come back for him. Had his mother summoned him? Who else could have had the power except for she who had born him?

He collapsed to his knees and clutched his head. His mother was dead! Burned alive in front of a crowd. She did not deserve that. Those who had done it would pay. This certainty hardened inside his heart like hot bronze cooling inside a mold. That was why he was here. She had called him back from the forest for this terrible purpose. But why had she not used her power to defend herself? Perhaps she could not. Thal could not recall seeing her ever hurt anything. She had always made him slaughter the rabbits and chickens.

He rocked from side to side groaning with grief. His longing to see his mother would never be fulfilled. He could not even visit her grave. Any answers she might have been able to give him were out of reach just like her ashes in the river. Not even bones could he find. Nothing.

Too long he had been gone. The years had slipped away in the timeless forest. Thal looked up at the closest tree. It was a marvelous oak with spreading branches and a shapely crown. He had last looked upon that tree when it was little better than a sapling. He had gripped its slender trunk and spun around it at play. Now it was fat with the growth of many rings. He had been gone for decades. That was why the young woman had said he was too young to be Gretchen's son. And Gretchen had apparently lived a long time. Had she been happy all those years alone? He hoped so. Obviously some people had cared for her. That young woman crying in the garden was proof of that.

But why had this community turned on her so drastically? She had always been called witch, but not everyone had reviled her. Some people had valued her. And now that Thal was home he remembered better his juvenile years spent with her in Prague. His earlier years when they had been with his father remained a foggy mess, but the gentle kindness of his mother came back to him with clarity. She had raised him to be thoughtful and generous. She had always insisted that he not fight with the other boys, even when they attacked him. Flexing his hands, he understood now that it was because he was stronger than them. He could have hurt them or worse.

He was going to hurt people now. It would not be the flaring violence of self defense as it had been with the bandits. Nor would it be the hunt for food that was normal and right. He would descend into that predatory state special to mankind and do the dark work of revenge. His heart settled upon his duty with an unquestioning lack of debate.

Thal stood up. He trembled from the strain of his grief that was still far from expressed. He returned to the cold trail that led down the back side of the hill away from the city. He examined the traces of scent left by those who had pursued his mother. The evidence of the chase was almost gone, washed away by rain and time, but he still gathered a few scents that he could hope to recognize again.

Then Thal circled back to the ruined cottage. It was time to track the young woman. There had been enough of a relationship between the women for the young one to come back here and weep for the executed witch. He suspected that she knew who had committed the atrocity against Gretchen.

Thal stooped over her clear footprints in the ashes at the threshold. The odor of burned wood was strong but her recent feminine presence was vivid against his senses. Her scent soothed him as he memorized it. The floral aroma of her budding womanhood blurred his grief and made him think about his masculine desires to an extent that no other woman had heretofore inspired.

Dreamily he recalled her pretty face. He had seen a thick golden braid hanging beneath her head wrap when she had run away. He imagined that hair freed from its plait, like on the High Priestess card Emerald had shown him.

Sighing, he traced her footprint and admired how she had comported herself. He had frightened her yet she had controlled her fear. Caught unaware and physically vulnerable as she was, she had still hoped to get away...and she had. Perhaps her brave façade was a sign that she possessed a strength of character that could match his own.

Sadly he ran a hand up the remnant of the door frame as he stood straight. For the first time he regretted choosing the forest. He should have stayed here and taken care of his mother.

Adrift among his terrible emotions, he headed down the narrow lane. He strode with deadly purpose but inside he was staggering under a grievous burden.

Pistol tracked the young woman eagerly. Thal did not even need to do anything. When they reached the busier streets closer to the city wall Pistol slowed down and had to sort out the many overlapping tracks and dung smeared by moving wheels. Thal stared straight ahead. The other people on the streets were mere ghosts in his perception.

Pistol led him through the New Tower gate. In his overwhelmed state, Thal did not notice the gate guards eyeballing him as he entered. His strong physique and weapons marked him as a mercenary or worse, but he was not strange enough to stop. Men of various harsh occupations were not so rare a sight on the streets of Prague.

The trail left by the young woman veered onto a narrow side street instead of following the main avenue into a square. Thal paused and looked toward the open square. A great hall with a pointy tower overlooked the space filled with people and carts and stalls. His spirit quaked. Was this where Gretchen had been executed? Thal tossed his rampaging feelings into a pit that they could not jump out of. He was not ready to confront the place where his mother had met her agonizing end.

He followed his waiting dog. They passed fine residences. The houses were clean. Flowers grew from pots alongside the doorways and fancy wrought iron rails led up to paneled wood doors, many painted brightly. Children dashed back and forth rolling hoops or simply chasing each other. One little girl ran across Thal's path and stopped. Their eyes met and she gaped at him as if she had blundered across a satyr in a meadow. He was too ravaged inside to muster a friendly smile for her, but her bright innocent eyes reminded him that not all that was human was bad. He stepped around her and went on his way.

He continued to follow his dog. Pistol went to two young boys sitting on a doorstep. Sun was beaming down on them, and they were sorting a collection of pebbles.

Slowly Thal walked up to them. He ran a hand along the rail and then put his fingers to his nose. This was the place. The little boys stared at him.

"Do you know my Papa?" the boy asked.

"Maybe. Who is he?" Thal said.

"He's the Magistrate," the boy said proudly.

"Is he?" Thal murmured. He looked up at every window across the front of the house. None of the curtains fluttered, but she was in there. Pistol bounded up the steps between the boys and scratched on the door.

"Hey!" the youngest boy shouted.

The door opened and a woman with a frilly apron stepped out. "Who are you?" she demanded of Thal. Intrepid suspicion sparked in her eyes. She beckoned the boys to her sides.

"I seem to have the wrong house. Forgive the disturbance," he said and called Pistol down the steps. He was too upset to think of a way to lure the young woman and speak with her. Now that he knew where she lived, he could monitor the area and encounter her again.

Thal plodded away. He headed toward the Kamenny Most. His grief needed some time to settle. He needed solitude. The indifferent souls filling the streets pressed painfully against his spirit. The normalcy of their daily routine contrasted too sharply with his internal devastation.

Oblivious to the sights around him, he crossed the bridge. The serenity of the flowing water gave him no comfort. Without ceremony these waters had carried away the dusty remains of Gretchen.

Upon reaching the Little Quarter on the other side of the Vltava, he headed toward the home of Lady Carmelita. Her home was quite new, built only ten years ago by her late husband. Ornately carved stone blocks framed the windows and doors. A balcony spread across the whole front of the house, and the red tiled roof reached up to a small tower. A graceful archway formed the front porch and framed the gorgeous front doors that were carved with scenes from Greek mythology.

Thal did not go to the front doors. There was no reason to spoil the cheerful household with his dark mood. On his way around back he passed two men with a cart and a shovel cleaning up horse apples on the gravel drive. At the farthest flung servants' entry he slipped into the wing where he and his friends had been given rooms.

The musicians were not there, which suited Thal. He sat on the edge of his narrow bed and did nothing. Pistol nudged his fingers but he lacked the spirit to even pat the dog's head.

In a near stupor he sat there slumped for most of the afternoon. Memories of his mother gushed through his head. They had gotten along well. Only one bad fight had marred their relationship. He had been about fifteen or sixteen and asked his mother when his father was going to come live with them. She had said that he would never come to Prague. Thal had then stated that he would go to his father because he wanted to see him. His mother had become very angry and begged him not to go.

Thal rubbed his temple, straining to remember where his father had lived. Why could he not remember? Why had his mother not wanted him to go to his father? They had been happy together once, as a family should be.

He shook his head. Memories from his distant youth did not matter so much today. He knew his purpose now. In her final moments his mother had called him back from his wolf life. Thal felt this truth in his bones, and he would perform in accordance with her final wishes. Perhaps her magic had not given her the power to defend herself, but the magic that worked in him had no restrictions. He possessed all the strength and resolute ferocity of the predator.

Slowly he drew out his pistol and then his sword. Next he took off his cloak and shirt and spread his fur across his lap. For a long time he petted the glistening fur. Its thick softness against his sensitive fingertips connected him with his deepest nature.

Eventually, he flipped the fur over and silently read the blood-lettered words. Tonight the moon would be full and he would call upon that sacred energy that oversaw all the ages of the Earth. In his beast state he would give voice to his grief.

******

Brother Vito sent everyone to a prayer vigil at the main chapel, except for Rainer. The twilight was late in coming due to the fair season, and he watched the daylight fade with dread.

Rainer was shakily putting down another mug of beer. Vito did not agree with the drinking but he allowed it because he pitied the strain that Rainer endured.

"It is time," Vito announced. He stood over Rainer and put a hand on his shoulder. The man's chest heaved as he took a deep breath.

"I don't want to be locked away," Rainer whimpered.

"You know you must," Vito said.

Rainer stood up from the table in Vito's chamber where his master had given him the privilege of a few drinks. He swayed a little.

"Take me out of the city," he begged.

"There's no time for that," Vito said, and clanging bells across the city enforced his statement. "I will be on the other side of the door and we will pray together. Maybe this time it won't happen."

Doubt clouded Rainer's face. Already his skin was crawling. Soon it would stretch and shift and erupt with fur.

With Vito's continued urging Rainer headed toward the cellar stairs. The steps descended into pitiless darkness. Vito extended his lantern, highlighting cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

"Hurry," he hissed.

Trusting in his master, Rainer went down. When they reached the heavy door that opened to a windowless storage area, Rainer stopped again.

"Give me the lantern," Rainer whispered.

"You could burn yourself," Vito said.

He gave Rainer another moment, knowing the man would comply. Rainer slipped out of his clothing but kept his beads. Murmuring prayers he walked through the door and Vito barred it behind him.

"It's dark," Rainer cried.

"Pray with me," Vito insisted.

He kneeled by the door and led Rainer in prayer.

Above Prague birds flew to their roosts. The last sunlight kissed the clouds goodnight. The moon brightened the horizon. Its splendor greeted the night like a dear friend, brightening the open places and restricting true dark to the shadows.

Vito raised his voice and called upon his God to save Rainer from his affliction. Rainer begged for salvation and blathered promises to defend Christianity. His fervor touched even Vito's clockwork heart. Such faith was a miracle almost in itself.

When Rainer fell silent, Vito kept up his prayers until the groaning began. Then he knew there was no point in soothing the emerging beast. It wanted liberty and the satisfaction of the hunt. No talk of God would be heeded when the Devil worked the puppet strings.

Rainer's groans turned to wails and then painful screams. Then there was a brief silence that was soon obliterated by savage snarling. A body thudded against the door and claws scraped urgently. The beast circled the cell, clawing and banging and digging at all sides. Then it returned to the door and pounded on it. The door shook against its heavy bar. Vito watched the trembling door with wide eyes while dust was shaken down from the ceiling. The werewolf's roaring and snarling increased desperately. The assault on the door strengthened.

Vito clasped his hands and resumed praying. This time he prayed for the door to hold.

"Dear God keep the Devil within," he pleaded.

The werewolf's roars grew louder. Its caged rage cursed creation. Vito feared people would come to investigate the terrible noise. During previous transformations when he had released Rainer in remote areas, the werewolf had not been so noisy. His howls had receded across the hills, but now that he was contained, the monster's wrath was limitless.

Near panic, Vito stopped praying.

"Rainer quiet!" he ordered and pounded on the door. "In the name of Christ I command you to silence."

The savage snapping response from within was so extreme Vito could almost feel the great fangs closing on his flesh.

"Be silent I tell you! Be silent if you ever wish for the grace of God to cleanse your soul!" Vito yelled.

His werewolf howled and tore into the shuddering door with renewed fury. Vito stepped back, horrified.

Then the werewolf abruptly fell silent. Vito sighed. Hopefully the beast was broken and would wait for morning in a dispirited heap. "Good, Rainer, good," he praised and settled back on his knees to offer his prayers again.

As he drew a breath to begin a prayer of thanks, Vito heard a new noise outside. The long sonorous howls of a wolf were singing to the night. Notes rose and fell with a melody no man could compose. The aching sadness of the wolf song was astonishing. It was as if Prague were being serenaded by all the sorrows of the Earth. A low whine from within the cell informed Vito that it was this nearly angelic song that had quieted Rainer.

"Thal," Vito whispered.

He rushed outside. Moonlight cooled the brow of the silver blushing city. Towers were bright edges upon steely shadows. Every shifting leaf in the breeze shimmered with fairy dust glow.

Outside Vito was able to hear the wolf song more clearly. Dogs throughout the city were starting to bark and howl. Each commanding howl began gently and then stretched into rolling notes. No lament ever sung for any saint had ever achieved this clarity of sorrow. The wild howling spoke of feelings beyond words.

"Where is he?" Vito muttered, turning in circles and trying to judge from which direction the sound came. He wanted to find him. Thal had been an impressive man, unlike the mentally tormented Rainer. Vito imagined that Thal must be a glorious werewolf. Oh to have that power on his side! What could tempt Thal to come to him?

With the wolf song still inflicting its lovely melancholy upon the night, Vito massaged his bald head and tried to think. He wanted to take advantage of this disturbing incident. Already men were coming out of nearby buildings. They murmured fearfully. Across the city thousands of people had to be shivering with fright. This wolf in their midst was not normal, and Vito plotted how to provide answers and leadership.

******

Altea could not fall asleep. Questions about Gretchen tormented her sense of right and wrong. And the unexpected encounter with the old woman's supposed son had rattled her badly. She was angry for having placed herself in a situation where the strange man had snuck up on her. She should have never been out there alone. But she could not have asked anyone to go with her to the home of a condemned witch. No one was supposed to go to such a place.

Worried by her unsanctioned curiosity, Altea wondered if she should go to confession and ask Father Refhold for guidance.

She shut her eyes and tried to block out what had happened, but the image of the strange man occupied her mind.

Thal. He said his name was Thal, she thought. "Thal," she whispered, knowing it was wrong but needing to defy her good sense.

His resemblance to Gretchen had been strong. Altea accepted the possibility that he really was her son. Perhaps he was older than he looked.

Recalling the details of his youthful appearance melted her fear. His lips and strong nose were distinct and handsome. The color of his eyes eluded her. She longed for another chance to look upon him. This unexpected desire made her chest ache.

Wishing their chance encounter had been friendlier, she felt again her sadness for having to deliver bad news unto him. His painful loss had been easy to empathize with.

Restless, she got out of bed and went to the window. She opened the shutter and admired the wondrous moonlight. On a night such as this even the worn stones of the street were brightened by a mystical glow. The street curved into mysterious shadows that beckoned her to slip away into the secret unknown.

The soft evening air caressed her skin. Her wispy night gown hung open over her cleavage. She fingered the lace edge of the low collar.

A low sound like wind moaning through a knothole in a board fence started. The sound grew until it was a living howl that sang across the city. Altea grabbed the window sill and leaned out. The staggering loveliness of the howling engulfed her. Bestial power pushed the sound louder and louder until it became like a musical fever dream. Altea's mouth hung open. The sound was gently connecting with her body and she swayed. All her sorrow had finally been translated into an expressive essence of unbounded beauty.

Gradually she thought again of the man. When he had begged for news of his mother, his desperate voice had connected to her sympathies the same way this otherworldly night song was massaging her spirit.

She pressed her hand against her bosom, remembering Thal and wishing that she could relive the brief moments of their encounter. Her fingers strayed along one breast. The smooth firm flesh was reassuring against her sensitive finger tip. She could not help wishing that someone could touch her.

The door to her bedroom burst open. With a yelp, she whirled from the window.

"Get back from there!" Martin said.

Her stepfather stalked across the bedroom and yanked shut the shutter. The howling song outside could still be heard. Dogs in the neighborhood were barking and howling now. Two people down the street shouted questions to each other.

"I thought I heard your window open," Martin complained.

"What is it?" Altea asked. Strangely she had not realized that the howling could be heard by everybody. It was as if it had been just for her.

"It sounds like a wolf but that's impossible," Martin said. "Woke me up like the Devil had come to take my soul."

"It's so beautiful," Altea said.

"Beautiful?" Martin sneered, disgusted by her attitude. "I can't remember a wolf ever coming this close to the city. People will take it as a bad omen. This thing will need hunting down. I pray no one expects my meager staff to attend to it," he grumbled.

The howling outside grew louder along with the increasing cacophony of dogs and frightened livestock. Altea looked back at her shuttered window.

"Don't open that window again," Martin said sharply. He grabbed her wrist. "Get back in bed," he ordered.

Altea gasped and tried to pull her arm free. The sudden counter movement made Martin pull her close. She froze. The closeness of his body shocked her. His big meaty presence wafted heat that penetrated her night gown where his belly touched her ribs. She pulled away but he still held her wrist. His hot grip was hurting her. He seemed frozen in place as if his physical connection to her had kicked open a door that had always been bolted.

She tried to pry his fingers off her wrist.

"Altea," he whispered musingly. He reached with his other hand to stop her fingers clawing at his grip.

The howling song vibrated through the shutters. Wherever the beast was singing it was close. That voice that possessed all the powers of gentleness and savagery gave her courage.

"Let me go," she hissed.

Slowly Martin relaxed his grip and she slipped free and backed against the window sill.

"Get back in bed," Martin said.

Altea could not remember him ever being in her room before. "Leave," she told him.

Her command provoked his sense of authority but he resisted his natural urge to lash out at her. Their private encounter cloaked by the darkness had unhinged him a little, and he stepped back.

"I'll check on the boys," he muttered and went out.

He did not shut the door, but Altea rushed across the room and latched it. She leaned against it shakily. There was no lock. She had never thought about that before but now it bothered her greatly.

Feeling like a little girl woken from a nightmare with no one to console her, she slipped beneath the covers. The cocoon of bedding granted her meager comfort. She listened to the howling song that still touched the city in all its places. She wanted to know where it came from but refused to recognize that she knew its source.

******

Regis knocked on the door. "Thal?" he said and received no reply.

"I saw him go in there this afternoon," Carlo said.

Regis turned the latch and called again to his friend. He nudged the door open with his elbow and held out a candle. "No one's here," he said.

The three men entered the small room across the hall from their rooms. The window in Thal's room was open. Raphael went to it. The blue moonlight fell across his face.

"I can still hear it," he said.

Howling emanated from Prague like a string vibrating on a harp. The dark bulky heights of the royal castle lording over the Little Quarter impassively received the gentle wails clawing at its walls. The lions in the royal menagerie roared.

"Where is it coming from?" Carlo whispered.

Raphael leaned out the window and tried to judge his answer. "From across the river I think," he said.

"It sounds like wolves," Carlo said.

"It's only one singing," Raphael said knowingly, and the other musicians did not doubt his determination.

"Maybe Thal is out looking for it," Raphael suggested.

Regis headed toward the window and stumbled on Thal's boots. For a moment, he refused to believe the evidence at his feet. Then he kneeled by Thal's bed and lifted the straw mattress. He pulled out the pistol and held it up for his friends to see.

"Thal wouldn't go anywhere without his weapon unless made to," Raphael worried.

Regis put the gun back and felt around and discovered the sword and knives too. Then he found folded clothing on the bed. Next he hurried to the pegs on the wall and saw Thal's cloak and traveling bag hanging there too. The change of clothing that Lord Patercek had gifted to Thal was still in the bag.

Closing the bag, Regis said, "He's naked."

"Not again," Carlo said, fearing that their friend would return hurt.

The men stared at each other. Flickering candlelight revealed the questions in their eyes.

Still at the window, Raphael savored the distant wailing note. The song was sad, beautifully sad. He could hope to play so well.

"Do you think it's true what he said about becoming a beast?" Raphael said.

"No. Remember when he killed the bandits. He was a man. We all saw that he was a man," Regis insisted.

"No man can sing like that," Raphael said, still looking dreamily into the night.

"No, that's not a man's voice," Regis agreed quietly.

"Shouldn't we go look for him?" Carlo said.

"Where to begin? We'd probably get lost. I don't know Prague in the daylight yet," Regis countered.

"I suppose you're right," Carlo said.

"It's amazing," Raphael commented. The utter remorse in the sound would inspire him the rest of his life.

"I'll wait up for him," Regis said. "Go rest. Lady Carmelita wants us to play for her tomorrow."

Reluctantly, his friends went to their rooms. Regis stretched out on Thal's bed and listened to the faint howling. He blew out his candle and pondered the fact that Thal had to be out in the city naked. He knew that Thal was not a madman, but he could not explain this odd behavior.

When the wolf song stopped, he realized he wanted to hear more. Despite the lengthy serenade, his musician's heart told him this was just the first verse of a long song.

With the city quiet, he closed his eyes. Sleeping would be the best way to wait. When footsteps in the hall roused him he looked at the window. The moonlight was coming in from a noticeably different angle. It was much later in the night.

The footsteps stopped at the door and the latch clicked open. After a moment's hesitation, a man opened the door and said, "Regis?"

How did he know it was me? Regis wondered, sitting up. "Thal!" he cried.

"Ssshhh," Thal hushed and scooted in the room and shut the door. He tossed his heavy fur over the foot of the bed and grabbed his underclothes.

"What is this about?" Regis said.

Thal sighed. Being bombarded with human words after his hours spent in werewolf form was bothersome. Exhausted by his cathartic night, he had little energy for conversation. His transformation had been exhilarating despite his grief. He was certain that doing it when the moon was full enhanced his power. He could have torn gates from their hinges tonight.

Thal flopped onto his bed. "Regis, why are you in my room?" he asked.

"Where have you been all night?" Regis said.

Thal rolled over.

"Did you hear the wolf singing?" Regis said.

"You must have," Thal said. The feeling of the grief vibrating through his throat was still fresh. He had poured all that he remembered of a loving mother into each note.

"I don't know where to go. My mother is dead," Thal said.

"I'm sorry my friend," Regis said sincerely. The vague huddle of Thal upon the bed distressed Regis, who had never seen Thal appear so vulnerable.

"I wonder if my mother will still be alive when I return home," Regis said.

"I should not have left," Thal said although he knew in his heart it was what he had wanted to do.

"Don't say that. You not to blame. If you had stayed in Prague it wouldn't mean your mother would live. Death comes to us all," Regis said.

Abruptly Thal sat up. Startled, Regis took a half step back.

"I could have protected her," Thal hissed. The vehemence in his voice made Regis cringe.

"What happened?"

Thal hesitated. He knew he should not tell anyone, but he was not ashamed. His mother had never hurt anyone.

"She was condemned as a witch and burnt in the Old Town Square," Thal whispered.

"Oh that cannot be true," Regis said.

"It is!"

Regis did not know what to say. He should be afraid. Perhaps Thal truly was Devil-begotten, but he would not hurt him. He would not hurt anyone who did not deserve it.

Thal swung his feet onto the floor, giving up on the idea of sleeping. "I plan to do some terrible things. You won't want to be counted as my comrade. It will put you in danger," Thal said.

"You don't have to do anything bad," Regis argued. "Make a new life. You can always travel with me. I need you, and I won't stay in Prague forever. We could go to Paris."

Thal appreciated that his friend still valued him even after hearing the terrible news, but he shook his head. "I must punish her killers. My mother used the last of her power to call me home. She wants vengeance for what was done," he said. Speaking the words reinforced his commitment to honor the spell that had retrieved him from his purely wolf state.

"I've sung many songs about vengeance. None of them end well," Regis warned.

"Then I'll call it justice," Thal said.

"Not many songs about justice," Regis said.

"Either way, do not involve yourself with me," Thal said and reached for his boots.

Gently Regis intervened. "Thal, you're tired. Upset. Let me think for you tonight. Where you going to go? The gutter? Don't let those that killed your mother drive you to crime," he said.

Thal sat back on his bed. He could agree with Regis that he was tired and emotional. Giving up the shelter that Lady Carmelita had provided would be foolish.

"You're right. I must think this through better," Thal conceded, realizing that he should plan his hunt carefully. To kill was the birthright of a wolf, but a man must plot how to get away with it.

#  Chapter 20. Bound by Loss

Needing time alone with his grief, Thal stuck to the solitude of his room. He busied himself cleaning his gun and polishing his boots. Mud clung to the boots from his trip to the city. He had walked the whole way, unable to ride in Patercek's supply wagons because he agitated the horses.

After rubbing a boot clean, Thal sniffed it. Faintly the scent of Captain Jan still clung to it, which irritated him.

In the hall he heard the faint approach of small feet. A timid little knock at the door sought his attention.

Thal wanted to command the visitor away with surly words, but the apprehensive little soul outside sweetened his mood a little. And Pistol was wagging at the closed door, eager for a visitor.

"Yes," Thal said heavily.

The dark shaggy haired head of a pot boy looked inside. His eyes were wide as he beheld Thal up close.

"Sir, are you the mercenary?" the boy said.

"I'm a huntsman," Thal corrected.

Even a little servant boy knew that the employ of a huntsman in an urban household was a bit ridiculous.

"Lord Mika wishes to see you," the boy said.

"Who's that?" Thal said, not very interested. He returned to polishing a boot.

"Lady Carmelita's son," the boy said. "He wants to see your gun."

When Thal looked up, the boy smiled and glanced hopefully at the pistol on the table.

Thal decided it might do him some good to trade brooding in his room for being annoyed by pups.

"All right," he said and beckoned the pot boy. "Methinks you might like to see it first."

The boy grinned and rushed to the table, but Thal quickly scooped up the gun. He showed the boy its details and described how it worked. Then under strict orders not to pull the trigger, he let the boy hold it.

"Thank you, Sir!" the boy beamed when he gave it back.

Thal slid it into his belt and grabbed his powder horn. Bending down, he put on a menacing face and said, "If I find you touching this pistol or any of my things, I will throw you off the Kamenny Most."

"I won't touch it!" the boy insisted and shook his head dramatically.

"Now take me to the little lord of the house," Thal said.

The pot boy led him out of the non-frivolous servants' wing and into the polished and painted rooms of the main residence where intricate tapestries, paintings, and sculptures adorned every wall and corner.

The big home contained a large inner courtyard of flowers and trees and even a little pond of fish. Pistol ran around and marked a few blooming beds and then flushed out a cat and tore off on his own adventures.

Mika was playing with carved wooden knights. He bashed and banged them together in a make-believe duel. He had light brown hair and a friendly face with big eyes. He was about eight or nine years old just like the pot boy. A governess sat on a sunny bench, stitching upon fabric in a little hoop.

"Hello!" Mika cried.

"Good afternoon," Thal said.

"I'm Lord Hrabe," Mika said, self importantly.

Thal crossed his arms, refusing to be impressed. "I'm Thal Lesky."

"You have to do what I say," Mika said.

"I would not count on that, boy," Thal said.

Mika's jaw dropped. His governess stopped her needle in mid air.

"You can't talk to me like that," Mika protested.

"You best use your manners if you want to see my gun," Thal said.

Worry crossed the noble brat's face. The stranger's lack of respectful indulgence was entirely off-putting. The pot boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet and biting his lip lest he blurt out that he had already got to hold it.

Mika finally roused up a threat. "I'll tell my mother to put you in the street."

Thal shrugged.

Mika wavered. Seeing Thal up close enhanced his curiosity even more. And his childish intuition told him not to anger this adult glowering at him with exotic eyes.

Holding up one of his toys, Mika said, "Want to play?"

"That's better," Thal said.

Mika ran a short distance away and set his knight on a patch of lawn. He scurried back to Thal and said, "Shoot it! Shoot it, please!"

"I suppose I could use the practice," Thal said, rubbing his goatee thoughtfully.

"Please!"

"I suspect this is not the proper place," Thal said.

"It is not!" the governess chimed in, coming to her feet.

"Please! Thal, please! I say it's good," Mika insisted.

Slowly Thal drew his pistol. Both boys stopped breathing. Looking hard at Mika, Thal said, "Only because you said please."

He took aim. Really hoping he did not miss, he pulled the trigger. The toy burst into chunks that flew in every direction. The boys shrieked with delight. The governess just shrieked. Thal blew the smoke out of his face.

"Again!" Mika cried. He tossed his other toy to the pot boy and told him to set it up.

"Let me show you how to load it," Thal said. He took out his horn. He and Mika kneeled and went through the process of loading. He let Mika help a little. The pot boy ran back and watched over their shoulders.

The governess stormed up. "You are not shooting that again," she said.

"No, Lord Hrabe shall have the next shot," Thal said.

"He will not!" she argued.

Thal stood up and looked at her with the full force of his strong personality. She quailed back a step and then ran into the house.

Thal cleared his throat. The smoke from the first shot had irritated his nose. "I don't think we'll have much time," he said and winked to the boys.

Carefully he helped Mika hold the pistol and kneeled beside him. He kept a hold of it with the boy and warned him that the pistol would kick back when they fired. He tried to help the boy aim and then let him pull the trigger.

Mika missed his toy but a flower pot flew apart into shards, spraying dirt, leaves, and colorful petals. The boys laughed and laughed, and their delight helped Thal feel a little better.

"Who is shooting a gun in my house?!" a female voice demanded through an open doorway.

Holding a pistol with a bit of smoke still curling away, Thal made no attempt to conceal his guilt as Lady Carmelita swept into the courtyard. When she saw the mess, her blue eyes popped at the audacity.

As she drew in a breath to begin some maternal tirade, Thal quickly said, "Forgive me, my Lady. I was indulging Lord Mika's request to show him how to shoot a pistol."

"You let him shoot it?" she cried.

"Mama, it was so amazing. My hand still hurts! I WANT one," Mika said.

"Hush." Her voice cracked her son with the single word. She grabbed his ear and flung him toward the governess. "In your room you go!" she commanded. The governess hauled him away. The lad submitted to his banishment, still thrilled by the experience.

"Clean up this mess!" Carmelita shouted at the pot boy, who scrambled out of her reach.

With a huff, Carmelita composed herself and then regarded Thal. "This was rather juvenile of you," she said.

"Yes, my Lady."

"I really can't condone you taking such liberties," she added.

"I understand."

She strolled around him. Except for the evening of his arrival, she had not had another chance to admire him. His physique and flippant attitude were cooling her temper considerably.

"You really don't care if I let you stay or not," she said, sounding disappointed.

"My Lady, that's not true. I have no desire to offend you. I offer my apologies," Thal said. She was halfway behind him now and he looked over his shoulder. His liquid eyes beamed with regret. Carmelita felt her heart quiver. He was amazing. Her brother always met the most interesting men. He had been thoughtful to send Thal to her.

"I'm sure the boy put you up to it," she said.

"Still the blame is mine," Thal said. He had learned enough about women to recognize her playful attraction to him.

"No shooting guns in my house. You aren't at my brother's castle anymore," she said.

"Yes, my Lady."

"And no more hiding from me. Where have you been?" she said.

"I did not know my Lady required my presence," he said.

"Well, I do require it tonight. I'm having a party. Afterward, I have some friends who should make your acquaintance," she said.

She was a pretty woman. Her dark hair was almost black. Her skin fair and rosy with health. And the curiosity in her blue eyes was not something he wanted to encourage.

Thal looked away from her. "Whatever could your friends want with a simple huntsman?" he said.

"Nothing," she said.

"Then I shall surely satisfy," he said.

Chuckling, she sauntered back in front of Thal and looked up at him so he could not avoid her eyes. His handsome features invited trust, but his peculiar hair and the blended colors of his eyes spoke of wild mystery.

"Until tonight," she said.

"I will be here, my Lady," he said.

"Good, even with my brother's recommendation, you still have to prove your reliability to me," Carmelita said.

"I've already stopped shooting as you requested," he pointed out.

She struggled not to smile and walked away. Thal watched her go back in the house. Her pale blue dress was nicely tailored. He noted her straight back and how the draping fabric did not quite hide the saucy swing of her hips. She seemed not to be a widow overcome with grief.

Now that his frivolity with the children was over, his grief returned to darken his mood. He went back to his room, loaded his gun, put on his hat, and left the house.

The walk across the bridge from the Little Quarter to Old Town was long. This gave him time to organize his thoughts. He needed to be methodical. He must not act rashly during the process of finding those who had tormented his mother.

He slowed his pace the closer he got to Old Town Square. The knowledge that his mother had died there made his spirit shake. A haunted unease afflicted his courage. He could almost hear her voice saying his name. She must have been a powerful magic worker. The blood in his veins was beginning to burn from the touch of her spells.

Next to the Town Hall was the Court and near it along the edge of the square was a row of small platforms with heavy wooden boards with holes for a person's head and hands. Two of the stocks were occupied by unfortunate criminals. Piles of moldy food were strewn around their feet and splatted against the stocks. The brownish splash of someone's slop bucket was sprayed across one penitent.

Thal pitied the two condemned to the uncomfortable public humiliation. To see any animal in a trap was heartbreaking, but he resisted the temptation to free them. He would only gain unwanted attention. His act of kindness was not going to change society, and perhaps those two men actually deserved to be there. Bad behavior was not in short supply.

Thal found a place to loiter in view of the Court. Pistol wandered off into the loose crowd.

A ragged and barefoot woman with the appearance of being pregnant approached the stocks with a water bucket. She gave one man a drink. The other criminal begged for water and she served him as well.

"Alms for the poor?" a voice said from he shadows.

Thal looked over his shoulder. A man on a crutch was coming out of an ally. He had a long beard and a hat that appeared to be more holes than actual hat. Half healed sores marred his sagging face. He wagged a wooden bowl toward Thal.

He dug out a few coppers and made a donation.

"Thank you much, Sir," the beggar beamed. "Are ye waiting for someone?"

"No."

"You're new here," the beggar commented, squinting up at Thal.

His odor was exceedingly unpleasant, but Thal resisted ordering the beggar away. He might be full of useful information.

"Where is the jail?" he asked.

"Oh, are you going to bust someone out?" the beggar asked excitedly.

"Does that happen often?" Thal said.

"No," the beggar declared.

"Do you know where it is?" Thal pressed.

The man rattled his coppers in the bowl meaningfully.

"Tell me first," Thal said.

"It's in the cellars of that old building behind the Court," the beggar said.

Thal obliged him with some more coppers.

"Can't hardly hear the screaming from down in there," the beggar commented.

Thal suppressed a shudder, expecting that his mother had been put to painful torments in that place.

"Thank you," he muttered and walked away. He headed to the jail. Pistol showed up and kept his head low, sensing his master's hard mood.

The jail was a nondescript stone hulk. Heavily barred windows along the foundation allowed a glimpse into the dank shadowy realm of confinement. The reek of soiled straw and despair stabbed Thal's spirit. Bravely he took a deeper whiff of the building. The mingling of many bodily odors assaulted him and he had trouble determining any individual signatures.

When the door of the building opened, he watched a tall man with a bright chain holding his cloak come out with a grungy associate. Keys jingled on the underling's belt. They headed toward the square.

Hatred surged in Thal at the sight of these jailers. The likelihood that one or both of them had served in the villainy against his mother was very high.

He was stalking them before he had given it any thought. He came upon them quickly. The man with the official medallion whirled at the intrusion. He held his walking stick ready to defend himself.

"Do you have some business with me, knave?" the Constable said.

Being close to the man allowed Thal to confirm his ugly suspicion. He was so overcome that he could not reply. All of his willpower was needed not to tear out the man's throat.

Not yet, Thal told himself.

Pistol lunged at the man's feet. He sank his teeth in the top of a boot.

The Constable cussed and hopped and tried to shake off the little dog. His grimy underling watched in baffled amusement.

Thal barged between them and kept walking. He called off Pistol with a single grunt and did not look back.

After a string of curses, the Constable hollered, "I best not see you again!"

The threat meant little to Thal. Dead man talking.

Thal wandered the square, deaf to the pleas of vendors hawking their wares. His vision swam with red murder. Terrible emotions twisted at his guts until he wanted to tear off his clothes and scream the spell that would give him all the powers of a beast.

Then his feet stopped. The cobblestones were stained black and cracked by the roaring fires that had heated them. Scrubbing had not been able to remove all the sooty stains.

He was in the place near where gallows were erected whenever the need arose. In this companion place to the kingdom of the noose were stacked the pyres where those associated with the Devil were burned to death.

His knees shook. Sweat ran down his back. The bustling voices of the square and the buildings disappeared. White light consumed his vision. Clearly he heard his mother calling his name. He recognized her voice. It was the voice that had soothed him when he was ill. The voice that had praised his accomplishments. The voice that had been raised in anger and bade him not to seek his father.

A rough wet tongue on his face brought him back. The benign blue sky above contrasted to his ragged state.

"Is the fellow having a fit?" a man said.

Thal had collapsed. He was sore where his body had hit the dirty cobbles. He sat up. Two laborers were looming over him.

"Need any help, Sir?" one of the men said.

Thal looked around. Embarrassment seized him and he dashed off. Pistol trotted ahead and presumed to lead. Thal trusted his little friend and followed him onto a street. He stopped and put out a hand to lean on the corner of the building. People glanced at him wondering if he was drunk. He drew ragged breaths, trying to revive his wits.

With shaky hands he took off his hat and ran his fingers through his wet hair. Pistol yipped and wagged his tail. Thal recognized the street now. The young woman who had known his mother lived on it. His dog kept trying to coax him forward.

"You like her, don't you?" he murmured.

Pistol pranced in circles, urging him to get going.

Thal obliged. When he strolled by her house, he studied the house sign and learned that it was the residence of the Fridrich family.

The Magistrate, he recalled stormily. The thought of a Court official having kinship with the young woman bothered him deeply. He did not want to accept that any taint of crime was upon her. She had wept for Gretchen. His mother must have been kind to her.

As he realized his conflicted feelings about her, he came to a full stop and stared at her house. The shutters were open. Curtains fluttered. He could smell the food cooking back in the kitchen.

If Thal had known her name he would have called to her. Then as if his spirit had summoned her, she came to a window. Her face was alert, and her intelligent intuition enhanced her beauty.

She gasped when she saw him and jerked back from the window like startled prey. Thal was distressed that her appearance had been so fleeting, but then she delighted him by stepping back into view and confronting his probing gaze.

Alarm still radiated from her, but she owned her fear and looked at him. Her confidence wooed Thal in a way new to his heart.

He wanted to ask her name, but their silent connection was too dazzling. The forbidden curiosity aroused by their secret recognition of each other was too precious to risk with words, at least for that single blissful moment. Thal soaked up her sympathy. They were bound by the loss of a woman neither of them could admit to loving.

Thal decided not to risk upsetting her family. At this moment it was enough to know that she would be receptive when he approached again. He lifted his hat to her. Before he turned away he saw the pleading shine in her eyes that wanted him to stay.

The sweet and sympathetic sight of Gretchen's young associate soothed his grief considerably. Her vibrant and daring spirit that had met his impermissible peeping with bold interest excited him.

He headed back to the Little Quarter. Halfway across the bridge, he stopped and climbed onto the edge. Sitting there he watched the water flow. The Vltava offered him a thick slice of the wilds within the urban sprawl. He felt in the passing water the distant quiet places where snow had melted and trickled downhill. Perhaps one of his former pack had lapped at this water and recalled their old leader. His mother's remains were part of the river now, carried away to new destinies of the spirit. Softly he apologized for not being there to protect her. He would have to live with that lapse.

And then he spoke his promise to fulfill the demand of her final spell. She would have her retribution. All who had contributed to her doom would die.

Because of the approaching summer solstice, the day was long and the twilight lingered. Thal sat on the bridge, soaking up the peacefulness. He needed to renew himself. Collapsing in the square had been startling and he must never let himself succumb to such weakness again.

The pale details of the full moon rose over the city before night had entirely come. Looking like a lace covered pearl, its celestial shine revealed the insignificance of the teeming city.

As the stars came out and the moon brightened, Thal naturally felt the call of his werewolf power. Not tonight, he told himself. His song last night had been meant to be sung only once.

Lanterns in the streets and the flicker of candles in windows began to twinkle across the city, mimicking imperfectly the rippling reflections of moonlight upon the river. Thal recalled the party of his hostess. Lady Carmelita was expecting him. Being hungry and needy for the company of his friends, he prepared his mood for the affair.

#  Chapter 21. Kill Without Sin

"Shut the door," Vito said.

Rainer pulled on the door a couple times but it did not entirely fit into its sagging frame.

"That will suffice," Vito said, setting aside his annoyance with the dilapidated building.

Rainer's knuckles were scraped and scabbed. Circles were under his dull eyes. Vito pitied Rainer when he was like this. Every full moon was so hard on him. Then the days would pass, and Rainer would heal a little before descending back into his accursed misery.

Vito gestured to the chair. Rainer slumped into it and clasped his face.

"I'm not going to lock you up tonight," Vito said quietly.

Rainer looked up, bright with gratitude, but then his conscience dragged him back to despair. "I'll leave the city. Head for the hills," he said.

"No. We shall find another way, Brother Rainer," Vito said.

Rainer wanted to believe in his guidance. "How?" he said.

Vito had already planned his next words. "If God will not cleanse your curse, then I have come to believe that God wishes for your curse to have a purpose," he said.

Rainer's silent confusion encouraged Vito. He continued, "You possess a frightening power. If applied correctly you can advance the mission of the Jesuits, the whole Church even. I'm going to let you loose in the city tonight."

"No, no, Master, you mustn't!" Rainer cried.

"Quiet," Vito said, not wishing to be overheard by the other monks.

Rainer shook his head.

"Listen to me. Brave men have fought for centuries for the Church. You will just be fighting for God in a different way," Vito said.

"How can what happens to me serve God?" Rainer argued timidly.

Vito only needed to provide Rainer with a convincing answer. The man's need for redemption made him easy to manipulate.

"You have to make your presence known. We both heard the beast last night. The real werewolf. Not some victim like you but a true follower of a devilish sorcerer. We have to find him and send him back to Hell. If he knows you're in Prague he'll come to you. Stay with him until he returns to his man form and then lead him back here so my men can trap him. We must deal out God's justice. Christians cannot suffer one so corrupted as him to walk among them," Vito said.

Rainer recalled his encounter with Thal. That man had been in complete command of the werewolf transformation. Easily Rainer envied his power, but his sense of kinship with Thal made it difficult to see him as an enemy. But if he had voluntarily taken on the power, then he was an abomination most vile, as Vito said. Rainer could not imagine willingly taking on the beast power that forever separated the soul from God.

"When you're loose tonight, you'll hunt and kill. Howl for him. He will hear you and come," Vito explained.

"I don't want to kill anyone," Rainer whispered painfully. He knew he would do it though. He had done it before.

"Go to the Jewish Quarter. If you slaughter some Jew, it won't really be like murder," Vito said.

Rainer winced. "They're still people," he whispered.

Vito put his palm on his forehead. He was continually amazed that sweet-hearted sheepish Rainer had survived a werewolf attack.

"Then pick some squalid drunk in a gutter. Do society a favor and remove useless scum. Remember it is to serve your brothers. Put the fear of God into Prague so that I can offer them guidance. You must flush out the real werewolf. Such sorcery must be stomped out," Vito insisted and smacked his table. "Would you have all good Christians suffer as you do? If sorcerers and heretics are not put down, then how many Devil beasts like the one that bit you will roam the land? Turn your curse into a holy power, Rainer. Have faith that we are following God's plan and do as I tell you. Your ultimate redemption relies upon it."

"Are you sure I can serve God with my curse?" Rainer asked.

"Yes! Reveal your power and it will draw out the magic workers. They'll seek you as one of their own and then you will lure them into God's justice. Together we'll purify Prague and show the holy might of Mother Church. Save people from the Devil-begotten lies of the vile Protestants that encourage all this madness," Vito said.

Rainer looked out a window. The daylight was so soothing and safe, but he could not escape the monstrous magic that would seize him again that night. The beast must hunt. It must kill. Rainer could not contain it, no matter how much he wished and prayed.

"Thank you Brother Vito for showing me a new way forward in the service of God. I shall do as you say," he whispered.

Vito set a hand on his head and whispered loving prayers of praise for Rainer's loyalty to God despite his affliction.

"Amen," they said together.

As a last bit of encouragement, Vito said, "It is God's will that the Reaper takes lives. Tonight you shall be the Reaper's servant. That is all. Whoever you take, be safe in the knowledge that you are only the instrument of his fate," Vito said.

Rainer touched the cross on his chest and nodded vigorously. He would teach the beast within him to kill without sin.

#  Chapter 22. Blood Scent

The music coming from Lady Carmelita's house was familiar to Thal. A servant opened one of the double doors for him. He brushed his fingers across the scene carved into the wood. An ancient warrior was confronting a horse with wings. Thal wondered where flying horses lived.

The foyer was resplendent with dozens of candles on silver candlesticks. The conspicuous wealth of Carmelita's new home was still dazzling to Thal. Every handle and knob was a finely crafted object. Rosettes and leaves were carved into the woodwork. Two fresh bouquets of flowers stood on stone pedestals flanking the broad doorway to the lady's main hall.

The fine voice of Regis was enthralling the guests. Only people at the periphery of the crowd were chatting. Thal slunk along a wall trying to avoid people. He filled a plate at the buffet and flung a treat to the floor that Pistol snatched up. He stood in a corner eating. A servant was kind enough to come by with a tray of drinks and he grabbed a wine.

While attending to his hunger, he observed the room. Men wore finely woven leggings and tunics or poufy breeches. Because of the warm night most of them had taken off their heavier doublets or cloaks. Bright white linen sleeves flounced along their arms and velvety vests with shiny buttons contrasted smartly with their shirts. Some wore extravagant collars of layers of lace that ruffled up high on their throats. Swords and daggers hung from men's belts.

Layers of delicate fabric hugged the women with precise tailoring. Beads were stitched on bodices. Rows of ribbons ran down their sleeves. Tiny bundles of fragrant and festive nosegays fluttered on wrists. Their rustling skirts surrounded their feet that tapped in shoes with high heels and square toes.

Thal spotted Carmelita holding court on a bright red couch. A white silk headdress was wound around her dark hair. A big man with long and curly brown hair and a trim beard sat beside her. Shiny armor covered his chest and gold earrings accentuated his olive skin. Sitting on the couch had required him to shift his rapier across his lap. Carmelita smiled often at whatever he was saying and playfully batted him with a fan.

When Regis finished his song, everyone applauded. Thal was happy for his friends as they bowed to their admirers. They found true joy in performance.

Regis announced that they would take a break and then play dance tunes. "Don't take too long!" Carmelita admonished.

Regis pleaded for a chance to wet his throat, and she graciously obliged. The crowd dispersed into conversational groups and the musicians headed for the buffet.

While singing, Regis had noticed Thal's entrance. After nabbing two glasses of wine, he joined his friend in the corner.

"I hear you were shooting your gun today," Regis snickered.

"Just a bit of fun with the young ones," Thal said.

Regis tossed back a glass of wine and sighed. "Our Ladyship was rather stinky faced about you not being here earlier. Are you trying to get us put out?" Regis asked.

Judging from Regis's concern, Thal guessed that she had been genuinely annoyed with him. "Patercek told me not to let her push me around," Thal said. "Don't worry."

"Oh yes, I forgot. You are an expert with women," Regis said.

"She hasn't even noticed I'm here yet," Thal said.

Carmelita was talking to a lady. They both took turns lifting their skirts to show off their shoes to each other. The armored man leaned over and apparently commented on the splendor of their ankles. Both women smiled flirtatiously.

"I guess her heart is not broken," Regis admitted. "But I ask that you indulge her a little for all our sakes."

"What do you suggest?"

"Show up when she says," Regis said, a little exasperated.

"I'm here," Thal defended.

Regis drank more wine. "I should stop wasting my voice on you," he muttered.

"I could use advice about another woman," Thal said.

Regis lowered his glass and his eyes popped with happy shock. "Have you finally got a girl?" he asked.

"There's a woman I need to speak with, but there's no way for me to be introduced. I know where she lives," Thal explained.

"Ha, ha, the huntsman stalks this lucky girl," Regis said with a chuckle at Thal's sudden initiative. "Is she pretty?"

More important matters than her looks were on Thal's mind, but when he considered the question, he found his opinion intense on the matter. She was astonishing. Her spirit gilded her physical prettiness with a gorgeous shine.

"She is," Thal said softly.

By his quiet tone, Regis guessed that Thal was quite intoxicated.

"Tomorrow I will help. I'm glad you've come to me with this. It'll be fun," Regis said.

Thal did not want to spoil his friend's enthusiasm by telling him his business was rather more serious.

"Tomorrow then. For now I suppose I should apply myself to charming Lady Carmelita," Thal said.

Regis laughed. "I'm glad you're feeling better and thinking of women instead of killing people."

"I appreciate your advice on that matter last night," Thal said.

Regis waved over a servant and had him take away his empty glasses. He patted Thal on the back. "Look to the future. We can't fix the past," he said.

"Is that a line from a song?" Thal asked.

"Maybe someday," Regis said, pleased with himself. He glanced between people to see if Lady Carmelita was getting impatient.

"I'll go distract her for a while. Have some dinner," Thal said and moved across the room.

When he reached Carmelita he bowed to her and flourished his hat. "At you service, my Lady," he said.

She was sitting between the man with the earrings and a girlfriend. They both regarded Thal with quiet wonder. Carmelita frowned and kicked at him, but her foot could not reach his leg.

"You're late!" she complained and stomped the floor.

"You did not specify a time," he said.

"See how he talks back to me!" she exclaimed to her girlfriend.

The man with the armor got up. He was a head taller than Thal and looked him up and down with critical curiosity. His weapons most definitely caught his eye.

Thal admired the man's armor. The sleek expanse of sturdy metal was easy to envy. The deep cut on Thal's chest had only just finished healing.

"Condottiere meet Thal Lesky, the newest addition to my household. Thal meet Condottiere Valentino Sangoro," Carmelita said.

The men shook hands. "What is it that you do?" Valentino asked while glancing suspiciously at Carmelita.

"I'm a huntsman," Thal replied.

"My brother claims he's the best hunter ever," Carmelita interjected.

"And he sent him straight away to Prague did he?" Valentino remarked.

"They were done hunting for a while," Carmelita improvised.

"So you shoot rabbits with that pistol?' the Condottiere said to Thal.

"I've not yet had one put up enough of a fight to require that," Thal said. He noticed that the Condottiere had an accent similar to his musician friends. By appearances the man possessed some significant rank if he was chatting up noble widows in Prague.

"Huntsman Thal," the woman next to Carmelita said. "Do you know what was howling last night?"

Thal's sorrow lurched inside him like loose cargo tossed in the hold of boat. His howling song had been the sound of his grief for a mother lost. To be asked so casually about it hurt.

"A wolf of course," he said confidently.

"A wolf in Prague?" Valentino scoffed.

"How would it get in the city?" Carmelita asked.

"Wolves can't get in a city," Valentino said.

Ignoring the Condottiere, Thal said, "In answer to your question, Lady Carmelita, I say that a wolf swam down the river to an island within the city and sang from there."

Both women nodded, impressed with his clever explanation.

"Bah! Who's ever seen wolves swimming in the Vltava?" Valentino said.

"And what is it you do? Monitor the river?" Thal challenged.

"I am a Condottiere!" Valentino said. He tapped his armored chest and flourished his hand.

Carmelita popped to her little feet and fanned her guests. "Mind your tempers. There's no war in here," she said.

Thal ignored her intervention and kept his gaze locked with the tall man. "Do you know all the habits of wolves?" Thal said.

Valentino gently moved aside the fan that was annoying him. "And you can make that claim?" he said.

"The habits of all forest creatures are known to me," Thal said.

"And is howling in Prague an odd thing for a wolf to do?" Valentino said.

"I will admit it is strange," Thal said.

"If you two are finished jousting perhaps we can have a pleasant conversation," Carmelita said. She gestured for a servant to fetch a chair for Thal.

Sitting back down with his hostess, Valentino patted Carmelita's knee. "Forgive me for making a fuss. Your huntsman is a saucy fellow and I thought I might have to turn him out," he said.

Thal resisted the bait. "I am her Ladyship's guest. A mere word from her would suffice if she wishes me to leave," he said.

"Of course you can stay," Carmelita said. The jealousy Thal was arousing in the Condottiere was too intriguing to cut short.

"And how is it you decided you needed a huntsman?" Valentino asked of her.

Thal responded, "I am a bodyguard for her musicians."

"A bodyguard for musicians?" Valentino said.

"They are very talented," Thal said, as if that explained everything.

Puzzled, Valentino relaxed back into the cushions. He decided to study Thal in silence.

Carmelita turned to her girlfriend. "My new musicians have traveled here from Venice and met with many dangers on the road. Thal is their guardian."

"Oh, they are just perfectly lovely. I've never heard anyone like them," her girlfriend said.

"My friends live to please their listeners," Thal said. "I only wish that Lady Carmelita had not rushed them into performing for you. I'm sure she has plans to outfit them as they deserve."

"What do you mean?" Carmelita said.

"My Lady you should be embarrassed by their poor travel worn clothes. It would be but a trifle for you to provide them with new ones," Thal said.

Valentino chuckled.

Carmelita turned to him. "What's funny?" she said.

"Nothing," he murmured mysteriously but Thal sensed a small shift in the man's attitude toward him.

Thal said, "You would delight them if you provided new clothes. Regis would probably write a song just for you."

"Would he?" Carmelita said, brightly interested.

"If Carlo has to darn his socks one more time he'll have to use fairy dust to cover the holes," Thal added.

"Oh stop it!" Carmelita huffed and swatted his knee with her fan. "Of course they need new clothes. My steward will arrange it."

Thal thanked her for the generosity. He was pleased with himself. Perhaps Regis would no longer doubt his ability to manage their new patroness.

Carmelita clapped her hands and called her musicians. They returned to their places for an eager audience. Valentino led his hostess to the floor to lead the first dance.

Thal noticed Carmelita's girlfriend looking at him. He stood up and extended a hand. "I'm not an experienced dancer, but I shall try if you're willing to join me," he said.

With a smile she accepted. "I'm Joana," she said.

The dancers engaged in a more formal routine than the flirtatious folk dance at Patercek Castle. He watched the other men and followed the directions Joana whispered to him.

When he faced his partner again, Joana giggled, "You really don't know how to dance."

"Most of my days have been spent in the forest," Thal said.

"Such freedom must be nice," she said.

"It is," he agreed wistfully.

"Why do you think a wolf came into the city?" she asked.

"Why does the city care about the wolf?" he said.

His impertinence surprised her. "It was frightening," she said.

Thal regretted that his song had frightened the innocent among the guilty. He reminded himself to limit his fearsome anger to those who deserved it.

"The beast will not get you, Lady Joana," he said.

She smiled, surprised by her urge to believe him. Flush with sudden trust, she added, "My husband is away in Munich, so you can understand that I was frightened alone in my chambers."

Thal tried to ignore the image of her in a bed. "The wolf you hear sing in the night is far less dangerous than one creeping close in silence," he said.

"That's sensible," she said. "You're so very knowledgeable. And it seems Carmelita has taken in a hunter just as soon as Prague needs one."

"I'm just here with the musicians. Nothing more," Thal said.

"That's not what the Condottiere is thinking," Joana said. She leaned closer and steered his attention toward Carmelita and her dance partner. "He's obviously trying to woo her. I daresay that she just might take him for a lover."

"That would be her business," Thal said.

"You're not jealous?" Joana said.

Suspecting that the girlfriend was spying, Thal considered how to answer. "A man can only be jealous of what he can't have," he said.

"Oh," Joana said, titillated by his presumption.

A servant rushed in waving his arms. "It's happening again! There's a beast howling!" he cried.

Everyone exclaimed with surprise. The room started to empty as people rushed outside to hear the howling.

Joana and Thal stared at each other. Each was equally alarmed for different reasons.

Joana saw Carmelita and her closest friends heading for the staircase. "Come with me," she said. Thal followed her up to the balcony that overlooked the street frontage.

Guests had spilled down the front steps. More people were coming out of other buildings. The moonlit edges of the dark city were bisected by the graceful curves of the Vltava. When people hushed themselves they could hear coarse and vicious howling.

"Thal!" Carmelita called.

He worked his way over to her.

"Tell us hunter, where is it?" she asked.

Thal waited for the next howl to rise and fall. His own shock at what he was hearing distracted him. Was it Rainer? Was it an unknown werewolf?

"Can't you tell where it is?" Valentino said impatiently.

Finding his tongue, Thal said, "It's in Old Town. Maybe the Jewish Quarter."

"Are you sure? I thought you said it was on an island in the river," Valentino said.

Because of his shock Thal had briefly forgotten his previous story. "It's in the city proper tonight," he added.

"Shall you hunt it?" Valentino said.

"Yes," Thal said. His unhesitating conviction surprised Valentino.

When Thal turned to leave, Carmelita tugged on his sleeve. "I wanted you to meet my associates after the party," she said.

"My apologies. I must go, my Lady," he said and rushed away, deeply distracted.

Carmelita frowned but did not make a big fuss lest she embarrass herself. Thal's elusive nature enticed her as much as it peeved her.

"You want him to meet our associates?" Valentino asked soberly.

"My brother recommended him. Thal's a man of courage," she said.

******

Regis caught up to Thal at the front door. People buffeted them as they moved in and out of the house. Some of them were howling for a joke.

"Thal!" Regis called and nabbed his cloak. When the fabric was pulled aside, Regis glimpsed the fur hanging down his back.

When Thal turned the glint in his eyes startled Regis.

"Don't try to stop me," Thal said.

"Be careful," Regis said.

"Do NOT follow me," Thal said.

"Keep your clothes on," Regis suggested hopefully.

Thal set a hand on his pistol and considered his options. He offered Regis no promises and rushed off into the crowded street. Pistol hurried after him.

Regis stayed on the steps. Another distant howl pierced the night and he shuddered. The voice of this beast lacked the sad beauty of the previous night's song.

Raphael came up behind him and set a hand on his shoulder. "He'll come back," he said.

"I worry he'll get hurt," Regis said.

"Then we will help him," Raphael said.

Regis sighed.

"Sing Thal's song to bring him luck," Raphael said and nudged his colleague back to the party.

******

Thal ran across the Little Quarter. Curious people kept spilling out into the street or hanging out their windows. Dogs were barking and baying. Horses squealed in their stables. People watched Thal's dark form dart down the streets and wondered at his solitary mission.

He quickened his pace when he reached the bridge. A lone rider galloped by him going the other way. Neither of them paused to investigate the other.

The howling had ceased for a while but then it resumed with manic savagery. Regis had been right to worry, and Thal accepted that he could not confront this thing in his man form.

When he reached the Knights of the Cross square, its eerie nighttime emptiness was disquieting. During the day the area was a hub of traffic and vibrant citizenry. But in the night, the moon shone on its stony emptiness like it was an abandoned ruin. People on this side of the river were not rushing outside to listen. They were barring their doors, knowing that a beast prowled their streets.

The bells in a church tower started ringing the hour. Thal sensed the dedicated soul in the tower pulling the rope. Nothing kept that man from his appointed duties.

Thal snuck alongside the church and found a dark crevice in the foundation to hide his things. Swiftly he stuffed in his weapons and his clothes.

The night air was cool against his sweaty bare skin. The silver blue moonlight beyond the ringing tower beckoned his spirit. As the eleventh hour finished striking, he held his enchanted fur to his hips and said the words. The world might condemn him as Devil begotten but the holy ground beneath his bare feet impeded his magic not at all.

Pistol cringed with his chin on his paws. His eyes gleamed with admiration. Thal threw wide his arms and trembled as the spell seized his flesh and connected him to a time when man was proud to be an animal and thought of nothing else.

The transformation tormented his body but it took his consciousness to another plane that gradually transcended the agony. The beast strength overtaking his body triggered a euphoric thrill. He tossed back his shaggy head, wanting to howl, but he silenced himself. He was hunting.

Thal stretched his arms and legs and lifted his tail. He gnashed his jaws, loving his teeth and their bone crushing power.

Dropping to all fours, he loped away from the church. The other werewolf howled again, and he turned toward the sound. When he smelled blood he slowed his pace. The moonlight made the shadows that much more black and he slunk within their borders. Guided by the blood scent, he soon found bloody footprints and detected the signature of Rainer. This comforted him a little. He did not really consider Rainer an enemy, but he accepted that in werewolf form the Jesuit might be dangerous.

Investigating the blood, Thal turned a corner and encountered a frantic knot of human activity. Several men were in the street with torches and pitchforks. One had a gun. They were shouting to their neighbors to stay inside. Two dogs were with them, but they did not follow the trail that Thal knew was obvious to them. Despite his size, he disappeared easily into the shadows and watched the men and dogs. When they went farther down the street, Thal moved in to see where they had come from.

He found broken stable doors and three horses with their throats torn out. The werewolf must have assaulted the confined animals in a vicious frenzy. He had fed very little. Only some choice organs had been ripped out in haste.

Terrible screams in the night drew him back into the street. The screaming ended abruptly. Thal raced toward the sound. Discarding caution he ran past the group of men with torches. Their dogs gave way in submissive silence. The men gaped in speechless horror, each one relieved that the monster had spared him. It embodied all their primal fears of the forest and it had dashed down the street with its tail high.

When Pistol trotted after the werewolf, the men shook off their astonishment. As the little dog disappeared into the night, one man finally said, "Did you see it?"

"Yes."

"God save us, what was it?"

"We need to get more men," announced a very practical fellow, and the group fell back to reassess their chase.

Thal entered the Jewish Quarter and the unmistakable scent of human blood bit into his nostrils. He came upon the werewolf in the midst of his slaughter. He had torn into a camp of beggars. People were screaming and fleeing, and a big furry beast was mauling a limp body in its clutches.

Thal snarled deeply and jumped in front of the werewolf. Rainer dropped the body but stood over it defensively. His black lips pulled back from moonlit canines, and a growl like an avalanche rumbled in his thick throat. All his fur lifted and enhanced his size.

Thal bristled as well and confronted the werewolf with silent supremacy. He felt the nervous uncertainty within the beast, but admired the transformation of Rainer. The disturbed man was now powerful and beautiful and free of his human frailties.

Rainer snarled and snapped but Thal did not flinch. With ears forward and tail up, Thal approached a little more, asserting their kinship and diminishing their potential conflict.

Gradually Rainer lowered his head and eased back from the sad body beneath his dripping jaws. The man's clothes were rent. His scalp was torn open, and his crushed throat drew air no more.

The Rainer werewolf cringed lower and nudged the body with his nose, deferring to Thal in the presence of the kill. Thal snuffled the corpse. Still hot with freshly extinguished life, the meat beckoned him. He licked his lips as salivation revealed his hunger. The tender vitals of the man enticed him, and Thal remembered the long familiar joy of earning the first bite of a fresh kill. He struggled against the natural impulse to feed. His powerful werewolf body craved a massive delivery of nourishment.

His big sensitive nostrils explored the body. The meaty scent intoxicated him. His tongue licked across the torn scalp and the salty taste of blood dimmed his connection to his humanity. The simple joys of living, hunting, and feeding awaited him. There was nothing to stop him from descending into the blissful existence of a predator merely fulfilling its function in the circle of life.

But the face of the man troubled him. The smooth forehead and nose reminded him of how his face would be when he changed back to a man. And he would have to change back. Thal suddenly understood that he could not maintain his werewolf form all the time. He was not a wolf, like he had been. He was a man now. Great magic made him a unique man, but a man nonetheless.

As the stiff hairs of the dead man's beard prickled Thal's nose, he recalled the sensation of Carlo carefully trimming his goatee, and his connection to humanity flared back up and illuminated compassion. His basic hunger fell back into its proper place.

He stepped around the body and sniffed Rainer. The other werewolf growled and slunk away, but Thal stayed with him, gently maintaining light contact.

Very slowly the tension in Rainer eased and he sniffed Thal back. Shouting men down the street interrupted them. Bright torches cast shadows of men and pitchforks, hammers, and clubs. They yelled bravely and stayed in a tight group.

Thal decided to avoid a confrontation. He did not want to be in a position to hurt or kill people rightly defending themselves. And Rainer would obviously kill again if given any provocation.

Brushing his body against Rainer, Thal leaped away. He looked back and yelped once to tell Rainer to follow. The other werewolf hesitated, but the choice between an angry mob and the open heart of Thal was ultimately not difficult.

Thal led him to the river. He jumped into the water and started swimming toward an island. Rainer swam after Thal. Pistol stayed on land. When the men reached the water, the little dog slunk away and was not seen. Men yelled and waved their torches. The flowing water reflected the orange flames, but no one saw the dark heads crossing the water.

Thal sloshed up the muddy bank and shook the water from his fur. Rainer came up behind him shortly. Thal walked along the shore until he reached the pointy tip of the small island that bisected the flowing water. The moon was still high in the sky and he lifted his head and howled softly.

The long gentle note soothed Rainer. He had only known the raving difficulty of his transformed state that commanded him to hunt and kill. But the voice of Thal revealed his pure acceptance for his animal nature. Again Thal howled. When the note ended, he stared at Rainer expectantly. Water swished alongside the island and a fish jumped with a splash.

At last Rainer summoned a sound other than the murderous yowl that celebrated his killing. He mimicked the gentle sound that Thal had made. Its beauty vibrated through Rainer, and the werewolf glimpsed the possibility that one with lethal strength did not have to be ruled by savage passions.

Thal and Rainer howled together next. Their blended voices caressed their spirits. Both beasts were overcome by the companionship.

In time they reached a subconscious agreement and fell silent. The experience had been very intense for both of them. Rainer walked away from Thal and hid himself in the bushes growing around the trees. Thal remained on the bank with the moonlight glistening on his fur and the profile of Prague all around him against a starry sky.

The conflict within Rainer was easy for Thal to sense. The werewolf wanted companionship and guidance, yet something held back trust. Thal imagined how difficult life was for the poor man. He had not chosen the forest as Thal had. And he could not control his transformation.

Giving the werewolf space, Thal lapped at the river water and then settled on the ground. Separated by a short distance, they waited through the night in silence. As the moon sank, Thal wondered when Rainer would shift back to his man form. Thal longed to talk to him, but he dared not shift, especially without his weapons handy. The ambivalence within Rainer toward him was worrisome.

Without warning, Rainer dashed from his hiding spot and jumped into the water. He swam toward Old Town. Thal followed. When he came out of the water, Rainer turned on him with a snarl. Thal hung back briefly before catching up to Rainer in the Knights of the Cross square. He turned on Thal again with a discouraging snarl, and Thal accepted that Rainer did not want him to follow. Dawn was coming and he reluctantly decided to use the remaining darkness to retrieve his clothing and return to being a man.

Rainer disappeared across the square. Pistol caught up to Thal next to the church while he was putting his clothes back on. Exhausted and ravenously hungry, Thal plodded toward the bridge. He was disappointed by Rainer's rejection. He had expected to win over the other werewolf. Thal believed he could help the man come to terms with his altered existence. And selfishly Thal longed for an ally truly capable of hunting at his side.

#  Chapter 23. An Unmapped Kingdom

Erik's crying jolted Altea from her slumber. Yiri's cries soon joined those of his bedmate, and Patrik told them to be quiet.

Shaking off her sleep, Altea sat up and heard what had awoken her brothers. A monstrous yowl told of a creature in the night.

She jumped out of bed. Her bare feet did not bother to find her slippers as she ran out the door. She bumped into Elias in the dark hall. They rushed into their brothers' room.

"The monster! Monster!" Erik wailed. Altea gathered him into her arms. His wet sobs dampened her gown. Yiri rushed to Elias who picked him up.

"I told them there's no monster," Patrik complained.

"Hush!" Elias said.

The howling filled the sudden quiet. Altea immediately realized that it was not the same creature whose howls had embraced her feelings the night before. All warmth left her skin as she shared in the terror of the little boy clinging to her.

"How can there be a wolf in the city?" Elias wondered.

Yiri cried louder and his big brother patted his back. "It can't get us. Our house is strong," he said.

Patrik moved over to his older brother now that he heard the howling. Their father's footsteps creaked in the hall and his candle battled back the fearful dark.

"Like your brother said our house will protect us," Martin said.

His linen nightshirt billowed around his padded physique, and his hair was comically messy.

A spurt of shrieks and snarls chopped at the night and the children cringed. Martin went around upstairs and made sure all the shutters were secure.

"Stay with the young ones," Martin said to Altea. "Elias, let's check the doors."

Altea's three brothers piled into one bed with her, and she soothed them despite her gnawing worry. The nasty predatory sounds triggered instinctive fears and promised bloody death.

Then the howling stopped and the boys calmed down. Altea tucked Patrik back into his own bed and then settled Yiri and Erik under their covers again.

She was about to tell them that the scare was all over, but the monstrous cries suddenly started again. Somewhere in the city a life and death frenzy was underway.

"It's farther away," she told her trembling brothers. They agreed but remained wide awake with terror.

When the quiet returned, she sang them lullabies and told them their mother's spirit watched over them.

Martin and Elias came back upstairs. Martin told everyone to go back to bed. "Tomorrow will be one for the books," he muttered as he went to his room.

Tired, Altea snuggled up to her brothers. Everyone tensed when the howling started again, but she soon relaxed. The sound was different. The beauty had returned. The beast sang of life instead of killing.

Her brothers heard the difference as well. They were not as afraid and could have faith in the walls of their home. After they finally fell back asleep, Altea tiptoed to her room and very quietly cracked open the shutter. The howling remained peaceful and she let its spiritual energy massage her fears. Looking up at the moon, she listened and almost understood.

She believed there were two wolves. This disturbed her, but at least the one that spoke directly to her soul had come back, perhaps to tame the other. She hoped so.

Altea only dozed fitfully the rest of the night. At dawn pounding on the back door got her up. Martin was already dressed and coming out of his room.

"That's probably Bekcek," he said.

Her stomach tensed. Only a serious problem would prompt his Constable to come get him. Something horrible must have happened.

The governess came down from the attic, rubbing her eyes and wondering what all the commotion was about. She had slept through everything.

"Take care of them," Altea said and followed her stepfather.

At the back door Hynek had let in Constable Bekcek. His brassy medallion was bright against his black clothes. He glanced with his narrow eyes at Altea who was only in a nightgown. She disliked his leering gaze and ducked into the kitchen. Cynthia and Esther crowded behind her as she peeked into the hall.

"Magistrate," Bekcek said and took off his hat.

"What's happened?" Martin demanded.

Bekcek shook his head. No soft heart beat in his chest, but he had been bothered by what he had seen. "Horses were slain in their stables last night. Folk said it was a giant hairy beast took 'em out like a dog killing rats. It was more demonesque than a normal beast. Devil sent for certain. Then two street men got butchered near the Jewish Quarter. Ugly scene that was, even in the dark. Folk also say there was two beasts, but you know how stories get. There'll be twenty of them before the sun sets," he said.

"Two of them?" Martin muttered. He hoped that would make them easier to find. One night of howling could be dismissed, but a second night coupled with terrible killings was going to demand an official response.

"I'm ready," he said and left with his Constable.

His willingness to forgo breakfast informed Altea of how seriously her stepfather was taking the situation.

Elias came downstairs just as the door slammed behind his father. Altea told him what had happened.

"A killing spree?" he said, quite shocked. "And people said it was huge?"

"That's what Bekcek told him. And there's two of them," she said.

"They'll need to be hunted down," Elias said.

Altea supposed the monsters would be found and killed although part of her wished they would just run away and leave the city. She disliked calls for blood, especially when she imagined the majesty of the creature whose songs touched her so tenderly. How could something that produced such a lovely sound spread slaughter and terror?

She helped the governess get the boys dressed and commanded everyone to have a normal breakfast. They were halfway into the meal when excessive noise in the street interrupted them. The front door knocker clanged like it was being struck with a hammer. Hynek plodded off to answer it.

From down the hall he soon called, "Young Master Elias, I think you should come."

The tremor in his old voice was worse than usual. Elias bounded up from his chair and banged against the edge of the table. All the dishes were jostled. Altea followed him.

Hynek had not opened the door. It was still latched from the night. Elias looked out a window and gasped. He yanked the curtains over it.

"There's a crowd out there!" he cried.

The door knocker kept clanging and another fist banged on the wood.

Altea hurried up to the window and peeked out. The street was thronged with men.

"Don't open the door," Hynek advised.

"I have to," Elias said and unlatched it.

For once Altea was inclined to agree with the valet and caught her brother's hand on the latch.

"At least let me go with you," she said.

"It's not safe," Elias argued.

"All the more reason you should not step out there alone," she said.

"I'll take Hynek," he said.

"Why not get one of my old ragdolls to protect you?" she scoffed, not caring if the valet heard her.

"Stay here," Elias said and unbolted the door.

Altea ignored him and followed him out. Elias shoved back the two men beating on his door. The agitated babble of the crowd erupted into fierce shouting.

"We want protection!"

"Find the monster!"

"He didn't get all the witches!"

"Who's going to hunt that damn beast?"

"We want to see Magistrate Fridrich!"

Elias waved his arms and yelled, "He's not here! He's gone to the Court!"

Deaf to his cries, the crowd kept clamoring for the Magistrate.

Altea smacked the knuckles of a man hanging on the iron railing. Her sharp whack made him let go and drop back to the street.

"He's not here! You're frightening his children! Go away!" she yelled.

"What about my children?!" a man yelled.

Altea scanned the faces, uncertain of who had spoken. "Go home!" she cried.

Elias grabbed her and pulled her inside. He slammed the door and shoved its bolt into place. The thick wood muffled the irrational demands that continued to froth out of the mob like eggs from coupling frogs.

"It's useless. They won't listen," he said.

"I suppose they'll go away eventually," she said, miserable at the thought of being besieged all day.

The other boys ran down the hall and clung to their brother and sister.

"Papa must be told these people are here," Patrik said.

"I think Patrik is right," Altea said. "Your father would send men to break up this crowd if he knew about it."

Elias frowned thoughtfully and looked like a skinny version of his father. Altea had never seen her half brother look so serious and mature before.

"Let's go to Father. I can't stand this. We need armed guards," he decided. "What is wrong with people? Can't they think at all?"

"Leave the house?" Altea said.

"We can still get out the back alley if we go quickly," Elias said, rushing down the hall.

His brothers looked to Altea, sharing in her fear. She waffled on the rough ground of her anxiety for only a heartbeat. They needed to get away. If they could not reach Martin's office, she decided to take her brothers to a friend's house.

She gathered the three boys close to her and said, "Have courage. The people aren't mad at us. They just don't know what to do. We'll get to Papa and he'll keep us safe."

******

Martin collapsed into his chair. It groaned in greeting. His secretary brought him a cup of milk, which he accepted gratefully. The cocks were still crowing and he already felt like the day was long.

Constable Bekcek hovered on the other side of his desk. His eyes were bloodshot but glittering. He liked the excitement.

Martin waved a hand toward the door. "Well, go on and gather up your tough fellows so I can announce we're hunting this thing. Maybe that'll make that pissy pants mob go away," Martin said. He took a drink. The milk would soothe his empty stomach. His nerves were quite disturbed after having to force his way through the upset throng in the square. He honestly sympathized with their terror, but the rabid demands of the common horde only made things worse. The pointed questions he was expecting from the Burgomeister later that day concerned him far more.

"Magistrate, this hunt'll take more time than usual," Bekcek said.

"Why?"

"It seems dogs won't track it," Bekcek answered.

"Well, do your best," Martin muttered, not wishing to over think the uncanny news.

His constable nodded thoughtfully and left.

Martin's secretary came back in with a leather bound folio full of parchments. It landed on the desk with a hefty thud.

"What's that?" Martin asked.

"The office of the archbishop sent it over yesterday," the secretary explained. "It's the latest list of known heretics in Bohemia."

Looking like he had just been told to eat worms, Martin undid the leather strap restraining the bundle of notices. He thumbed the edges of the pages but did not read anything.

"I'll get to this at my soonest convenience," he grumbled sarcastically.

He then told his secretary to cancel his entire Court schedule that day. The new situation with the murderous beast was surely going to be demanding all of his attention. After dismissing his secretary, he enjoyed the peacefulness in his office. The noise from the square was diminishing a little. He assumed the men-at-arms had finally shown up and were clearing the area. He pondered how he was going to shift around his budget to accommodate this emergency and schemed how best to wheedle more funds out of the city fathers, maybe even the crown if he got creative.

Familiar voices in the hall startled him. He was out of his chair when the secretary opened the door and Elias rushed in.

"Father, people are mobbing our house demanding to see you," he cried.

Alarmed to see all of his children trooping into his office, Martin said, "Didn't you tell them I was here?"

"They won't listen! We were frightened. I decided to get us out of there," Elias explained.

"Send men to make them go away," Patrik said.

Altea came in last and set down Erik who ran to his father.

Martin told the secretary to arrange sending some men to his house.

"Why would they come to our house?" Elias asked.

Martin patted his eldest son on the shoulder. He was proud of Elias for taking decisive action but he could tell the boy was shocked by the irrationality of people.

"Men in important positions must sometimes suffer the inappropriate attention of underlings," Martin said. "These attacks have people upset. They look to me to protect them."

"Can you Papa?" Yiri asked.

"I'll get it sorted out," Martin said.

"Can you show us where you sit in the Court?" Yiri asked.

His swift change of subject bemused Martin, but he supposed he could indulge the request. His children had been frightened and perhaps it would reassure them.

"I'm very busy but why not squeeze in a tour?" Martin said. He led his sons out of the office, but Altea dallied. She did not feel the need to see where her stepfather sat in official judgment of people.

After glancing out in the hall to confirm Martin was actually going with his sons, she sauntered around his desk and sat in his chair. It was big and overstuffed. A surprising sensation of being magnificently important struck her as she bounced on the seat. Looking over his desk with its papers and books and selection of quills, she imagined what it must be like to be officially respected.

She pulled the thick leather folio close. The seal of the See of Prague was embossed on the cover. Flipping it open, she skimmed the cover letter. It was in Latin and she could not make much of it out. The next page bore the letterhead of the House of Rosenberg and was written in the imperial German, which she could read. She perked up when she realized it was a notice for a wanted criminal.

The dastardly details of Martin's world tempted her curiosity.

"Be it declared that one Thal Lesky purportedly of Prague is wanted for crimes against Church and State."

She covered her mouth. She had not told anyone about him, not even when he snooped by her home. Her brief interactions with the strange man were her secrets to savor, like deviant daydreams that divert the crushing tedium of life's demanding routines.

She read onward.

"Hereby it is declared under an oathe to God that Captain Jan Bradcek a loyal servant of House Rosenberg swore that the guilty partie did worship the Devil and call upon unholy magiks to achieve a bestial state known commonly among the folk as a werewolf. In this corrupted form the changeling did assault decent men and steal from them. Furthermore it was reported that after his appearance new babes did sicken and die in villages adjoining Rosenberg Castle where the werewolf did manifest itself. Accused of crimes of heresy including but not limited to Devil worship, spell casting, shape shifting, animal intercourse, and thievery, he is to be captured and delivered to any authorities sacred or secular for the safety of all Christian citizens. A reward of twenty gold florins is offered by the House of Rosenberg to be delivered upon his presentation living or deceased to Rosenberg agents."

Altea was trembling now. She had encountered a werewolf. And he was hunting her! Although truly shocked by the extent of his crimes, she believed that he did not hunt her with brutal motivations. He likely only wanted to speak to her again about his mother. These crimes attributed to Thal might be as unfair as the accusations that had condemned his mother. Altea still could not equate Gretchen with devilry, no matter how much evidence was presented.

She recalled the sorrow on Thal's face when she had told him the grim truth about his mother's demise. How could she not pity a child's grief for his mother?

But perhaps her sympathies were leading her astray. Her doubts about Gretchen's persecution were twisting her good sense. Thal had to be dangerous. She reread his list of crimes and accepted that he really could be a werewolf. It explained the howling over the city, but why did his song charm her so? Altea had no answer to explain her feelings. Even fearing that magic was afflicting her, she could not deny her impulse to protect Gretchen's son. She owed the poor old woman that favor.

The reward of gold florins would surely catch Martin's eye. She tore the page from the book. She flipped the leather cover back in place and put the book in its original position.

The chatter of her brothers in the hall warned her to hurry. Hastily she folded the parchment. Its crinkling seemed as loud as canons to her. She stuffed it in a pocket in her skirt. The gathered folds of fabric would hide it. Jumping up, she scooted away from Martin's chair.

Her family entered the office. Erik and Yiri were blathering about what they had seen. All the boys were visibly reassured to be near their father, and Altea invisibly envied their closeness.

Martin grabbed his hat. "Altea, watch the boys. I'll send someone for you once our house is protected," he said.

She nodded. Martin assumed her silence was caused by fear and never suspected her guilt. He left quickly to dodge the pleas of his younger sons to stay.

Yiri pressed against Altea and hugged her waist. The stolen parchment crackled in her pocket. Its clandestine presence consumed her attention. She was confused by her desire to protect the mysterious man. To condemn him was her proper duty, but she hesitated to take the world's word that he was evil. Her heart told her otherwise. Hopefully she would never find out either way because she feared to enter the unmapped kingdom of the truth.

#  Chapter 24. Holy Guidance

Vito stopped outside the room where Rainer was recuperating. Inside a brother was spooning him broth.

"I can tend Brother Rainer now. Go to your duties," Vito said.

"He's been sleepwalking again," the monk said.

"I'll pray with him until he can rest," Vito said.

Once they were alone, Vito shut the door and pulled up a chair next to Rainer's cot. Fresh straw on the floor helped brighten the musty room, but the chill of the smelly old building held the sunny morning at bay.

Rainer pulled his blanket up to his chin and shuddered.

"Did he come to you?" Vito whispered.

"Yes," Rainer said guardedly. He was trying to avoid thinking about how profound his encounter with Thal had been. For the first time the hideous loneliness of his werewolf existence had been replaced with kinship, but he resisted the temptation of such corrupt comfort.

"What did he do?" Vito said, veiling his excitement poorly.

"He wanted to be with me," Rainer said.

"Why didn't he follow you here?" Vito said.

Rainer looked at the wall. "I don't know," he murmured.

His evasive demeanor tickled Vito with suspicion. Something had occurred between the beasts that Rainer did not want to share.

Vito said, "Tonight you must find him and try again to lure him back here."

Remembering the horror of being caged during a transformation, Rainer despised the thought of aiding in Thal's capture. He touched the cross hanging around his neck and told himself to think of his soul. He could never be saved if he sided with the other werewolf. He must serve Christ.

"Brother Vito, what will you do when you catch him?" Rainer said.

Assuming Rainer was succumbing to his usual misplaced compassion, Vito said, "If I can, I will try to save him, like I do with you. If I could have a proper chance to speak with him again, maybe he would join us and serve our cause to cleanse his sins."

The idea perked up Rainer. "Do you think he could accept Christ?" he said.

Vito nodded. "Remember his curiosity about us in Mirotice? He may be seeking God without even understanding. Perhaps there's goodness left in his soul and he won't have to be executed."

"There is goodness," Rainer said.

"Then I will pray that he can be redeemed, but either way it's very important you bring him back here. He must accept Christ or pay for his Devil ways," Vito said.

Rainer nodded thoughtfully. He wanted to believe that Thal would join with him in the service of Christ, but luring him into a trap remained uncomfortable for Rainer. What if Thal rejected Christ? Rainer did not want to imagine how that would make him feel.

"So I must seek him tonight," Rainer said.

"Yes. And bring him back here," Vito said although he now planned to send his sellswords to track Rainer.

"As you say," Rainer said heavily. He only needed to get through one more night before the moon waned enough to release him for a few weeks.

Vito bade him to rest and went out. He meant to introduce himself to the Magistrate with whom he hoped to begin a productive relationship. He was well pleased with the mayhem Rainer had spread last night. The officials of Prague would surely be ready for holy guidance this morning.

On the streets men looked over their shoulders at Vito as he walked by. Clusters of women with their water buckets chattered with urgent vigor, and they snapped at their little children to stay close. Older wives dispensed opinions about the events of the night with sage confidence.

"Brother Vito!"

Vito craned his neck to see over the traffic. Miguel was coming toward him, waving a hand. A slop bucket emptied from a high window splashed into the street and the Jesuit had to dodge the spray. He hustled up to Vito, who read success upon his associate's satisfied face.

Miguel fell into step next to his master. "I think you'll find the Magistrate to be quite personally distressed," he reported.

"Excellent. I trust no one saw you in the vicinity of his house," Vito said.

"No. I went along the docks this morning and roused up a rabble and told them where to go. They made me buy them beer first, but that only loosened their tempers for the display. I met one fellow who regularly does this sort of thing. He hustled up twenty lowlifes at the shake of a stick. He was most helpful but I had to give up a thaler to him. That and the beer cut into your budget for the sellswords I fear," Miguel said.

"It's their lot for pay to be in arrears. They haven't done anything but squeeze the bums of wenches and lift steins since we got to Prague anyway," Vito said.

The street opened into the Old Town Square. A number of men-at-arms were still shooing away upset citizens.

"There was quite a mob here too," Miguel said.

Vito nodded happily. They wove among the vendors' scattered carts. Some of the sellers were picking up merchandise that had been knocked over by the throng of people rushing to the Town Hall to complain about the fearsome attacks.

At the front doors of the Court, a guard said, "By order of the Magistrate, no visitors today."

"I am Brother Vito di Tellamoro of the Society of Jesus on a mission sanctioned by the Pope to maintain the Godliness of Bohemia. I have special knowledge concerning the devilry that afflicted your city last night and am here to help. To refuse me is to refuse the Church," Vito said.

The guard wavered. The serious looking Jesuits eyed him with judgmental authority backed up by an intolerant reputation. He glanced at his colleague who reflected no desire to hassle the Churchmen.

"The magic besetting you requires Holy aid. It is beyond the mundane powers of a mere city court," Miguel added.

The guard let the Jesuits enter.

In the gloomy front hall of the Court, the dark wood panels absorbed the sunlight streaming in the upper windows. The doors to the official court chambers were shut, but the energy of many large audiences and dramatic condemnations permeated the building.

Going down a side hall, they were confronted by the Magistrate's secretary.

"No one is supposed to be in here," the man huffed.

"I am sure that the Magistrate will be interested in giving us an audience," Vito declared.

"We are trained in the detection of heretics," Miguel added.

The disgruntled secretary frowned but sought a compromise. "We can arrange an appointment for another day," he said.

"To delay hearing our advice would not serve the Magistrate well," Vito said.

"He's not in at the moment," the secretary said.

A door in the hall opened and a man poked out his head.

"Brother Miguel?" he said.

"Professor Zussek!" Miguel exclaimed.

Zussek came into the hall and greeted Miguel. Then he took Vito's hand. The secretary hung back in defeat.

"You can wait with me," Zussek said and ushered them into the room. "I'm a personal friend of Magistrate Fridrich. I'll introduce you. His secretary was correct that he's out. He had a mob descend on his home."

"How very uncalled for," Vito said sympathetically.

Miguel suppressed a smile. Ethics aside, he had to admire how Vito handled reality as deftly as a master potter shaped wet clay on the wheel.

Zussek sat down. A rigid leather case was at his feet. The hem of his black robe was a little wet and soiled.

"You were certainly correct about werewolves being in the area," Zussek said.

"I wish it were not so," Vito said.

"With the Church and Empire holding the reins of Bohemia we will set things right," Miguel added.

"If only things had not gone so far afoul," Zussek lamented.

"Is it still your belief that some witch's spell has summoned these beasts?" Miguel asked.

Gravely Zussek nodded. His frizzy beard scratched against his stiff linen collar. "It's the only reasonable explanation," he said. Leaning forward, he patted his leather case and added, "I went to the scene of the killing this morning and gathered evidence."

"Like what?" Vito asked.

"As a courtesy we must wait for the Magistrate," Zussek said.

Vito restrained himself from nagging for the professor's news. His patience was a fair exchange for an introduction to the Magistrate.

Outside the clanging of the Town Hall's elaborate astrological clock performed the marking of the hour. Not much later the bustling noise of the returning Magistrate was in the hall. His secretary put him on notice that he had visitors.

Zussek and the Jesuits were already on their feet when the secretary opened the door and ushered them toward Martin's office.

Martin was dabbing at his forehead with a cloth as his visitors entered. He had done entirely too much rushing about this morning.

He welcomed Zussek warmly, and the professor introduced Vito and Miguel as his new acquaintances from the Jesuit Academy. Martin glanced questioningly at his friend. Apparently Zussek was attempting to improve his university's poor status with ecclesiastical powers.

After the men took their seats, Zussek said, "Are things well again at home?"

"Yes. We got Karlova cleared out," Martin said, not wishing to revisit the annoyance.

"I took the liberty of visiting the places where the killing was done last night," Zussek said and lifted his case onto the desk. He started to undo the buckles.

"You've found something?" Martin said.

The professor opened the case and pulled out a notebook. The case also held two sets of calipers, little bottles, scissors, and a set of glass lenses.

Turning the notebook for everyone to see, Zussek showed the bloody footprints he had drawn in actual size. His illustrations were startling. Then he described his examination of the bodies.

"Unfortunately I did not get a proper look at the horses. Damn people had already started butchering the meat, but two dead men were still intact. I measured the bite marks and scratches," he said.

"What could make wounds so large?" Martin wondered as he perused the notes.

Before Zussek could answer, Vito said, "It's a werewolf."

"A werewolf?" Martin said.

Jumping to the Jesuit's support, Zussek said, "Brother Vito's party encountered one recently by Mirotice and there's increasing tales of them from the south," he said. Removing a clear glass bottle from the case, he held it up. "And here's some of its hair."

The men leaned close, their eyes glazed with wonder. Zussek explained how he had found the tuft of fur between the fingers of one of the victims.

They passed around the bottle. The gray and brown strands of fur fleshed out the beast in their imaginations.

Martin handed back the bottle to his friend and remembered the other bit of hair Zussek had shown him. He decided not to mention that in the presence of the Jesuits.

Sitting back as was his habit before declaring an opinion, Martin said, "A werewolf might explain why my Constable reported that dogs won't track this thing."

"A sure sign of supernatural influence," Zussek said, greatly interested by the detail.

"I've arranged for three street patrols tonight to hunt it," Martin said. "They'll be armed of course."

"Only three patrols?" Vito said.

Martin regarded the Soldier of Christ, whose presence in Prague was quite new to him. Since two Jesuits from the Clementinum were sitting in his office, he hoped they were there to do more than complain.

"The Court's coffers barely keep pace with the expenses of normal crimes. Organizing hunting parties for beastly servants of the Devil strains my already overburdened resources," Martin said.

Vito was unsurprised by the broad hint. Prospecting for gold was bred into the agents of any town hall. Very aptly did Greed dance hourly on the great clock outside. Delicately he said, "Our brothers shall encourage good men to volunteer for the protection of their fellows." When Martin's face fell with disappointment, Vito added, "But if you could put into writing a request for assistance, I would take it to my superiors."

"It will be done," Martin said.

"You show a Godly heart to seek Church assistance," Vito said. "But I'm here to offer advice as well. I suggest we catch the beast when it's in the shape of a man."

"But how do we know who the man is?" Martin said. "Am I looking for some half naked madman mumbling in a ditch?"

"He may not be so obviously corrupted of the soul," Vito said and then related his brief encounter with Thal.

"And you think this Thal is the werewolf?" Martin said.

"That or he's the sorcerer who made the beasts," Vito said.

"Everyone must keep in mind that this Thal is likely very powerful," Zussek interjected. "The incident at Mirotice showed an abnormal power. The beast appeared without a full moon. Commonly this is not believed possible for a werebeast to accomplish, but I could have an explanation."

He paused to pull in the attention of the men more fully and continued, "In an eastern text of Muscovy origin I found new information. It took me a while to plow through the mangled Latin, but it told of a sorcerer who possessed an enchanted charm that controlled his shapeshifting. Such a thing would make for an exceptionally powerful beast. One that still possessed the intelligence of a man and all his cunning."

"What was the charm?" Martin demanded, not wishing to indulge his friend's habit of dramatically drawing out details.

"In this story it was a wolf fur," Zussek said.

"So we're looking for a man with a wolf fur," Martin said, determined to be practical.

"I'm quoting from a very old legend. I can't be sure," Zussek said.

"I have some sellswords in my employ who escorted my party from Rome," Vito said. "They would recognize our man. With your permission Magistrate I can send them to aid your hunting parties."

"Gladly I accept," Martin said. "Have them report to Constable Bekcek at the jail."

"Ah, your jail. Is it strong enough to hold a beast? If we catch this man alive, I'd wish for him to have a chance to confess his sins before prosecution." Vito said.

"My jail is very secure. No one has ever escaped. We can hold him," Martin said. He would have preferred a quick kill, especially since the beast was loose in Old Town, but a sensational trial would boost his prestige and hopefully inspire enhanced funding for the Court.

"Very good. I appreciate your cooperation," Vito said.

"I am the servant of the powers that be," Martin said. Rising, he told his visitors that he had another important appointment and could indulge them no longer. He saw the men to the door. He rubbed the side of his face and noticed that he had not shaved that morning. He made a mental note to spruce himself up before meeting with the Burgomeister.

#  Chapter 25. Irresistible Gateway

Pistol jumped up on Thal's bed and licked his face. Wincing and groaning, Thal pushed his little dog away. He wanted to nap all day, but Pistol kept prancing up and down his bed.

Thal got up and let the dog out. Pistol disappeared down the hall. In his room he found a fresh basin of water. He vaguely recalled the pot boy coming and going earlier. After he splashed cool water on his face his stomach growled demandingly. Some hunk of bread was not going to suffice today. He wanted meat.

He counted his coins and figured he could take his friends out on the town. Since returning to Prague, he had spent too much time alone and transformed. He wanted their cheerful companionship to balance his violent grief. His shock needed to ease so he could avoid acting in blind anger. He had no desire to pay for what his enemies would call crimes.

While getting dressed he reflected on Rainer's vicious killing spree that he had interrupted last night. Such erratic slaughtering did not make sense to Thal and he feared for the man's sanity.

Before he went out on the town he had some apologizing to do. Thal found the pot boy and told him to come with him. The boy followed, pleased to have Thal's attention. In the inner garden Thal cut a rose and handed it to the boy.

"Mind the thorns," he said.

The boy stared at the rose. The flower's yellow petals swirled with perfect symmetry. Its fragrance was addictive and a great contrast to hauling chamber pots.

"Take that to Lady Carmelita and tell her I beg for her to indulge me with an audience so that I may apologize," Thal instructed.

The boy trotted off with the rose held out like it was a fragile vase.

A maid admitted the boy to the Lady's private wing where she was enjoying a light lunch with the Condottiere. Smiling with surprise, Carmelita accepted the rose from the boy.

"It's beautiful but you're not supposed to pick these," she said.

"Um, Thal sends it. He wishes to apologize. Can he see you?" the boy said.

Carmelita looked at the stem. "At least he did not shoot it off," she said.

"No, Ladyship, he didn't shoot his gun just like he said he wouldn't," the pot boy agreed, advocating for the man.

"Run fetch him," she said.

Carmelita twirled the rose under her nose. She did not allow anyone in the household to pick the precious roses, but she excused Thal's presumption because he had done it for her.

"I thought you said that man had no interest in you," Valentino remarked and bit into a boiled egg.

"Jealousy does not become you," she said.

"The Hell it doesn't," he argued.

Carmelita giggled and took another rosy sniff. The yellow ones smelled the most wonderful. "He had to send me some token to mollify me after the way he ran off last night," she said.

Valentino finished his egg and kicked back in his chair. His silk robe slid back from a hard, blackly-haired chest. "I wanted a better chance to converse with your huntsman too, especially before you introduce him to our associates," he said.

"Augie wrote me that he's very strong, deadly even. Our associates will need strong hard men to support them when the time comes," she said.

"Deadly?"

Carmelita leaned over the little table. "Apparently he killed six bandits all by himself," she whispered.

The Condottiere raised his eyebrows, duly impressed. He knew that killing was not easy work, at least not at close range. "So the song his musicians sing about him is true?" he said.

Carmelita nodded silently because Thal's footsteps were in the hall. The maid let him enter and he bowed to his hostess.

"Thank you for seeing me, my Lady," he said.

"I should really throw you out," she pouted.

"If that is your will, I will go," he said.

A whirl of the rose under her dainty nose sweetened her temper. "It's no fun if it upsets you not," she said.

"I don't fear finding my way in the world whether I am your guest or not," Thal said. "But please allow me to offer my apology for leaving last night when you wished me to stay. I shall attempt to avoid such rudeness in the future."

"That's a comfort," Carmelita said, unimpressed by his empty words.

Tired of the exchange, Valentino coughed ceremoniously. "So Huntsman did you find the creature?" he inquired.

"I did."

Jolting with surprise, Carmelita asked, "Did you kill it?"

"Nay, my Lady. The thing was very large and that would not be an easy task. It killed at least three horses and two men last night before I found him," Thal explained.

"Truly?" Valentino asked. The streets had to be abuzz with the news and his lackadaisical morning had prevented him from hearing any of it. "How did you survive then?" he asked.

"I can observe a beast without inviting attack, usually," Thal said.

"What was it?" Carmelita said.

"A werewolf."

She gasped and pressed her hand against her mouth. She had heard of such things haunting the land, but never in the city.

"I heard some talk of such things on my trip up here from Milan," Valentino said.

"There's more talk all the time, for obvious reasons," Thal said.

"And since you're such a great huntsman I imagine you'll be organizing a hunt for it," Valentino said.

Thal sensed the challenge in the Condottiere's words. The man had doubts about him, which irked Thal, but he did not feel overly concerned about impressing him either.

"Is it her Ladyship's wish that I hunt it?" Thal asked.

That her wish could arouse him to action pleased Carmelita. If her man did catch the werewolf terrifying the city, she would gain some fame, but she was not sure if it was the type of attention she craved.

"I imagine the City Council will offer some bounty. I need not add to that," she said.

Thal had not considered that a bounty would be offered for the werewolf's death, and he worried for Rainer. If the man acted like he did last night, it would only be a matter of time before he got shot.

Carmelita continued, "I think it best to have you guard this home and my family from this raving werewolf. That would comfort me far more that having you hunting it when many others will surely attend to that task."

"Most practical, my Lady. I shall return here by sundown and watch over you," Thal said.

"Where are you going?" Valentino said.

"I wish to take my friends out. We've hardly begun to explore Prague since arriving. Can you recommend a place to get a good meal?" Thal said.

Valentino said, "In the Little Quarter the Magic Flag offers good food at a fair price that still keeps out riffraff."

"We shall look for it," Thal said.

"Do you think that werewolf will emerge again tonight?" Valentino said.

"It may," Thal answered, expecting that the moon was still sufficiently full to trigger Rainer's beast magic.

"Do come back as you said you would," Carmelita said.

Vulnerability had replaced her bossiness, and Thal reminded himself that he had promised Patercek to look after his sister's well being. Growing worried that Rainer might come looking for him, he said, "I will be here."

His sincerity relaxed her. "You may go," she said and gestured to the door.

Carmelita watched his cloak swing from strong shoulders with each confident stride he took away from her. When she turned, Valentino's glower confronted her.

"Oh, I can't help liking him," she admitted.

"You're a more honest widow than wife," Valentino remarked.

"He's far too common for me to seduce so you can stop being jealous," she said.

"I don't think he's common at all," Valentino murmured.

"To be honest, I think everyone likes him," she added.

"He does have charisma," he agreed.

"See, you like him too," Carmelita said. She got up and slid into his lap. His strong hands that commanded men and pleased women squeezed her hips.

"I like you more," he said.

"I should hope so," she said playfully and kissed him.

******

Thal found his friends predictably in the kitchen. A gaggle of servants flocked to him when he entered and battered him with questions. The gossip sweeping the city had them in a rare dither.

Pistol scampered to Thal's heels and yipped. Thal held up his hands and called for quiet. The servants obediently hushed themselves as if he were about to reveal a divine message. Even Thal was surprised by the response.

Regis said, "I told them you would have all the answers about the beast."

"I have some," Thal said and then shared the same details he had spoken to Carmelita. A cook asked him if would hunt down the beast. Thal told him it was their Ladyship's wish that he guard the house and he would. This news pleased the servants who beamed as if they now enjoyed a special privilege.

Trying to discourage their interest Thal slid onto the bench next to Carlo.

"Get him food," Carlo said.

The crowd dispersed to their duties and someone brought Thal a bowl of oat gruel and boiled eggs. He gobbled the eggs but picked at his gruel.

"Let me take you out today," he said.

The musicians naturally agreed.

Regis drained his cup of watered wine and said, "I just remembered you wanted advice about a girl."

Raphael and Carlo exclaimed happily and in unison asked who it was.

"I saw her in Old Town," Thal said. The sudden heaviness of his mood made his friends think he was especially smitten.

Carlo presumed to touch Thal's face. "We should trim you up before you go. Make you pretty," he said.

After glancing among his shaggy companions Thal decided they would find a barber. "And Carmelita should be sending you a tailor soon. I got her to agree to get you new clothes," he added.

The news pleased his friends who thanked him for taking such good care of them.

Eager for the day the men left the house. The streets were busy and chatter about the murders was easy to overhear. When they saw a red and white barber pole, they entered the shop. A man having a tooth drawn was yowling piteously beneath the strong hands of the barber's burly assistant.

Regis blanched at the sight and declared he felt little need for a shave. Carlo put him in a seat and told him to toughen up. The wretched customer was soon finished and sent away with bloody rags stuffed in his mouth. The barber washed his hands and appeared pleased to perform a more pleasant task.

Thal got a haircut first. As the man's fingers moved through his hair and the scissors snipped, he said, "What interesting hair you have. Each strand has more than one color. What stars were you born under?"

"I could not say," Thal said.

"Does your hair take after your father or mother?" the barber asked. He marveled at a lock of hair before tossing it into the pile of the floor.

Because Thal could only remember his father with a shaven head it made him wonder what his father's hair was actually like. "I take after my father," he said for the sake of answering.

After all four men were finished, Thal paid the barber. Pistol hopped up when the men came out. The dog stuck close to his master's heels in the busy traffic.

After asking several people, Thal located the Magic Flag. They went in and drank some beer. Thal learned that the joint of beef would not be ready for hours. The half raw hulk of meat just beginning to heat over the massive fire provoked his appetite. He knocked back his hunger with another beer. Planning to return for dinner, the men left after Regis cajoled Thal into taking them to Old Town.

The mood across the river was more agitated than the Little Quarter. Groups of armed men, some with the royal livery, were on display in the square. One ragged man standing on a barrel was raving about the doom the Jews were bringing on the city. A small crowd was yelling in agreement until someone, presumably the owner of the contents of the barrel, knocked him down. He whacked the wretch with a stick and told him to be off.

"Charms to ward back the werewolf! Get your werewolf charms!" a man barked.

He began foisting a fistful of amulets into Raphael's face. Blunt pebbles and wooden beads strung on leather cords dangled from the man's arms and around his neck. They looked about as magical as horse apples.

"No, no, I don't want one," Raphael said and tried to push him away.

"Everybody in Old Town is buying one. Two for price of one because I care so much for my fellow man," the hustler insisted.

"Get away!" Raphael declared, reverting to his native language.

"You need it to keep back the werewolf," the man argued.

Thal stepped in. With a firm hand he backed the man away from Raphael. "He said he does not want one," he said.

Unrelenting as a nasty rash, the man said, "Oh, fine Sir, your gun can't save you. These are the finest werewolf banes crafted by the great magician Theodorni. It's your only protection!"

"I'm sure your magician is a drunk and a fraud," Thal said. He seized one of the dangling charms. Its amulet was merely a glob of half dried clay. He ground it to dust in his hand.

"I assure you these do not keep back werewolves," he said and let his predatory spirit flash. The man quailed back, but even cowering, he squeaked, "You'll have to pay for that."

Thal spun him around and pushed him away.

"Thank you," Raphael said, dusting off his sleeves. "Those saddest magic charms ever I see." Everyone laughed, even Thal who had appreciated the silly diversion.

They moved into the market stalls. Carlo and Raphael lagged behind browsing items and chatting with vendors. Regis wandered ahead, more interested in people watching. He finally stopped at a juggler. Thal trailed behind him but still kept an eye on Carlo and Raphael farther back.

Regis tossed a copper into the juggler's cup and turned to Thal. "Show me where this girl lives," he said.

"I don't know that there's much point standing outside her house," Thal said.

Regis could tell that inexperience was frustrating his friend.

"You have to let her see you. If she likes you she'll come out," Regis said.

Thal pointed to Karlova Street. "She lives down there," he said.

"Nice houses," Regis said, beginning to understand Thal's difficulty. He was not trying to woo some common girl who could flirt in the streets.

"What's her name?" Regis asked.

Thal sighed. "The sign on her home said Fridrich," he said.

Regis groaned. A first name would have been helpful. "Let us go by the house. Maybe we get lucky and run into her," he said.

They told Carlo and Raphael where they were going. The two men stayed behind to keep shopping.

As Thal and Regis walked down Karlova Street, he explained his first encounter with the woman and that she had known his mother.

"She told me how she died," Thal concluded sadly.

"Again I'm sorry for your loss," Regis said. He had heard of witches being put down his whole life but never thought about those people having grieving family members.

"I'm glad you have not done anything terrible because of what happened," Regis said, hoping to keep Thal on a peaceful course.

"Your advice is hard to follow," Thal admitted.

Regis frowned. "Best to move on Thal. This interest in a girl will be good for you. The sooner you get a girl the better," he said.

"Are girls how you keep peace in your heart?" Thal asked.

"They help," Regis said, laughing.

Thal supposed that Regis was right. There were more songs about love than war, but he knew that this woman would bring him no peace. She possessed information that he needed so he could fulfill the violent duty to which he had pledged his heart.

Broken bottles started to litter the street, and they encountered four men-at-arms in front of a white washed stone home with yellow shutters and a red tile roof.

Thal boldly stopped in front of the door. The Fridrich house sign was askew on the wall. "This is it," he said.

"Move along you two," commanded one of the guards.

Thal ignored him and scanned the windows. His heart thumped with anticipation.

Pistol ran up the steps.

"Get your cur out of here!" the guard yelled.

"What happened?" Regis asked and gestured at the dirty hand prints on the walls alongside the front door.

"There'll be no more hangers on at the Magistrate's house," the guard insisted and swung his spear out meaningfully.

Regis stepped back and tugged on Thal's cloak, but his friend did not budge. From an upstairs window a woman with blonde braids was looking down at Thal. Their gazes met like they had the whole world to themselves. Her mouth hung open as if fear and delight fought over her lips. Thal saw her as an irresistible gateway to the other half of life that he could not experience alone. As the unicorn is drawn to the maid under a pear tree, his wildness became tame and he wished only for one gentle stroke of her hand.

"Be gone," the guard said and stuck his spear under Thal's chin.

The intrusive point broke the spell upon Thal, and he snatched the spear from the man's grip. He tossed it like a toy down the street. The spear clattered and spun across the cobbles. One pedestrian had to hop over its passing shaft. He yelled.

Thal pulled his pistol and aimed it into the guard's face. The stunned man stepped back. His three comrades pointed their weapons at Thal. Regis hovered in anxious shock.

"Don't take a spear to a gun fight," Thal advised.

"We'll have you charged and flogged!" one of the other guards cried.

Thal swung his pistol barrel toward him and said, "Touch me and I'll feed your hands to my dog."

Pistol barked appropriately.

"Thal!" Regis said sharply.

Out of consideration for his friend's need to not be arrested or killed, Thal took a step back and pointed his pistol up. "Excuse my temper," he said.

"Come!" Regis urged and started down the street.

Thal looked up for the woman again. She still stood in the window, amazed by his behavior.

Regis pulled Thal along by the elbow. "Christ save us. That's the Magistrate's house. Why must you be in love with his daughter? I thought you said you were wanted," Regis babbled.

"I'm not in love with her," Thal said, annoyed by the remark.

With the attitude of an accomplished Latin lover, Regis regarded Thal skeptically. "I saw how you looked at her," he said.

Thal put his pistol back into his belt. "Love is not my business with her," he said.

"No man looks at that one and does not think of some type of love business," Regis declared.

"I have nothing to offer a woman," Thal muttered to remind himself of the fact.

"We need to get back to the Little Quarter," Regis decided after another look back. "That dinner you wanted to buy us should be ready."

Fully intending to satisfy that appetite, Thal agreed. In the square they reunited with Raphael and Carlo.

"Did you find Thal's lady?" Raphael asked.

Regis rolled his eyes and declared that Thal was determined to add to his list of crimes because of the woman.

"She very pretty then?" Raphael said, eager for details.

"She will inspire my next song," Regis said.

Thal was ignoring their conversation. He had spotted one of the town men-at-arms emerging into the square from Karlova Street. He hailed a patrol of royal guards and was likely describing his encounter with Thal.

"Let us keep going," Thal advised and hurried his friends toward the bridge.

They crossed unmolested, and Regis became happier with Old Town behind him.

"Thal, you really should not have attacked that city guard," he said.

"I did not attack him. I disarmed him," Thal corrected.

"Acting like that will make you a more wanted man," Regis said.

"I'll suffer no man to draw arms on me," Thal said.

Regis sighed. Although Thal's nature was startling it was also admirable. If all men possessed such unflinching courage perhaps the world would be a fairer place.

"At least you impress that fine girl. She did not mind seeing you at her door," Regis said.

A flicker of macho pride erased some of Thal's surly mood. Of all the women who had wished to seduce him, only her interest flattered him.

Regis continued, "I don't know how I can help you, my friend. Guards on her door! The daughter of the Magistrate. Can't you just go for some tavern maid?"

"The huntsman takes no joy in the slaughter of chickens," Thal said.

Laughing, Regis said, "You take all the romance out. I best stick to singing and leave you to whatever it is you do."

"As you wish, but I appreciate your opinions. I guess I just wished for you to see her," Thal said.

"You love her," Regis insisted again.

Sadly Thal admitted, "I want to love her but my heart has other duties."

The ominous comment worried Regis, but they had reached the Magic Flag and he did not wish to belabor the subject. He could hope that Thal would move on from his impossible crush on an unreachable woman. At least it was a start toward some healthy wenching.

The sunny day yielded to a dark interior of wood construction and furnishings. Each little adz mark upon the heavy beams told of the patient and skillful chipping of laborers years ago. Bundles of drying herbs hung from posts and men and women were filling the benches of the common tables. Thal and his party moved farther in. He had reserved a room in back where they could eat in more comfort.

When they entered the private alcove, Valentino was seated at the center of the table. He raised a stein adorned with lions and snakes.

"Welcome, Thal Lesky. I'm sure you don't mind if I join you for dinner. I'll buy a round of drinks of course," Valentino said.

#  Chapter 26. A Helping Hand

The self invitation of the Condottiere perturbed Thal but he slid onto the bench along the wall and seated himself by Valentino. Following his lead, the musicians piled in around the table.

"I would've thought you dined with more important people than me," Thal said.

Valentino took a drink. "Perhaps you are important," he said.

A tavern wench brought over four full steins and distributed them. Regis thanked her for the service. Thal noticed that his friend's accent had suddenly become more pronounced.

"How could I be important to you?" Thal asked. He felt Pistol settling in by his feet.

"Oh, I'm always in the market for good men," Valentino replied.

"I didn't think I was for sale," Thal said.

Valentino chuckled. "Every man has his price." In Italian he asked the musicians if they agreed.

"Yes, each man has a price but how often does he actually get paid?" Regis rejoined and everyone laughed.

The serving woman returned with a basket of bread rolls. The men tore into them. Amid the quiet of full mouths, Thal studied Valentino. His shining earrings hinted of profitable adventures. And his good armor and weapons made clear that his business was a dangerous one. Delicately detailed designs were etched into the cuirass depicting horsemen with falcons. A square cross was at the center of the design.

"Does your armor stop pistol balls?" Thal asked.

Valentino ran a strong hand across his chest, obviously proud of his beautiful armor. "Are you thinking of shooting me?" he asked.

"No. I'd like to get some armor. I worry I might get shot at," Thal said.

"You should be worried," Valentino said mysteriously and drank some more beer.

Regis, Raphael, and Carlo exchanged looks across their steins.

"Will it stop a gun?" Thal pressed.

"Sometimes, if one gets lucky," Valentino said. "I try to make sure there are other people to shoot at instead of me."

"Is that how I can be important to you?" Thal said.

"No," Valentino said dramatically. "You're much too good for cannon fodder and you know it. Ah, our dinner!"

Two women arrived bearing trays. They passed out heavy pewter plates of steaming roast beef slices sloshing in au jus. They left a bowl of shredded horseradish along with eating knives and more bread. Valentino got out his own knife and cut into his meat.

Thal dove into his dinner enthusiastically. The beef was succulent. Its meaty chewiness with a lingering bloodiness briefly drove all else from his mind. Pistol put his front paws on the bench and placed his chin on Thal's thigh. His brown eyes gazed upon his master with piteous need. Thal pulled off the darker fire-kissed edges of each meat slice and dropped them to the floor for his dog.

While the men ate, Valentino kept the conversation casual. He spoke mostly Italian with the musicians. They talked of home villages and the convoluted quarrels of various states on their complicated peninsula.

When they were done eating the woman came by and refilled their mugs.

"Condottiere, I suppose you would know a good place for me to get another pistol. I'd rather have two," Thal said.

"Two are better than one," Valentino agreed and patted the pair of pistols in his belt. "Tell me, Thal, how are you at riding horses?"

Carlo chuckled. "Horses no like him," he said. His friends shared a smile.

"I just have not met the right horse yet," Thal said.

Valentino frowned. "I'll have to teach you," he muttered.

"I did not ask about horses," Thal said.

"Oh, yes, a pistol. I have connections with good gunsmiths in Prague, but you'll have to forgive me if I don't name names right now. My main fellow's shop is under exclusive contract to the crown, but he knows how to discreetly make side deals. Like servants in the master's pantry so to speak. I'll take you there tomorrow if you like," Valentino explained.

"Can I get armor too?" Thal said.

Valentino looked down his nose. "You can't possibly have money for that. Men who win battles earn such things," he said.

"And you have won battles," Thal surmised.

"Many," Valentino bragged. "Stick with me and you can win battles too."

"War is not my business," Thal said.

"That's right, you are the huntsman who plays nursemaid to musicians. No offense," Valentino added to the Venetians at the table.

"We would be prisoners or worse if not for Thal," Raphael defended.

"We need him," Regis said, not wishing to see Thal shackled to the Condottiere's dark duties.

"I'm not rushing off to fight in any wars," Thal assured them. "I simply asked for some help buying another gun."

"There's money to be made in war," Valentino said.

"Then why do soldiers always want for pay?" Thal asked.

"Commanders get paid far more often," Valentino said. "You could be a commander. I can see that men will follow you."

Thal did not doubt that assessment, but knowing he could control men, and perhaps even inspire them to violent deeds if need be, was not the same as wishing to do so.

"I want no part in killing for no reason," Thal said.

"Oh someone has a reason every time, and he's the one paying to put men in the field," Valentino said to alleviate Thal's ignorance.

"My killing is done for my own reasons," Thal specified.

"So the huntsman does kill more than just animals in the forest, as I've heard," Valentino said.

"Thal stood in our defense against bandits. We employ him as our bodyguard," Regis said, quite possessively.

"And there's no competing with what a musician can pay," Valentino joked.

Regis did not like the direction of this conversation at all. He would have to keep reinforcing his message of peace with Thal.

"I think my friend is clear about not wanting to be in your war business," Regis said.

Valentino stirred the horseradish left on his plate, making it pink with bloody juice. "Perhaps he has not considered the opportunities that soldiering provides criminals. Serving a good cause has spared many a man the gallows," he said.

"Don't let him threaten you," Regis said hotly.

"We're just talking," Thal said, and his friend reluctantly shut his mouth. "What cause have you to call me a criminal?" Thal wondered with faux innocence.

Valentino smiled. His full lips framed good teeth. "I'm the sort of man who also knows bounty hunters," he said.

"Is there some bounty offered for me?" Thal said.

"Letters are circulating Bohemia offering twenty gold florins for your capture on charges of Devil worship and shape changing, among other things," Valentino said. He had just learned these details that afternoon after engaging in some strategic gossip.

"Is twenty gold florins a lot?" Thal said.

Valentino laughed, recognizing a man who possessed no remorse for his crimes. "It's not bad," he judged.

"It matters not. I won't be caught," Thal said.

"Be reasonable, man! You have to sleep. Someone will get to you, but I can protect you. We'll give you a new name and I'll set you up as one of my commanders. With a little training you'll be magnificent. Wars are brewing, more than usual, and the powers that be won't be scrutinizing who's making things happen for them on the ground," Valentino said.

An outburst of loud voices in the main dining room erupted into a shouting match between two men. Regis leaned out of the alcove to look. A big woman smacked the fighters, but the argument still intensified. The men were dragged outside.

Thal paid little heed to the action. He stared at the table, deep in thought.

"Do you believe the charges against me?" he asked quietly under the noise.

Valentino shrugged. "I don't care. The way the world is going I'm going to be called a heretic or worse no matter which side I work for."

"I don't worship the Devil," Thal insisted. His lack of denial about shape changing implied admission of it. Valentino looked to the musicians to see if they were shocked, but apparently Thal's unholy habits were not news to them. The Condottiere suddenly wondered if he was grabbing a tiger by its tail, as the silk traders would say. But he was a man accustomed to living an exciting life, and the qualities he saw in Thal were too tempting. Good men with bright minds, daring hearts, and bounties on their heads were precious.

"What say you to my offer?" Valentino pressed.

"Going to war has little appeal," Thal said.

Valentino rolled his eyes. "Yes, I admit it's hard nasty work, but when we do things right it doesn't take too long and then we're back enjoying the comforts the world has to offer. We could do well together. I'm in need of good men. Rewards will be handsome," the Condottiere said.

Regis said, "Thal, don't make a hasty decision."

"And you can stop acting like you have anything to offer him," Valentino said, wishing he had gotten Thal alone first.

"I value his friendship," Thal said.

"My apologies. I was cross and should not have been," Valentino said. "But you need new friends. I'm sure even your old friends can see this. And by my honor, my friendship is not lightly given."

Thal believed the man was being honest, but the prospect of serving him had no appeal. Even so the hard facts of Thal's reality pressed against his stubborn pride from all sides like an iron maiden. Valentino was offering him protection and a place in the world where merit could find reward.

Probing for a reaction, Thal said, "If I refuse you, I suppose you'll turn me in for the reward." He expected the straight question to reveal Valentino's true character.

"No, I will not," he said, shaking his head. "It would bring bad attention onto Lady Carmelita and I would not do that."

Judging the man to be sincere, Thal said, "She's important to you."

"She's important to many people," Valentino said cryptically. His brown eyes scanned the musicians, advertising his unwillingness to give out more details with so large an audience.

Aching with curiosity, Thal asked his friends if they could give him some time alone with Valentino. Regis frowned, but he supposed he knew enough dangerous secrets. Some of the conversations he had overheard at Carmelita's party had been politically brash.

Once they were alone, Thal asked, "Who are these associates Carmelita wanted me to meet?"

Valentino lifted his beer. "Her in-laws are Protestant agitators. She's involved with a group of nobles plotting to drive out the Church," he said and took a drink. He wiped his mustache and shook his head at their folly. But it did not matter. A lot of money was going to be on the table sooner or later, and the highest bidder would have the best cause in Valentino's view.

"Why does she want me to meet them?" Thal said.

"They're building a network of men they can rely on to take up arms. Carmelita puts a frivolous front on their meetings. She's just a merry widow throwing parties. It's good cover too. Protestants can be such a dour bunch, but she makes the risk of excommunication and damnation look fun," Valentino joked.

"Is she in any immediate danger because of this?" Thal said.

"Hard to say. Anything could happen. These Protestant plotters mostly just talk, but one of these days they'll take action. But it's a dangerous game they play. The Church is sick of losing followers. The Emperor is firmly with the Church, and the new archbishop heading here makes a statement to me that Bohemia is a priority," Valentino said.

"Then why do you support Carmelita?" Thal wondered.

Valentino smiled. "She's a pleasant client, and her plotters have been financing things for me. I need to keep all my connections. When this Protestant movement flares up in Bohemia, and it will, it could take off. Then I'll be in a good position. Look at what's happening in the German States. Who would have ever thought a whole different church could rise so quickly?" he said.

Thal had never really thought too much about religious politics but he could easily guess what a dangerous game Valentino was playing. "What if the Catholics prevail?" he asked.

"Then I'm a good Catholic," Valentino said and took another drink.

"Is Carmelita this flexible?" Thal asked.

"Probably. She's just involved because her in-laws are Protestants. She's keeping them happy so she can stay in charge of her son and the fortune he inherited," Valentino explained.

Thal was bothered that he had not guessed at the dicey motivations beneath Carmelita's festive almost silly exterior. Perhaps he could not read every person as well as he thought.

"Patercek told me that he worried about his sister's politics. He wanted me to watch out for her," Thal divulged.

"And you can do that best by joining my company," Valentino said.

"I'm still thinking that through," Thal said.

"Don't think too long. You don't have any other choice except to flee. I don't say this to trap you. Think of me as the helping hand that you need," Valentino said.

Thal believed that Valentino meant him no harm, except the possibility of getting blown to bloody chunks in a battle. His desire to exploit his value was motivated by ambition and not malice, but this did not really ease Thal's distaste for accepting a master.

He finished his beer. "I need to get some rest before I guard the house tonight," he said and slid out of the bench.

"I'll see you tonight," Valentino said and saluted him with his stein.

Pistol padded after Thal across the tavern and they left. In the street a man was propped against a building with a bloody rag to his head. A woman stood over him, still yelling at him for his shortcomings. Thal looked away from the pitiful scene that reminded him that there were more losers in the world than winners. More every day.

#  Chapter 27. Twice Cursed

Thal sat on a bench on the balcony of Carmelita's house. The moon hovered the city like a glowing ship perilously close to a jagged coast. The city's towers, roofs, chimneys, and hard-edged jumbled chaos against the night sky were in marked contrast to the countless times he had admired the moon from the curvaceous serenity of the forest. Thal missed the forest, but civilization enticed his appetites with a stimulating cornucopia of food, music, tools, and complicated companions.

When he thought about his friends, he acknowledged that his ability to protect them gave him purpose. But could he honestly keep them from harm forever? As Bradcek had threatened, Thal had been made a wanted man. He must be careful not to get his friends condemned by their association with him.

Tonight another pressing problem demanded his attention. The whole household of Lady Carmelita was likely in danger because Rainer might track him to this place.

Thal sniffed the gentle breeze coming from the east. It smelled of the river – fishy, muddy, and soured by the city's gutters. His thumb ran down the cool iron of the pistol barrel in his lap. Thal wondered if he should put Rainer out of his misery. Perhaps it was the proper mercy. That man was in the thrall of Brother Vito, who was not a proper guide in Thal's opinion.

I can't just kill him, Thal decided. Rainer was deeply troubled, perhaps irretrievably so, but Thal's heart insisted that he give the man a chance. He hoped to woo the unfortunate man with friendship and save him from the unsavory mastery of Vito.

Steps on the stairs interrupted his thinking. A manly odor spiced with a musky touch of Carmelita's perfume told Thal that Valentino approached. The big man emerged onto the moonlit balcony. He carried no lantern and was only a dark form moving across the pale tiles of the patio.

"Her Ladyship is pleased that you're watching over her family," Valentino said. He sat next to Thal and took a deep breath of the night air. "Splendid evening. It's going to be a nice summer," he said.

When Thal did not comment, Valentino attempted conversation again. "Can I have a look at your pistol?" he said. Thal handed it to him and walked to the railing. His dog peeked between the thick posts. His tail went up. Thal smelled it too.

"Not a bad gun," Valentino remarked. "How did you get it?"

"Some would say I stole it, but that's not true," Thal said. He walked back to Valentino and retrieved his gun.

"Ssshhh," he said with a nod toward the street.

"Is it coming?" Valentino whispered. He crouched low as he followed Thal back to the rail. The supernatural threat excited him in a new way. He had faced human foes for years, but the thought of a werewolf made him feel like a boy. He drew one of his pistols.

Thal crouched behind the rail and Valentino peeped over the edge with him. The street was abnormally empty. The killings in Old Town had dampened the nocturnal frolics of the Little Quarter, at least for tonight.

"There's been no howling," Valentino said as if trying to convince himself that something was not coming.

Pistol's low growl contradicted his flirtation with denial.

"He's approaching quietly on purpose," Thal explained.

"Why is he coming to you?" Valentino asked.

Thal faced him. His silence dared Valentino to accept the truth.

The Condottiere shook his head. "But you can't be. Look at the moon. Why has it not provoked your magic if you have it?"

"Look!" Thal hissed.

"Santo Cristo!" Valentino cried.

Out of an alley emerged an upright figure with a shaggy head. When it looked up and down the street, a flickering street lantern silhouetted its long snout. Then it dropped to all fours and bounded across the street with a fluffy tail flying. It disappeared into shadows.

Thal gripped his gun. In his relatively fragile man form, he clung to the power of the weapon, but he could not bring himself to murder Rainer no matter the danger. But if he wanted them both to live, he dared not confront Rainer as a man tonight.

He ran to the bench and set down his gun. He whipped off his cloak and fur and pulled off his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Valentino demanded.

Thal yanked off his boots and slipped down his pants. "I don't want to ruin my clothes," he explained.

"Are you getting naked?" Valentino said and stepped back, profoundly confused.

Pistol dashed under the bench and whined.

Free of clothing, Thal held his fur into the moonlight. It sparkled supernaturally. He wrapped the fur over his hips and trembled with anticipation. "Everybody wants me to serve them...I understand why now. Because I have power, but my power is my own. I'm not sure what to do with it, but I know I'm more powerful than the beast that approaches. Don't shoot me, Valentino," he said and began to chant the words of the spell.

Valentino fell back. Thal's strange words made him shake. Dark magic drew down upon the balcony like an owl on a rabbit. It was almost silent yet loud with palpable intent. The force introduced Valentino to a new level of fear, but his terrified curiosity gave him the courage to witness a great thing that transcended proclamations of good and evil. Thal cried out his name and screamed. His body convulsed and he clenched his teeth against the wrenching pain.

Like the surreal moment when a child is born of woman, when one becomes two, Thal's body stretched and revealed the beast. Fur burst out upon his heavily muscled body. His human face erupted into wolfen jaws and his eyes reflected the light of Heaven. He was magnificent in his predatory superiority. Valentino was paralyzed by awe. Not even the worst beating he had ever taken from his father could compare to this humbling experience that left him feeling like a water bug in a flood. Thal bounded up to him and rubbed his furry chin across Valentino's armored shoulder. He slapped a thick paw on his other shoulder and gently ran his long claws through Valentino's short beard. The delicate rustle of blunt claws against thick short hairs was a sound Valentino would never forget. Thal sniffed him with wide wet nostrils. Thick teeth that could crack bones glittered with magic, and then Thal bounded across the balcony and vaulted into the street.

Valentino drew a breath as if he had just been saved from drowning and was beginning a new second life.

His pistol barely clung to his limp fingers, but he drew his wits back together and tightened his grip. He hurried to the railing. Thal loped down the street. His powerful grace amazed Valentino. Even in his terror he envied Thal's ability that the world called a curse but in him was a gift that united man with all that he had forsaken.

From the street, Thal rushed between two buildings. Two green eyes confronted him in the dark. Rainer snarled and charged. Thal jumped back to avoid the lunging jaws. They slashed against each other with heavy claws and rolled and snapped in the heavy throes of fur-flying battle. Barrels were knocked over. They rolled and crashed, heedless of obstacles. Their snarling battle spilled into the moonlit street. Thal kept giving ground. Rainer's aggressiveness shocked him. The submissive companionship of the night before should not have shifted into attack.

The challenge soon summoned Thal's temper. His clawed hands seized the werewolf by the mouth behind his last teeth. All of Rainer's limbs scratched against Thal's exposed torso, but he maintained his fierce grip on the mouth. He twisted Rainer's head until he yowled. Thal threw him down hard on the cobbled street. Thal jumped on top of him and bit him on the back of the neck. His teeth broke the skin but he held back from delivering the crushing force that would crack the spine. Rainer's strong body bucked and heaved against Thal's jaws, but Thal kept him pinned.

Rainer finally stopped struggling and whimpered. Thal bit down a little harder to make his point and then eased away. Rumbling ominously, Thal circled Rainer's crumpled form, not quite trusting the surrender.

Rainer slunk away. His ears were flat and his tail tucked, but his black lips still quivered angrily around jagged teeth. Thal edged closer. His fur bristled and his tail was high. Rainer snapped at him, and Thal struck. He and Rainer tussled brutally. The snapping frenzy of their confrontation shook the shutters on windows. The noise reminded all who heard it of the fragility of their soft human bodies.

Thal thrashed Rainer with heavy blows and bit his arm and flung him against a building. Stunned and bleeding, Rainer staggered back, panting and much more sincerely subdued. Thal was panting heavily as well but was filled with the magical vitality that only victors know.

Shouting and pounding footsteps down the street broke through the red haze of battle. Both werewolves looked at the torch-bearing mob rushing to confront them. A blast slashed at their sensitive ears. A hot lead ball shattered the corner of a building near Thal's head.

Rainer fled and Thal followed him. Thal nudged Rainer several times, trying to get him to stop. They had left the mob behind and it would be easy to avoid it in the labyrinth of the city, but Rainer kept running. They reached the outer wall of the Little Quarter. Because of the noise in the city, the gate guards had stirred up their watchfires. Thal tried again to stop Rainer, but he headed straight for the gate. Men screamed but stood their ground. Rainer charged them and dodged their spears. He started scrabbling against the gate in mad desperation to get out. The guards fell back as Thal jumped into their midst. His swinging arms bashed them away, but a man on a balcony took a shot with a crossbow. Thal felt the arrow split the hairs of his tail. He joined Rainer at the gate and heaved off the bar. The heavy slab of wood crashed to the street and Rainer pried open the gate and shimmied out the gap in total panic. Thal kept after him. The chase through the outer city was a blur. The werewolves stayed on the main road until they reached the village-dotted countryside. They bounded across fields and leaped hedges. The scent of cut hay freshened the night breeze. Rainer fled into a woodlot and Thal welcomed the embrace of the wild patch of old trees.

******

Regis tripped on the last step before reaching the balcony. He popped up quickly, drawn by the crazy roaring. Unaware of the pain in his bashed knee, he flopped against the balcony railing next to Valentino. They gaped at the wild scene in the street.

"Is it Thal?" Regis said.

"He...changed," Valentino managed to answer.

The violent crashing ended abruptly as one werewolf triumphed over the other. Into the sudden quiet the noise of the approaching mob intruded.

"They're being hunted!" Regis cried.

A shot was fired and the werewolves dashed away. Pistol started barking and clawing at Regis's leg. The dog ran to the stairs and then back to Regis and then to the stairs, clearly wanting someone to follow Thal.

Regis presumed to grab Valentino. The intrusion of physical contact snapped the man back into his normal mind a little.

"Where are his clothes?!" Regis demanded.

Valentino slapped away his hand. "How did you know he would take his clothes off?" he said.

"He always does, so not to ruin them," Regis said.

"You've seen this before?" Valentino said.

"I've not seen it," Regis whispered. Until now, he had not been able to truly imagine Thal as that powerful and vicious creature.

He looked down into the street. Streaks of fiery light revealed the passing mob. His chest lurched with worry for Thal and for the men hunting him.

Pistol whined and tugged at Regis's ankle. "We must bring him his clothes. His dog will find him," he said.

"His clothes are on the bench," Valentino said.

Regis gathered them in his arms. He held the weapons awkwardly while trying not to drop the boots.

"I'll take those," Valentino said.

"Please, Condottiere, you have a horse. Please help me catch up to him," Regis said.

Pistol yipped and danced at the top of the stairs impatiently.

Valentino's mind was as garbled as a spilled box of beads bouncing in every direction. The feel of the werewolf touching his face was still itching across his cheek. Thal could have ripped him to pieces, but he had not.

The shouting of the mob receded. Valentino reckoned that Thal would outrun his hunters, but how long would his werewolf power last? What would happen when he became a man again? Valentino suddenly understood the musician's concern.

"You stay here. I'll go after him," Valentino decided and took the rest of the clothing from Regis. He strode to the stairs and the little dog bounded down ahead of him. The household was in hysterics. The Condottiere had no time to give anyone answers. He ordered the servants to bar the doors and not open them till dawn.

Regis encountered Raphael and Carlo and told them the Condottiere would try to find Thal. Reluctantly the musicians watched the big man barge off to the stables.

******

Rainer flopped into a leafy hollow where an old tree had torn open the ground when it fell in a strong wind. Thal stopped close by. He could smell the blood of Rainer's wounds. Regret flared even if he had inflicted them in defense. Panting, he hunkered down to wait until Rainer lost his wolfen shell and they could talk as men.

Rainer groaned and licked the bite wound on his arm. When his sorrowful glance connected with Thal's watchful eyes, Thal felt no true malice in the werewolf, only confusion and untenable urges.

Thal stretched out more comfortably on the cool leafy ground. After many nights inside walls, this return to open landscape refreshed his spirit. He felt content between the throbbing sky and the steady rhythm of the Earth.

His sigh wheezed through his long snout. He hoped that his calm presence would draw some of the poisonous humor from Rainer.

The night waned, and Rainer's eyelids finally slipped shut. His sleep did not last. Twitching advanced to convulsing and then his whole body was heaving and collapsing. Fur fell away and exposed his human skin. Bloody scratches and puncture marks marred his flesh and made his old scars less noticeable. His jaws and claws shrank away and his tail disappeared.

When the transformation was done, Rainer hugged his shivering body. With teeth chattering, he watched Thal change back to a man. Because he knew how painful transformation was, he sympathized as Thal shed his wolfen appearance. When it was finished, Rainer was surprised to see that Thal still possessed a fur. The faint glow of the sinking moon sprinkled the lustrous fur with celestial light.

Thal set a gentle hand on Rainer's shoulder. "How badly are you hurt?" he asked.

"I will be all right," Rainer whispered. He was shaking hard.

"You're cold," Thal said and placed his fur around Rainer's shoulders.

Although Rainer needed the covering, he mistrusted the tingle of the hide against his skin. It felt like the first itching pull of the moon curse in the hours before his body changed.

"Why did you attack me?" Thal said.

Rainer moaned and looked away. He had been so foolish!

"Please tell me," Thal coaxed. "My wish is for us to be friends."

"Hah!" Rainer cried.

"Why is that so bad a thing? We should be together," Thal said.

"What do you want from me?" Rainer said.

"I don't want anything," Thal said.

Rainer's face fell into one hand. His other hand flopped to his chest but his cross on a string of beads was back at the Clementinum. He groaned, missing the comfort of his bauble that let him cling to salvation even if it was out of reach.

He rubbed his face and tried to gather his wits. Thal was being so patient, and Rainer was embarrassed by his pathetic mewling.

"I wanted to drive you away," he confessed.

"Drive me away? Why?" Thal said, confused.

"To protect you. You have to get away from Prague," Rainer said.

"The danger is no less for you. Those patrols hunt us both," Thal said.

"Just go away from here," Rainer insisted.

"Why?"

Rainer rubbed the bite on his arm. The wound hurt worse when he thought about his duty to God and Brother Vito.

"Ah, I am bitten again. Twice cursed I am. There is no hope," Rainer whimpered.

"I'm so sorry. You attacked me. I had to stop you," Thal said.

"I know, but I'll never be free of this magic now that I've been bitten by two werewolves. Why does God punish me so?" Rainer said.

Thal wondered if he could make a man into a werewolf. He was not sure if he would ever want to put that to the test.

"You wish you did not have this power," Thal surmised.

Rainer shook his head. "I'd do anything to be rid of it."

Although Thal had longed to return to his true wolf state and rejoin his pack, he had never considered his new life as a werewolf and a man to be a despicable thing.

"Our power is no curse. I can teach you to control your urges. We don't have to kill people. Stay with me and when the moon is full I will guide you. We can hunt our normal prey. You can learn to live with this," Thal said.

Rainer's mouth hung open. Thal's attitude shocked him beyond comprehension.

"You'd have me celebrate this Devil's life as a blessing?" he said with disgust.

"I'm no Devil," Thal said.

"Denying your sin only makes it worse," Rainer argued.

The barricades around Rainer's mind were sturdy, and Thal despaired of breaching that haunted fortress impervious to reason.

Returning to a different subject, Thal asked, "What is it you want to protect me from?"

When Rainer resisted answering both bites flared with pain.

"Brother Vito means to trap you," he gasped. The pain ebbed, but Rainer hated himself for betraying Vito and failing to serve God. Thal was unrepentantly evil. He clearly had no interest in accepting Christ, and Rainer hated himself for hoping that Thal would seek redemption at his side.

"Are you supposed to bring me to him?" Thal said.

Rainer nodded.

"Why did you go on that killing spree?" Thal asked.

Rainer shuddered. "Just go away. Leave Prague. I beg you," he said.

"I have business in Prague," Thal said heavily. "It's you who should leave Vito. These men of the Church condemn our kind."

Rainer shook his head vigorously. Again his hand sought his cross. He hated its absence. "Brother Vito will help me find salvation," he insisted.

"Do your brothers accept your condition?" Thal wondered.

"Only Vito knows. He's a good man to take me in," Rainer said.

"He's not your only choice. You can live with me. I want to help you find peace," Thal said.

"There's no peace in embracing this curse," Rainer snarled.

Frustrated, Thal dropped the subject. Although he could sense that part of Rainer deep down wanted his kinship, the man was mentally unable to accept himself as he was.

Patting Rainer on the shoulder, Thal said, "I saw some cottages near the road. Let's try to find some clothes there and go back."

"You mustn't go back. You must leave. That's why I led you out here. To get you away from the city. Please go," Rainer said.

He really believed that Vito threatened him. Although Thal did not discount the threat, he only added it to his list of other problems.

"I can see after myself, but I appreciate the warning," Thal said. He offered Rainer his hand. "Can we agree to never fight again?"

Rainer's first thought was to agree, but then he admonished himself for being tempted to make a truce with this ungodly creature. His bite wounds stung, venomous with disapproval for resisting this Devil's magic.

He burst to his feet and flung away Thal's fur. "Leave this place!" he cried and scrambled off in the darkness.

Thal picked up his fur and listened to Rainer plod toward the road. Because his offer of friendship had only worsened Rainer's suffering, Thal guessed that Rainer's need for true companionship violated his loyalty to Vito. Thal pitied the monk's inner conflict.

Dawn was warming the horizon and the moon was only an ashen ghost beyond the hilltop mists. Its fullness had waned. Thal would not need to worry about the werewolf besetting Lady Carmelita's house until the next moon. But would Rainer tell Vito where he had found him?

Close to panic, Thal ran after Rainer. The man cringed when he caught up.

"You must tell no one where I'm staying," Thal said.

Rainer clenched his teeth, refusing to answer.

"It's not for my sake. I don't want any of your brothers condemning my hostess and friends. They're not Devil worshippers or whatever your master might call them. Do not tell him!" Thal commanded.

Rainer gasped and fell against a tree. "I won't," he finally promised, clutching his neck and hating the relief of the fading pain.

"Thank you," Thal whispered, believing him.

Rainer staggered onward. "Stay away from me!" he yelled.

Thal hung back. The rejection hurt but relentlessly trying to change the man's mind was proving futile. His concern for Rainer remained. If he could not convince him to try and control himself, he would have to watch him during the next full moon. Thal could not knowingly leave him to stalk and kill hapless people.

While Rainer blundered back to civilization, Thal began to feel the pain in his own wounds. Blood had dried over many scratches and scrapes all over his body. He wished he did not have to walk back to the city with only a fur to cover his nakedness. He veered toward a cottage with the hope of begging some rags off its occupant. Rainer still headed straight for the road, uncaring of his naked wretchedness. Thal resolved to get him a blanket and catch up to him.

A familiar high-pitched bark cheered Thal. He turned from the cottage and hurried into some bushes along the road. Pistol barked at Rainer disapprovingly as he ran by him toward his master. The little dog charged into the bushes and Thal embraced the excited animal. Pistol wiggled and jumped so happily that he scratched Thal's wounds. He had to put him forcefully back on the ground. Pistol licked his ankles and wagged triumphantly.

Thal heard horses approaching. He glimpsed Rainer diving for cover just as three riders cantered into view. Surprised to see that Valentino was one of them, Thal waved. The other two men in his company appeared to be mercenaries.

Their horses snorted and stopped advancing. Thal knew that he was disturbing the animals and stayed back. Slowly Valentino dismounted with a bundle.

"My clothes! I thank you," Thal cried happily.

"Your dog and singer friend were frantic that I find you," Valentino said. He could hardly believe that Thal was a man again.

Thal grabbed his clothes gratefully. "Thank you for bringing these. I planned my night poorly," he said, pulling on pants.

Seeing Thal as a man again made Valentino question his memory. Had everything he had witnessed in the moonlight been a dream? But the long scratches across Thal's hard chest told of a battle that should have been beyond a man.

"How can it be what I saw?" Valentino said.

"I'm not sure of the answer," Thal admitted.

"You are a servant of the Devil," Valentino whispered, latching on to the only logical explanation.

"I'm not anyone's servant," Thal said adamantly. His shirt was back on and he tossed his fur over a shoulder. "My weapons please," he said.

Slowly Valentino delivered the pistol, sword, and knives.

Dressed and armed again, Thal folded his cloak over an arm. "I must take this to Rainer. He's hiding up there," he said.

Valentino eyed the foliage down the road suspiciously. "Who?" he said and gestured to his men to look behind them.

"The other werewolf. He's not well," Thal said.

"The other one is here?" Valentino said, following him. The horses shied away as Thal passed. The other two men eyed him warily. Their commander had roused them in the middle of the night to hunt werewolves and then oddly followed a little dog into the country.

"I must give him my cloak," Thal said, breaking into a run. "Rainer! Rainer!"

The wind was at Thal's back so he had no advance warning of the riders rounding the bend. When he saw them, he stopped, but Rainer jumped from the bushes and ran toward them.

"Who are they?" Valentino worried, catching up. His long experience in battle warned him when an enemy approached.

Thal recognized the foremost rider. "Those are sellswords that serve Jesuits," Thal said.

"Jesuits?" Valentino muttered unhappily.

Thal drew his pistol. "These fellows don't have guns," he said and took aim. He pulled the trigger and the bang made all the horses jump. The ball blasted by the sellsword leader's head.

Thal quickly started reloading. "Care to take a turn?" he said to Valentino.

"Damn it man!" Valentino complained but he drew both guns.

The startled sellswords regrouped. Their leader pointed toward Valentino's group and advanced with most of his men. One stayed behind to give Rainer a robe. Knowing he could not let this group of riders catch him on foot, Valentino fired a gun and clipped one in the shoulder. He screamed. Clinging to the horse the wounded man turned around.

"My horse!" Valentino barked. His men hurried up with his skittish mount. He held his second pistol ready, saving its precious shot while Thal continued to reload.

The sellswords had stopped and were talking. Valentino assumed they were assessing the situation.

"Why did you shoot at them?" Valentino demanded.

Thal finished loading his pistol. "I've fought with them before. They'll try to capture me," he explained.

"And now I'm in the middle," Valentino complained.

"I'd like to think we're on the same side," Thal said.

"Then goddamn hit one of them on your next shot," the Condottiere said.

"I was hoping to scare them off," Thal said.

"I've seen you be scarier," Valentino muttered. The sellswords started to advance again. Thal raised his pistol to take aim, but Valentino caught his arm. "Wait," he advised. "Will these men recognize you?"

"If anyone gets a good look at me," Thal said.

With Thal's memorable eyes staring back at him, Valentino was forced to agree. "Get out of sight," he ordered.

The command irked Thal who was ready to fight, but he realized that the sellswords had likely not realized who he was yet. He slipped into the foliage with Pistol at his feet. Valentino mounted his horse.

"Hello there!" Valentino called, moving forward with his two men. "I think we're on the same business. We're out here hunting the werewolves."

"You've seen the werewolves?" the sellsword leader yelled back.

"I thought they came this way," Valentino said.

"They must have. Our monk has visions that guide him to the beasts. We have been tracking him to catch the creatures," the sellsword explained. "Why did you shoot at us?"

"Been up all night hunting monsters. Sorry, I confess my associate was a bit jumpy. Are you all right?" Valentino said.

"You shot one of my men!"

"Not badly it looked to me," Valentino argued. "My apologies."

"Words are cheap," the sellsword leader declared.

Valentino sighed. He rode closer to the sellswords. "Let me give you a few thalers for our mistake," he said.

"Did you see the werewolves at all?" the sellsword asked.

"We've seen big tracks, but I'll not go into those woods without more men. If I even decide to come back. You say that monk can track those things?" Valentino asked. He leaned to the right and looked past the horses. A bedraggled man in a loose robe was being loaded into a small two-wheel donkey cart that had just caught up to the group.

"Jesuit business is their own," the sellsword grumbled. "Who are you?" He could tell that Valentino was a military man of high rank.

"Oh, please forget you saw me. I'm just out here hunting the beasts on a silly bet made last night. I was mostly trying to impress a lady," he said. He stuck a pistol in his belt and dug some coins out of his purse. "This should cover a surgeon for your man. Again, my apologies. It's been a mad night. I fear all of Prague will be jumpy as cats in a kennel till these beasts are gone."

Valentino's blather had succeeded in confusing the sellsword leader. He was tired and trying to interrogate some foreign noble on a country road was likely a poor use of his time. He scanned the area. He was sure that he had seen four men. The fourth man was presumably in the bushes ready to shoot him if anything happened. Since he had found Vito's wild monk and no werewolves, the sellsword decided to go. He did not really want to capture any sorcerer spawn anyway.

Valentino handed the coins to one of his men and told him to give them to the sellsword leader. His hand stayed on a pistol until the money was delivered.

The sellsword leader nodded to Valentino. Getting a few extra coins on this outing was an unexpected surprise he could welcome.

From the bushes Thal watched everyone withdraw and stepped out of cover.

"You owe me five thalers," Valentino announced while patting his horse's neck.

"I'll take care of that as soon as I can," Thal said.

"And next time check with me before you start shooting," Valentino said and muttered to himself in Italian.

Thal disliked the Condottiere's bossiness, but he reluctantly admitted to himself that he had reacted poorly.

"Thank you for your help," Thal said.

"I was helping myself and you got lucky," Valentino grumbled.

"Why did you really come out here?" Thal asked, doubting that Valentino had done it simply to comfort the musicians.

"That's complicated," Valentino said, wondering at his own motivations. At first he had wanted to confirm what he had seen, but it was more than that. Valentino was always attracted to power.

"I'll go back to the city on foot. I need some time alone to think," Thal said.

"We all have much to think about," Valentino said. He was staring hard at Thal, still trying to reconcile his experiences on this sleepless night. He departed with his men. They rode slowly because their horses were tired and they did not want to catch up to the sellswords.

#  Chapter 28. Forgotten Secrets

In the night Thal gave into his hungry urges. He transformed and hunted. His choices were many among the villages and homesteads. What had been resisted so many times during his wild life, he now indulged in. He slew a lamb and gorged on raw flesh while in his wolfen state. Although he now understood properly the cost to the household that he robbed, he had not been able to resist, not when he could get away with it.

He left the bloody fleece arranged on the meadow grass as if the tasty creature had collapsed meatless upon the ground. Even if the eerie pose did not deter the shepherd, the man would then have to gather his courage to follow the wide fearsome tracks that disappeared into boot prints near the road.

After traveling as a man partway back to the city, Thal crept into a narrow wooded canyon and settled down for a long sleep. The merry burble of a clear stream weaving through old willows soothed his troubled heart. He ignored the nip of insects and rested deeply.

Thal nuzzled his face against the fur spread on the ground. He did not open his eyes. Despite the birdsong greeting the dawn, he indulged his laziness and kept sleeping.

Pistol came and went through the morning, hunting his own hunts, and checking back on Thal periodically. The sun warmed the little hideaway, and he turned his face toward the heat that banished memories of winter hardships.

When Thal opened his eyes, he squinted against the glare of the sun dancing brightly through the little willow leaves. He slid a hand over his face and almost went back to sleep, but his senses suddenly clicked into an alert state. He was not alone.

Sneakily he parted his fingers and peeked at his surroundings. He shifted his body casually as if still asleep to change his view. At first he saw nothing except the bright green of new shoots growing up through the forest litter. Then a face took shape within the shady recesses of a bush speckled with tiny white flowers. The face was small but it was no child. Pale as a toadstool the ageless face had golden eyes that were gateways to forgotten secrets. Amazed, Thal forgot his ruse and dropped his hand to look upon the little being fully. The thing's long flaxen hair was as ethereal as the sparkle upon the flowing water.

Then he or she or it flitted away. Quaking leaves revealed the movement. Thal burst into pursuit. One glimpse of a little body uncatchable as smoke affirmed the scant reality of its existence. Thal crashed through the bushes and looked around. He heard no more movement. His nostrils flared but delivered no information. Looking down, he saw a smudge of bright green upon dry leaves. Stooping he touched the odd powder, fine as pollen. He sniffed the iridescent residue upon his fingers and blinked. Then he blinked again as if fighting off sleep. Thoughtlessly he wiped the powder on his pants. Pistol barked behind him and he went back. The dog was standing on his wolf fur. He rubbed his head and supposed that he was still groggy from heavy sleep. He went back into the bushes to urinate. When he was done, he scooped up his fur and put it on and then covered it with his cloak. High up a nearby oak tree, a raven cawed at him in a laughing sort of way.

"What's the joke, friend bird?" he said.

The raven cackled again and flew away.

"No accounting for a raven's humor," Thal mumbled to Pistol, and they strolled back toward the road together.

#  Chapter 29. An Excellent Recommendation

Anger lurched inside Vito when he saw Rainer. He hated that he had misjudged the danger to his servant when he sent him looking for Thal. The battered monk limped into Vito's residence with help from Tenzo.

After the grizzled mercenary deposited Rainer on his cot, he said, "One of my men got shot on your stupid wolf chase."

"I pay you to get shot at," Vito said.

"You pay me to swing a sword, and speaking of pay—"

"Serving God is a handsome reward and I've been keeping you in room and board. Your precious silver will come to you when I get results," Vito said.

"We signed up to fight men not magic beasts," Tenzo complained.

"Was it a magical beast that shot at you?" Vito said.

The sellsword grunted something and recalled that arguing with the fiery Jesuit was futile.

"Did you see the werewolves?" Vito asked, eager for details.

"We saw them in the Little Quarter. How your monk can follow them faster than us I'm not sure. We found him outside the city, and he told me the werewolves were gone," the sellsword said.

Vito guessed that the sellsword suspected something and was fishing for an explanation.

"Brother Rainer is tireless in his quest to find these Devil beasts," Vito said. "Thank you for bringing him back to me."

"My pleasure," Tenzo muttered sarcastically and decided to go to bed before Vito gave him a new assignment.

Vito entered Rainer's cell and shut the door. He pulled up a stool next to the cot. Fresh scratches and scrapes were splashed across Rainer's old scars. The punctures left by big teeth were readily apparent.

"Dear God," Vito murmured, lifting Rainer's arm.

He called for bandages and clean water. After Vito bandaged the arm he found the bite on the back of Rainer's neck. He winced. The wound showed Thal's victory.

Vito washed the neck wound, and Rainer opened his eyes. Relief washed over him.

"I've got you back with us," Vito purred, loving as a mother.

With his minion soothed and full of trust, Vito became more intense. "Did you find where Thal is hiding?" he demanded.

Rainer opened his mouth to answer, but Thal's command to keep his location secret tightened his throat. His wounds flared with pain as if some venom filled them with Thal's will.

"Well?" Vito said.

"I chased him out of the city," Rainer said.

Fighting for patience, Vito said, "Why? You were supposed to bring him to me."

"I can't control him. He's more powerful," Rainer said.

"You just told me you chased him," Vito argued.

Rainer squirmed and rubbed the bandage on his arm. He did not want to talk about Thal. "I don't remember," he whispered.

"The sellswords tell me they saw werewolves in the Little Quarter," Vito said.

"Is that what that place is called?" Rainer said. His ignorance of Prague's geography was substantial.

"For the love of God, where did you find him?" Vito cried.

Rainer shook his head and insisted the events of the night were a blur.

Vito waved a hand with disgust. "You have to do better. We must send this sorcerer's spawn back to Hell if you're to gain redemption," he said.

"I know," Rainer whimpered.

Vito turned Rainer's head and looked at his neck again. Did it matter if a werewolf was bitten anew by another werewolf? He had no idea what the effect would be, but he had the impression that Rainer was holding something back.

Rainer lamented. "I tried to gain control of him, but he defeated me. I remember that. His bite seals my fate."

"You'll earn a miracle from God yet," Vito encouraged. "Is there anything you can tell me?"

Rainer tossed his head on the straw mattress. He wanted to please his master but darker forces were conquering him.

"Give me my cross," he gasped.

Vito retrieved the string of beads from a peg on the wall. Rainer accepted his beloved charm reverently. Clutching the cross, he felt ready for any discomfort his bites might deliver.

"He's not like me. He has a bewitched wolf hide that changes him into a beast," he said.

"So it's true," Vito whispered, stroking his chin.

"What?"

"Nothing. Rest, my brother. Perhaps you will remember more after you sleep," Vito said.

"Perhaps," Rainer said, knowing it was a lie. His self hatred flared as he watched his good master withdraw. He wanted to tell the truth. Caressing his beads, he prayed for the strength to free himself from his newest curse.

When Vito left his wounded monk, he went straight to his private chambers. He ignored a questioning look from Miguel and slammed the door behind him. Vito sat down. His foot tapped the floor. He recalled Thal's face. Those distinctive eyes and that confident attitude would be impossible to overlook. How could it be so difficult to find such a man? His brothers preaching in the streets were on the look out for him. His sellswords had been told that Thal was the suspected werewolf. Vito supposed that the crowds of thriving Prague gave the man too much cover.

His mind continued to grind through ideas. He still longed for a chance to sway Thal to his side. But religion that worked so well with Rainer was likely useless with Thal.

Vito supposed that he would have to go with his second best option of capturing Thal and using the event to gain the goodwill of the people and the gratitude of the influential. To condemn a fierce and unrepentant werewolf who possessed a magical fur would deliver great prestige onto Vito, who could credit the Godly forces of the Church with his success.

But nothing could be accomplished until Thal was captured. Using Rainer had not worked and his sellswords had failed utterly. Vito reasoned that Thal must have been close when they found Rainer. He speculated sourly that Thal had done the shooting.

In the main room, Vito heard Miguel greeting someone at the door. His happy voice irked Vito until he realized that Professor Zussek was visiting.

Vito pushed open his door. It caught in the warped frame and then flew open with a squeak after he kicked it.

"My good Professor Zussek," Vito said warmly, coming out to greet him.

"Ah, Brother Vito, I have much to tell you," Zussek said.

"Good, good, come in," Vito invited.

Miguel followed the professor into Vito's office. Zussek's hair and beard were frazzled and he had bags under his eyes, but he was lively and excited despite his weary appearance.

"There are two werewolves. I'm sure of it. I've been to the scene of their battle," Zussek reported happily. He set his bag on the table with a clatter and started rummaging inside. He brought out two pieces of folded paper and opened them up. Stuffed inside were tufts of fur.

"I collected these samples," he said. "People on the street told me two beasts had a battle there and I found two distinct types of fur."

"What street?" Vito asked.

"Nerudova. It's a very nice area, close to the castle," Zussek explained.

Vito wondered where Thal could be finding shelter among the wealthy households, but just because he had been spotted there did not mean that his lair was there. Still Vito decided it was a start and he intended to monitor the area more closely.

"This news is most disturbing. Tell your Magistrate friend that I will prevail upon the Abbot to fund extra hunters to patrol the streets," Vito said.

"Magistrate Fridrich will appreciate that," Zussek said.

"But sending brutes into the streets may not suffice, except to help people believe that their institutions are taking care of them," Vito said. "We must be clever. Is there any way you know of to bait a werewolf?"

The question pleased Zussek. His mind raced through all the obscure folklore he had been absorbing recently, but nothing specific presented itself. Prague was too full of people and livestock for a single vulnerable animal to stand out to a hungry creature.

"I've read more than once that werewolves are generally caught by tracking them after an attack and waiting for them to turn back into men. At that time they are vulnerable and weak," Zussek said.

"I had agents attempting that last night," Vito said.

"Ah, yes, people told me that there were several groups of men pursuing the beasts last night, but the creatures broke through one of the city gates with ease. There was no stopping them," Zussek said.

"Thus the need to bait a trap," Vito said.

"I will research it," Zussek promised.

Miguel was at the table looking over the samples Zussek had collected. His skin prickled beneath his coarse robe when the hairs brushed his fingertips. These were from the flesh of Devil-spawned beasts.

"What shall you do with these?" he asked.

"For my collection of course but also to craft werewolf banes. I believe if I carry these I can avoid attack," Zussek said.

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 insistent 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 hands 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.

"Really?" Valentino said.

"I just heard it this morning," Otram said. "The handbill even had the name for the beast, but bless my soul I can't remember it."

"You're getting old," Valentino said.

Otram coughed and spat. "You're not far behind me, Condottiere," he warned.

"I'm in my prime!" Valentino protested and smacked his armored chest.

Otram chuckled. Before he could trade more barbs with Valentino his servant arrived with a heavy wooden case. He opened it and unwrapped cloth from three pistols. He had a powder horn and started loading them.

"I only got these three," Otram said.

"They look well made," Valentino said. His dark eyes sparkled with appreciation.

"We're getting better at it all the time," Otram said proudly. He lifted one out and offered it to Thal. "Have you ever seen work so fine?" he asked.

"Yes I have. On a musket from Nuremberg," Thal said.

The comment disgruntled the gunsmith. As he handed a weapon to Thal, he said, "This isn't going to be some kind of credit arrangement." His emphasis on the word credit advertised his scorn for the concept.

"I understand," Thal said.

"You can fire each one once and then make your choice," Otram instructed.

Thal spent time looking over all three pistols and considered how they felt in his hand. The weight of each pistol against his palm excited him. Each pistol possessed an aura of sinister patience.

"Get him some targets," Otram said. The servant fetched sticks of charcoal and started drawing the outlines of life-sized men on the perforated wall. He drew three and then went back and started adding hair and faces and clothing. After waiting a while, Thal shifted with impatience.

Otram shrugged. "The fellow should've been apprenticed to an artist instead of me. I have to show him a little indulgence," he said.

The servant's careful sketching brought forth three expressions of surprise, fear, and laughter on the figures. The life-like faces were a little distracting.

"Aim for the chest," Valentino advised.

"Wouldn't the head make for a more certain kill?" Thal said while lifting his first pistol.

"You'll have a better chance of hitting the body," Valentino said.

Thal took aim at the first figure on the left. He liked the pistol already. It had armed easily and the trigger offered just the right amount of resistance. He did not flinch when he fired. A chunk of mortar exploded off the chest of the target.

Otram smiled.

"Nice hit," Valentino commented.

Thal tested the other two pistols. He hit the other figures in the chest and the head.

"These all perform well," he remarked while looking over his options.

He finally selected the first one he had shot. Its oiled metal and gleaming wood were beautiful.

"Forty thalers," Otram stated without preamble.

"Thirty five," Thal offered because that was the extent of his personal wealth.

Otram folded his arms. "There's no bargaining," he said.

"Then you should offer credit," Thal argued.

Otram grinned. "This one is full of pepper," he commented to Valentino.

"You've no idea," Valentino agreed.

Thal wiped the little powder stain from the top of the pistol. The longer he held it the more he wanted it.

"Valentino, I must ask a loan of you," he said.

Otram was a little surprised that Thal was addressing the Condottiere by first name.

Valentino was more surprised by the request for a loan. Apparently Thal had decided to start a working relationship.

"You already owe me," he said.

Thal smiled. "Worry not about money. I know where you can easily make twenty florins," he joked.

"You'd do best not to tempt me," Valentino said.

"You're not tempted," Thal said.

Valentino meant to argue if only to soften Thal's sudden cockiness, but he realized he was not tempted. He remembered the touch of the werewolf and its hot breath passing by huge teeth. The intense experience had held him in awe, and the feeling was not diminished. Valentino had no wish to reduce Thal's majesty with imprisonment and execution. Such torments would be a tragic waste.

Reaching for his purse, the Condottiere grumbled that he expected Thal to pay his debts.

The two men pooled their coins. Otram received the funds happily.

"Best wishes on your adventures, gentlemen. I'm sure my pistol will keep you safe," Otram said.

"And others not so much," Valentino quipped.

"Not so much," Otram agreed, laughing. He showed them out of his shop and waved.

Thal kept a hand on his new pistol, enamored with the extra killing power.

"You're getting to be an expensive friend," Valentino said.

"I'll take care of the debt soon," Thal said.

"Money does not have to be our currency," Valentino said.

Thal slowed before they reached Valentino's horse near the main gate. "I don't want to be in your wars," he said.

"Perhaps one such as you would not be best for a regular command, but I have been thinking." Valentino glanced around to make sure no one was close. He deemed the grinding and banging in the workshops sufficient to cover their conversation and continued, "The Protestant revolution will have more to it than basic battles of soldiers. The politics are complicated. Being able to intimidate influential figures will be necessary. With your power you could cause much terror with little effort. You could do special favors for me in this way."

What Valentino had just said suddenly explained Rainer's killing spree. In a flash of insight Thal guessed that Vito had used Rainer to cause an uproar so he could exploit the public fear somehow. Maybe Vito wanted to catch him and enslave him to political purposes, much as Valentino did, except Thal liked Valentino better.

"I don't want to be embroiled in your plots," Thal said.

"And what plots are so important to you?" Valentino demanded.

"My plots are my own," Thal said darkly.

"You are an enemy of the Jesuits?" Valentino said.

Thal shrugged. "Not for my part. One of them tried to recruit me. Now I've been warned that he's trying to trap me," he said.

"The Jesuits could use some intimidating. It seems our plots could cooperate," Valentino suggested hopefully.

"Perhaps," Thal said.

Valentino looked around again. "Let us move on. I'll accompany you to your meeting with Carmelita," he said.

"You don't want me alone with her," Thal surmised.

Valentino's jealousy was complicated by his new knowledge of Thal's bestial power. "Would you let your lover meet alone with a werewolf?" he said.

"Perhaps not," Thal granted, a little sadly.

Upon returning to Lady Carmelita's house they had to wait in her solar while she finished her afternoon nap. When she finally arrived in a fresh dress for the evening, she scolded Thal for being too early.

"Better than late," he said.

"I suppose you're a man who must be indulged more than others," she conceded and settled onto a chair.

"He does have a way of making others indulgent with him," Valentino said, feeling the loss of weight in his purse.

Thal waited for Carmelita to speak. She regarded him thoughtfully. His unique eyes could no longer be dismissed as a trick of birth. Some sorcery had altered them.

"I've been told something very extraordinary about you," she said.

"People like talking about me," Thal said with playful disinterest.

"Can you show me?" Carmelita said.

The request surprised him.

Valentino balked. "My Lady, you cannot imagine how it will effect you. The world will cease to be the same. Don't be so hasty," he said.

"I want to see," she insisted.

Thal glanced around the room. "We should move the furniture," he said.

Carmelita gasped. She had expected him to protest. His quiet acceptance of her request frightened her with oncoming reality.

He tossed aside his cloak and revealed the beautiful wolf fur. He spread it on the table next to Carmelita and closed the drapes.

Valentino jumped up and locked the door and pushed back the chairs and embroidery frame. Carmelita ran her hand over the fur. Despite the empty eye slits and dried nose, she almost expected it to breathe.

Thal flipped over the fur so she could see the blood writing. Valentino leaned over it as well. A thin band of sunlight from a gap in the drapes fell across the skin, making the strange characters glisten as if wet and fresh again.

"I'm trusting you with my secret," he said.

Carmelita gaped as Thal walked to the clear area and started taking off his clothes. Valentino took her hand and stood close. The scratches and bruises on Thal's body were revealed when he disrobed. Carmelita leaned back when he approached the table. He had no concern for modesty and his physique filled her eyes with a perfection worthy of Italian sculptors. He grabbed his fur, took a few steps back, and held it around his hips.

"I'm no mad beast. I won't hurt you," he said.

She nodded nervously.

When he began to recite the words of the spell, the unknown language provoked all her superstitions. She covered her ears, afraid that each syllable spelled out her damnation. Her curiosity had brought her to this terrifying moment.

She came to her feet when the transformation started. Valentino held her back. Thal's painful cries made her want to help him, but then his manhood was enveloped by wolfen monstrosity. When it was finished he rose onto his back feet.

The flopping and groaning during his shift had summoned a pair of servants. They were banging on the door, begging to know what was wrong with their mistress. Thal dropped to all fours. He approached Carmelita. His claws clicked on the wood floor until he reached the rug.

"Go away! I'm fine!" Carmelita finally responded to her servants' pleas. Her voice was shrill, but she cared nothing of what her servants might assume she was doing locked away with two men.

Thal's huge head reached to her chest even when he was on all fours. His wide nostrils sniffed her. She reached out with a shaking hand. His fur was reddish brown, much like his human hair, except that more streaks of silver and black were in his coat. His animal eyes gleamed with an intelligence perfected during the long ages of Creation.

Gently she ran her fingers up his snout and then along his fluffy cheek. He was equal amounts fearsome and beautiful. He was worthy of the Devil and God all at once.

Valentino touched him too and marveled at this rare privilege that let him glimpse the mysteries of Nature. Thal left them and circled the room. He stopped at the door. Pistol's little nose was sniffing at the bottom. After reassuring his loyal friend, Thal went back to the clear space and relinquished his power.

"You're bleeding!" Carmelita blurted when it was done.

Thal felt the many stings where his healing scratches had been torn open during the stretching alteration of his body. He was trembling too. Shifting back so soon had left him edgy and unsatisfied. Slowly he put on some pants and staggered to a chair. He held his fur across his lap and tried to clear his mind.

Overcome, Carmelita collapsed into her chair. Valentino took some cloths from her scrap bin and brought them to Thal so he could dab the fresh blood off his scratches.

Standing over him, Valentino was stricken anew with awe. "You could achieve greatness, Thal," he finally whispered. "With your power and the right resources you could control powerful people."

"I don't want to control anybody," he said.

"You will always be hunted. You must think on how you will live among us with your power," Valentino said.

Thal had trouble focusing on his future. His thoughts were consumed by the need to avenge his mother. But Valentino made good points and Thal considered how best to exert his influence.

Carmelita remained silent in her shock. Valentino had been right to warn her. What she had just witnessed segregated her from most of humanity. Miracles were no longer the purview of just the Church or even a reformed one. There were powers beyond the priests and their prayers.

Thal finished dressing. The others' silence was not unexpected. He had given them much to contemplate. As for himself he felt liberated. He was proud of himself for trusting people. It was a big step for him. He knew it was dangerous, but a man should not live taking no one into his confidence.

Deciding to find out how much influence he had gained over Carmelita and Valentino, he said, "May I suggest something to you, my Lady?"

"What?"

"Plotting war against your enemies is not the only way to promote your cause. You could befriend more important people. The Court and jails are important tools for controlling people. At your next party you should invite someone like the Magistrate. It could not hurt to soften up someone like that with your charms."

"Oh," she said and looked to Valentino.

The Condottiere opened his hands permissively. "I say do it. Thal is likely to get arrested any time he walks down the street and he'll need help getting out of jail alive," he said, admiring Thal's forethought.

"Do you think he'll come?" Carmelita wondered.

"The Court can always use another wealthy patron. The hope of that might tempt him," Valentino reasoned.

"I could invite the Burgomeister and Aldermen too," she added, warming to the subject. "At the very least it will confuse everyone who suspects I'm in league with Protestants."

"It could also encourage those who haven't yet dared to act upon their misgivings for Church tyranny," Valentino added, imagining that many sympathizers could be found on the City Council.

"Will you be inviting their families?" Thal said.

Carmelita nodded. "Naturally. I've already got a ball planned two weeks hence. It's just popped into my head to make it a masquerade. I'll send out revised invitations plus a few new ones. It should be interesting," she said, anticipating the results of the work she did best.

#  Chapter 31. The Invitation

"No storming up to your room, you ingrate girl," Martin thundered.

Altea was already at the stairs as he stomped in the door. A sheen of sweat on his forehead attested to the warm day and the state of his temper.

"Not one more step!" he bellowed, banging a hand on the wall. The meaty slap of his palm on the thick plaster emphasized his point.

Defiantly Altea hopped onto the first step before she stopped. Martin puffed down the hall until he caught up to her. His sons straggled in, hanging back from the volcanic fume of their father's mood. Elias regarded his half sister with worry, but she knew he could not save her. She could not undo her behavior at the Alderman Bulwic's garden party nor the bitter words spoken with Martin during their trip home.

"Enough of your lecture. I shan't marry that toad if Christ himself returned and commanded it," she said.

Martin gaped at her blasphemy. He swung at her hard. Altea dodged the blow and landed against the wall. Martin seized her wrist and jerked her off the step.

"Father!" Elias cried.

Martin whirled on his eldest son. "You heard her!" he said. Elias wavered, realizing Altea had earned punishment. He could only hope that his tepid intervention had dampened some of his father's fury.

With Elias under control, Martin shoved Altea. "In my study!" he yelled.

She had little choice but to blunder into his study. She grabbed a chair and yanked it in front of her as she backed up to a window.

Martin shut the door and the ominous privacy squiggled upon Altea's nerves like wet worms. She thumped the chair on the wood floor like she was trying to scare an animal.

"Thank God your mother isn't alive to hear you speak the Lord's name in vain like that," he said.

"I'll never thank God my mother's not alive," she snarled.

Martin clutched his forehead. "Enough! This is not an argument. If you ever embarrass me like that again, I'll ship you off to a convent. You hear me?!" he said.

The threat gutted Altea, but she did not surrender. "That man was older than you!" she screeched.

"Foolish girl, he's rich and the Alderman's brother. It would've been a grand match," Martin insisted.

"For you," Altea said.

"I'm who this is about and you know it," Martin reminded.

"He had a disease of the skin," Altea hissed.

Even a lawyer had trouble debating that point, so Martin said, "You could've at least hidden your disgust for the sake of politeness."

"I was civil," Altea said. "Until he touched me."

Martin retrieved his schnapps bottle, deciding a drink was better than assaulting his stepdaughter. After taking a gulp of the liquor that sped hotly down his gullet, he wondered how his meek and perfect wife had ever birthed this maenad. Her half-barbaric Kardas blood had to be the source of it.

Altea watched him soothe himself with alcohol. She wrung her hands against the back of the chair, trying to think of what to do, but she was in uncharted territory. She had not meant to be so rude at the party, but when the old wretch had put a hand on her hip from behind, she had reacted with hard words without thinking.

Martin faced his unruly stepdaughter. "At least you showed yourself to be such a shrew, he'll surely not express any interest in taking you off my hands again," Martin said. Shaking his head, he mumbled to himself what a pity it was.

She bristled to see how her stepfather thought only of himself. She had not been satisfied with his attempts at matchmaking so far, and today's social engagement had been a new low. She needed to take better charge of her quest for a husband. Since he had started shopping her around Prague, she had learned that she had no lack of appeal. Young gentlemen often sought her attention at parties. And the envy in the eyes of other women proved that she should be desirable to more than old lechers seeking a good groping session before the grave.

The bell at the front door rang. Altea glanced hopefully out the window, praying that someone had come to distract Martin. She did not recognize the servant on the front steps. Martin finished his second drink while Hynek shuffled toward the door.

Altea dashed to the study door and flung it open.

"What is it, Hynek?" she asked.

The valet shakily held up a neatly folded paper sealed with thick wax. He tried in vain to discern the identity of the seal so he could announce its source. Altea plucked the letter from his hand. She did not recognize the seal but its character was definitely noble. Her imagination flirted with fantasies about what it could mean for her, but she knew better than to hope. The best thing about the message was that she could use it to distract Martin.

"It appears to be from someone important," Altea said and proffered the letter.

Even from across the room Martin could see the fine quality of the paper. He set down his glass and went to Altea.

"Of course it's from someone important," he said.

When he took the letter, he leaned into her face. She refrained from leaning away, knowing that nothing unmanned Martin like a stout heart.

"To the convent with you if you anger me again," he warned.

"Nothing to be gained from doing that," she said.

"Except peace and quiet," he shot back. "Now go to your room and pray for forgiveness."

Realizing the terrible quarrel was ending as well as it possibly could, Altea chose to retreat without any parting comments.

Martin clenched his jaw while watching her go. She was a lovely creature. That burgundy and beige gown had come with an eye popping cost. She always knew how to keep more than one claw in him. He was a bit too invested to shut her up in some convent, he reflected, but the threat would stay in his arsenal until he got her a husband to tamp down that female fire.

Gratefully he shut his door and welcomed the distraction of the interesting letter.

"Hrabe?" he mumbled, deeply curious.

Cracking the seal, he read that he and his family were invited to a summer evening masquerade at the residence of Lady Carmelita Hrabe. At first he was stunned by the sudden invitation into a noble home, but he was the Magistrate after all he told himself and certainly deserved visibility in high circles.

He settled into his favorite chair and stared at the artful script upon the fine paper, trying to read between the lines. Rumors were abundant about Lady Carmelita, and he frowned when he guessed at her reason for her sudden interest in Court authority. She was a Protestant sympathizer and the handmaiden to heresy.

Yet Martin could not toss the invitation. She was hardly the only noble in Prague disgruntled with the Church. As a sailor of political seas, Martin considered that dipping an oar into these waters could be prudent. The Jesuits had suddenly become friendly, so it followed that the Protestants might like to foster the sympathies of the Court. He supposed they would need it eventually. And the possibility remained that they would take over the city someday, and he hardly wanted to be labeled uncooperative. He supposed wheedling funds from both sides was the fairest thing to do.

Lady Carmelita had been thoughtful to make her event a masquerade. His presence there could not be entirely confirmed if he needed to deny it.

Plus he would be able to show off Altea to a new crowd. Perhaps with her looks she could even attract a lesser noble. That possibility was tantalizing.

#  Chapter 32. Live In Fear

Altea was astonished by her own excitement. The unexpected invitation to a masquerade party at the house of a noblewoman made her almost grateful for Martin's prestigious position. She also recognized this as her chance to meet people beyond his circle of stodgy men.

Her childish giddiness was not going to serve her well tonight. She needed to be charming and unforgettable. Although she had not had much notice about the party, she had hurriedly designed and sewn a new gown. She had found a wonderful yellow fabric with a golden sheen. For the poufy short sleeves she had used a contrasting dark blue fabric. With the same fabric she had added stripes to the golden skirt.

Since it was a masquerade she had selected a mask from a crafter who specialized in them at the market. The bird ones had not suited her, but a golden fox mask from the back of the vendor's stall had looked down on her with insistent sass.

Cynthia helped her put it on now. The maid secured it at the back with a hairpin while Altea sat in front of her mirror.

"Oh my, you look clever," Cynthia commented.

Altea grinned. The nose of the mask swooped down over her real nose and brought attention to her lips. The eye holes fitted over her blue eyes perfectly.

She reached up and gently patted the pointy ears. The effect thrilled her. Her eyes imbued the golden velvet mask with life. The altered creature looking back at her sparkled with optimism because Altea felt released from her normal cares. She expected tonight to go as splendidly as her last social outing with her stepfather had been disastrous.

"Altea," Elias said, tapping on her door. "Our carriage is here."

"I'm ready," she said.

"Take your shawl," Cynthia advised.

"It's hot," Altea said.

"It'll be cooler later," the maid persisted.

Altea grabbed the shawl and put it over an arm.

"Have Jarmila make the boys say their prayers," Altea said. Cynthia nodded indulgently, unsurprised by the parting command for the governess.

Out in the hall, Elias turned so she could admire his new suit. His mask was simple and black but when paired with his broad-brimmed hat it gave him the appearance of a highwayman.

"You look completely different!" Altea exclaimed.

"So do you," he laughed. "That fox is rather provocative. Has father seen it?"

The foxy face smirked. "What do you think?" she said.

Elias rolled his eyes, realizing that Altea would have kept it hidden until Martin had no choice but to accept it.

The younger boys were at the bottom of the stairs. They squealed with admiration upon seeing their older siblings in masks.

"Enough nonsense!" Martin bellowed from his study.

The children quieted slightly as Altea and Elias headed toward the front door. Martin stepped out of his study. He did not have a mask on yet.

"Altea, a last word with you," he said.

Elias shot her look before heading out the door. He clearly was hoping that she would take whatever advice his father was about to dispense.

"Yes, Papa Fridrich," she said sweetly upon entering the study. She was in such a good mood, the prospect of a preemptory lecture from her stepfather troubled her little.

"Let me have a look at you," Martin said. His eyes roved up and down her body. "What did this cost me?" he asked, fingering the fabric of her sleeve.

"I didn't look," she said.

Her lack of caring annoyed him more than if she had knowingly assaulted his purse with a precise figure.

"It'll be worth it," she said.

"You better make it so. I need to expand my connections, so no mooning over some friendly simpleton. I'll steer you toward gentlemen that suit me," he said.

Altea nodded, trying to be cooperative. Outside the open window she could hear her brothers chattering around the carriage. Yiri was commenting about the horses, and Erik was bothering the driver with fantastic questions. Patrik was trying to boss them both.

Martin stepped closer to Altea. He put a finger against one of her fox ears to see how stiff it was. He traced a finger down the edge of the mask. He noticed how Altea had her mother's eyes. She was the same height too and had not been much older than this when he had taken her as his bride.

Martin missed the many comforts his wife had given him during her dutiful life. His hand moved to Altea's collar bone and then slipped over her full breast and squeezed.

Altea gasped and struck away his hand. The blow broke Martin's daydream, but the connection had roused him more than he had expected.

"Don't touch me!" Altea hissed, stepping back.

Martin caught her wrist in a fierce grip. "I'll touch you if I want to," he said.

"You're hurting me," Altea said and tried to twist free.

Martin released her. The bundle of flowers tied to her wrist by a ribbon was crushed and the petals drifted to the floor. A few stuck to Martin's sweaty palm.

In shock, Altea fumbled for a reaction, but Martin hustled her out the door before she could indulge in hysterics. Hynek squinted at her with satisfied spite. With tears welling, she endured the happy goodbyes from her little brothers. Elias gave her a hand into the carriage. He noticed her altered demeanor but could not guess at its cause.

Martin clambered into the carriage last. The vehicle creaked when he sat down. He stared across the carriage at his stepdaughter with a pensive glare.

The slap of leather reins got the horses going and the carriage rolled forward. Martin slipped on his plain black mask.

Old Town passed by in a blur for Altea. Only once they were upon the Kamenny Most did she recover from her shock a little. The river liberated the sky from the city, and she admired the fluffy clouds splashed with lavender and gold as the sun sank languidly. The heavy scent of the flowing water beckoned her with freedom. The thought of jumping out of the carriage and hurling herself into the water sprang into her wounded mind. She did not even know how to swim, but she wished she could float away to a new life even though Prague was the only place she knew. Such an act would surely embarrass Martin for many years. Perhaps people would even think he pushed her and the scandal would destroy his career.

The bells of Saint Vitus rang the seventh hour of the evening when the carriage rolled back onto land. Construction projects along the river cluttered the scene, and the street was full of foot traffic. The carriage slowed. Elias and Martin casually remarked upon the handsome houses, and Martin offered tidbits of information about each name he recognized on the house signs.

When they reached the party, Altea commanded herself to surmount her confusion. Attracting a husband was more important than ever. She was no longer safe in Martin's house. Her stomach turned when she thought about what he might do.

Carriages were clogging the street in front of Carmelita Hrabe's house. Her home showed off the newest style of architecture. Braziers were burning along the front. Servants in matching tunics were attending the horses and ushering guests inside.

Music was playing and the divine sound eased her panic. She could enjoy herself here. She would figure out how to handle Martin later, but for now she had to focus on the splendid event or burst into tears.

Elias escorted her inside. Holding onto his friendly arm soothed her a little. The interior was overwhelming. So many artistic details demanded attention. The carved wood trim around the doors amazed her. The artfully arranged flowers in glazed vases astounded her. Such fragile short lived beauty demanded that she pause to admire it.

A happy roar of conversations consumed her stunned silence. All the masked faces were disorienting. When Elias said something to her she nodded dumbly, unable to process his comment.

They followed Martin, who worked his way toward the buffet. He nibbled a little and inspected the board for later reference, but then announced that they should get in the receiving line for their esteemed hostess before they ate. He allowed himself to get a glass of wine from a tray. Elias took a drink as well, but Altea doubted that her stomach could handle anything right now.

She finally started socializing while waiting in the slow moving line. Both men and women introduced themselves to her and asked to know who she was. Altea tried to gush with pleasing conversation. The effort was a good distraction from the fresh turmoil eviscerating her sense of bodily security.

"Altea Kardas," she replied with a curtsy to an older woman.

"Kardas? Where have I heard that name?" the older woman wondered.

"My father was a knight as were his fathers before him," Altea said, wishing she still had her real father. Memories of him were few and vague, but her sudden longing for him was genuine.

"Oh, I'm sure he fought well for Bohemia," the lady said.

"Yes."

"Well, it's good to see her Ladyship inviting some new women to her affairs. There's been much too many men around here," the woman said and winked saucily.

Altea nodded politely, unsure of what the lady was hinting at, except that it was somehow titillating.

When they finally reached Lady Carmelita, Altea admired the elegant clothing of the small woman. She was dressed in a deep red gown. Rhinestones covered her gaudy mask. Small white feathers fringed the mask and set off her dark hair.

Martin bowed to her. "May I express the utmost pleasure to meet you, your Ladyship. Your invitation was a surprise indeed," he said.

"Welcome, Magistrate Fridrich. It pleases me to meet you. I've been much to cliquish and have been missing out on meeting new people. You're such an important part of Prague's administration. The least I can do is offer some dinner and good music as my way of thanking you for your service to the city," she said.

Her dreamy attitude nearly flustered Martin. His days were filled with grumbling Aldermen and the pleas of criminals. Receiving praise from an attractive woman truly stumped his social skills.

He fumbled through an introduction of Elias and then ushered Altea forward. She nudged him away with her elbow when his hand touched her back.

"Please meet my stepdaughter Altea Kardas," Martin said.

Altea curtsied deeply. "Your Ladyship, I am honored to be received by you," she said.

"Welcome to my home, Altea Kardas," Carmelita said.

"If I may, your Ladyship, I'm not too shy to mention that Altea is available for marriage," Martin said.

Carmelita made note of the information. She played her hand at matchmaking often enough, but she doubted that this ravishing stepdaughter would be on the market long.

"You must have suitors fighting over you," Carmelita said. She stood up and flapped her fan at Martin. "Come, Magistrate, you must tell me about what progress the town fathers are making with the werewolf hunt. Let me show you to the buffet. I can tell when a man is famished."

"I could eat a little," Martin said.

Carmelita swatted his belly with her fan. "A little?" she teased.

Martin chuckled awkwardly.

Carmelita spun toward Altea and Elias. "Go off and have fun you two. I'll see that your father stays out of trouble," she said.

"Thank you!" Elias beamed and bowed again.

Thunderstruck by the good fortune of Carmelita's interference, Altea simply gaped as the woman herded her stepfather away.

"Do you think any girls here will dance with me?" Elias whispered to his sister.

"Of course. Just ask them," Altea said. "But we have to split up so we don't seem like a couple."

Elias nodded and they headed in opposite directions. The sudden rush of freedom was breathtaking for Altea. She worked her way around the dance floor until she could see the musicians. The singer's voice was entrancing. He plucked his harp with an angel's love. She quickly became lost in looking at him. He sometimes looked at her while his voice soared. Wonderful fantasies about him singing just to her erased the tension from her body. When he finished his song, everyone clapped enthusiastically.

"A dance, fair fox?" a man inquired.

Altea turned and looked at a young man. His mask made joining with a stranger seem completely appropriate.

"Yes," she said, delighted not to have to ask for Martin's permission.

They exchanged pleasant small talk while they danced. Altea relaxed in his polite company. The dance required that they rotate among other partners, and Altea soon learned eight other names that she expected to forget.

She danced through three songs and finally encountered Elias. He was having a grand time, and judging from his swagger, drinking as much as dancing.

When Altea was out of breath, she retreated to the musicians. A servant kindly offered her a drink and she took it this time. She glanced around for Martin and thankfully did not spot him.

She returned her attention to the performers. They played with such joyful passion, and she could share in their happiness simply by listening.

Everyone applauded again when they finished a song. In the quiet before they started another song, a superstitious prickle ran up Altea's spine. She shivered despite the flush of her cheeks.

Something brushed her leg. Looking down, she gasped. A small brown and white dog was pawing her skirt. She froze with disbelieving recognition. The dog scooted away among the people until she could not see him, but then she saw the man across the ballroom looking at her. He stood on the staircase landing, alone. He wore a wolf mask and a glossy wolf fur was draped over his shoulders. He gestured with his head down the hall on the second level.

She did not want to believe what she saw, but there was no dismissing it when he swung his head again. He wanted her to come upstairs.

No, she thought but the command was not her true wish. It was only something she was supposed to do.

He walked along the landing and looked back once more before disappearing into the upstairs hall. Somehow he seemed to have no doubt that she would come to him.

I will, she thought and her feet took her to the stairs.

One of the men she had danced with tried to speak to her when she mounted the steps but she ignored him. She quickened her steps, eager to enter forbidden territory. She needed something new. She hated everything old and familiar. Why fear the advances of some stranger when she faced worse terror at home?

On the landing she paused to look back. The happy party was chattering away behind her like an overflowing nest of baby birds. Worried that Martin would see her, she sped into the hall. The drifting smoke from candles just blown out curled past her nose. In the cool dark, she could hear herself breathing. Wetting her lips, she tried to decide where to start this reckless game of hide and seek.

"This way!" a young voice whispered.

A serving boy stuck his head out a door and beckoned her. His childish enthusiasm made it feel safe.

He left the door open and scooted away down the hall. Inside the room, candles flickered on a table. Wax drippings were piling up on the silver sticks. She stepped inside. A man in the shadows stepped forward into the light. His mask was off, and she froze with recognition. Those eyes were unforgettable, and the mold that had cast that face had once been a kindly old woman who had always come to those in their times of need.

Altea slipped inside and shut the door. She could hardly believe that she was alone with Gretchen's strange son. The times he had come by her house, she had longed to go out and speak with him. Now he had somehow found her, and her daydreams about him could be acted upon if she dared.

"Thal Lesky," she said.

He smiled to hear her say his name. "You remembered," he said.

"I must warn you. I've seen your name on papers for wanted criminals," she blurted.

He held up a hand. "Pray, Lady, tell me your name," he said.

She hesitated. This was her last chance to flee. "Altea Kardas," she said.

He looked a little confused but not unhappily. "Not Fridrich?" he said.

She realized he had been looking at her house sign. "The Magistrate is my stepfather," she explained.

The way she said stepfather reeked of dislike. He was pleased to learn that she was not actually related to that guilty man. And judging from her tone, his demise was not going to break her heart.

He came a little closer.

"I think perhaps you are truly a fox, but may I see again your face?" he said.

Although she felt safer when it was on, she slowly lifted off her mask.

"I'm pleased to see no tears tonight," he commented.

His allusion to their first meeting reminded her of his tragedy. "I'm sorry about your mother. She was good to me," Altea said.

"She was good to everyone that I recall," Thal said.

"Where have you been? Gretchen never spoke of you. How can you be so young?" Altea said.

"I'm older than I look," Thal said, ignoring her first question. "How did you know my mother?"

Altea did not mind that he dodged her probing questions. Just being with him felt satisfying. She explained how Gretchen had been her mother's midwife over many years.

"I should not have left her," Thal lamented.

Her heart broke for him. Gretchen's tragedy was amplified by the simple despondence in his quiet voice.

"Where will you go now?" Altea asked.

"Why should I go anywhere?" Thal asked.

"You're wanted for terrible crimes. I read it in papers on my stepfather's desk. I took the notice so he wouldn't see. You can still get away," Altea said.

"You took it?" he whispered, amazed that she would act to protect a man who she should rightly be terrified of for stalking her.

"I burnt the paper. No one knows. You can get away. It's the least I could do for poor Gretchen," she said.

"You were kind to act on my behalf. I hope it brings no trouble to you, but my crimes have been circulated throughout Bohemia. I am hunted," he said.

"What will you do?" she asked, upset that her bold vandalism of Martin's papers was not as protective as she had imagined.

When Thal shrugged, his wolf fur glided off one shoulder and hung down his back. "If my true nature is a crime, then all I can do is live with it," he said.

"But it said you were a werewolf," Altea said.

"I'm sure it did," he laughed and came closer.

She stepped back now. The door pressed against her.

"I arranged this meeting so I could ask some very important questions of you, Altea," he said.

"You arranged..." she trailed off, wondering how he had caused Lady Carmelita to invite them.

"Can you tell me who took part in my mother's murder?" he said.

His attitude shifted into a cold place. She guessed his dark intent but could not condemn it.

"I don't know. She was in jail before I heard anything. I didn't go to her...execution," she regretted the word when Thal winced. "I'm so sorry," she said.

He shook off his rage. It was not something this wonderful woman should have to see.

"You can guess what I mean to do to the men who hurt her. This is why I need some confirmation about the guilty. It's not my wish to hurt the innocent," Thal explained.

Altea spun and grabbed the door handle. She had to flee. She should not be a party to his crimes. She had already erred by trying to help him. Her redemption depended upon turning him in, but such a betrayal would be beastly. She hesitated.

Thal was suddenly close behind her. His heavy masculine presence made her legs tremble. He presumed to remove her hand from the door handle. He ran a thumb across her soft palm. She tried to contain her shaking. She straightened her back and faced him.

Always brave this one, he thought admiringly.

The sweatiness of her hand in his hot hand distressed her. Wild sensations were heating her body everywhere. Great strength radiated from him. The unadulterated reality of his spirit separated him from all others. He made all men chaff to his golden nourishing wheat.

"You mustn't harm the Magistrate," she whispered.

He tilted his head, surprised by her advocacy for him when he could sense her hate. "His guilt I am most certain of. He would've sentenced her to death," he argued.

"But it's only something he must do. He couldn't let her go. All witches confess. His hands were tied," Altea argued.

"My mother's hands were tied!" Thal fumed and let her go. "He's only your stepfather. What do you care?"

Although ashamed of defending Martin, Altea had to do what was right. "He has four sons. They're my half brothers and I love them. We've lost our mother. If Martin dies they'll be orphaned. What will become of us?" she pleaded.

"His sons will inherit his estate," Thal said blandly.

"Boys need their father," she said.

"Shall I go without justice because boys need their father?" he demanded.

Altea nodded.

Her good-hearted request softened Thal's anger. He wished he could make this beautiful woman happy. He had told himself he did not want her, but that had been when he thought she was the daughter of the Magistrate. Now she was a woman who had cared about his mother and who his mother had cared for.

Memories of the dazzling alpha females that had been his mates dug into his heart with nostalgic claws. His loneliness salivated for the comfort of a partner who could give him greater purpose.

"Tell me your stepfather is a good man and I will be merciful," he whispered.

"He's..." Altea trailed off. Her ugly fear about what he might do to her strangled the words in her throat. She was so afraid to go home, to go to sleep in her bed, but she could not be a party to murder.

"He's a good man," she managed.

Thal shook his head. "I'm very good at knowing when people lie," he said.

Ugly truths assaulted her. She sickened herself speaking in Martin's defense. She wanted to ask Thal for help. There was no one else she could turn to for protection, but what safety could a wanted man give her? She had already imperiled herself more by sneaking away to converse with him.

Thal continued, "There's no guilt in answering my questions. You can make sure I don't include the innocent when I strike. I saw you cry for my dead mother. You must want justice for her. She was tortured. She was burned to death."

Altea's face fell in her hands and she sobbed a little. The agony and confusion that she had fought against for months escaped. Words that she could speak to no other she cried in Thal's presence. "How am I to live in world where my neighbors watched her burn and called it good?" she said.

Thal put a hand on her shoulder. His mother's brutal death had been hard on more than just him. How many people in Altea's community secretly mourned those who had been killed? Altea fell against him and he held her.

"It is done so that you will live in fear," he said.

"I'm so afraid," she confessed and looked up at him with teary eyes.

He wiped a tear with his thumb. "But you're brave," he said.

His comment startled her. Brave was a word used in stories and about men. When had she ever been brave? But it did not matter. His high opinion of her gave her new strength.

"I've seen that you loved Gretchen. She used the last of her magic to call me to Prague so she could have justice. Repay her many kindnesses and help me fulfill her final wish," Thal said.

Altea stepped away from him and finished wiping her own tears. Her moment in his arms had been immensely comforting. He understood her pain. He did not condemn her normal feelings as sympathy for witchcraft. She wanted to stay in his arms but the physical contact was overwhelming. The heavy feeling in her lower torso warned of an impending passion that she had no experience with.

She thought about the horrors Gretchen had surely endured, and then she remembered her delivering each of her brothers into the world and all the aid she had given her mother, even through the torments of her final disease.

Softly Altea said, "Constable Bekcek was the one who brought in all the witches. Any of the men who work at the jail would have played their part. There could've been other men. I've heard Bekcek mention that he hires extra men from time to time, but I don't know who. As for my stepfather..."

When she hesitated, Thal said, "You don't have to condemn him. No need for you to put guilt upon your heart."

Altea regarded the crushed remnants of her floral nosegay. Her wrist was still sore. She had always tried not to be a sinner. She cared about her soul, but speaking the truth was not bearing false witness.

"My stepfather resented Gretchen. He had no qualms about condemning her," Altea said.

"Thank you for confirming the guilt of those involved. I'm sure you should go now," Thal said.

The final words had been dragged from him. He was saying what was for the best not what he wanted.

"I don't think you want me to go," she said.

"No," he whispered and looked at her with such longing that Altea wanted to make him happy. They had spoken of so many sad things. Perhaps they could enjoy a few easy moments.

"Put your mask on. Come dance with me," she said.

Thal heard the music through the floor. He wished he was a normal man with a normal life so he could give this lovely woman everything she deserved.

"They're playing my song," he murmured. Although muffled by the structure, the voice of Regis singing "I prayed for an angel to save me and got the Devil instead" was audible.

"Your song?" Altea said.

He smiled and explained that the musicians were his friends and apparently he had become their Muse.

"You know the musicians?" Altea said.

Thal laughed. All the girls were the same when it came to his talented friends.

"Come dance," she urged. "Trust in your mask."

"As a courtesy to my hostess I shall not show myself again. If my presence here were known it would bring trouble onto her," he explained.

"Oh," Altea sighed, deflated. She had only wanted to feel normal for a while, but it was impossible with Thal.

He took her gently by the shoulders and drew her close. When her breasts pressed against his hard chest, their thudding hearts resonated across their bodies. Their lips met with tentative tenderness. Then his tongue slid against her teeth and playfully nudged her tongue. A red blur washed away her ability to think and the moist connection of their mouths deepened until she wanted only to yield to the excitement. His taste, his warmth, and his strength consumed her fear. She wanted to draw him inside her and keep him forever.

His arms tightened across her back and she pressed against him. They fell against the door. Their kissing accelerated. Unthinking pleasure obscured all societal rules that sought to constrain human passion.

Finally Thal let her go. He had to return to the shores of mindfulness and escape the deep waters of her flesh.

"I'll come for you tonight after everyone is asleep. Look for me out your window," he said.

"How?" she asked. "I can't just go into the street in the middle of the night."

"Can't you? Is not the lock on your cage operated from the inside?" he teased.

The conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes was enough to tell Thal that she would dare to do as he suggested. He kissed her again. The pleasure of holding this woman astonished him. Finally he had a good thing to strive for in his life as a man.

"Go. Your family will be looking for you by now," he said.

"Thal?" she whispered.

"What?" he said encouragingly.

"You will come to my house?" she said.

"I will," he promised.

"I'll watch for you," she said. The hope that he would be coming in the night gave her the courage to go home.

#  Chapter 33. No Rules or Light of Day

Martin had to help his son into the carriage. Elias was humming a song and drunkenly happy but definitely stumbling. He dropped into a doze when Altea sat next to him. Martin plopped down across from her. She could feel his eyes on her.

The safety and delights of the party were over. Heavy silence between her and Martin weighed on them as the carriage took them back to Old Town. The ugly sensation of his hand upon her spoiled the robust thrill of when Thal had kissed her. She was torn between anxiety and craving. Altea understood that she was a grown woman and overdue for bedding a man. A husband was a natural need. She had been taught that her body was meant to produce children, and she was making poor progress toward fulfilling that purpose. The advances of Martin were deviant and her undeniable attraction to Thal was dangerous.

She tucked her feet under her and leaned against her drunken brother. At least Thal had said he would come tonight. She knew she could not possibly face the rest of her life if she did not indulge in the rendezvous. To embrace him again she would defy everything she had been taught was right.

Once they got home, Martin helped his son upstairs. Altea was thankful for the unwitting assistance of Elias who kept Martin's hands occupied. Grabbing a candle she rushed into the room of her younger brothers.

She pulled up their covers and brushed hair from their faces. Yiri mumbled but did not wake up. They were all adorable as cherubs and sleeping peacefully. She blew out the candle and crammed herself into bed with Yiri and Erik. The boys snuggled into new positions, but Altea remained wide awake. She imagined Thal creeping across the city toward her home. The mad desire to be near him again scoured her with impatience.

She heard Martin in the hall. Her stomach twisted when she judged that his footsteps were at her bedroom the door.

Next he thumped across the hall and opened the door of the younger boys' room. Altea shut her eyes. Martin grunted and she imagined him squinting at her suspiciously. She was obviously using his own children as a shield.

Finally Martin left. Not until his own bed groaned under his weight did Altea take a deep breath. She welcomed the temporary reprieve from attack when his grinding snores rattled from his room.

Very slowly she got out of the bed. She gathered her skirt close so it would not catch on anything. She lifted the door latch with snail-like lethargy so it would not make a sound.

Once out in the hall, she tiptoed to the stairs with delicate perfection, keeping her feet close to the wall to lessen the chance of the floorboards creaking. On the stairs, she skipped the step that would squeak for sure. She felt a little safer when she reached the main floor. The servants would sleep through anything.

In the front room she slid behind the drapes and gently undid the window latch. The dark street was quiet. A long time she waited at the window, losing hope. She even began to wonder if some magic had made her dream the whole interlude with Thal. That made more sense than actually associating with the strange criminal.

Then she heard steps on the cobbles. Peeking out with one eye she saw a cloaked man with a little dog. Happiness caressed her spirit. His promise had been kept and she would feel his touch again.

He did not look up when he walked by the window. "Meet me at your back gate," he whispered and kept going down the street.

Altea's sweaty hands slipped off the window hardware the first time she tried to pull it shut. The most splendid excitement burned in the core of her body. Nervous laughter quivered in her throat but she kept herself silent. A whole lifetime seemed to pass as she forced herself to creep across the house. Her legs felt weak. Her nipples stiffened against her clothes and she ached with warm, awakening lust.

In an agony of enforced stealth, she made her way quietly out the back door. The dark outline of a man stood at the back gate and she rushed to him. During those few steps she knew perfect freedom. There were no rules or light of day. Nothing but her desire and the cool night air existed. She yanked the gate open and was in his arms. They sighed each other's names and kissed. His steely arms made her feel safe. She ran her hands up his chest and down his sides until she bumped his pistols.

Then he took his mouth off hers. "I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" she asked, thinking that he was the only person in the world who had no cause to apologize to her.

"I shouldn't be seducing you. You deserve a real man," he said.

"You're more real than any man in Prague," she said and kissed him again. Her needy lips and quickly learning tongue goaded his instincts. He knew well the demanding pull of animal appetites and the thrill of yielding to them, but he loved this fair maid too much to sully her.

"I should not have come," he said.

"But you did," she said and smiled with a delighted lack of regret.

"I did," he agreed.

"It would've killed me if you didn't come," she said and hugged him tight and pressed a cheek against his collar bone. So this is what it feels like to be held, she thought, appalled by the emptiness of her existence before this day. Nothing compared to this intimate acceptance.

"Altea, do you understand what I am?" he said with heavy seriousness.

Her passion ebbed a little. She touched his goatee and imagined the hairs on the snout of a werewolf. "Do you really change into a beast?" she said. Her tone was curious, not disapproving.

"I do."

"What is it like?" she asked.

Encouraged by her calm curiosity, Thal smiled. "Magnificent," he admitted.

"Take me away from here," she said.

"I have no shelter to offer. Only my love," he said against his better judgment. This impulsive woman would only be encouraged to more madness by this proclamation, but he had not been able to stop himself. He wanted her for his own.

They resumed kissing. Their urgency built rapidly. They pressed their bodies together and touched each other through their clothes. The contours of their flesh rubbed insistently, determined to overcome the barriers of fabric. Altea stumbled back against the fence and Thal loomed over her. His hands hauled up her skirt and she rubbed the inside of her thigh against his leg.

"No," he gasped and eased the swelling mass in his pants away from her body. He did not want to take her in some smelly alley. This spirited woman who deserved glory but lived in a cage would get no coarse treatment from him.

Still moaning, Altea gasped for her breath. She had not known that passion could progress so quickly and she had been going too fast. The pulsing pleasure between her legs slowly eased. She felt like she had a whole new body that required new things.

Thal took her hand and led her away. Pistol followed, perky with happiness for his master. They emerged onto an empty street. He slipped his cloak around her and kept her close, almost concealing her.

"Do you always walk the streets at night?" she asked.

"Not always," he answered.

"Did you kill those men and horses?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Would you really be here if you thought I had?" he said.

"No. There's another beast. I can hear the difference in the howls," she said.

Her astute judgment impressed Thal. He gave her an appreciative squeeze and wondered what his mother had thought of this young woman.

"I'm trying to gain the trust of the other werewolf. If he'd accept my guidance I could keep him from hurting people, but I worry he can't get past his madness," Thal explained.

"How did you?" she wondered.

"I am different. My power is not madness. I'm in control," he said. He meant to explain more but footsteps made him go quiet.

A trio of men confronted them. Clubs were in their hands. Pistol growled, confirming their nefarious intentions.

"Stay behind me," Thal said. The dog stood by Altea's feet and yapped courageously.

Thal drew his pistols. "I'm armed," he warned.

A man charged at him swinging a club. Thal fired. The flash of igniting powder revealed a bearded dirty face. The return of darkness hid the explosion of blood but Altea heard the crunching splat when he hit the street. Thal charged the next man and hit him over the head with his pistol. He yelled in pain and staggered against a building. The third desperado fled.

Thal grabbed Altea's hand and rushed her away from the scene. They reached a wharf where docked boats bobbed in the water.

Reloading his pistol, he said, "They didn't figure on me having a gun." He shook his head at their misjudgment. A solitary figure was not always vulnerable, and he knew how to tell the difference.

Altea had her hand on her chest. Her heart was thumping after the terrible fright and the run. His swift strength had protected them, and she wished that he could save her from everything.

"This is why I'm supposed to stay in at night," she said, trying to be as casual about the incident as Thal seemed.

He grinned. "It's barely safe during the day," he said.

"That body in the street will be found," Altea worried, perplexed by his lack of concern.

"It matters not. No one will lament a thief with his face blown off," Thal said.

The onrush of experiences overwhelmed Altea. She had lived more since the sun set than she had in all her years.

"What would they have done to us?" she whispered.

"Kill me, rob me, rape you, maybe kill you too," Thal said dispassionately.

His unflustered acceptance of brutal realities bothered Altea. Was all the supposed orderliness of society just peeling paint upon a foundation of unrepentant rapacious violence?

"Is all the world like this?" she asked him.

"There is much beauty and kindness too," he said. Sliding his gun back into his belt, he drew her close again. "When I look at you I imagine a life of good things."

"I want to be with you," she said.

"How can you know that?" he wondered.

"I just know," she said. She remembered his howling and how the song had connected with all the feelings of her heart, but she could not explain it to him.

Thal believed her anyway. Her presence proved her passion for him.

"What must a man have to be worthy of you?" he asked.

"You are worthy."

"No, not in a man's world. In the forest I knew how to provide for my family, but here everything is complicated and out of reach," he lamented.

"In the forest?" she said, puzzled by his words.

Thal tensed, worried that he had spoken too candidly. Perhaps Altea accepted the concept that he was a werewolf but did not truly understand.

Determined to be honest, he explained, "I forsook the life of a man many years ago, before you were born. Magic changed me to a wolf. I chose that life, but unlike the other wolves I never aged and died. Then in her time of terrible need, my mother somehow called me back. But I am not just a man. The wolf is part of me and I can summon that power when I need it."

Altea contemplated his incredible explanation. She could not deny his story. Prague had been up in arms about werewolves ever since she had first seen him.

Thal continued, "So maybe you can see how this is difficult for me. I want to have a life with you, but I know that would be wrong for you. I'm sure you want to live a normal life like a normal woman."

Altea hugged him. Her arms slipped around his back beneath the fur under his cloak. The heat of his body was trapped there and he was very warm.

"And what of you, Thal? What will you do with your life?" she said.

"Some want me to use my power in their wars," he said. "I wanted no part of that, but now I think that it might be a way to earn enough to give you a home if you would have me."

She looked up into his face. "Are you proposing marriage?" she said.

Thal sighed. "I suppose I'm being more ridiculous than you are. I'll take you home. I should not have lured you out. I was wrong..."

Her kiss cut him off and urged him to stop thinking about their situation. They indulged again in a heavy petting embrace until they pulled apart.

"I want to see you again," Altea said, and Thal smiled at her forthrightness.

"Look for me at the Knights of the Cross square tomorrow afternoon," she instructed.

"I will," he said, unable to resist continuing the game he had started. He kissed her and tugged at the top of her gown until he exposed a breast. His lips tickled lower down her neck until he was nuzzling the firm swell of flesh. His tongue swirled around her nipple and she gasped and pulled away. He righted her clothing while she recovered. They still had so much territory to cover in the exploration of their bodies. Their mutual need to mate was readily apparent, but Thal wondered how he was ever going to get her alone in a proper setting or if he even should.

Pistol growled and trotted down the wharf. On alert now, Thal sniffed the stinking cocktail of fish and sewage and the mashy grain of brewing beer. Within the odors he detected what had worried Pistol. One of Vito's sellswords was near.

"We must go," he whispered.

"What is it?" she asked.

"We must be silent," he insisted and took her hand.

Altea had a little trouble hustling alongside him at his fast tireless pace. He often looked back, and she feared what was be spooking him.

When they reached her alley, he stopped and kissed her with fierce hunger. Their connection still blazed with lust.

"I don't want to go home," Altea whispered into his mouth.

He did not seem to hear her and looked away. "Go home through the alley. I can't linger here. I'll see you in the square," he said.

"Thal?" she said.

The tread of his boots and the pad of his dog's feet faded into the darkness. The blackness of the city pressed down on Altea savagely. In Thal's company the world had been a place of adventure with him as its master, but his abrupt departure stripped her of safety. The wild realm of late night city streets exposed her naked inexperience. She tried to squelch her anger over his abandonment. He had to have a reason. Their brief conversations tonight had only begun to fulfill her need to know his mysteries.

Looking back, she heard footsteps and grasped that Thal was trying to lead the danger away. Groping in the dark, she hastened down the alley. The sanctuary of her home offered only meager relief. A new terror invisible to the outer world stalked her here. Quietly she made it to her room and slipped out of her gown.

With her night clothes on, she knelt beside her bed. The dawn was coming but after such a wild night, she had prayers to speak.

Crossing herself as she had been taught, she whispered, "Dear God, please banish Martin's impure advances. I've done nothing to deserve this. I swear. Please help me keep him away. Amen."

#  Chapter 34. A Rendezvous Observed

Tenzo discouraged a beggar with a stern look. The long haired sellsword would have denied the panhandler alms on principle, and the fact that he did not have a single coin worsened his miniscule sense of charity. But at least Tenzo felt optimistic that he was on the verge of getting his back pay from the stingy Jesuit.

After prowling the Little Quarter nightly for a fortnight, he had finally spotted the elusive Thal last night. The figure with a fast gait and a thick cloak had slipped onto the bridge, and he had followed him.

Once in Old Town, Tenzo had lost track of him until the gun shot had renewed his chase. When he had overheard voices near the river and one had been female, Tenzo quickly put together why Thal had suddenly taken to shooting people in the street. The thief had threatened whatever woman he was with.

Suspecting that the woman must be in Old Town somewhere, Tenzo had resumed his hunt today in Knights of the Cross square. He figured Thal would pass through the square if he came into Old Town again.

While prowling around the busy market, Tenzo became thirsty as the hot day wore on. Napping at the Clementinum until someone came across with some food and drink was becoming much more desirable, but then he saw him. Tenzo had almost missed him because of his slipping concentration. Thal was already halfway across the square. An effortless airiness buoyed his steps as if he did not walk as hard upon the ground as others. A sign of his sinful magic Tenzo assumed.

Controlling his excitement, he drifted toward Thal.

Thal turned down a row of market stalls. Tenzo hurried into the next row. Thal moved with a false casualness. His roving eyes were looking for someone. Tenzo hid his lurking presence in a small crowd gathered to watch a ridiculous puppet show.

As the puppeteers screeched dramatically about corrupt judges and gallant folk heroes, Tenzo glanced toward Thal. The wily criminal would have likely noticed the surveillance on another day, but his dreamy smile advertised the depth of his distraction.

When the sellsword spotted the young woman, he was duly impressed. The Devil himself could not have seduced a maid more fine. She deserved to be a princess of Bohemia with her straight body and perky bosom. Her fair face and golden braids reflected the hot sun as divinely as a meadow in full bloom.

Tenzo smirked as he observed the happy couple try to act like they did not know each other. They looked over wares at the same stall and feigned innocent conversation, but Tenzo noticed how they stood too close. Long ago during his brief youth Tenzo had once played such flirty games with girls in the market. He was past such silliness now. A harlot was much more efficient and required little talking.

The happy couple continued their ruse of shopping. Tenzo carefully pursued. He had no delusions about a busy public place keeping Thal from acting viciously.

Snuffling between shoppers' feet, a little brown and white dog investigated rotted fruit and the pee puddles of other dogs. Tenzo ducked into a fruit stand. The werewolf's dog must not get a whiff of him. The vendor soon became irritated with his loitering. Judging that the dog had moved on, he edged back into the open and spotted Thal and the woman within the crowd. Their hands were touching. The furtive contact made Tenzo ache as he imagined their lust, but knowing that he had discovered a weakness in this monster excited him more.

Keeping his distance, he watched them continue to sneak little touches. Sometimes they appeared to exchange sweet words but other times they looked sad. Tenzo supposed they were having trouble arranging their next tryst.

The little rendezvous ended when a servant woman intercepted the young woman. Thal drifted into the crowd after exchanging a frustrated look with the woman he was wooing. With less spring in his step, he left the square by a different street than the woman. Tenzo followed the woman. Her location was crucial.

As he trailed the woman he recognized the street. He had been on Karlova before when he had helped Brother Miguel stir up some mobs.

When the woman went up the steps of Magistrate Fridrich's house, Tenzo gaped with surprise. A man behind him muttered irritably because he had to go around the motionless sellsword. Finally accepting what he had seen, Tenzo rushed to the Clementinum.

Vito was meeting with Miguel. He had obtained a new desk and the two men were pouring over lists of names while Miguel made notes.

"Not now," Vito said, not looking up when Tenzo knocked.

Tenzo presumed to open the door. Vito greeted the intrusion with an acidic gaze.

"I saw Thal," Tenzo said, and Vito's hot words died on the vine of his temper.

Miguel jerked with surprise and knocked over an ink bottle. He cussed before he caught his wicked tongue and righted the bottle. A couple lucky names were covered by a black puddle.

Vito met the sellsword at the door. "Are you sure?" he hissed.

"I am," Tenzo said.

Vito ushered him inside and yanked the sticking door shut.

"Where?" he demanded.

Tenzo rested a thick hand on his sword. His belly growled a little beneath his chainmaille shirt.

"Me and my men need some pay, Brother Vito," he said.

"This is no time to quibble. That Devil spawn stalks the streets and all you think of is coin for gambling and whoring," Vito said.

"The preaching and praying of your lot has not accomplished much. If you want to hear what I know, and I promise by God you'll like it, then settle up accounts or me and my fellows are done with you," Tenzo said. He spun out the door. "I'll be in the dining hall," he said.

Planning some eloquent threats, Vito meant to stalk after his rebellious sellsword, but Miguel restrained him. The touch shocked Vito, and Miguel quickly removed his hand.

"Just pay them," he advised. "Our rewards are in Heaven but his are on Earth. There's no changing that."

Vito gritted his teeth, still resisting.

Miguel added, "We just got our funding from the Abbott."

"But if I give into this bullying I'll never have the control of him I need," Vito confided.

"His pay is what controls him," Miguel said and his friendly face urged practicality.

The outer door banged as the surly sellsword departed.

"We're not the only ones who can benefit from this knowledge of Thal," Miguel said.

"All right," Vito relented. "You go get him."

Miguel hustled after Tenzo and turned him around with placating words. Back in the office, Vito was writing a note to the Clementinum's treasurer specifying the amount of pay to be given to his hired men.

Tenzo stood over his desk impatiently. Vito signed, blew on the wet ink, and handed the slip over. The sellsword looked it over, but Vito knew he could not read it.

"Take that to the treasurer and you'll be paid," Vito said. "Now where is Thal?"

Tenzo tucked the precious note into his purse and took the chair Miguel had been using. He relaxed back, savoring his victory.

"He hides in the Little Quarter. Finding people who say they've seen him isn't hard, but no one seems to know where he stays. Almost makes me think everyone's hiding him," he said.

"I'm waiting to hear something useful," Vito prompted.

Amused with the irritation he caused his grouchy master, Tenzo explained, "But he visits Old Town because there's a woman he desires here. This I have seen myself. They were just wooing in the Knights of the Cross market."

Vito leaned over his desk and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. He was very interested.

Tenzo continued, "I followed this fair maid to her home. She lives in the Magistrate's house."

The news fell with a thud upon Vito's ears. Finally collecting himself, he said, "A servant of the Magistrate?"

Tenzo shook his head. "No, she was no servant. Must be his daughter although she's prettier than could spring from his loins." He chuckled.

"And you saw her with Thal?" Vito pressed.

"Holding hands," Tenzo revealed.

"You would swear to this?" Vito said.

Tenzo nodded. He would swear to most anything if paid, but since it was true he had no hesitation.

"Do not tell anyone else," Vito instructed and waved the man out.

Tenzo left and anticipated a bountiful evening celebrating with his fellows.

The two Jesuits shared a contemplative silence until Miguel finally said, "What's the Magistrate hiding from us?"

Vito tapped his fingers on his desk. During his encounters with Magistrate Fridrich he had not sensed that the man was protecting the werewolf.

"I suspect the proper question is what is this daughter hiding from the Magistrate?" Vito said. "The crafty wench is stealing moments with her lover in the market. That means Thal is hardly a legitimate suitor."

Vito's dark eyes glittered as he plotted new plots around the fresh information. The Magistrate was about to become his servant or be replaced.

After shuffling through the papers he found the first page of the list. "Find out at once the name of this slut and make her our top priority. I think we've found our bait for Thal."

#  Chapter 35. Not Really a Thief

"There he goes," Thal commented to his dog. Pistol growled.

Constable Bekcek was leaving the jail for the evening. Thal had loitered in Old Town Square through the late afternoon, anticipating the emergence of the Constable. The man swaggered down the street toward the square.

Thal shifted his hat low and ducked alongside a moving horse cart. The driver had to rein in the suddenly skittish horse. Bekcek went by, unaware of the sharp eyes watching him.

Thal trailed the Constable toward his preferred beer garden. He had observed him go to this place almost every evening.

Although Thal was the most wanted man in Prague, he was amused that no one ever seemed to notice him, or at least report his presence. Ironically the influx of armed men seeking work on the werewolf hunting patrols made Thal even less conspicuous.

The noise of the city dropped from his hearing. He focused on his prey with a vengeful hunger. He had killed for food and self defense, but the time to murder had come. A wise man Regis was to counsel against vengeance. Truly the bloodlust building inside Thal was unwholesome, but he would not shirk the rotten duty. The scent of Bekcek was taunting him. He remembered its trace upon the trail of his mother's flight. What horrors had that man inflicted on her? Thal was glad that he would never learn the details for they would surely be unbearable to know. The justice he was about to deliver would be far less vicious.

Bekcek entered the beer garden. The doors were wide open because of the fair season and the songs pouring out were happy and simple. Thal imagined the man's colleagues greeting him. Perhaps someone even owed him a beer and Bekcek was about to collect it.

Thal leaned against a building across the street. He wanted to give the Constable some time to settle in and relax.

The sun dropped lower. The streets fell into shadow but golden sunshine still spilled across the rooftops. The occasional person walking by glanced at Thal questioningly, but his unfocused gaze saw them not. He was remembering his mother. Examples of her kindness and love were numerous. He still had no recollection of why she had left his father, and his inability to ask her added to his pain.

"Gretchen," he whispered, saying her name to honor her. His heart beat harder as if her spirit gave him extra strength. He felt the magic that bound them urging him to action. Sweat ran down his back. His hands shook until he willfully steadied them.

"Wait here," he said to Pistol. The liquid eyes of the dog watched his master cross the street.

He entered the beer garden. People packed benches around tables. The hall was hot and the air tasted of sweat. Men sang their songs and drank their favorite brews. Women with thick arms and flushed cheeks toted steins as frenetically as squirrels collected nuts.

Thal scanned the crowd. Bekcek's black cloak was hung on a peg near his table. He was drinking and flapping his jaws about how crucial he was to the running of Prague.

Thal lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair and then settled his hat back into place. He smoothed a hand over his freshly trimmed goatee. Carlo had helped him with it that morning. Thal had wanted to look good for his meeting with Altea.

He stalked toward Bekcek and tapped him on the shoulder. The man's stein halted midway to his mouth and he looked over his shoulder with irritated surprise. His narrow face sneered at the sight of the rude stranger. Slowly he set his stein down and turned halfway on the bench. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling beams revealed the nasty light in the Constable's eyes.

"I've seen you before," he said, trying to place him.

"I expect it's my mother's face you recognize," Thal said.

"Son, it's no business of yours what your Mama might be doing with me," Bekcek joked.

"Would you please step out in the street," Thal said.

"If you've got something to tell me, say it," Bekcek said.

"It would be better if you came out. This seems a decent place and it would be rude to spray your blood all over it," Thal said.

"What?" Bekcek said, starting to rise.

"Clobber that fool!" shouted a man across the table.

A man sitting next to Bekcek got up as well. "You best be off before the Constable has you slapped in the stocks, fool," he said.

Bekcek wagged a finger at Thal. "I remember you! Your damn dog bit my ankle," he said.

Thal gestured toward the door. "I would see you outside," he insisted.

"What's this about?" the Constable demanded.

"It's about a certain witch named Gretchen. I expect you recall her," Thal said.

Bekcek laughed. "Ah, Gretchen. I do remember that fiery old bitch. I was up all night hunting her. What of her?" he said.

"Of all the people you torment did it never occur to you that one might have kin to avenge her?" Thal asked.

Bekcek saw the family resemblance then. A seed of fear sprouted in the belligerent ground of his remorseless world.

A colleague of the Constable stepped forward. "I'll beat down this cockhead for you, Bekcek," he announced and lunged.

Thal grabbed his swinging fist, twisted the man's arm, and flung him hard into a wall. A beer maid screamed and dropped her frothing steins. Songs faded and men starting shouting and getting off their benches.

Bekcek whipped out a dagger. Thal dodged the plunging blade and yanked a hunting knife from his boot. He slashed Bekcek across the throat. He screeched horribly and clasped his bleeding neck. Fiercely he stabbed at Thal again, but the dagger only caught on Thal's cloak. Thal twirled the knife in his hand and with a downward stroke drove it into Bekcek's chest. Thal yanked down on the blade, splitting the man's sternum and tearing open his heart. The knife caught on the medallion and Thal broke the chain with a final pull. Gushing blood, Bekcek tumbled forward. Thal stepped out of the way. Blood dripped off his knife that he held toward the aghast witnesses. When a couple men made moves to attack, Thal quickly drew a pistol. The perilous gun barrel halted their advance. No one was keen to risk a gun shot in close quarters.

Thal dashed for the door. He burst into the street and ran as fast as he could. His dog followed and they turned a corner. His speed and endurance gave him a good head start on the mob he expected to come after him.

When he burst back into the Old Town Square, he slowed to a walk and headed to the jail. Upon reaching the bleak stone building he kicked open the heavy door. Three men looked up from their dice game at the intruder silhouetted blackly against the dusky street.

A fat man with a greasy wool shirt got up first. A heavy ring of keys jingled at his belt. "Who the Hell are you?" he demanded. A bludgeon with scuffs and scratches aplenty slid out of his belt and he smacked it against his palm.

"Thal Lesky," the intruder answered.

The man with the keys laughed. "This be the last place that Devil son would show up," he said.

Thal advanced into the room menacingly. The other two men got up.

"Get out of here!" one of them shouted.

They all drew their clubs. Their sloppy grins showed how they looked forward to delivering a good beating.

Thal drew both pistols and their expressions changed drastically. They bumped into each other as they collectively dove for the hallway. Thal rushed after them. Two sharp bangs cracked from his guns. The noise was thunderous within the stone walls. The man with the keys dropped forward with the back of his head blown apart. One of his associates met the same fate. Frantic, the third man turned to fight. Thal jumped back from the swinging club and drew his sword. They traded a couple blows, but Thal's merciless focus defeated the unnerved terror of his victim. He hacked into his neck. The jailer fell against a wall and slid down slowly. Arcs of blood shot across the mortared stones as he gurgled and gagged. Thal whacked him in the head to finish the killing.

"What's happening?" someone shouted. Swaying lantern light revealed two figures in the dark depths of the hall.

The first man to reach Thal was enormous. His bulky shoulders filled the hall and his neck was as thick as his big head. He bowled into Thal with hog-like strength. The jailer cried out as the sword blade cut his meaty torso. Thal shoved him back and plunged in his sword again.

Groaning, the victim crumbled to his knees clutching his wounds. He looked up at Thal with confused disbelief. Thal put him down with a hard blow to the head.

The next man in the hall dropped the lantern and retreated, babbling for mercy.

"Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!" he squealed, fleeing into the cell block.

Thal chased him. Pistol hopped over the trail of bodies and stayed at his master's heels. Thal caught the man by the back of his shirt and slammed him against a wall. He wailed in pain and crumbled into a fetal position.

"Don't hurt me!" he begged. The stinky tallow candle burning in a wall sconce showed his pale face. Most of his teeth were missing despite his obvious youth. He was a slack jawed simpleton and blubbering incoherently now.

Thal beheld the piteous jailer's servant at his feet. His clothes were threadbare and dirty. Only rags bound his feet and he was sobbing like a child.

Farther down the hall men were yelling in the cells. Cups rattled against bars.

Thal went back to the front room that reeked of hot blood and yanked the ring of keys off his first victim. Stepping over the trembling lackwit he returned to the cells.

A couple candles in the hall illuminated the miserable and stinking cells. Dirty straw spilled out the bars and the floor was slick with grime. Pistol raced into the inky shadows and the squealing of rats ensued.

Thal went to the first door and fumbled with the keys.

"That one. That one," advised one prisoner.

The key screeched in the lock. The four confined men pushed the door open and fled. Thal opened the next door. Three men rushed out. Thal looked inside. Two more unconscious men were sprawled on the cruddy floor. One lay in his own vomit and urine, and the fume of alcohol permeated the already tainted air. Thal frowned, disappointed in humanity.

"Come on, fellow, come on," urged a prisoner from the third and last cell.

Thal obliged him and opened the cage. Two men rushed out and fled, too amazed by their fortune to ask questions. Only one man lingered.

Thal grabbed a candle and approached a door in the back. Rusty iron bands bound the thick timbers. The candlelight flickered upon the somber lock but could not penetrate the despairing blackness of the keyhole.

"Don't go in there," the last prisoner warned.

A short scrawny man with a sandy beard and a scar on his cheek still stood in the open cell door.

"What's in there?" Thal said.

"That's where they gain confessions," the prisoner whispered.

Thal looked at the door, imagining his mother being dragged through it.

"Confessions from witches?" he asked.

"Sometimes," the prisoner said.

A chill clamped Thal's body with icy claws. He struggled to stay in control. His mother's agony clung to the very stones of this sad place.

"Is anyone in there?" he asked.

"No."

Thal believed him. Pistol sniffed at the bottom of the door and then slunk away.

Also stepping back, Thal decided that he did not need to go in there. "What are you here for?" he asked.

"I'm a thief," the prisoner said. He stepped out of his cell. "Who are you?"

"Thal Lesky."

"The werewolf?"

"That's what the wanted notices say," Thal said.

"Why are you here?" the man said.

"I had some criminals to punish," Thal answered.

The thief laughed.

Heading out of the cell block, Thal said, "You should get going."

"I will. And thank you," the man said.

"You're welcome. Try not to get caught again. Being a thief works best if you don't get caught," Thal advised.

"Yes, I know," the thief agreed. "Are you a thief?"

"Not really," Thal said.

They stepped around the mewling simpleton, who was rocking on the floor calling someone's name.

He went across the front room and entered what was presumably Bekcek's office. Papers were stacked on a desk. A glance at them informed Thal that they were mostly warrants. Some had lines drawn across them, probably indicating that the person had been caught. He opened the cabinets behind the desk. The thief stood in the doorway watching. Thal hauled out a heavy box.

Since the thief was still around he told him to get a bludgeon off one of the dead men. The man hesitated but then squeamishly reached over the corpses and retrieved a club.

"Thanks," Thal said when the thief returned. He used the club to break the lock on the box. As he had hoped he found a nice pile of gold and silver.

"Not really a thief?" the thief commented.

Thal looked up. "These inhuman bastards owe me a great debt," he explained. He quickly pocketed the four gold florins and then tossed a few thalers toward the thief.

The man caught them deftly. Thal picked up the rest of the silver. In the distance they heard yelling.

"I suggest you go," Thal said.

Gesturing with his fistful of coins, he said, "Best wishes to you, Thal Lesky." He dashed out the door.

Alone now, Thal looked over the bloody disaster he had wrought. It was gruesome and nasty. He was not proud, but he felt some relief. Those who had set cruel hands upon his mother were dead.

Working in the candlelight, he reloaded his pistols. When he was ready to leave, he found the door that connected to the Court and went through the grim hall where prisoners were hauled toward their judgment.

The hall was long and had two sets of stairs in it. The door at the top was locked. After fumbling through the keys in the dark, he found the right one and let himself in. He entered the main court room. Balconies overlooked the elevated box where the accused were placed. Rows of seats on the main floor faced the grandiose bench where the Magistrate sat. The last bluish glow from a sunken sun cast the wooden room all in gray. Thal ascended the steps to the Magistrate's seat. A gavel lay on the polished wood next to the marble block that it was banged against. Thal ran his fingers lightly across the gavel. With a final bang the condemnation of his mother had been completed. Had anyone in the Court protested her treatment? Had people cheered to hear the capital sentence declared for the old woman?

Thal leaned against the official bench. He pondered if he should kill the Magistrate. Altea had a good reason for begging mercy. It was hard to knowingly orphan her brothers, but Thal believed she hated her stepfather.

Frustrated, he picked up the gavel and hurled it across the room. It crashed into a bench and thudded onto the floor. Pistol bounded over to it. Thal slammed his fists on the bench. There was no excusing what the Magistrate had done. He had sentenced his mother to death and likely slept well that night. That man presided over a cruel clockwork world that marked time on the cogs of cracked souls.

Killing the Magistrate appealed wildly to Thal. With that man gone, Altea would have no master except a younger half brother and Thal would take her then. There would be no one to say he could not have her for a wife except for her. Her desire to be with him was genuine. It beckoned his lust. He had wanted to abduct her that afternoon at the market, but he could not so selfishly ruin her life. He had no home to give her.

Standing straight, he decided it was time to go. He would plot a way to kill the Magistrate another night. He was not going to burst into Altea's house and do it in front of her and her brothers. She would never love him after that nor would he want her to.

Patting his newly fattened purse, he figured he should seek Valentino and pay off his debts. He would have to leave Prague very soon. Indeed, he would have to be extra careful just to get out of Old Town tonight.

"Come, Pistol," he said. They found a side door out of the Court and departed. As he slipped through the shadowy edges of the square, he heard the rising alarm of shouting and ringing bells. His massacre at the jail had been discovered.

#  Chapter 36. Altea, I Love You...

The bells were tolling midnight when Thal crossed the river. He had not dared risk the bridge even in the dark. A thaler to a half drunk boatman out of beer money at the docks near New Town had sufficed to get him across. After being deposited without question on the Little Quarter side, Thal and Pistol snuck through the shadowy side streets and dark alleys toward Lady Carmelita's house. Thal crept around back and checked the stables. Valentino's horse was not present. Then he lurked outside the servants' wing listening and checking the scent. Regis, Raphael, and Carlo were not about either. Thal recalled Carlo saying something about them going out to meet other musicians that night. He hoped they were having a nice time.

Although he did not know precisely where Valentino resided, he knew from which direction the Condottiere approached Carmelita's mansion. Thal resolved to sniff him out.

Pistol helpfully bounded up and down various streets while Thal stayed well away from any lanterns. The loyal little dog eventually detected a trace of Valentino's passing. When they came across a nice guest house that looked worthy of a man of Valentino's station, Thal poked around its periphery. The familiar scent drifted faintly from an upstairs window and Thal noticed his horse in the stable.

Thal went up the front steps into the common room. Only three men were still up at the late hour playing cards. Some insects orbited the lanterns hanging over their heads and cast tiny shadows on the yellowed plaster walls. The men looked up. The night was warm and Thal's cloak was thrown back, exposing his weapons and part of his wolf fur.

Curiosity and apprehension played across the card players' faces as they considered the stranger. Paying them no heed, Thal strode across the room like he owned the place. He roused the servant sleeping next to the cold fireplace.

"Take me to the Condottiere," he said.

The servant rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The fuzzy beginnings of a beard showed his youth. He frowned when he did not recognize Thal.

"You know the Condottiere?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"I just asked for him did I not?" Thal said.

The lad supposed Thal looked like the type of person who conversed with the Condottiere, and he dragged himself to his feet. Unhappily he noticed the card players were still awake and resigned himself to having to wait on them all night.

He lit a candle off a lantern and led Thal up the stairs.

"This is his door," he said.

"My thanks," Thal said.

"Is a war starting?" the young man whispered.

Thal accepted that his late night visit could portend of bad news. "No," he said and knocked on the door.

The lad left with the candle. In the darkness, Thal pounded on the door again. Pistol sniffed so hard at the bottom crack he must have dusted the floor inside. Some grumbling finally started within, followed by a bang and curse. A flicker of light peeked out the bottom of the door and illuminated Thal's boots. A bolt scraped against hardware and the door opened a crack.

"Who's there?"

Thal did not recognize the voice.

"I seek the Condottiere," Thal said.

"I'm his manservant. Leave your message with me."

Thal pushed open the door. The manservant protested and tried to shove him back. The candle he was holding sprayed wax that peppered the back of Thal's hand. Incited by the clinging pain, Thal seized his arm. The strength in his grip froze the manservant.

"Wake your master. Tell him Thal is here."

He let go. The manservant nodded but he had no need to fetch his master. Valentino whipped open his chamber door and came out in a blue silk robe. His gold earrings glittered in the weak light.

"Thal!"

"You know this man?" the manservant asked incredulously.

"Bolt the door," Valentino said and beckoned Thal into his private chamber. "What has happened?" Valentino asked as he shut his door. Hard deeds clung to Thal like burs on a shaggy dog.

Pistol jumped onto a window bench. Thal ran a hand over his dog's head and looked out into the dark courtyard, confirming that it was still empty.

Casually, he said, "I have the money I owe you."

Valentino chuckled. "Well that's worth waking up for," he commented and started lighting more candles. Then he poured wine.

"You look like you need a drink," the Condottiere said.

"Do I?" Thal said.

"That's blood," Valentino said when Thal reached for the glass. The stains were obvious on his sleeve.

Thal knocked back his wine. As the alcohol soothed him, he realized that Valentino was right about him needing a drink.

Getting out his purse, Thal said. "I'll be leaving the city. I appreciate the help you've given me." He handed Valentino two gold florins.

The gold impressed Valentino. It exceeded what he was owed and it was good to be overpaid. Sinning rarely interfered with profit, he reminded himself. "Are you going to tell me what you did?" he said.

"I'm sure it'll be the talk of the town soon enough," Thal said cryptically.

"Did you change?"

Thal shook his head. "I acted as a man. Changing was not necessary but the extra gun was helpful," he said.

"Why are you killing people? Was it the Jesuits?" Valentino asked, achingly curious.

"Not the Jesuits," Thal said. He went to the table and got more wine. "I still have one more man to kill. I should have done it tonight, but...well he'll be harder to get at now I suppose," he confessed.

Valentino lounged onto a chair. He stretched out his thick legs forged by riding. "You need my help with that," he guessed while walking one of the florins across his knuckles.

"It's complicated," Thal said and downed another full glass of wine. He found his own chair and sat down. Only now could he see where spatters of blood had stained his clothes. It was irksome. Good clothes were hard to get.

Impatient with his guest's silence, Valentino said, "What's making it complicated? I imagine killing is something you're good at."

Thal realized that killing would never feel the same for him after tonight. "There's a woman involved," he said.

"Ooohhh," Valentino said dramatically, understanding what complicated meant.

Thal continued, "Valentino, would a woman follow a fugitive? Live on the road with him? Face his dangers?"

Valentino spread his hands as if opening a book on all possibilities. "On campaigns I've seen many women follow soldiers and serve them and love them. They had nothing, often went hungry, but it was their lot. Maybe your woman will go with you into your unknown," he said.

Thal withered a little, unable to envision Altea enduring such a piteous life.

"May I rest here?" Thal said.

"Yes."

"Do you have any paper to write on?" Thal said.

Valentino heard the sorrow in Thal's voice and surmised that he meant to write a note of farewell. "Yes," he said again, sympathetically.

Valentino bade his manservant to bring paper. While the drowsy servant was rummaging in a cupboard, Valentino said, "Get off those clothes and I'll have them washed."

Thal hesitated, not wishing to trouble anyone but it was a favor he needed. His spare clothing was in his small pack. He waited for the servant to go away before changing his clothes.

Valentino presumed to look at the lovely wolf fur when Thal draped it over the back of a chair. He summoned back his servant and gave him the laundry. The man frowned at the blood but as the manservant of the Condottiere he was not overly surprised by it. "I can't get the stains out," he said.

"But you can make it look better," Valentino said and waved the man out of the room again.

Valentino settled in with more wine and waited in silence while Thal dipped the quill into ink. His movements were awkward. He did not write often.

He pulled his wolf fur across his lap and stroked it thoughtfully. Then he wrote Altea's name and sighed. He was not even sure if he was spelling it right. Why were his feelings so strong for her? They had only spoken a handful of times, but there seemed to be an inexplicable understanding between them. She did not judge him for what he was, and he treasured her acceptance. For her part, he did not know what she saw in him. Perhaps it was the same thing. He accepted her.

I want her, he thought. His memories of holding her and kissing her filled him with cravings for more. He felt spurred by a sharp and stinging desire to gallop headlong into total intimacy with her. He needed a mate. It was natural and good, but she deserved a normal man and a normal life. Any woman deserved that.

When they had met in the market that afternoon, he had sensed her own struggle with her feelings. Of course she knew better than to be sneaking kisses with a fugitive, but she refused to deny her attraction to him. She had even recklessly stated again her desire to go away with him. Her willingness was hard to resist. He had meant to do the right thing and tell her goodbye, but instead he had told her he would contact her again.

He rubbed his temple. The excitement of his vengeful evening had worn him down. Despite his weariness, he had to think of a way to express his love to Altea yet convince her of the wisdom of forgetting him.

The task was impossible. He wanted her. He had sought her out and lured her close. And she had come to him. He noticed now that his fist had clenched while thinking of her. He wanted to kill her stepfather and steal her away. It was the truth, but many other forces were interfering with his simple need.

"I love you," he wrote and stopped again. The act of inking letters upon the paper released hidden memories. The wet words bright in the candlelight blurred while other visions brightened in his mind.

He saw again his father writing upon the wolf skin. A bright bonfire silhouetted his father in orange. He lifted the fur carefully and held it out.

"Read the words, Thal," he commanded.

Thal scanned the dark red letters. He did not know the name of the language, if it even had a name, but his father had taught him how to read it since he was a young boy.

"Read them aloud so you will always remember them," his father said.

"Yes Father."

Thal began to read the words, knowing he must memorize them before going to the stone altar.

"Don't say the spell!"

It was Valentino's voice. He grabbed Thal's shoulder and shook him. His eyes were rolled back and his lips were chanting. Valentino smacked his face. Thal lashed out and knocked Valentino's arm away, but he returned to the present.

Rubbing his arm, Valentino said, "I had to stop you."

Thal set his fur on the table. The vision was still flashing through his mind, and he was troubled to learn that he had spontaneously started chanting his transformation spell.

"Thank you, Valentino. I was overtaken by an old memory," he tried to explain.

"Well, I didn't want you to ruin your spare clothes," Valentino quipped.

"No," Thal agreed. The vision of his father had been powerfully clear. The smell of him was almost in his nostrils. Spreading his fingers through the soft fur, Thal missed the simplicity of his old life. No wonder he had chosen the bliss of a wild existence. He needed to decipher why his inner spirit had spontaneously beckoned his werewolf power. Darkly his intuition informed him that his mother's death cry for justice was not entirely fulfilled. As he had told Valentino, one man remained to be punished.

"You should rest," Valentino advised.

Without a word, Thal spread his fur on the floor and fell asleep on it. Pistol curled up next to him and shut his eyes after a little growling sigh.

Valentino looked at the letter Thal had attempted to write. He had written a few heartbreakers to ladies in his lifetime and he judged that this one was not coming easily for Thal.

#  Chapter 37. Thal's Merry Little Retinue

Regis played the notes on his harp again, and the other musician copied him on his own harp.

"Now you have it," Regis said and they started playing together. Grins split their faces. They had been teaching each other their songs all evening, and the joy of sharing filled the room.

When they were done, the small audience clapped. The assembly of journeymen and laborers and their women lounged about the small tavern. Their sleeves were rolled up because of the balmy summer night, and the girls had good amounts of cleavage on display.

Raphael and Carlo were kicked back on a bench with their feet spread out before them. They clicked together their steins and took long drinks.

"I see you Venetians are learning to like some decent Bohemian brew," observed the proprietress. She was a round faced widow with wide hips and a skill for keeping her patrons obedient. Ostensibly her son ran the tavern, but the youth was too enamored of the city's delights to attend to the details of the business, which his mother undertook with confidence. Nearly every night she was heard to boast of how well things had been going since the passing of her husband. No more free beer for his slothful friends anymore.

"Oh, I drink too much," Carlo told her and held his gut. He was a little flushed and definitely farther into his cups than normal.

"You players deserve all the drinks everyone keeps buying you," she said.

"The good taste of Prague has been to our benefit," Raphael agreed and swung his stein wildly. The proprietress dodged the light spray and walked away smiling. She doubted they would be getting any more songs out of the Venetians tonight. Not anything she would want to hear anyway.

"I havta pish," Raphael announced and slammed his stein down on the bench.

"Didn't need to know that," Carlo complained in Italian.

Raphael patted his arm fondly and ambled out the back door. A couple bangs and a cry turned everyone's heads. Raphael had fallen down the steps.

"I'm fine!" he shouted and everyone laughed.

Regis set his harp in its worn case. "It's been splendid, Rocko," he said to the other musician.

"I'm in your debt to learn the fine songs of Venice," Rocko said.

"Many of those are original to me," Regis said.

"I will remember to say so," Rocko said although Regis doubted him. Every song was yours when you sang it.

"And I'll credit the Bohemian songs to you when again I sing in Venice," Regis said.

"You honor me," Rocko said. His fingers tinkled across his harp, gently playing the melody he had just learned.

"We should probably go," Regis said, sweeping his eyes around the room. The audience was thinning. It was late and work started early in the summer. Regis had singing to do for his hostess on the morrow as well and he needed his rest. He hoped Carlo and Raphael would not be too hungover, but he did not resent their indulgence. The relaxed atmosphere and happy attitude were things to treasure. Nights such as these erased all the hardships of their travels.

The maid who had been serving beer all evening brought Regis a freshly filled stein. The froth on top was creamy and smelled of summer fields.

"No need to rush away," she said. Her eyes smiled with the admiration that Regis was accustomed to seeing in women's eyes. Perhaps they could stay out a little later.

Four men started out the front door. As they exited, someone in the street demanded, "Are those Venetian players in there?"

"Oh yes. They're grand," declared one of the men as he left.

Regis looked toward the door, wondering who was looking for them. They were getting a reputation around the Little Quarter and mayhap another household was hoping to hire them.

The man who entered dashed his pleasant hopes. Wearing armor and weapons and a sour look, he did not appear to be the sort who secured entertainment.

"You're no man of Bohemia," the armed man said and strode toward Regis.

"What do you want?" Regis demanded. He did not recognize the light haired man with gray in his beard and an uncompromising scowl. Regis hopped over the bench to put it between him and the newcomer. Rocko backed away as did the maid.

The man kicked the bench out of the way, grabbed Regis by his shirt, spun him around, and slammed him against the wall. Carlo bounded to his defense and tried to pull the big man off his friend, but five more armed men barged into the tavern. Two of them seized Carlo. He protested and struggled until his feet came off the floor but he could not escape.

The proprietress stalked out of her kitchen with her fists tight around a broom handle. "Be off with you hooligans! I don't tolerate any rough stuff in my place," she declared.

The man who had Regis looked over his shoulder. "These men are in league with a notorious fugitive. We'll have them out of here in a trice," he said.

"But they're just musicians," the lady protested.

Raphael sauntered back into the tavern. Half in a stupor, he was looking down and fumbling with his codpiece. The laces on his new clothes were vexing and foreign.

"Run!" Carlo shouted.

Raphael looked up and was astounded by the scene. He looked first to his lute case on the floor near the feet of the men holding Carlo. He was loath to flee without it or to abandon his companions. Men laid hands upon him and pressed him painfully against a wall.

"Stop this!" the proprietress insisted and prodded an intruder with her broom.

Before she became more annoying, the man restraining Regis said, "I am Jan Bradcek Captain of the Guard at Rosenberg Castle. I've tracked a perilous fugitive to Prague and I'll set this place on fire if I hear one more word out of you."

The awful threat gave her pause. The maid caught her eye and shook her head a little.

Jan pressed his elbow against the back of Regis's neck. "Where is Thal?" he hissed.

"Who?" Regis said.

The elbow gouged his upper neck until he thought his head would pop off. Jan said, "I heard all about you players from the folk around Patercek's castle. Seems all of your songs are quite unforgettable. As was your companion Thal. Don't deny it!" He banged Regis's head against the stone wall.

"Stop this. You're beastly," the proprietress dared to say.

Jan supposed he did not have to interrogate the musicians here. He had a nice little place prepared for them. Wheeling Regis around like a kitten hanging from its mother's mouth, Jan said, "Forgive the disturbance."

He and his men hustled the three musicians into the dark street. The witnesses in the tavern gaped at the sudden emptiness after the unexpected violence.

Finally the maid said, "Did he say he was looking for Thal?"

Rocko and the proprietress recognized the name that everyone gossiped about. Rocko suddenly understood much better one of the songs Regis had taught him.

******

With swords to their backs the musicians were marched through the dark streets. They took many turns and ended up at a run down stable. Jan and his henchmen dragged them inside a dark stall.

"Don't hurt us," Regis said after he caught his breath.

Jan hollered for a lantern. One of his men returned from another building with one. The light revealed the dirt floor, dingy old straw, and the shadowy posts between the stalls.

"Tie them up," Jan ordered.

The three friends struggled again but they were outnumbered. Coarse hemp ropes dug into their wrists and each man was backed up against a post and tied to it.

"Why are you doing this?" Carlo said. He was shaking with terror and considerably more sober now.

Jan grabbed his face. "Because I can't find that blasted Thal, and I know you know him."

"Who?" Carlo asked. Jan smacked him across the face. Blood flew from his lips.

"Stop pretending that you don't know him," Jan yelled.

"You have the wrong people," Regis cried. When Jan stormed over to him, he added quickly, "If you say this fugitive is with musicians, many are in Prague. It's not us."

Regis earned a hard blow that sent blood pouring from his nose. "I know it's Venetian musicians. Now tell me where Thal is," Jan said.

Licking and spitting away the blood, Regis begged him to let them go, insisting again he had the wrong men.

Jan seized his chin and leaned in close. "A good beating has gotten stronger men than you talking," he said.

Regis said nothing. Despite the trauma he was trying to think. Thal's warnings about associating with him were now vividly apt, but Regis was not the type to betray a friend.

Jan's henchmen swatted Carlo and Raphael. Their cries tortured Regis. He had to save his friends, but he was not sure if he could do it.

All three men refused to acknowledge Thal. Jan put his hands on his hips. New armor emblazoned with roses encased his torso. He studied his prisoners. He had thought that they would immediately squeal with information about their companion. Their loyalty irked him. All the time he had tracked Thal across Bohemia, he had not heard a bad word about the man. Everyone liked the scoundrel.

Jan drew a long knife. He patted it against a palm. "Which one is the singer?" he inquired.

No one responded. Jan approached Carlo and pressed the knife against his throat. He squirmed and pulled against his bonds until his wrists bled.

"I don't need all of you alive. Two can inform me just as well as three," Jan said.

Fearing he truly would slash Carlo's throat, Regis blurted, "I'm the singer."

Smiling, Jan went over to Regis. The first bit of truth out of a prisoner was always the beginning of more. He told one of his men to get the tongs.

Two more men descended on Regis. They pried at his jaws and plugged his nose until he had to gasp for air. Then strong hands held his jaws open and the other man grabbed his tongue with the tongs. The pain was terrible. Garbled screams greeted Jan as he came close with his knife.

"Not going to do much singing without your tongue," he said.

Regis shut his eyes and wailed.

"Stop!" Raphael shrieked. "He might be in Old Town, across the river."

Jan took the knife away from the tongue. The men let go of Regis's head. He was gasping and weeping. Jan went over to Raphael. "He might be?" he said.

"He went that way. He has a lady there," Raphael said.

"No!" Carlo yelled, angry that his friend had betrayed Thal.

"I have to!" Raphael said, certain that he was making the best decision in a bad situation.

"That's right. You have to," Jan agreed. "Is he there now?"

Raphael shook his head. "I don't know. Sometimes he disappears for days. We don't really know what he does."

Jan put his knife away and pondered the information.

Regis spat some blood. He forgave Raphael for giving up the information for the sake of saving his tongue, but he had to try and think of a way to save them all. "You have to let us go," he said.

"Wouldn't you like that," Jan sneered and his henchmen chuckled at the stupid request. "All of you are going straight to the jail. I have gathered plenty of testimony about you traveling with that monster."

"If you don't let us go, Thal will come for us. We're his friends and you don't know what he'll do to you," Regis argued.

"You just freely admitted to being in league with your Devil-worshipping friend," Jan said.

"I'm warning you! Let us go or he'll kill you. I've seen what he can do. You can't imagine!" Regis said.

"Oh, I know exactly what he can do," Jan insisted. He put a pistol on Regis's lips. "I beheld his beast flesh take shape under the full moon. If you want to claim that he will come to your defense, you better start screaming."

Jan drew his pistol away. Regis's blood was smeared on its tip. "I'm not sure if he'll come," Regis admitted, hoping he would not really need to start screaming.

"Why would he come for you slothful sinners anyway?" Jan said.

"Because he saved us before," Regis said. "We don't know who you are. Thal is just a man who helped us on the road to Prague. He never mentioned you."

"I'm sure it's not his habit to mention the victims of his crimes," Jan said. With pleasure he observed that his statement caused a ripple of doubt within Thal's merry little retinue. They had not been thinking of him as a criminal. Jan resolved to educate them. He regaled them with the tale of Thal stealing his gun and armor and his boots, even his pants. For added measure he recounted the various crimes listed on the wanted notice he had drafted, which included the death of three babies in nearby villages because of his magical presence.

"And as all of you should know, he is a Devil beast created of the worst sorcery. You should all burn for keeping his company let alone trying to protect him," Jan concluded.

His prisoners looked down with sheepish shame. The ropes dug into their sinful flesh. Jan expected that they were reviewing deeply their association with Thal.

Regis had a hard time imagining Thal killing babies, but this was hardly the time for defending Thal from lies. "Please, let us go. We had no idea he was so terrible. He must have tricked us with his magic. I see that now. I don't know how I didn't see it before. He has a way of making people like him. Surely you've heard the talk of such things," Regis said.

Carlo and Raphael added their own pleas as well, claiming to have been duped by a fair-faced Devil.

Jan shook his head. "Souls of true faith wouldn't have fallen for his magic tricks. In the morning I'll see you charged with Devil worship. I doubt you'll be singing songs when they lead you to the stake. You'll piss yourselves while the crowd screams for the fires to be lit," Jan said.

"God no!" Carlo moaned.

"Please we'll help you find him," Regis offered, determined to say anything to gain release.

Jan hit him across the face again and told him to be silent.

Defying the command, Regis said, "Give us a way to redeem ourselves. This could be your only chance to find him. He trusts us."

"I suppose he does," Jan murmured. He needed to get the most value he could from these prisoners. No warrants or rewards existed for them. Turning them into the Magistrate would not compensate him for his trouble or get him Thal.

"I can't speak for your redemption but I can spare your lives if you bring me Thal," Jan said.

"Yes. I'll do it!" Regis cried.

"Not you," Jan said. He walked over to Carlo and grabbed him by the hair. "I'll send you to find your friend. Bring him back here or I'll cut out that one's tongue and send the other to his death. And you'll die penniless playing your horn in the street without pretty boy to sing."

Tears spurted from Carlo's eyes because of the hair nearly ripping from his scalp. "I'll find him," he said despite his desperate fear that he would fail.

Jan knocked Carlo's head against the post when he let go of his hair. "I'll send you out in the morning," he said. He wanted to make sure that Thal approached in the daylight. He hoped to ambush him, kill him, and keep the fur for himself.

#  Chapter 38. Sacrifice

Professor Zussek banged on the door insistently, knowing that Martin's valet was plodding down the hall. When Hynek finally hauled open the door, the professor pushed past him and yelled for his friend.

He found Martin in the dining room eating eggs and pastries. His two oldest sons were in attendance as well, and everyone looked up with surprise. The tranquil domestic scene informed the professor that the Magistrate had not heard the terrible news.

"Martin! We must speak," Zussek cried, deciding to spare the youths the gory details.

"What's got you in such a dither?" Martin said.

Zussek further alarmed him by rushing to the window and glancing into the street.

"Boys, lock the doors," Zussek said and urged Martin toward the study.

Dear God, he's lost so much staff no one's made it over to his house yet, Zussek thought.

Martin was puffing in protest as the professor trundled him across the hall. Zussek slammed the door and drew shut the window drapes.

"Is another mob coming?" Martin asked, realizing that some awful occurrence must have upset the professor.

Zussek caught his breath. Delivering bad news was never easy. "Martin, you and your family are in grave danger. Your Constable and every man at the jail except for the idiot were murdered last night," he explained.

Gobsmacked, Martin stared at him. This was more shocking to hear than reports of marauding werewolves. He finally started asking questions in sputtered half phrases and Zussek divulged the scant details.

"How can this happen? How many men would it take to do this?" Martin said.

"Men?" Zussek scoffed. "Have you not heeded my warnings? That witch Gretchen summoned werewolves before she died. Her curse is upon all who condemned her. Can't you see? You're next!"

Martin simply could not imagine Bekcek getting his heart ripped out in the middle of a beer garden. And how could there be no one left at the jail? Martin had to sit down. He did his best thinking when he was sitting down.

Zussek patted his shoulder with fraternal sympathy. "I'm so glad to find you unmolested, but who knows when those creatures will strike again," he said.

Martin put a hand on his forehead. It was clammy. Creeping supernatural terror was squeezing his guts and making him uncomfortably aware of his breakfast.

"God help me. And we've made no progress finding those damn beasts," he said.

"You still have allies. Brother Vito is committed to the hunt," Zussek said.

"Yes, he's been supportive but this werewolf or sorcerer remains on the loose," Martin said, unwilling to place any hope in the foreign monks.

"Vito bade me recently to discover a way to bait this fugitive Thal. My studies gave me no magic trick to lure him, but I fear that you may be the bait that will draw him out," Zussek said.

"Me? Not for my soul will I be bait for a werewolf," Martin said, shaking his head vigorously.

Zussek pulled up a chair. "Martin, I know this is frightening, but I believe with all my heart that he hunts you anyway," he said. He drew out a little corroded silver box. Martin recognized it.

Zussek continued, "This IS the hair of the original beast that the witch used to cast her spell. It will protect you. Take it, my friend. I was saving it for myself, but you must have it."

Hating his need, Martin reluctantly accepted the little box. He opened it and saw the darkly crusted tuft of hair. This awful token laden with black magic tempted him with its power even if he knew it broke all of God's laws. But he needed something. His dependable Bekcek was dead.

"According to everything written, the beast will not be able to harm you if you possess something of its body," Zussek assured him.

Martin clicked shut the little box. He shuddered when he thought of it in Gretchen's foul hands. How had he ever let that old witch tend his wife for so many years? If he ever married again he would not make the mistake of yielding to his wife's wishes on any subject.

"My thanks, Zussek. You've shown yourself a true friend today," Martin said.

Zussek dipped his head. "You're welcome," he muttered unctuously. He was about to add more words of reassurance, but pounding on the door startled him.

Martin slid the little box into a pocket. "That must be someone from the Town Hall finally coming to tell me," he said. He cut off Hynek on the way to the door and unbolted it himself.

Brother Vito was on the top step with Miguel behind him and a group of sellswords on horses in the street. They looked at the Magistrate with unsavory intent.

"Magistrate Fridrich, I have urgent business with you," Vito declared.

"I've heard of the attacks," Martin said.

"Regretfully that is not the worst of it," Vito said and presumed to shoulder his way into the house. Miguel followed. In the street, Tenzo dismounted and went up the steps with his hand on his sword. He loitered in the front hall while the other men retreated into the study. A group of boys and servants stared at him from down the hall.

In the study, Martin skipped all courtesies and informed Vito of Zussek's interpretation of the murders.

"The Professor is quite right," Vito agreed. "All of this is the work of witches. I've prepared a list of suspected witches and intend to discuss it with you forthwith."

"I don't care about new witches. We need to get these Devil werewolves that are hunting me," Martin said, throwing up his hands.

"And why are you so worried?" Vito challenged.

Martin's chin ducked into his cushiony jowls because he was taken aback by the obtuse question. "Zussek just said these werewolves are performing a curse upon all who put down that witch Gretchen. They're coming for me!" Martin said.

"Why did they not come for you last night?" Vito said.

"I don't know!" Martin cried. He was not accustomed to being plied with questions and was feeling rather off his game.

Vito exchanged a meaningful look with Miguel who stood by patiently with a folio of papers. His eyebrows arching with righteous suspicion, Vito said, "To a Godly man like myself it seems clear that you possess protection from these accursed creatures."

"No, I'm in danger," Martin insisted and willfully resisted setting a hand over his pocket that held the silver box.

Ignoring the denial, Vito said, "Magistrate, I have come here myself to determine if you are on the side of good Christians or the Devil."

"How dare you?" Martin fumed. "I've been putting down witches and heretics since I earned my position. I have powerful friends. You can't accuse me!"

"I can, but I'm willing to be precise and accuse your daughter of witchcraft," Vito said.

"I have no daughter," Martin said, confused.

"Then who is the young witch living in this house?" Vito demanded.

Martin shook his head and tried to organize his thoughts. Threats were mounting too rapidly. He had just gone from fearing a brutal death by raving werewolf to the dreadful prospect of being accused of Devil worship by Churchmen.

"Tenzo!" Vito called.

The sellsword entered the study. His weapon banged on the door.

"Tell the Magistrate what you've seen," Vito said.

Tenzo cleared his throat and reported on his sighting of Thal and his interaction with a girl that he had followed back to this house. After he described her in detail, Martin felt like he was floating. He had never felt so unmanned. He had the sense to know that these spying Jesuits were after him. The privileges of his position also brought perils. Rallying his wits, Martin countered, "Who's to believe this mercenary? He's making things up so you can scare me for some reason I know not what."

Miguel flipped open his folio and removed a sheet. Holding up the paper signed by witnesses, including the Abbot at the Clementinum, he said, "Tenzo has given a sworn statement before a priest to the veracity of what he saw. He encountered this shape shifting sorcerer Thal in Mirotice and possesses the authority to identify him."

Vito added, "Now, tell me who in this household matches the description given for the girl consorting with the werewolf."

Martin knew it was Altea. His vision was blotchy red with fury at her, but he still had a natural impulse to defy this assault on his family. He could not let these Churchmen barge in here and intimidate him with heretical accusations.

"Get out of my house! I'll not listen to any of this nonsense. There's no witches here!" he said.

"I'll have to detain the whole household then," Vito said.

Aware of the sellswords waiting outside, Martin panicked. He could not let his poor boys be hauled off like this. But he still could not grasp how Altea could have been going about with a fugitive. She was a born liar though, and he realized that she had ample opportunity to be wicked. And she had known Gretchen for years. Even if she was guilty, Martin hated the thought of her actions tainting his family. He had to bury this threat and find a way to get rid of the monks. Then he would have his way with Altea. Such a sinful vixen could service his dark urges and then be shipped off to a convent never to be seen again.

"I told you to be gone. I'll defend my family from this accusation. You can't come into Bohemia and call good families ungodly," Martin said.

He was working his wind up into a good speech, but Vito cut him with menacing skill. "I'm new to Prague, but I shan't have trouble finding a decent man to serve as Magistrate," he warned.

Zussek intervened with a hand on Martin's thick arm. He knew the statement given by the sellsword would carry some weight with the Aldermen, and Martin likely did not yet realize how the disaster last night could brand him as a failure. A tidy accusation of witchcraft would give the City Council a handy method for emptying the Magistrate's seat.

"Surely, Brother Vito, you can't believe that Magistrate Fridrich is in league with sorcerers and witches," Zussek said.

"No," Vito said.

Martin blinked with surprise. His terror was ready for a reprieve and he listened.

"Of course I don't want to believe such a thing," Vito clarified. "Magistrate, you have only to tell me who here is the witch and we will take her. Also, since your jail is woefully understaffed, I can lend my men to help there. I would further require that you install Tenzo as the new Constable. He's quite capable of the task and certainly interested in a position with regular pay."

Tenzo smiled placidly, glowing with happiness for his imminent promotion.

Martin understood completely that he had just been manipulated into accepting Vito as his new master. To submit to this seemed a betrayal to the rulers of Prague, but Martin had duties more demanding than keeping foreign influence out of the Court. His sons needed him to survive this calamity. Even so, when he looked at Tenzo, this conquest rankled him deeply.

"Can that man even read?" Martin sneered at the sellsword.

"He listens very well," Vito said sternly, brooking no negotiation.

Martin turned away. His clothes were sticky with sweat and he needed to have some time alone with a chamber pot.

Staring at the Magistrate's broad back, Vito prodded him triumphantly. "Decide. Your whole family including yourself publicly accused of witchcraft or tell me who this woman is Tenzo saw."

"Altea," Martin whispered.

"Who?!" Vito demanded.

"Altea, my stepdaughter," Martin said, facing his perilous new master.

"Where is she?" Vito said.

"Upstairs. Sleeping late," Martin said.

"Sleeping late. Sure sign of Devil worship," Miguel commented.

Vito signaled to Tenzo, who stalked out to get his men.

"Excellent choice, Magistrate," Vito praised. "I know this is upsetting for you. If possible it would be best if you could attest to any details that would verify our accusation against this woman. Brother Miguel can take them down for you."

Martin collapsed into his favorite chair while Miguel sat at the desk and got out writing materials. Seeing the monk at his desk was surreal for Martin. The violation was immensely strange to him, but at least some of his terror was easing away now. He had only to sacrifice Altea and then he could find a way to salvage his career and protect his good boys. The nasty seductress would trouble him no more. Despite that comfort, part of him hated to discard her. He had wanted her for himself, but perhaps that had been the influence of her witchcraft.

"She's been making lewd advances at me," he told Miguel. The monk nodded indulgently, not surprised by the information.

Martin went on to describe her inborn lack of respect for authority. He related her shrewish outbursts and rejection of decent suitors. Miguel's quill scratched across paper as he diligently recorded every word.

The sellswords tromped down the hall and up the stairs. Their boots banged on the wooden floors. Martin winced when Altea's shriek came from upstairs. Both he and Miguel looked up and listened to the scuffling feet and yelling and screaming. A loud crash likely from a ceramic basin getting knocked over marked the climax of the struggle. Then her cries were muffled and the boots stomped toward the stairs.

The loud protests of the boys filled the hall. Martin rushed out of the study and yelled to his sons to stay back.

"What are they doing?" Elias demanded.

Altea was being carried down the steps by two men. She yanked one foot free and kicked the man holding her legs. Then she grabbed the banister and tried to halt her descent. The sellsword that had an arm around her neck pulled her hand loose and they continued down.

Yiri, Erik, and Patrik wailed for their sister. The servants hung back aghast by the violent removal of their mistress. Elias tried to push one of the men off Altea, but Martin flung him against the wall.

"She's a witch!" Martin yelled.

"NO!" Elias protested. His sister went to Church. She said her prayers. She had been nothing except sweet and caring his whole life. "It's not true. Stop!" he yelled and lunged toward the nearest sellsword.

Martin bashed his eldest son across the jaw. Bloody lipped, Elias fell back, astounded by the ferocity from the man he revered.

"Silence all of you," Martin demanded.

Altea had been dragged to the main floor by now. She twisted her face away from the hand on her mouth.

"Save me! What is happening? Save me!" she screamed before a dirty-nailed hand slapped over her mouth again.

Martin pushed aside his crying boys and issued a scorching demand to the governess to get them away. She tried to push them toward the kitchen but they resisted mightily.

Vito observed the disturbance, relishing the display of his power. He had made all of this happen and it was going to distinguish him to the Church leadership in Prague. Likely the new archbishop would be hearing his name soon. Vito would be the man to speak to when the Church needed the cooperation of the Court in Prague from now on.

Getting his first look at his top priority witch, Vito admired her fine looks. Wearing only her nightgown, she was red faced from her struggle. Her golden hair was in tousled disarray, and her lapis eyes blazed with precious fear. Her beauty would help draw good crowds to her trial and execution. People liked seeing someone better looking than themselves meet a foul end. And the luscious wench would surely draw out his greatest prize. If the werewolf valued her at all, he would come.

"We know that you have been cavorting with the fugitive Thal Lesky. Only a Devil worshipper and wielder of witchcraft would fancy that werewolf. Think well on the sins you must confess," Vito declared.

Her moaning terror told him that she was guilty.

"This fallen female will taint your home no more," Vito said.

"Foul treacherous whore," Martin said and spat at her. He knew he had to make a good display of his disgust to impress Vito. He could not afford any doubt clinging to his reputation. Martin motioned for the sellswords to hold her against the wall. Martin grabbed her throat. Choking, she looked at him with wild eyes full of terror like a helpless drowning animal.

"Pity I did not send you to a convent years ago. It might have saved your soul," Martin said.

He released her throat. She gasped for air and sobbed. Martin hit her three times across the face, venting all his dark feelings for her.

"Father!" Elias screamed. Tenzo slapped a hand across the boy's chest to keep him in place. The hard strength of the frightening sellsword froze Elias, who did not know what to do.

"Free us of this witch!" Martin begged and stepped away from her.

The sellswords dragged her kicking and screaming out the door. One of her slippers flew off and was left behind like a piece of unripe fruit blown down in a wind.

#  Chapter 39. A Cross to Bear

The floor was hard beneath Rainer's knees. The coarse weave of his robe dug into his skin. Leaning over his little cot, he pressed his hands over the string of beads. The cross dangled from his thumbs.

For days he had been praying fervently and maintaining silence. His brothers did not chide him for slacking. They admired the fervor of his faith.

In the seclusion of his cell, guilt stabbed at him and prevented sleep. Darker craters than usual imprisoned his eyes. His inability to tell Brother Vito where he had found Thal nibbled at his sanity.

In the deep caves of his mind a nasty voice berated him with scathing hate. How could he honor the command of Thal? But every time he resolved to confess his lies to Vito, pain flared inside the healing bite wounds. His stomach turned. Only obedience to Thal's will soothed him.

So his prayers begged his God to release him from the evil chains of werewolf slavery. Countless times he had mouthed his appeals on bent knees, but no relief had come.

Now reduced to an exhausted trance, Rainer stared at his beloved little cross. His mind wandered, seeking to answer the riddle of salvation.

He must find a way beyond the pain. Hopefully the second curse inflicted by Thal's bites was his final test. If he could surmount that power, then he might gain freedom from all the werewolf magic.

Rainer's life was not the only one at stake. He knew that Vito and others were intent on a new witch hunt. It helped people feel like they could combat the magic attacking the city. Rainer cringed when he imagined the people on his master's list facing interrogation and judgment. Their suffering would be his fault because he had not delivered Thal. If Vito could not have his great prize, then he must use some other way to attack devilry.

A terrible thought burst into Rainer's tortured mind. Will Vito reveal my curse and prosecute me? It chilled him with such fear that he imagined the Devil himself cackling at his predicament.

He would change again soon. How much longer could Vito risk concealing him? Would Vito's purging of magic workers conclude with his removal?

The awful questions stormed across Rainer's ravaged mind, washing away trust in his master with floods of doubt.

"No," Rainer whispered, breaking his silence. The tiny sound of his voice warned him that his curses and sins were diminishing him. Only a dusty shadow of his soul remained.

Terrified that he was no longer worthy of his master's efforts to save him, he realized there was only one course that he could embrace. He had to give up Thal to Vito. Then his master would have a fine werewolf to execute, and Rainer would finally prove his faith. He had been too weak. That was why all his prayers and good deeds had failed to alleviate his misery.

"I must give him Thal," Rainer said. He clenched his teeth against the grinding pain that drilled into his neck. His stomach churned but was thankfully empty. Slowly he stood up, fighting the creak in his aching stiff knees. He draped his beaded cross over his head and pressed it against his heart. He imagined Christ lugging his cross to the Calvary, and he valued the privilege of his own trial.

He yanked open his door and startled two of his brothers. Rainer's moist pasty face worried them.

"Where is Brother Vito?" he asked.

"He went to see the Magistrate," a brother answered.

Reaching out with a shaky hand, Rainer said, "Can you help me go to him?"

Both monks stood up. One took his hand and gave him support. "Of course," he said.

******

The crowd outside the jail was so thick it spilled down the street and into the square. The removal of the bodies had made a gruesome sight. The shocking slaughter had people in an uproar, and then the Jesuits had arrived bearing a witch.

Vito's sellswords were hard pressed to keep back the raving onlookers. He quickly had the Magistrate summon more guards from the Town Hall to assist.

After sending his first witch onward, Vito remained in the square with Miguel. He admired the spectacle of the pretty young woman being hauled through the streets. People's fear easily shifted to hatred at the sight of her. The folk loved that she was from a Patrician class. Dirt already smeared her silk robe. One of her feet was bare. Her golden locks flew in all directions. Eve ejected from Paradise could not have looked more guilty. Tears streamed from her wide eyes as she faced the rage of a God-fearing populace.

Climbing the Court steps, Vito began to preach. Not often did he take the center stage, preferring to pull levers from behind, but he wanted people to know that it was he and the Jesuits who were restoring order.

"Good people of Prague hear me!" he cried. Miguel and another monk worked to herd people toward him. Once he got a few listeners, more came.

"I have come to rid you of the Devil magic afflicting the city. With the power of Holy Mother Church, we will purge the evil from this place. There will be no more killing in the night. Devil worshippers will be sent to Hell. I call upon the faithful to help us! Tell us of those among you that you suspect of sorcery and witchcraft. Save Prague and save yourselves. We do not have to live with the Godless among us. Tell us of those who work magic in the night. We will hear their confessions and cleanse them in lawful fires."

He repeated his entreaty as more people gathered. Excited by the beginning of a fresh witch hunt, people yelled with approval.

"What of the werewolf?" yelled a man.

"Bring us the witches and it will flush him out. It is their magic that has summoned him," Vito declared.

People nodded because he made good sense.

Vito continued to impress upon his audience the need to stay true to the Roman Church. "Heretics pierce the body of society like nails put Christ on the cross, but Christ did not turn from his God and Father," he said.

After railing about the dangers of encroaching Protestantism, he reiterated his call that people report witches to the authorities. The new Constable was listening.

Eventually Vito yielded his preaching to another brother, who would keep the message going all day. Ducking away with Miguel, Vito headed toward the Court doors. He intended to monitor the Magistrate closely. He expected that he had established a secure hold on the man, but he was likely in shock and would need close guidance.

"Brother Vito!"

The voice came from the bottom of the steps. Vito spotted two of his monks helping Rainer along. He waited for them to catch up. Rainer stumbled forward and clutched Vito's arm.

Pain was twisting his monk's face. Vito took Rainer alone into the waiting room for the Magistrate's office. Rainer collapsed into a chair and held his head. He took a few deep breaths to gather his strength. "I remember where Thal is," he said and then groaned.

Vito clenched his hands as excitement surged through his body. This morning had already been extraordinarily rewarding. Thal had conveniently removed most of the Magistrate's staff and given Vito a perfect opportunity to move in, and it seemed the day was going to get even better. He recognized the need to calm himself. He did not want to make any stupid mistakes.

"Did you always know?" Vito asked icily.

Rainer could not look at him. He groaned again, and Vito accepted how much pain he was in. Stepping close, he set a hand on Rainer's shoulder. "Tell me," he said.

Rainer rubbed his neck. He wanted to tell Vito that there was magic in the fresh bites and it was controlling him, but he feared to reveal to his master that another force had command of him. Rainer lifted his head, determined to face his agony.

"I will go find him for you. I swear by Christ I won't fail you this time," he said and held his cross tightly.

"Should you not wait for the full moon when you will have your beast power," Vito suggested. Rainer looked too weak to wrestle a mouse.

Rainer shook his head. "I can't resist him when the moon curse is upon me. But right now I am with Christ." He held up his cross.

Vito smiled. He was proud of Rainer. He was not even a tenth of the man Thal was but at least he was serving God. Vito started pacing. Details clicked through his head with every step of his feet. At length he returned to Rainer and loomed over him.

"I will get some sellswords to help you. When you find Thal, tell him you want his help because I will no longer harbor you. Gain his confidence. Tell him my sellswords are hunting you and you need his help. You must get close and then grab his fur. Then the sellswords will move in to subdue him, but you must get his fur off him," Vito instructed.

"Yes, I will," Rainer said, blinking against the pain. His blood boiled with the demand to cease working against Thal, but he resisted it with a sheer act of will. He understood better now the great gift of free will that God had given people. It bestowed so much power. The Devil wanted slaves but God loved those who chose Him freely and truly. And he gained strength from each moment he denied the Devil. His faith became more robust and he began to believe that he would transcend his torment.

#  Chapter 40. Yield or Die

Bruised and bloody, Carlo stumbled into the daylight. His head was pounding and his mouth felt lined with half dry plaster. He looked back at Captain Jan in the stable doorway.

He wagged a finger at Carlo. "Don't forget how to find your way back," he said.

Carlo scrambled off down the rutted lane toward a street. People were going about their regular business, unaware of the dreadful drama locked within the derelict stable behind burned out buildings.

He plodded into the traffic. People glanced at him and assumed he had been waylaid by robbers while drunk in the night. Carlo wished it had been so simple.

When he reached a fountain he gratefully flopped over the stone edge. He drank and washed and felt somewhat revived, but he did not know where he was. After asking directions many times, he finally reached Lady Carmelita's house.

He hoped that Thal would be in his room, sleeping off one of his mysterious nocturnal adventures, but the room was empty. The blanket was spread smooth upon the bed. Thal's things were gone.

Deflated, Carlo sagged against the door frame. Exhausted and traumatized, he was nearly unable to think but his friends depended on him doing something.

"Are you looking for Thal?"

Carlo jerked his head up. The pot boy stood in the hall hugging a big ceramic pitcher of water.

"Do you know where he is?" Carlo gasped.

The boy shook his head. "He told me goodbye yesterday. Do you really think he's gone?"

Carlo's stomach shriveled into a miserable hole. Thal had warned them he would disappear. In retrospect Carlo realized that when he had shaved Thal yesterday he had been trying to say goodbye but Carlo had not wanted to accept it.

Bereft of his champion, Carlo confronted the grim possibility of never being able to save Regis and Raphael. He had to do better.

"Is the Condottiere here?" Carlo asked.

"No."

Carlo hung his head. He had no one to turn to for help. If he tried to find a constable, then their captors would tell them about their association with Thal.

"I know where Condottiere lives," the potboy offered.

"Really?"

"I've taken her Ladyship's notes to him many times," the boy said proudly.

"Take me there!"

"I have to do my work first," the potboy protested.

Carlo snatched the pitcher from the boy's hands and set it on the floor. "Take me now," he commanded and tugged the boy along.

******

Valentino returned to his suite after going out first thing in the morning to hear the gossip. He ducked through Thal's laundry that was hung on a line across the front room. Thal sat at a table cleaning his pistols.

"You were busy last night," Valentino remarked. "Did you really empty the jail in Old Town?"

"It mostly emptied itself after I opened the doors," Thal said, rubbing a little cloth up and down his gun barrel.

Valentino sat at the table. He had picked up a round of bread and broke it in half. "I got you breakfast," he said.

Thal stopped what he was doing and picked it up eagerly. "Very kind of you. My thanks, Valentino."

"You've started paying better. Perhaps I was wrong about you working for me," he said.

"I shan't be waging any wars," Thal said between mouthfuls.

"What was last night?" Valentino said.

Thal stopped chewing. The ugly murders replayed in his head. "Vengeance for my mother," he finally admitted and went back to eating.

Valentino opened his mouth to ask more but stopped. He had not given any thought to the witch burnings earlier that year, but upon hearing Thal's cryptic admission, Valentino figured out that apparently one of the executed women had powers that went beyond souring the milk.

Thal looked up when he heard footsteps on the stairs. "Carlo?" he whispered. Pistol jumped up and went to the door with Thal.

"Wait," Valentino advised and cut him off. The Condottiere cracked open the door and was relieved just to see Carmelita's serving boy and the musician. He bade them hurry inside.

"Thal!" Carlo cried and fell into his arms.

"What has happened to you?" Thal said, alarmed by an upsetting scent that wafted off of Carlo's head.

"Thank God you're here," Carlo said in Italian.

"Speak Czech," Thal said, too upset to unravel his friend's native speech.

"You must come. They have Regis and Raphael. He'll cut out his tongue and burn them at the stake," Carlo blathered.

"Who?" Thal demanded.

"He said, oh, I can't remember. Something about being from Rosenberg Castle."

"Captain Jan Bradcek!" Thal exclaimed. He stepped away from Carlo and clasped his hands like he meant to strangle somebody. "I'll kill him," he fumed.

"Where are they?" Valentino asked.

Carlo turned to the Condottiere. "It must be a trap for Thal. This man wants Thal. I came here for your help, Sir. He won't know who you are and you can beat him. I know it!" he said.

Valentino enjoyed the vote of confidence. "I must know more about this Captain Jan," he said, looking to Thal.

"I'll take care of this," Thal said. He returned to his pistols.

Valentino continued to question Carlo about the location. Carlo gave a garbled explanation, but Valentino figured out that he was talking about a part of town where bad fire damage had yet to be renovated. He questioned him about how many men Jan had and was happy to hear that the figure was only five. Thal half listened. Pistol circled his feet, eager to go. When he was done loading his guns, he strode toward the door.

Valentino grabbed his arm. "It's a trap," he warned.

"I have to go. They're my friends and they suffer because of me," Thal said. His guilt made him sick. He had tried to avoid this. I should've killed Jan, he thought, accepting that the mistake was his from the beginning.

"I know, but listen. I can help you. Let me get some men. I'll go in there and bust them up and get your friends. Carlo is right. This country bully from Rosenberg Castle won't know me. I'll take him by surprise and you won't have to expose yourself to the trap," Valentino reasoned.

Prodded by his guilt, Thal wanted to vent his passion with action, but he had to take the trap seriously. What if they did manage to hurt him? Then Regis and Raphael would never escape.

"You would help me like this?" Thal asked, a little amazed.

Valentino had selfish reasons for helping Thal, but he also genuinely liked the man. "You're a bigger pain than a boil under chainmaille," he said.

"You were the one who wanted to be friends," Thal said.

Valentino laughed. "That I did. My life is plagued by bad decisions, but I will help you. It's good to keep my men earning some pay anyway," he said.

He hollered for his manservant to fetch his armor and saddle his horse. He scribbled a quick note to Carmelita and sent the potboy back home with it. Thal gave Carlo the last bite of his breakfast.

"Wait here and stay inside," Valentino commanded once he was ready to leave.

Both Carlo and Thal burst back to their feet. "I must go," Carlo insisted. "I can help free my friends while you fight."

"Very well, if you can keep up, but Thal stays," Valentino said.

Thal set a restless hand on a pistol. "I will trail behind on my own. If things don't go well for you, you'll want me to show up," he said.

Valentino frowned, but if things went badly he certainly would want Thal to arrive. As long as he went first, he supposed he was still protecting Thal from the trap. "Very well," he said.

The Condottiere and Carlo left. Thal yanked down his laundry and stuffed it in his bag. He had to give Valentino time to collect some men, and the waiting would be difficult.

In the bedchamber he found the letter he had started the night before. "Oh Altea," he groaned. He picked up the quill and considered finishing what he had meant to say, but his mind was scattered with worry for Regis and Raphael. His heart balked at the notion of telling her she would never see him again. He wanted to make her his. Thal wondered if his mother's spirit could let him show mercy to the Magistrate, as Altea had asked. He feared Altea would cease to love him if he murdered the head of her family. But when Thal thought about that man condemning his mother, love seemed a weak excuse for withholding justice.

Finally he resolved to seek Altea and speak to her again. If she was willing to go away with him, then he would reconsider mercy if she still insisted. And if she chose not to go away with him, then what he did to her stepfather was his business.

******

Valentino was pleased with the ten men riding behind him. They had even seemed eager when he said they had to save Lady Carmelita's musicians. They were expecting some easy sport.

The fiery gaze of the Condottiere with his good armor and fancy steed warned people in the streets that he was intent on a serious errand. And his ten scarred sellswords were outfitted with battered helmets, worn gear, pistols, swords, and a couple bows. One slender unarmed man riding double with the last fighter appeared out of place.

"Turn left!" Carlo shouted.

The blackened stones of the burned out buildings were a stain upon the otherwise rebuilt block of the city. Scavengers had been filching stones from the derelict buildings over the years, leaving gaps in the walls. Weeds and even a few sapling trees were sprouting where once there had been floors. When the armed men turned onto the lane between the buildings, tabby cats darted out of their rumbling path.

Valentino's well-experienced eye glimpsed a man on a roof with a crossbow. He assumed he had spotted part of the ambush for Thal.

Drawing his sword, Valentino shouted for his men to storm the stable. He jumped off his horse and barreled into the weathered wooden doors. They were barred but the old boards groaned and bent a little. Two of his men slammed into the doors next to him and together they gave it another hefty bashing. Cracking rewarded their effort.

"Again!" Valentino commanded, and in unison they threw their combined weight against the doors.

The man left of Valentino screamed. A bolt from a crossbow was lodged in his shoulder. He staggered back clutching his wound. Valentino drew one of his pistols and scanned the roof. He knew that hitting the sniper with a pistol was next to hopeless, but he had an archer on his side as well. Pointing his pistol toward the hiding spot, Valentino yelled for his man to aim his crossbow up there.

When the shooter on the roof popped up to take another shot, Valentino's man fired. The arrow struck the stone beside the man and made him jump. Valentino decided he had to take his shot for good measure, and his lead ball shattered the stone on the other side of the man. Rattled by the close brushes with death, the ambusher missed with his next shot. The arrow skittered across the stable's roof.

Valentino bashed himself against the doors again and this time they flew open. A pistol shot roared by his face. Valentino's steel-hearted courage kept him charging although he knew that he had used up one more of his diminishing cat lives.

The stable was dark to the men who had just barged in from the bright sunshine. Valentino dove to the side so he would not be silhouetted against the outside. His comrade did the same and they both found themselves immediately in hand-to-hand combat with shadowy foes.

More of Valentino's men poured into the stable. Their horses stomped and circled in excited disarray outside, kicking up dust. In a dancing panic, Carlo navigated the agitated animals and dashed inside the stable. Weapons clanged and men shouted. Another pistol shot went off. There was a painful scream. Carlo made it to Regis first.

"Thank God you're alive," Carlo said.

"Get the ropes off," Regis said, proving he still had a tongue.

Carlo yanked at the ropes but he had no knife. The knot thwarted his fingers. Two men fighting fell against him and knocked him down. One fighter tripped over Carlo's sprawled body. His opponent plunged a sword into his chest. Carlo scrambled away, horrified by the mortal blow he had witnessed.

Regis yelled for help and Raphael added his voice as well. Someone gave Carlo a hand up and then used his knife to cut free the prisoners. The three friends hugged each other and thanked the man who had helped them.

Two of Bradcek's surviving men surrendered, but Valentino still fought with Captain Jan. With their pistols already fired they fought with swords.

"Yield to me!" Valentino raged as he deflected Jan's sword with his rapier.

Jan attacked with fury and managed to drive Valentino back a couple steps toward the door. The Condottiere's men in the stable rounded up their prisoners and put them in a stall. One of Jan's men lay dead on the floor.

Even engaged by Jan, Valentino was still able to give orders. He hollered for his men to get up on the roofs and find the crossbowmen. Four of them dashed off on their assignment.

The musicians saw their opening and fled outside. Carlo stopped to help the man with an arrow in his shoulder.

Valentino and Jan spilled out into the lane. Their swords worked against each other furiously. The Condottiere was skilled with his fine Italian rapier. Jan was sloppier with his heavier sword but still rather dangerous.

Curious people were gathering at a safe distance. No one knew what was going on, but everyone chose to watch instead of interfere.

With skillful steps, Valentino eluded his opponent's blade and let him get winded.

"Stop while you still have your life," Valentino teased. "I was trained by Swordmaster Begitone in Milan. Some Rosenberg yokel is not going to beat me."

Jan rallied his strength and assaulted his opponent with frenzied slashes. The chaos of his style was uniquely dangerous, and Valentino earned himself a gouge in his armor.

"I think I remember Rosenberg Castle from my travels. I took a shit on the side of the road close to there. I can hope that it was on your father's lands," Valentino taunted.

Jan roared and renewed his efforts. They circled each other, delivering hateful jabs and strokes.

"Your face is familiar to me," Valentino continued. "That woman with the slippery smile who was so kind to me must have been your sister."

While ugly cursing spewed from Jan's mouth, Valentino made his best move. He caught Jan's hand with the tip of his rapier and tore away his sword. As the sword landed in the dirt, Valentino stepped up to Jan and smashed him in the face with a left-handed punch. Jan's head spun, and Valentino pushed him hard in the chest. Jan dropped to the ground. The sharp tip of the rapier appeared over his nose.

"Yield or die," Valentino said, breathing hard. Sweat streamed down his tan face, but his dark eyes twinkled with vicious delight.

Still stunned by the knock on his jaw, Jan groaned.

"I expect your armor and gun. I'll leave you your sword for your journey home because I'm a man with a generous heart," Valentino said.

His fighters who had finished up with Jan's men grinned at their commander's victory.

"Kill me!" Jan fumed.

Valentino raised an eyebrow at the unexpected choice. He put his rapier on Jan's Adam's apple and would have killed him, but the guard captain's fatal courage withered.

"I yield!" he squealed.

Valentino lifted his rapier. A red line oozed on Jan's neck but it was not a mortal cut.

Stepping back, Valentino regarded the man. "I was not who you were expecting was I?" he said.

Jan growled and sat up. He cast a sour look at his men that were in the custody of unknown sellswords. How had the scrawny musician ever gotten this crew on his side?

"This was none of your business," Jan groused.

Valentino motioned for two of his men to disarm the Captain. Jan fussed when they took his pistol and started tugging at his armor.

"You're in league with a Devil worshipper," Jan said.

Valentino smirked. "I am a Condottiere. You'll have to try harder if you're hoping to insult me," he said.

"I'm tracking a shape-shifting son of the Devil. Your interference will be reported," Jan said. He held onto his armor but it was still pried away.

Valentino reminded him of his victory with a poke to the cheek. "Reported?" he mocked. "I think you'll find it takes quite a bit to get me in trouble."

Stripped of his pistol and armor, Jan scooped up his sword and stomped away. He cursed and whacked his sword against the stable so hard the blade revealed yellow within the weathered boards. Valentino's men laughed. Jan turned his rage on his surviving men. He called them idiots and asked one of the crossbowmen why he had not shot the Condottiere.

The crossbowman looked at Valentino helplessly. "I didn't know who that was," he said and still did not. "None of them were Thal."

Valentino decided he did not need to tarry in the vicinity of the vanquished. He was happy with the trophies of his little duel and feeling good about himself.

"Get out of Prague," he warned Jan.

Jan narrowed his eyes and did not appear inclined to obey.

Valentino's men mounted up on their horses and gave rides to the musicians. As they pushed through the crowd, Regis asked Valentino if he had seen Thal.

"He'll catch up to us. He was terribly worried about you. It's so touching how much love he has for his friends, but I wouldn't let him rush into this trap. Although I daresay he might have survived it. That Rosenberg man couldn't plan a cockfight."

Regis looked back. He worried he might have an irrevocable fear of stables after the terror and torment he had endured. And his friendship with Thal had been the cause of it. Thal had warned him, and he had to wonder if he and his companions were now permanently branded as associates of a werewolf.

On the way to Carmelita's mansion, Regis convinced Valentino to stop at the tavern from where they had been abducted. The musicians recovered their instruments that the maid and Rocko had kindly set aside. Regis, Raphael, and Carlo thanked them profusely for waiting before taking the precious items to a pawnbroker.

When they reached Carmelita's house, she was horrified by the condition of her musicians. She had a garden party planned for that afternoon but conceded that her players could not possibly play.

"Is Thal here?" Carlo whispered to his hostess.

Carmelita shook her head and looked to Valentino. He frowned. He had expected Thal to have revealed himself by now.

"He should be coming," Valentino said. Carlo and his friends did not look placated but they were exhausted and had to let the servants take them away to be tended.

Alone now, Carmelita took Valentino's hand. He was sweaty and smelled of gunpowder and faintly of blood so she was careful to prevent her fine silk gown from brushing against him.

"I've heard today of terrible things happening in the night. Was it Thal?" she asked.

He nodded. "He told me as much himself," he said.

Frustration and fear twisted her shapely lips into something between a pout and a snarl. She was accustomed to getting her way and finessing even dangerous politics into her seemingly playful world, but Thal was something beyond her powers.

"I don't think I can harbor him anymore," she said. Wistfully she imagined other scenarios with the charismatic shapechanger who clothed sorcery in divine raiment and made banal the holy.

"He knows," Valentino said, rubbing her fingers. Flush from his victory, he was keen to get cleaned up and recount the details of his battle to her in private.

"But you told his friends he's coming here," she said.

"I thought we'd see him out on the streets," Valentino said but he was beginning to wonder what had happened to Thal. As wanted as he was, he might have been apprehended by just about any authority or vigilante or bounty hunter.

"I'll go to my place and see if he's still there. I'll send him your regards. Then I'll come back to you," Valentino said. He leaned down and kissed her. His tongue told her of his eagerness for her.

"I'll be here," she whispered, loving the forgetfulness that washed over her when he caressed her.

"And keep those musicians out of sight. Answer no questions about them to anyone and tell them to tell no one anything about Thal ever," Valentino advised.

"Will Thal get away from Prague?" Carmelita worried.

"When he's done killing," Valentino said.

#  Chapter 41. No Solace

Thal was a man who listened to his instincts. After venturing into the streets to make sure his friends were rescued, a peculiar unease nagged at him. It was more than the heightened suspicions from the people in the street. Wagging tongues all over Prague were spreading various descriptions of him after his public murder of Constable Bekcek, and people were looking at him more closely. Despite the obvious scrutiny, Thal remained unmolested. His reputation was so notorious that anyone who saw him soon realized that he or she did not want to be the one to turn him in, reward or no. No one wanted to find out how far the claws of his supernatural powers could reach.

But a creepy feeling persisted, like when he had known another wolf had entered his territory before finding its track or spoor. Often he sniffed the air, but the nature of the intrusion eluded him. The wind blowing across the city from the southwest was likely denying him the scent that would confirm what his feelings told him.

Preoccupied by his worrisome foreboding, he moved slowly across the Little Quarter. Pistol sniffed the road a few paces ahead. His tail wagged excitedly, and Thal saw the burned out buildings that Carlo had described. A crowd was clogging the street and Thal guessed that the fight was happening or just done.

When people gave way for riders, Thal ducked behind a parked wagon. With relief he saw Valentino and his sellswords ride out with Regis, Raphael, and Carlo. They turned down another street, likely heading to Carmelita's mansion.

Thal was about to run after them when Pistol started growling. The dog was looking back the way they had come, which confirmed Thal's suspicion that he was being followed.

He backtracked. Just before turning a corner, the scent of his hunter finally reached him. Thal pressed against a stucco wall. He still had a chance to flee but he did not want to. Pistol growled lightly, as if arguing with his decision.

"I must," Thal whispered and stepped around the corner.

A haggard monk in a brown robe was only a few paces away. Startled, he faltered, stopped, and looked like he meant to run away.

"Rainer," Thal said.

The monk clutched his cross. His facial features swung between terror and relief. Thal was pained to see that the man was such a wreck, but perhaps it was a good sign that he had come looking for him. Thal wanted to give him the guidance that no other could provide.

"You must help me," Rainer said.

Thal gently pulled him to the side of the street so they could talk. "You have my friendship. What can I do?" he said.

Rainer grimaced, struggling against the churn of his emotions. "Your bites have bound me to you," he said.

"What do you mean?" Thal said. Worry slid through him like an icy slug in his guts.

"I wanted to tell Brother Vito where you were. I wanted to," Rainer said.

Thal saw that withholding the information from his Jesuit brothers had been difficult. "I appreciate that you honored my request," he said.

"Request?" Rainer sneered. "Your bidding is my command now. I tried to betray you, but there was too much pain from your bites."

Thal regretted that he had added to Rainer's torment. He could only hope to make amends. His mind chewed on the news that his bite could impose mastery upon another werewolf. Would his bite on a regular man make a werewolf? It must, he reasoned, but the implications were disturbing, tempting even.

"Rainer, forgive me. I didn't know that would happen. I know you want to be faithful to your brothers but keeping my secret has helped protect innocent people," Thal said.

A tick twitched one of Rainer's eyes. Hard drilling pain flared in his flesh where Thal's wolfen teeth had once penetrated. He covered his face with his hands and started sobbing. He collapsed against a building. Thal put an arm around his shoulders to support him. He murmured encouragement and tried to offer Rainer hope.

"Why did you make my curse worse?" Rainer wailed.

"It wasn't my intention. I didn't know. Please calm yourself," Thal said. Trying to comfort a weeping monk was making him more conspicuous.

"I can't be calm. Brother Vito's men are coming to get me. He'll lock me away or worse because you've taken my loyalty from him. I'm no good to him anymore. You must help me," Rainer said.

"I'll help you. We can avoid his men. Trust me," Thal said.

"Trust the Devil!" Rainer scoffed and dropped to his knees.

Thal tugged him back to his feet. "We must go. You're drawing attention," he fretted. A shopkeeper was pointing to them and talking to people.

Hauling him along, Thal pleaded with Rainer to walk. Pistol yanked on his robe, but Rainer let his legs stay mushy as he wailed in fear of what Vito would do to him. The more he repeated his master's ruse, the more he feared that it was actually true. Vito would send him to the fire. He had probably just been saving him to make a big display and gain more prestige. All his promises of salvation laughed inside Rainer's troubled mind, yet he clung to the dream of redemption. Bringing Thal to justice would bring God's grace. It had to.

Thal threw up his hands, dismayed by Rainer's feeble crawling and mewling.

"You have to keep going, Rainer. I'll protect you but you must try," Thal said.

Rainer gasped and wiped his eyes with shaking hands. His trick was working. The hope of success made his love for God bloom with brighter colors but then the pain slashed at him again because his heart was betraying his sorcery-born master.

Slowly Rainer got his feet underneath him. Supporting him, Thal praised his effort.

"It's hard," Rainer groaned through gritted teeth.

"You can do it," Thal said but then noticed the palpable tension in Rainer that signified pain. Sudden clarity tossed away Thal's many distractions and he sensed the dishonesty in Rainer. If his bite had enthralled Rainer, then why was he still in pain if he had come to Thal for help?

Galloping horses charged around a corner. Thal whirled to face the riders with his hands on both guns. Four sellswords bore down on him. People pressed against buildings to get out of their way or dashed into doorways. Thal summoned his beastly fury that always waited beneath the calm pool of his lovelier self. His powerful scream spooked the horses. Two of them reared and the other two faltered despite the spurs digging into their sides.

Bringing his pistols up, Thal took aim. Rainer tackled him. They hit the street rolling. Pistol jumped and snapped at the tussling bodies. Thal beat at Rainer, but the monk held on tenaciously. His hands were inside Thal's cloak, tearing open the folded fabric and clutching the precious fur.

Thal clubbed Rainer with a pistol. Rainer screamed and Thal pushed him away. Staggering to his feet, he looked up into the pistol barrel of a sellsword. The man had dismounted his unruly horse and charged ahead on foot. Thal threw himself aside just as the powder ignited. The lead ball missed Thal and embedded itself in a thick wooden door of a nearby building. Thal rolled over and shot at the sellsword. The ball caught him in the throat. He fell. Pouring blood puddled around him quickly.

The other sellswords abandoned their horses and advanced on foot. Thal shot at them but missed. Shoving his pistols into his belt, he drew his sword. Rainer flopped toward him and grabbed a leg.

Thal tried to shake him off. He was not sure if pity or kinship kept him from hacking into the madman.

"Let me go!" he cried.

The sellswords were upon him and he had to deflect their blows with his sword while Rainer still held him. One of the men seized Thal's sword arm while he crossed blades with another. All of them piled onto him and brought him down like a dog pack on a boar. Pistol's vicious snarls punctuated the fist-flying fray until he got kicked away.

Rainer tore Thal's cloak halfway off and extracted the fur. Thal felt it slip away like someone was tearing the heart from his chest. His fury escalated and doubled his already considerable strength. He battled the three remaining sellswords. He shoved a pistol out of his face. The roar of its firing rattled his skull but at least no lead penetrated his body. His sword was still in his hand despite a man trying to pry it loose. The third man got the tip of his sword under Thal's chin and finally subdued his struggles. They backed Thal up against a wall. Everyone was puffing from exertion. With an agonized gaze Thal looked upon Rainer with his fur.

Rainer felt utterly renewed with the enchanted werewolf fur draped across his palms. The pain caused by his betrayal of Thal let go of him like a dandelion seed in the wind. Vitality surged through his flesh. Rainer threw back his head and took deep gasping breaths to glory in his sudden freedom. The fluffy clouds that he beheld suddenly trumpeted with angelic renewal. He had never dreamed that possessing the fur would free him of Thal's dominion. He could truly belong to God now. He rushed away without looking at Thal, knowing that he could not endure the sight of the man he had betrayed. Thal had offered him friendship and Rainer had ruined him.

One of the sellswords had a heavy set of chains and manacles dangling from his belt and he brought them out. The metallic rattle spoke of bondage and hard death. Thal saw red with a rage so intense he wondered if he would transform even without his fur.

When the man grabbed a wrist to apply a manacle, Thal surged with wrathful strength and pulled his arm free. He grabbed the chain and punched the man in the face. The sellsword reeled away clutching his spurting nose. Thal kicked the man pinning his chest between the legs and then bashed the third man across the chin with his elbow.

Breaking free, he wrapped the chain once about his fist and swung the iron manacles. He beat his attackers with the chains. The metal dented their armor and gouged their faces and broke their fingers. Pistol bit their calves and hands and buttocks as they rolled about in abject defeat.

Once the bloody men were cowering to his satisfaction, Thal threw down the dripping chain. He retrieved his sword and his hat. The crowd of onlookers fell back when he looked around. He could not spot Rainer but his trail lit up his mind like a comet on the blackest night. Thal stormed after the monk and people evaporated from his path like he was the Apocalypse on cloven feet.

Thal fumed with wretched anger. The absence of his fur was the most upsetting sensation imaginable. He felt stripped of the very essence of his life, unmoored from Creation and bankrupt of spirit.

Thal gained on the monk rapidly. Rainer quickened his pace. He shouted warnings about the sorcerer that chased him.

Foot and horse traffic was crowded near the Kamenny Most. Thal pushed through the people agitated by Rainer's raving. Horses balked when Thal passed near, adding to the disorder. Some mounted men in royal livery spotted Thal and hollered for him to be stopped, but the few who dared to set hands on Thal were flung away roughly, and Thal's attention never wavered from his prey.

Rainer broke into a run on the bridge. The wolf fur's tail flapped in the wind as Rainer's sandals banged on smooth stones.

When Thal reached the bridge two horse carts veered from him and blocked traffic. The mounted royal guards were stymied in the chaos, and Thal sprinted after Rainer.

Over the middle of the Vltava, he tackled him into the stone wall. Seizing Rainer by the throat, Thal greedily yanked his fur back into his possession. Rainer clawed at the steely hand crushing his windpipe.

"How could you do this to me?" Thal yelled. "No one will ever accept you like I would have. Not your God. Not your brotherhood. No one!"

"I'm sorry," Rainer wheezed but it was too late for apologies. Thal had felt the desolate violation of having his wolf fur taken and knew that all sympathy for Rainer was forever erased.

In addition to Thal's punishing grip, the magical pain in the healed bite wounds returned to Rainer. He groaned and his struggles diminished.

"Unhand that man! How dare you touch a man of God?" shouted a stalwart citizen.

Thal faced the man rushing to the monk's rescue. He was of sturdy build and well dressed but fumbling to draw his dirk. The heat of true battle had never warmed his cheeks before but he had a courageous heart.

Thal kept Rainer pinned against the bridge. "This is no man, and he rejects the fate that his God has given him," Thal ridiculed.

The man had managed to get his dirk out, but he halted a couple paces away behind his shaking weapon. Upon really taking in Thal's appearance he realized he was substantially outclassed in the arts of violence. Anger had intensified the many colors of Thal's eyes. The wolf fur glistened in the sun with supernatural beauty.

Hastily the man crossed himself. "God save me. It's the witch monster," he said.

Letting go of Rainer, Thal faced the man and drew his sword. He took one step forward and the man backed off.

"Be gone with you!" Thal said. The man looked at Rainer coughing over the edge of the bridge.

"Leave him alone," the man admonished, clinging to his desire to do the right thing.

"I will," Thal said ominously. He whirled to face the other people. Traffic had halted. Horses neighed and people cried out with alarm.

A few swings of his sword moved the onlookers back. Thal returned to Rainer. He looked ashen. The glow of health that the enchanted fur had briefly bestowed was gone, and his ragged misery returned.

"Go from me, Rainer," Thal commanded. "Live with my curse upon you and know that you can never serve me or call me friend. Go back to your brothers. Find out how long it takes Vito to send you to his fires."

"Noooo!" Rainer wailed and clutched his head. The scars on his face stood out brightly against his depleted skin. He called out to his God and Savior but received no cleansing or surcease of his pain.

Thal held his fur tightly and turned away. Rainer's misery was not his doing.

A gasp from the people made Thal look back. Rainer stood on the edge. His arms were spread wide and he was falling forward. Thal naturally reached out to him, forgetting his wrath, but he was not close enough to grab him. Rainer tumbled into the water like a tree falling off a cliff. Thal rushed to the edge as did many other people. Having no skill at swimming, Rainer splashed uselessly in the river's current and was soon pulled under. Profound shock subdued the witnesses. The monk had chosen suicide and was forever banished from the bosom of his Church.

Thal watched the water flow but Rainer's head never popped up. He wished he had been able to ease Rainer's torment. A companion to sing and hunt with would have been a good thing.

There are others, he reminded himself soberly. Perhaps not all saw their werewolf power as a curse.

Pistol whined at his feet, warning Thal not to linger. He looked toward the Little Quarter side of the river. The royal guards were making their way toward him. The other way toward Old Town was relatively clear, but he had business still in the Little Quarter. Thal reasoned that a handful of mounted guards with only spears would not be too much trouble.

Quickly he secured his fur to its place beneath his cloak. He did not have time to reload his pistols. After sliding his sword back into its sheath, he wagged a finger at the astounded people and said, "No one say I pushed that monk in. You all saw I didn't do it."

With his admonishment spoken, he dashed off. People stayed to the edges of the bridge and the riders advanced. Everyone expected a big confrontation and the capture of the notorious criminal, but the front horse swerved and stymied the riders behind it. Thal jumped onto the edge of the bridge and raced past the group of armed guards and then jumped back onto the bridge. Dodging pedestrians, he wove through people and raced back into the Little Quarter. Because of his speed, he disappeared into narrow streets before the riders that pursued him got turned around and off the bridge.

Thal turned every corner he came to and by a circuitous route emerged into a residential area of palaces for royal administrators. He slipped through an unlocked gate into a walled park filled with mature trees. The leafy cover was cool and soothing. A small chapel was tucked among the trees but no one was about. Thal went inside the little stone building. A small cross and altar were within and a cushion with two depressions was positioned in front of a rail for comfortable praying.

Thal flopped against the wall and sat down. Gold and red light came through the stained glass. The lead framework on the main window cast an image of Wenceslaus. Thal's heavy breathing was loud in the small space. He slid a hand against his fur, grateful to have retrieved it. Looking up at the ornate cross, its gold leaf shining in the colorful light, he thought of Rainer. The poor man had not found the solace he needed in his God, and Thal reflected upon his inability to deliver it either.

#  Chapter 42. Ten Little Points

Altea was mindless with disoriented terror. Hard hands hauled her through the square like a cow being brought to slaughter.

The growing crowd raved at her.

"Behold the witch!" someone shouted over and over.

"Witch!"

"She brings the Devil!"

"Kill her!"

"Kill the witch!"

The vicious clamoring for her demise bewildered Altea. She moaned and sobbed helplessly as her captors propelled her forward.

A rock hit her in the chest. Then a rotting turnip struck her. She tried again to twist away, but the hands squeezed her arms mercilessly and dragged her forward.

People leered at her and someone poked her with a stick but the dreadful men holding her shoved him away. When the throng impeded her captors too much, riders came alongside and cleared the way.

They entered a street off the square, and the pressure of the crowd relented.

"Let me go. Let me go," Altea pleaded.

The men brought her to a squat stone building with small windows and an appalling smell. Someone pushed open the thick door. Confronted by the dark hole, she clawed at the men, but her fingernails scraped uselessly across thick cloth or armor. She twisted and kicked and threw a foot up against the door frame. The men yanked her back to dislodge her foot and then bashed her head against the door frame as punishment.

The pain was stunning. She was only aware of a mixed up swirl of grim images as they dragged her inside. She saw dark red splashes of blood on the stone walls and floor.

Down a long hall they took her. When she saw the lattice walls of thick iron bars, she started screaming. A door screeched open and they tossed her into the reeking straw.

Altea landed on her knees and stayed there trembling and crying. The men followed her inside. One of them grabbed her from behind and lifted her up. His hands scooped her breasts and he pressed himself against her bottom.

"Got caught in just your nightie," he laughed.

His partner came around in front of her. His blonde hair was greasy, and dark grunge filled the grooves between his teeth. He put his hands on her hips. The thin fabric of her nightgown offered only a flower petal's protection from his calloused hands.

"No, no, no," she sobbed.

The man behind her covered her mouth and squeezed her breast hard. The man in front of her cackled into her face. She shut her eyes. His hands slid between her thighs. He groped her genitals, and pressed his fingers into her vagina.

"My cock's getting hard for you. I know you witches like cock," he said.

Altea shoved him back with her knees.

"Hold the bitch," he complained.

The man behind Altea hooked one of his feet in front of hers, and his mate stomped on Altea's bare foot. He clamped a hand around her throat and started lifting her nightgown.

"No time for that," declared someone outside the cell.

The men released her. She fled uselessly into a corner and collapsed against the bars like a fly in a spider web.

"You can't do this!" she screeched.

The men laughed and heaved shut her cell door. It clanged into its frame like a badly tuned bell. When everyone left, Altea ran to the single window and stood on her tiptoes to see outside.

"Help me! Help me!" she screamed to someone on the street. He frowned at the jail and sped up. Two women walked by and Altea screamed to them. They looked aghast that she had spoken to them and hurried onward.

Altea screamed and sobbed until she slid down the wall and huddled in pitiful defeat. Grimy straw that stank worse than a chamber pot after a bad meal splayed out around her. Rat turds sprinkled the slick floor.

Shaking and utterly depleted, she lapsed into a half conscious state. She stared into space while her mind blundered across the broken ground of reality seeking escape.

She yielded to the drunkenness of despair. Her eyes lost focus. Trauma vibrated through her battered flesh like a nail plucking a lute string. A tenacious flicker of her spirit clung to the cliff edge of madness and coaxed her to hang on. The delirium of true raving insanity would bring no comfort.

"Thal," she whispered.

She was here because of him. There could be no other cause. She had embraced his monolithic mystery. The lessons of a lifetime she had tossed away. Her hungry kisses had gorged on sweet fruit born of forbidden freedoms.

Yet she could not match these terrible punishments to her actions. She had only yielded to a natural longing for love. Despite an upbringing that had warned against the temptations of the flesh, she had found no evil in the connection of their bodies. The exciting pleasure had beckoned her with the promise of bliss, and Thal's passion possessed a purity that seemed meant only for her. Kissing him had been as if sipping from the Holy Grail. His touch had redeemed her from an oppressive loneliness that confined her and admitted no breeze of the world as it actually was. Even on the filthy floor she savored memories of their brief encounters.

And now she understood the unhappiness in Thal. His adoration had not masked his aching despair. He had feared that his desire would destroy her, yet he had been too in love to stay away.

He will come for me, she thought believing that his love would demand it.

Altea blinked and the light came back into her eyes. The gray hues of stone and iron rejected outright the hope in her heart. Prisoners had clung to the dream of rescue in this nasty place many times, yet no memories of miracles softened the cold hard edges of the slimy cell.

Down the hall, a woman screamed. Fresh panic stabbed Altea when she heard her terror reflected in another. She pushed herself up as the next prisoner arrived.

Altea did not recognize the woman. She was older and raggedly dressed. Her gray streaked hair was in wild disarray. She kicked and cussed while being manhandled into the adjoining cell. The two men started beating her. Their punches landed hard and the woman was soon in a ball on the floor. Then they kicked her.

"Stop it!" Altea cried overcome with empathy for their fresh victim.

The man with greasy blonde hair whirled. His eyes tore into Altea and she quailed back from him. The memory of his hand between her thighs gutted her courage.

He came to Altea's cell. She surged to her feet in a wild panic when he put the key in the lock. Reaching through the bars she tried to keep him from turning the key.

He laughed at her pitiful effort and punched her through the bars. Her head jerked and she tasted blood. He came in, punched her again, and threw her down. She landed on her stomach and he kneeled behind her and grabbed her ankles. Spreading her legs he pulled her up against his body. She screamed and twisted and tried to hit him but she was as defenseless as a chicken held upside down by its legs.

He punched her hard in the small of her back. The pain was sickening. Altea moaned as he exposed her bottom.

"You can have your sport with them after they confess."

Her tormentor turned his head. "Brother Vito," he said and got up.

Altea scrambled away to her corner and pulled her gown over her legs. Vito and Tenzo advanced into the cell block.

Vito said, "I want to announce her confession in the morning and get her sentenced."

Tenzo said, "Brother Vito, are you sure we should move so quickly?"

"The people need action," Vito said. He looked over the cell block, judging that the Magistrate had been correct about its sturdiness. The cells did look capable of holding Thal. He hoped that the men he had sent with Rainer succeeded. If not, he assumed the jail was baited well. The blonde woman despite her battered state was beautiful, and he would give her the gift of dying young.

"Will the Magistrate really sentence his own stepdaughter?" Tenzo wondered.

"It'll be best to get him to do this quickly before he can recover his wits or worse yet ask his friends for help. I need all the better classes to understand I'm not a man to be resisted," Vito explained.

Tenzo nodded.

"Application of torture is the recommended way to get a genuine confession," Vito said.

Glancing over the women huddled in the cells, Tenzo figured they looked ready to agree to anything.

Miguel entered the cell block carrying writing materials. The dank environment revolted him but he girded himself to perform important duties.

"Which way to the torture room, Constable?" Vito said impatiently.

"Through that door I think," Tenzo guessed. He had not had a chance to acquaint himself with his new place of employment.

"Start with the Magistrate's stepdaughter," Vito said.

Tenzo's men dragged Altea out. The blackness beyond the torture chamber door had a sickly slaughterhouse smell. The room had no windows.

"We need more light," Miguel complained.

After setting up some lighting, everyone came in with the prisoner. Miguel was relieved to find a little desk where he could work.

Vito scanned the room, recognizing some of the equipment from drawings in books. He knew this room would be the wellspring of his power.

"Strap her to that table," Vito said.

Altea resisted fiercely. Tenzo had to assist his men. Leather straps were slapped across her arms and legs. Two men held her down while Tenzo tightened the buckles.

Vito bent over Altea. He brushed a lock of her golden hair out of her face. Tears washed through the grime on her cheeks.

"Did you like your werewolf lover?" he whispered.

Altea turned away from him, refusing to acknowledge what he said.

Vito took her chin and forced her to face him.

"Confess your witchcraft and intercourse with the Devil," Vito said.

She shut her eyes and shook her head. Her very soul recoiled from the stigma of confessing such lies.

"God will forgive you if you repent and confess right now," Vito urged.

"I've done nothing!" Altea screamed into his face.

"Tell her what we already know," Vito said.

Miguel cleared his throat and brought out Tenzo's sworn testimony against her. He read off the details of her marketplace dalliance with the werewolf known as Thal Lesky.

The vignette used to condemn her summoned her longing to live forever in that moment when they were last together. She recalled his face and his touch and wished that the world could be different.

"Confess your unholy perversions," Vito said.

Altea did not respond even if the time to regret her actions had come.

"We know also that you've been trying to seduce your stepfather," Vito said.

Outrage made Altea forget her bindings. All her limbs jerked against the straps. "That's not true. He's been on the verge of raping me for days. Whatever he told you is a LIE!" she raved.

Vito shook his head. His narrow bald face possessed no sympathy. To him her guilt was beyond question, and Altea wondered why he required the cruel formality of a confession.

"Please bring Father Refhold. He knows me. He knows I'm no witch. I'm just a woman!" Altea said.

Vito rubbed his chin, pondering if he should involve a local priest. "I will allow you to make your confession to your own priest," he decided.

"No, no, no!" Altea protested. "I want Father Refhold to tell you I'm not a bad person."

"I don't see how he can do that," Vito said. He gestured to Tenzo to get things going.

Tenzo and his men puzzled over the board and stone weights stacked next to the table. Miguel's quill scratched across paper. He checked the spelling of Altea's name and prepared the statement of her confession. He took facts from Tenzo's statement and added details to embellish the shocking value of her crimes.

"I see how this goes," Tenzo muttered, lifting the board. He placed it over Altea's torso. "Put a weight on it," he instructed.

Another man hoisted a stone block. "Christ that's heavy," he groaned. "Sorry," he muttered when Vito's eyes flashed at him. He dumped the weight on the board and Tenzo kept it steady. An awful groan was pressed out of Altea. Beneath the grinding pain she could not draw a breath farther than her collarbone.

"Stop. Stop!" she pleaded.

"Put another on," Vito said.

The sellsword turned jailer loosened his shoulders and asked his counterpart to help him. Together they lifted the second weight and deposited it on Altea. She squeaked, unable to breathe. Pain shot through her chest as ribs cracked beneath the cruel burden.

"Say you are guilty of witchcraft," Vito demanded.

Only wheezing groans came out of Altea. Her eyes rolled back.

Vito's mouth puckered with a sinister frown. This technique was not suiting him. She was passing out. "Take them off!" he snarled.

The two men obeyed. Altea gasped back to life and screamed. Drawing a real breath had assaulted her with pain where her ribs were broken. Tearfully she moaned and begged for release.

"Confess or I'll do it again," Vito said. He watched the dread play across her face. The poignant detail of her tortured thoughts upon her maidenly features fascinated him. He had not expected to glimpse such delicate beauty in so loathsome a situation. He shook his head a little to dispel her glamour, knowing that her wicked magic must be making his mind sparkle.

The young woman surprised him when she licked her cracked and bloody lips and shut her eyes. Her silent resolve irked him.

He grabbed a lantern and inspected the chamber. He recognized a few devices and made his decisions. He took the thumbscrews off a rack on the wall and commanded his men to sit her up.

Tenzo grabbed her by the hair and pulled her upright. She screamed because the movement aggravated the wreckage around her chest.

The thumbscrews clunked onto the table. "Use these on her," Vito said. He imagined that they would deliver awful pain but still leave her able to walk. He wanted to be able to take her into the Court for a public sentencing. Her ravaged beauty would be a good lesson for people vulnerable to heresy.

Tenzo took her by the wrists while the man with the dirty blonde hair positioned the little screw press over her thumbs. Altea was too subdued by injury to put up much of a struggle.

When he began turning the screw, the pressure was subtle at first, but after a few more twists the crushing force against the delicate flesh and bones became awfully vivid.

"Stop! Stop! Stop! I've done nothing," she said. "Please God no!"

He kept turning the screw. The other man grabbed her around the neck to keep her in position. Her words degenerated into a helpless yowl as the thumb bones cracked.

Blood oozed from the little press. The tips of her thumbs were purple.

"Confess, woman, or he'll turn those thumbs to pulp," Vito warned.

Her sobbing came in hysterical gasps. Pain ruled her senses and she was incapable of thought.

"Confess to your witchcraft!" Vito said and slapped her.

His blow snapped her out of her agonized stupor. She looked away from her broken thumbs dripping in the metal vice. This pain would be nothing compared to the fire they would light under her. She moaned, but refused to give him the satisfaction of breaking her.

Vito recognized that she was prepared to lose her thumbs just to spite his effort. It was time to take the step that she could not resist. He told his men to remove the thumbscrew.

Altea received no relief when they took off the grim contraption. The broken digits dangled uselessly. Blood seeped from flesh ground into shattered bones. All she could do was cradle her swelling hands in her lap and watch them unstrap her legs. The men hauled her off the table.

"Put her in the maiden," Vito said, lifting his lantern and illuminating the coffin-like metal box with a vaguely female face.

"I've heard of these," Tenzo remarked as he opened the iron maiden. He touched one of the spikes and shuddered.

The two men holding Altea backed her into the tight box. She was shaking with mortal fear. Tenzo began to shut the door. Vito stood to the side and held up his lantern so it would illuminate the spikes as they approached Altea with the promise of lingering death.

She screamed and her bravery broke like an icicle falling onto stone.

"I'm a witch! I confess. I'll tell you anything. Please don't! Don't! Don't!" Her words descended into wailing as the gruesome spikes poked her tender body.

Vito stopped the closing door. Leaning into that void beyond hope, he hissed, "You'll say that in Court. Nice and pretty or you'll die in this thing."

Altea nodded. "Yes...I...will," she promised, barely able to utter words.

"God bless you woman for returning to Christ," he said.

Altea could not believe it when the spikes withdrew. Ten little points of blood seeped into her soiled gown but the wounds were shallow. Although her execution was certain, she felt utterly redeemed to see the door swinging wide.

"Brother Miguel, write that she confessed to her crimes," Vito instructed.

Miguel nodded without looking up. His face was shiny with perspiration. He told himself that her Devil worship had made her resist confession with such ferocity. Innocence could not possibly have been the source of her strength.

Altea passed out when they put her back in her cell. Broken and bleeding, she was awoken once from her fitful faint by the screams of the other woman in the torture chamber.

#  Chapter 43. The Side of the Law

Martin leaned over his desk and mopped his brow with a cloth. The stuffy air in his office clawed at his temper. The meeting he had just finished with three of the Aldermen had been uncomfortable and embarrassing. Martin had needed to defend the abrupt intrusion of the Jesuit outsider into municipal affairs, but amid so many murders, Martin had successfully argued that they needed any help they could get.

"Thank you for impressing upon those corrupt bastards the severity of the threat," Martin said to Zussek, who was pouring wine for both of them.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't seen as colluding with these Devil worshippers," Zussek said and handed a glass to Martin.

The Magistrate took a sip and noticed that it was watery. Some servant had been filching the wine at his office. He hated to suspect his secretary, but it was the least of his problems.

"Thank Christ I got them to give up their men-at-arms to support me. Vito doesn't have enough sellswords," Martin said.

"The beast won't be able to choose his ground tonight," Zussek encouraged. "He'll come for you and be killed in the trap."

Martin finished his wine with a long gulp. He found little consolation in being bait for Thal. He hoped the monster went for Altea first.

"I can't believe that girl was sneaking out with a werewolf," he said, still amazed. His knuckles hurt from the beating he had given Elias, but eventually the foolish lad had accepted that defending Altea would doom them all.

"It must have been Gretchen's influence," Zussek said.

Martin shook his head, disappointed with himself. He had been too dazzled by the loveliness of his late wife to refuse her anything, even her midwife witch. But he could prove his innocence by cleansing the city with the power of his office.

He supposed it was best that Altea had been accused and taken into custody. His lust for her had been becoming unbearable, and he was grateful to be free of her wicked temptations. He would condemn her in the morning and be done with her forever. Brother Vito was right about them needing to act quickly. Her swift execution would demonstrate his commitment to a righteous and orderly society.

Martin recognized the light knock on the door as his secretary.

"Yes."

The secretary stuck his head in and said, "Your children are safely off to your cousin's estate."

"Good," Martin said and waved him away.

Zussek settled into a chair in front of Martin's desk. "You should leave the boys in the country for a while. A few months at least. Give them time to get used to their sister's absence."

"That would be good," Martin agreed. He understood that his sons were attached to Altea, but their hearts would move on. She had only been their half sister after all, and only on their mother's side.

Relaxing back into his chair, he said, "Such strange days. In all the tumult today someone even told me they couldn't find my gavel. God knows I'll need it tomorrow."

The odd detail puzzled Zussek. He imagined that it was a clue that Thal had been looking for the Magistrate during his murder spree.

The secretary returned and admitted Vito and Miguel. The quiet Jesuit with the leather case handed papers to Vito who set them on the Magistrate's desk.

"Confessions from both witches," he announced triumphantly.

Martin scooted the paper bearing Altea's name aside with one finger, and looked at the other sheet. "You got another witch already?" he remarked.

Vito said, "There will be more."

"By God I really thought we got them all this spring," Martin said.

"Bohemia has long been a den of heretics," Vito said with a warning tone that Martin did not miss.

Changing the subject, Martin said, "Do you think you have enough men outside the jail to kill Thal when he comes?" He patted the little silver box in its pocket.

"I do. We've brushed their weapons with holy water to help against the beast," Vito said. "I even spared three to wait at your house. Any chance to kill this thing must be taken."

"So you've given up the hope of catching him?" Zussek asked. He had rather looked forward to the opportunity to examine such a prisoner and testify against him in a public trial.

"I can still hope," Vito said.

"Wine?" Martin offered tiredly, not really looking forward to his night of waiting in fear.

"Yes thank you," Miguel accepted before Vito had a chance to decline. He fetched the bottle and poured for everyone.

A commotion down the hall and a voice demanding to see Brother Vito disturbed their drinking. Vito hurried out of the office, greedy for good news from Rainer and his sellswords. They had returned but their bloody and bruised condition was immediately obvious as was the absence of one man and Rainer.

"Did you get him?" Vito asked urgently, ushering the men into a waiting room for privacy.

"NO!" one of the men said as if the thought of success were absurd. "One is dead, and your crazy monk jumped off the bridge we are told."

Nonplussed, Vito gaped at the bizarre news while the sellsword reported all the details.

"Did Thal push Rainer?" Vito asked.

"I don't know. We were still picking our teeth up out of the street, but people said your monk jumped. I don't think anyone would lie about a monk killing himself," the man said.

Vito clenched his fists and tried to manage his anger. Rainer's loss was a bad blow. Dominating the perilous creature had added to his power, but he was not a man to focus on his losses.

"Report to Tenzo at the jail. We'll need you on watch tonight," Vito said.

The surviving sellswords shuffled their feet and looked to their spokesman, who said, "We're going back south to fight in normal wars. Not going to see us crossing blades with Devil beasts again."

"You can't leave," Vito argued.

"While I still got two feet I can," the sellsword said, turning away with his mates.

"God needs good men to stand up," Vito said.

"God should've made more good men then," the man grumped and departed forthwith.

Left alone in the room, Vito assessed his inability to capture Thal. His dream of possessing him as a powerful servant was slipping away. At least killing the werewolf would still provide him substantial prestige.

When he heard Tenzo yelling, he went out to investigate. His new Constable was waving his hands with disgust in the doorway. The slanting sunlight coming in from the square cast his shadow into the hall. Looking rather disgruntled, he came in with a big man behind him.

Vito intercepted them.

"Those laggards are walking off," Tenzo complained.

"They told me. It's just as well. They failed against Thal," Vito said.

"Thal's luck will run out soon," interjected the man beside Tenzo. He had a cut on his cheek and bloody bandage tied around his throat and hand.

"This is Captain Jan Bradcek of House Rosenberg," Tenzo introduced. "He's been tracking our werewolf from Budweis."

"I almost got him today but there are armed forces defending him in the Little Quarter," Jan complained.

"What?" Vito said, truly astounded.

"He's got allies everywhere. This whole city's protecting him," Jan said. "I've come looking to see if anyone in Prague is on the side of the law."

"Law and Heaven," Vito said and introduced himself. "We're expecting him to come here tonight. We've captured his lover and my men lie in wait for his appearance."

Jan approved of the plan. "I'll stay and help. My Baron has put a reward on him after he molested his folk this spring."

"I welcome your help and am interested in hearing your tale. And recording it if you don't mind. A scholar of such beasts is here too. I'm sure he would be fascinated by your accounts of Thal," Vito said.

"I've seen him shift into the beast with my own eyes," Jan boasted.

The three men joined Martin and Zussek. The Magistrate ordered his secretary to send for food so they could settle in and wait.

#  Chapter 44. Hunted

Pistol stretched his legs, front and then back. Wagging his tail, he went to his master. Thal was peeking through the chapel door. Dull lavender light faintly lit the stained glass windows. He scanned the garden, confirmed that it was still empty, and slipped out into the dusk.

After wrapping his cloak tightly and tugging his hat low, he emerged onto a street and went to the Condottiere's house. Without acknowledging the proprietor or servants, he hurried up the stairs to his friend's suite.

Valentino answered the door with his manservant.

"Are my friends safe?" Thal asked without delay.

Before answering, Valentino told his manservant to go downstairs. The man shrugged and happily abandoned his chores.

Bolting the door, Valentino told Thal that the musicians were recuperating at Carmelita's. "I was worried that you were caught," Valentino added.

"An attempt was made," Thal said. He sat down while Pistol sniffed around the room to see if anything had changed since that morning.

Valentino faced a mirror hanging over a table with a water basin. He returned to combing his hair and admiring the progress of his grooming. "I was waiting here as long as I could, hoping you would come back," he said.

Pistol stopped next to a cuirass leaning against the wall. Thal recognized the rose design on the armor and said, "Did you slay Jan Bradcek?"

Valentino set down his comb and fiddled with his earrings. "No, I just took his armor and gun," he said.

Despite his many upsetting concerns Thal could not resist laughing. "I'll have to kill him later," he said.

"I told him to get out of the city. He'll go," Valentino said.

"No, not him. Not after he's come this far," Thal argued.

Valentino shrugged. He inspected himself in the mirror again and said, "Perhaps you're right. Men are stupid that way."

Noting the Condottiere's clean clothes and fresh face, Thal said, "Meeting her Ladyship?"

"Yes. She has a message for you. She can't extend hospitality to you anymore. She is sorry," Valentino said.

"I know."

"I told her as much. And damn you Thal, but I think she would have it otherwise," Valentino said.

"She's not the woman in my heart," Thal said to ease his friend's jealousy.

"Ah yes, your complication," Valentino said. He pulled a chair up next to Thal and continued, "Now, Thal, I know you don't want to be part of my business but please heed my advice. You need to get out of the city. I can help you with that. We'll go tomorrow. I'll set you up with a little command in Pilsen and you can hide out. I know we could go far together with your special powers. I know powerful people who appreciate powerful friends."

When Thal did not immediately dismiss the proposal, Valentino added gently, "You need a place to take that woman you want."

Thal had only been half listening. Valentino wanted access to his power, but Thal understood that powers acted upon him. The vengeance for his mother was not complete. Her spell would nag at him until the Magistrate was gone. Or perhaps it was his angry heart that demanded action. Thal decided there was little difference between the two.

He brought out his purse and spilled some coins into his hand. The gold florins sparkled with a greedy gleam. "I'd like to buy that extra set of armor," he said.

Valentino extended a hand. "You can have it as a token of partnership between us," he offered.

Instead of shaking hands, Thal stood up and gave a florin to Valentino.

Valentino closed his fingers over the coin but frowned with frustration. "The armor's worth more than that," he complained, disappointed not to have struck the deal he wanted.

"You also get my pledge of friendship, Valentino," Thal said.

The Condottiere understood the distinction and was content. He pocketed the coin. "Stay here tonight. I'll get you out of the city tomorrow, my friend," he said.

Thal tossed off his cloak and fur and picked up the armor.

"What are you doing?" Valentino asked suspiciously.

"I intend to finish my business in Old Town tonight. It'll be dangerous but this armor should help," Thal said. He looked over the armor, trying to judge how roomy a fit it could offer him.

"Do you need help?" Valentino asked.

Thal shook his head. "You mustn't involve yourself with me tonight. I will act alone," he said.

Valentino hesitated to argue. He guessed that Thal was going after a more important person tonight than a constable and some grungy gaolers. Valentino knew to pick his battles wisely – a skill he hoped to impart to Thal someday.

Thal put on the armor. Jan's scent on it reminded him of his hatred of the man, but his punishment could wait. Thal needed to move against the Magistrate. His hesitation had already increased the danger. The attack that afternoon by men employed by Vito warned him that the Jesuit had more trouble planned for him too.

"How will I find you again?" Valentino asked as Thal finished getting the armor on.

"I'll find you," Thal said evasively.

"Well I suppose you've had no trouble darkening my door so far," Valentino remarked.

Thal arranged his fur inside his cloak as he usually did, but paused after swinging the fabric across his chest. His eyes lost focus as he heeded senses other than his eyes. Pistol growled very quietly. Valentino noticed the twitch of Thal's nostrils.

Despite his unsettled feeling, Thal's senses delivered no tangible details. He listened to the world outside for a moment longer but heard nothing out of the ordinary. Unhappily he recognized the bothersome sense of being hunted. He had observed many animals in the same state, but having the feeling creep across his nerves was very disquieting.

"I must go," he whispered and rushed to the window. He lowered himself out and dropped to the ground and ran away. Pistol scratched at the door until Valentino let him out.

Pushing the bolt back in place, Valentino went to the window. "Good luck, my friend," he whispered.

Accepting that Thal needed to be left to his dark deeds tonight, Valentino got his cape and riding gloves. He anticipated recounting his adventures to Carmelita. The Condottiere held up a candle and checked his appearance in the mirror one more time, but a sudden chill across his back made him forget to look at himself. He whirled and saw the bolt on his door moving on its own accord. The gentle grind of its mechanical motion roared in his ears.

He dropped the candle. It went out and hot wax splashed across the floor boards. He whipped out his rapier as the door swung open. Lunging forward, he meant to attack, but his rapier started shaking. Startled by the inexplicable vibration, he almost dropped his sword.

A man clothed in a long black cloak and dusty boots glided into the room. His hood hid his eyes but a pointy nose and thin lips on a pale face projected from the shadowy cowl.

Valentino yelled and thrust with his rapier, but the blade shook harder. The intruder stepped back on light feet. Only the tinkle of his silver spurs made real his steps. He held up two small black daggers. A toss of his head shook off his hood, and his startling blue topaz eyes confronted Valentino.

"Do not attack!" he commanded and kicked shut the door.

Valentino stepped back but kept his sword ready. His thudding heart powered him for action, but the dreamy appearance of the intruder stymied his aggression. A strange blend of fear and curiosity kept Valentino at bay.

The intruder, content that Valentino was under control, circled the room. He touched the chair where Thal had sat and then went to the open window. Excitement lit his bright eyes.

"He was just here," the man said.

"Who are you?" Valentino demanded.

The intruder lowered his knives and faced the Condottiere. "Where is Thal going?" he said.

"Who?" Valentino said although he knew he was making a poor effort at lying.

The intruder ignored the evasion. Unblinking, he approached Valentino very slowly. With the point of one of his black knives he eased aside the rapier and looked deeply into Valentino's eyes.

The Condottiere wanted to look away, but the glittering energy of the soul beaming through those startling eyes made action impossible.

"Where was Thal going?" he asked gently.

"To Old Town to kill people," Valentino said, shocked at the truth passing his lips.

"Thank you," the man said, if he was a man.

He moved to the door but stopped before opening it. He looked back at Valentino. "Is this Thal as powerful as the stories say?" he asked.

Valentino nodded.

The confirmation impressed the intruder.

"What do you want of him?" Valentino said.

Surprised by the question, the man focused again more firmly on the Condottiere. "I was not here," he said and went out. Slowly the bolt edged back into place.

Valentino shook off his confusion. He felt like he had to sneeze. When he lifted his hand to itch his nose, he was surprised to see that he was gripping his rapier.

Images slipped from his mind as if he were trying to remember a vivid dream that vanished upon waking. Certain that something supernatural had occurred, he yanked open his door and looked up and down the hall. Then he went downstairs and asked his manservant if he had seen anything. The servant looked up from his mug of pilsner and shook his head. His drinking companions also insisted that no one had come or gone.

Unable to act upon his uncanny feelings, Valentino told his manservant to get his horse saddled. He was overdue for his visit to Carmelita. Worry for Thal nagged at him, but a man would be a fool to seek the wolf at night.

#  Chapter 45. Deserved and Undeserved

Thal rummaged quietly through the boats. He could hear some men playing dice near a fish market shed, but they had not noticed him and Pistol sneaking around the docks.

After causing so much alarm in the city, Thal could not risk paying a boatman to take him to Old Town, and the bridge was surely being watched.

When he found a suitable basket, he stole it along with some rope. Slipping farther away from the men laughing and grumbling over their dice, he took off his armor, clothes, and gear and piled them in the basket. He took care to wrap his guns carefully, hoping to keep them dry.

He tied the rope around his waist and attached it to his basket. Quietly he lowered himself into the river without a splash. The current enveloped him and he swam across it.

Pistol whined and trotted back and forth. The little dog stopped at the edge but failed to work up the courage to jump. He barked.

Thal looked back and treaded water while he flowed along. "Hush! Take the bridge," he hissed. His dog fussed on the dock for a moment longer and then raced away.

Pistol darted down the street curving along the river bank toward the Kamenny Most. He made barely any more noise than a rat. Armed guards on foot and on horse clogged the entrance to the bridge. Torches blazed and highlighted the thick stone blocks of the bridge. The bright moon watched over the summer night expectantly. Across the flowing blackness of the Vltava, roving clusters of torches were bright on the streets of Old Town.

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.

The cries of the woman chained behind Altea indicated that she was already being fully raped. Altea squeezed shut her eyes and prepared to endure the great violation. Sick dread swooped through her stomach. She would have vomited if she had eaten anything that day.

"Nasty dry witch," complained the man in the other cell. "Hey, finish up with that young thing so I can get on her."

"Don't rush me," the man holding Altea said. He opened his pants and pressed his cock against her. She clenched her body and tried to send her mind to another place, but even the imaginary places of her bleak world shut their doors on her.

The man in the other cell suddenly cried out. His prisoner had yanked her chain out of the bars and swung it at him. He pulled his knife and plunged it into her chest. Gasping and gurgling she dropped to her knees.

"You killed her!" exclaimed the man with Altea. He pulled away. "Vito wants them alive. Damn, he'll be mad."

The other man stepped away from the body toppling at his feet. He was rubbing his shoulder where she had hit him. "It just happened," he said.

"I'm not taking any blame," said the blonde man. Irritated by the interruption, he seized Altea again.

"Did you hear that?" the other man said.

"Shut up," the man with Altea grunted. He pressed on her ribs and the pain made her stop twisting away from him. The iron bars were cold against her bare buttocks. He thrust at her vengefully. His hardness shocked her. There was no resisting it.

Then he froze. A long howl resonated through the walls from nearby.

"I told you," the other man said. He looked down the hall.

"Thal!" Altea cried. Then with searing hatred she finally looked her attacker in the eyes and said, "He'll kill you."

The threat carried great weight considering Thal had just murdered everyone on duty in the jail the night before. Fear replaced his dominating glee. In his moment of distraction, Altea smashed a knee into his scrotum.

"Ahhhh!" he yelled and blundered backward clutching his withering genitals.

"Thal!" Altea screamed with all the voice she had left. Hope flooded back into her heart with astonishing force. "Thal!"

The other man came into her cell and hit her. "Shut up!" he yelled and helped his companion.

Altea tried to pull her hands free, but the grip of the links upon her swollen hands remained tight.

"Thal!" she screamed again.

The blonde man glared at her with murderous fury. His pants were pulled up now and he meant to assault her in new ways. Altea's chains chimed against the bars as she shook them in a desperate frenzy. Her sudden hope for rescue quailed from the immediate danger.

"You're going in the maiden!" the blonde man yelled. He started unwinding the chains. Once her hands fell free he grabbed her hair and pulled her out of the cell. She wailed wildly.

Gun fire blasted in the street. Yelling and screaming gave way to snarling. A man in the street flopped down to a window in the cell block.

"Help us!" he yelled. Then he was pulled backwards.

"Let her go! We have to fight," cried the jailer to the man hauling Altea into the torture chamber, but his comrade was too intent on his revenge.

He bashed into a table in the dark room and cussed. Altea tried to grab a table leg but her hands were useless. A fistful of her hair tore out and her tormentor had to renew his grip. He clamped both hands over her throat and lifted her. With a clatter, he bashed her across a rack of nasty tools on the wall and then pressed her into the nightmare box. He held her there with hands on her throat. Her whimpering sobs pleased him while he caught his breath.

******

Thal beat on the jail door. It was locked tonight. His urgent madness masked the pain of his wounds. On the street his blood mingled with the spattered gore of those who had opposed him. Bracing his shoulder against the burly door, he pushed with all his might. His claws scraped across the cobbles.

He stepped back to gather himself for another attempt. He reconsidered going back to the court building and using the back entrance. That door was less sturdy, but he had needed to clear out the men outside the jail if he was to rescue Altea.

During the hectic and short lived battle, he had not heard her screams, but now her shriek penetrated into his bones. Panic urged him to bash himself mindlessly against the door, but then his sensitive ears perceived someone approaching from within. He quieted his breath and hoped to get lucky. The final pleas of the men-at-arms for help were apparently drawing someone out.

When he heard the bar lift inside, he propelled his body through the door. He knocked the man aside and pounced on him. He never got a chance to lift his sword before Thal clamped his jaws on his head. After one twist the neck was broken.

He thundered on all fours down the hall, drawn by Altea's sobbing like air to a fire. His eyes pierced the reeking darkness and he tasted the scent of the scoundrel tormenting her. He was heaving shut a door to enclose Altea in some horrible confinement. He turned when Thal burst into the chamber, but could only fling up his hands in useless defense. Thal chomped onto an arm. Bones crunched and blood spurted. The werewolf flung him across the room. He crashed across the collection of scattered torture devices. Thal jumped on him and tore him apart with ungodly abandon. His screams did not last long.

Thal rose up on his back legs with the hot blood of his victim dripping from his teeth. Altea's stuttering gasps marked her futile struggle to push back the half open door of the iron maiden. In an instant Thal flung open the door. Altea tumbled out and he caught her in his furry arms. The hard bloody slickness of his armor distressed her when she fell upon it and she tried to pull away. He held her tightly yet tenderly and dragged her out of the torture chamber. She gasped and squeaked in a state of terror.

In the weak lantern light, he beheld the details of her abuse. Chunks were gone from her hair. Blood seeped off her scalp. Her breasts and torso were revealed in the gaps in her tattered garment. Bloody splotches marred the pale fabric in lines up and down her body where blood seeped from tiny holes. Her dangling thumbs were a wreckage of torn flesh and cracked bone.

He growled with outrage but the sound scared her. Calming his natural sounds of displeasure, he held her gently and nuzzled her with his broad wet nose.

Her severe trembling vibrated against his nostrils, yet still he delighted in her living scent.

"Thal?" she whispered.

He grunted, longing to say her name with all the love he felt. His tongue touched her cheek. The sweet gesture seemed to reassure her, but Thal knew they were far from safety, if such a place existed for them.

With his powerful arms he swept her off her failing legs and carried her out of the jail. Bodies slumped in the street. The moonlight enhanced the darkness of the wet puddles beneath them. One groaning man was dragging himself up some steps. He shrank down upon the stones as Thal passed by.

Thal crossed the Old Town Square openly. A few people peeked at him from dark side streets but no one rushed out to engage the monster.

The banging and chiming of the wondrous Town Hall clock began its dance to mark the late hour. The skeleton of death paraded appropriately with the moonshine upon its skull face.

Thal returned to the Magistrate's house. Pistol rushed out to greet him. Gently Thal set Altea down. Pistol sniffed her and curled upon next to her to offer his sweet sympathy.

Standing on all fours, Thal sagged with weariness. Carrying Altea after his prolonged battles had not been easy. He tried to calm the tempest of emotions bashing the shores of his mind. He was still in the heart of the city with an incapacitated woman and he had to think of what to do.

He let go of his magic and jerked and writhed through the transformation back to a man. His naked body within the armor throbbed and his wounds stung sharply. He retrieved his bundle from under the cart.

"Thal?" Altea whispered. She had clung to the dog while listening to his painful thrashing.

"I'm here," he whispered while he dressed.

"You came for me," she said.

He returned to her side and set a hand on her cheek. The warmth of his palm and the delicate pressure of his finger tips infused her with the magic of his compassion. After so many horrors, this man who was also a beast showed her true humanity.

Thal wanted to apologize and confess all his flawed actions, but there was no time. He had caused this atrocity and now she could never be returned to the society he had imagined that she should belong to. He was responsible for what had happened and now responsible for her life. Although he knew there was no making things up to her, he promised himself that he would take care of her.

"I'll be back," he said and stood up.

"Don't go," she whimpered.

He ran up the back steps into her house. Thal ran to her bedroom. He seized the disheveled blankets and threw in a few objects off her dressing table. He wished he could do better for her but her survival depended on speed. The quiet streets did not lessen his worry. A sense of being hunted clung to the edge of his mind.

He took the bundle outside and wrapped Altea in blankets. She tried to stifle her cries of pain when he moved her. He lifted her into the cart and set Pistol next to her.

Ignoring his pain, Thal lifted the cart handles and rolled her away. Blood was flowing under his clothing in several places. Through the quiet streets he pushed the cart as fast as he could. He approached the New Tower gate openly even though it was guarded.

"Don't say anything," he whispered to Altea.

The guard house door opened and a man stepped out with a spear and a lantern.

"Who's there at this hour?" the guard challenged.

Thal flipped back his cloak and set a hand conspicuously on a pistol. "This is an emergency. This girl got cut up in a brothel and I'm taking her to a surgeon I know outside the walls," Thal explained.

Someone inside said something to the man in the door, but he hushed him. "Why care so much about a whore?" asked the guard.

"That's no business of yours. Stand aside. It's your job to keep people out fools," Thal said.

"Plenty of surgeons in Old Town," the voice from inside argued.

"And they're busy. Do you even know what's been happening in the city tonight? A werewolf is on the rampage. Men are dead. I'm getting out," Thal said.

Voices kept whispering behind inside, but Thal started pushing his cart even without their leave. He carted Altea through the great archway and no one chose to stop him. With plodding steps he marched in the predawn dark through the winding lanes and up a hill until he reached the ruin of his mother's cottage.

He parked the cart behind the charred remains of the little home and checked on Altea. She was unconscious but breathing.

Thal sought the herb garden where he had watched his mother trim and dig many times. Growing up as her son, he had learned more herb lore than most. Her garden was desecrated. Most of the plants had been torn out, but as he expected the stubborn comfrey had grown back splendidly. He tore off many of the big leaves. He gleaned a few more tattered herbs. While still on his knees, he paused to remember his mother. She had always looked content while tending her garden. A memory of her as a younger woman covered in sunshine and surrounded by flowers cleared some of the bloody mayhem from his mind.

"Be at peace, Mother. I've done your bidding and given you justice," he said.

Slowly he got to his feet. He could not stay here. Many people lived at the bottom of the hill. Returning to the cart, he cut a bed sheet into strips to make bandages. He took off his armor and stripped down to tend his wounds. A lead ball had grazed his right arm and left a wide cut. Both his legs had cuts but the worst cut was on his hip where a spear had grazed him. It stung with every step. He found a lead ball embedded in his armor. It had almost gone through and the inward bulge of metal had bruised his pectoral.

After getting dressed, he tried to tend Altea. She moaned for water but he had none. The dark made it hard to assess her wounds and he dared not risk a fire so close to people. He packed up and started pushing the cart down the back side of the hill. Moving the cart across rough ground was a trial but better than carrying her.

Thal tried to recall his youthful days spent exploring this area. Trusting in himself, he headed toward a woods. The land rose and became rockier. He had to heave the cart over numerous tree roots and rocks. When the dawn came, its golden light made love to the leafy landscape. Mist clung to the low places and the dew left his boots and pant legs wet.

The unblemished natural surroundings were a great contrast to Altea's battered body. Her eyes were shut. Her vital glow was gone. Blood and bruises were her jewelry now, and Thal fought back tears because his guilt was undeniable. His only comforts were that the men who had brutalized her were dead and that she was alive.

I will heal her, he pledged.

Once he was deep in the woodland, he found a stream and struggled through the tangled vegetation until he found the spring that fed it.

Altea moaned when he took her out of the cramped cart and arranged her gently upon the ground. He brought her a cup of the springwater and gently lifted her head. It took a long time to help her drink, sip by sip, but the water revived her a little.

Pain pinched her face. She tried to speak but Thal put a finger upon her lips to hush her. She watched him with grateful eyes as he washed the blood and grime from her face and body. His tender care touched her heart deeply.

She watched him frown as he puzzled over the little punctures up and down her torso and thighs. Remembering how very close the teeth of the iron maiden had come to sinking in, Altea shuddered.

"Sorry," Thal said.

She shook her head and he understood that she was reacting to her trauma and not his touch. Gently he pressed his fingers around the gruesome black and green bruises forming around her lower ribs. Several ribs were broken and he worked with the comfrey leaves to make a paste that he applied all over her sides and chest.

After he explained that he wanted to wrap bandages around her torso, she let him help her sit up. He drew down her torn nightgown to her waist. Bare chested, Altea felt no flush of modesty but rather disappointment because she could not be beautiful for him.

Thal worked with long strips of the cut bed sheet and wound them around her broken ribs. She winced many times while holding up her arms so he could work. He covered her breasts with the bindings as well. When he tied the last knot, he looked into her eyes.

He kissed her forehead and then her lips. She leaned against him, needing his strength and grateful for his tenderness.

"I will make you better," he whispered.

Her throat choked with emotion. She kissed him back, knowing already that the torture she had experienced would make her appreciate love all the more.

Sympathetic to her piteous pain, he eased her back onto the blanket. Her long yellow hair pooled around her face. Thal thought the blank patches in her tresses helped him notice more of the loveliness of her face.

After his lingering moment of admiration, he took a deep breath. The time to tend her thumbs had come. Thal felt inadequate to the task. He was a hunter. A killer. He took flesh apart, and he understood now that those were easy things. Now he must heal, and he respected the abilities of his mother more than ever before. Trying to remember the many times he had seen her tend people, he prepared himself to tackle the challenge. He understood suddenly those moments when he had seen her close her eyes and physically brace herself before helping people.

He washed the crusty wounds and found the edges of skin and tissue. The cracked bones were in there too and he put them back in line as best he could. Many times Altea cried out. He got her a stick to bite on while he worked. Valiantly she tried to stifle her moans while he concentrated. He took his time but the reconstruction was not as hopeless as he had feared. While he worked sweat beaded on his forehead and flies gathered, drawn by the blood. Thal brushed them away many times. Altea suffered while he set her thumbs, applied comfrey poultices, and bandaged them with tiny splints he carved from sticks with a hunting knife.

When he finished Altea was very pale. "Thank you," she sobbed.

Thal walked into the trees down the stream. He hung his face into his hands, overwhelmed by what he had just accomplished. Forcing himself to work upon her while knowing it caused her terrible pain had been very difficult. Eventually he wiped his eyes and nose and went back to her. He stretched out alongside her and spread his cloak and fur over them. Despite her awful state and his shame, Thal took great comfort from simply holding her close. He went to sleep with a hand upon her shoulder. Pistol snuggled up too, hungry and with an aching heart.

# Chapter 47. He Bids Thee Come

With Pistol's help Thal killed a rabbit. He sat by his fire roasting it and watching Altea. She was sleeping and he was thankful for that.

Many times that day twitching fits had shuddered through her body while she pleaded for mercy in her sleep. Thal had held her through each nightmare until her bloodshot eyes opened. Upon seeing him she had melted with relief and gone back to sleep.

Pain troubled her as well and woke her often. Thal wished he could do more to comfort her. He expected the food to help a little.

His stomach rumbled ravenously as the aroma of the rabbit drifted up from the fire. Pistol rolled around in the leaves playing with the fresh rabbit skin. He had eaten the entrails and was close to content. Thal checked the meat. Some bloody juice still oozed out and he adjusted its position over the fire.

When it was done, he let it cool and then roused Altea.

"You must eat," he said.

"I don't think I can," she whispered.

"Of course you can," he said and held a little chunk under her nose.

She took the food. Chewing the tough and gamey bite took some effort but as soon as it got down to her stomach she nodded for more. Thal smiled, pleased to see the spark of life in her. She ate steadily until she noticed that the rabbit was almost all gone.

"Where's your food?" she asked, turning her mouth from the piece he held up for her.

"You need this to heal," he said.

"But you must be hungry," she argued.

"I am fine."

She shook her head. "I've had enough." When he started to insist, she said, "You must eat too."

Her firm tone surprised him and he acquiesced. After he ate the dainty front legs and nibbled the ration off the back, he recognized that she had been right. He needed his strength too. Thal tossed the bones to Pistol. Even with his hunger quite unsatisfied, he was pleased to have taken care of his two companions.

In the distance the abrupt baying of hunting dogs ruined his tiny good feeling. Altea had shut her eyes again but Pistol had heard it. Thal rushed through the underbrush until he emerged with his dog onto a little ridge that looked down the slope. Again the baying sounded. He judged that it came from the direction of the city. The dogs were not close, but he needed to get farther from Prague. Altea needed shelter, and he did not know how to accomplish either.

At least the tall trees obscured the smoke from his little fire and they had good water. Although he hated to leave Altea alone, he needed to get more food so she could regain some strength. He debated whether he should hunt or slink onto a farm and steal something. That would be quickest he reasoned and she did not need to know.

From his vantage point he watched the land. Evening was drawing down. A flock of starlings swirled up and down over a patch of trees. He did not hear the dogs again, but the feeling that he was not alone kept ripening inside him.

He checked on Altea. She was still asleep. He bade Pistol to stay with her and then stole off quietly into the woods. At the edge of an outlying meadow he found a place to watch the trail he had broken to the spring. Most plants that he had bent with the cart during his passing had popped back up through the day, but someone with a good eye could still find the trail.

Thal checked his guns to make sure they were properly loaded. Sinking down into the weeds, he tapped into his predatory patience and waited.

Sagging seed heads of grass brushed his cheeks and tried to lull him with the lazy peace of the countryside, but his attention remained edgy. When a raven flew over him and screeched, he knew something was amiss.

Finally he heard the jingle of tack and the swish of a horse tail swatting bugs. A single rider approached.

Thinking that it was some scout broken off from a hunting party, Thal fingered a pistol thoughtfully. He might not want to risk the noise, and the prospect of spilling more blood depressed him. But if it was the only way to keep Altea and himself safe, then he must.

When the rider appeared across the meadow, Thal was surprised by his appearance. A black cape was swept back from his shoulders. His hair was very dark, straight, and held in a ponytail. He rode a black horse with a white blaze. The steed came from fine stock. Its sleek yet powerful body and long legs showed that it had been bred for speed. The man's black clothing was of fine fabric and construction. Nothing about him suggested that he was some local ranger hired into a fugitive hunting party by whatever official was left alive in Prague to arrange such things.

A bounty hunter? Thal wondered.

Ending the career of such a threat with a lead ball to the skull began to bother Thal much less. After the rider disappeared into the foliage Thal snuck along very carefully with a pistol drawn. When his dog started barking he knew the man was upon his camp.

Prowling from tree to tree, he came up behind the rider. The man dismounted and regarded Pistol's yapping with his hands on his hips.

Altea was awake and terrified of the stranger. She glanced around for Thal. To her credit, when she spotted him approaching stealthily, she looked away quickly. He admired her quick thinking that did not spoil his ambush.

"Who are you?" she demanded, quavering with vulnerability.

"Who are you?" the man asked back. His accent was a little strange to Thal's ears. He could not be from Prague.

Thal rushed forward and leveled a pistol at the man's head. The horse shied away and the man whirled. He appeared about to fling something from his hand, but he straightened and withdrew his hands into the fluttering folds of his cape.

"Put your hands up," Thal said and gestured with his pistol.

Slowly the man raised his hands.

"Answer her question. Who are you?" Thal said. He circled around the intruder so he could be near Altea and keep her out of the line of fire. Pistol yapped a couple more times and settled into a steady growl.

The man stared hard at Thal, seemingly preoccupied by something other than the pistol pointed at his forehead. His eyes were strikingly blue, but it was his poise that had Thal's attention.

"I am Mileko."

"And how are you going to convince me not to kill you?" Thal said, very curious to hear the answer.

"Because I've come to help you, Thal Lesky," Mileko said. "It appears your need is great. The good people of Prague are rather upset by your penchant for killing sprees. Gangs with dogs are roving all over."

"Their dogs won't track me," Thal said.

"Why not?"

"They respect me," Thal said.

The response impressed Mileko. "Still you need help. Don't you want it?" he said.

Thal was very uncertain about Mileko but he sensed no lie behind the offer of help. Slowly he lowered his gun. Altea gasped lightly but said nothing, choosing to trust him.

"How did you come by the name Lesky?" Mileko asked as he lowered his arms.

"I made it up," Thal said.

Altea was surprised. She had not known that people could make up their names.

"You've made quite a name for yourself," Mileko remarked.

"Why do you want to help me?" Thal demanded.

Slowly Mileko reached inside his jacket. "My Master bid me give you this token. He said you would recognize it," he said and drew out a silver medallion on a chain.

Thal approached Mileko and accepted the medallion. He held it in his palm and stared at the lupine face with tiny runes around it. He turned it over and there was a moon stamped into the shining silver.

The object struck Thal deeply. He did recognize it. As a boy it had hung around his neck. He had fingered the medallion while falling asleep each night.

"Who is your Master?" Thal asked.

"Your father."

Thal closed his fingers over the medallion. A rush of memory overtook him. He was upon the altar. The potion he had consumed was altering his mind. Colors were different. His flesh felt watery. His father leaned over him. The rune tattoos upon his chest blurred and squiggled and danced on the skin. His father's strong hands drew off the chain from his neck. Fondly he laid a hand on Thal's cheek as if in farewell.

Thal blinked and came back to the present. "My father," he whispered in shock.

"He is pleased to hear of you. He had given up hope that ever you would come back from the forest. He bids thee come to him for you are most welcome," Mileko said.

"Where is he?" Thal asked.

"His castle is in the Tatras Mountains in the land of the Slovaks," Mileko answered.

Castle, Thal thought.

Mileko studied Thal and deemed that his master would not be disappointed. His youth surprised him. The powers within him had to be strong, and Mileko truly accepted that his Master's tales of great works in his past had not been exaggerated, or at least not in this instance.

"How did he know about me?" Thal wondered.

"He dreamed of you and sent his minions to see if you truly did walk now as a man. Then he sent me. Who is this woman?" Mileko said and stepped toward Altea.

Thal surged into his path. Mileko halted and took note of the intensity of Thal's flaring temper. "Both of you are injured. Let me help. I have some medicine," he said.

"What do you have?" Thal said.

"Some healing salve. A little food," Mileko answered.

Reluctantly Thal nodded. Mileko went to his horse to fetch his supplies. Thal stooped beside Altea and showed her the medallion. "I remember this. He is from my father," he told her.

"Is that a good thing?" she whispered.

Thal regarded the silver wolf as if expecting it to give him an answer. Good was not a word he would use with his father. He slipped the medallion around his neck. "Methinks we shall find out," he said.

Although hardly reassured, Altea accepted that any help was far better than none, but she cringed when Mileko approached with a bag. She reached for Thal but her useless hand slipped off his wrist because pain struck her like a hammer. It was hard to make the mind forget it had thumbs.

Gasping, she shook her head. "Don't let him touch me," she begged.

Thal put up a hand. "Stay back and give me what you have," he said.

Mileko complied but stared at Altea, greatly intrigued by her. When Thal came up to him, he whispered, "Did you hurt her when you were changed?"

Thal bristled with disdain that Mileko would think him so out of control. "She was tortured at the Prague jail...because of me," he said.

"How bad are her injuries?" Mileko said, expecting her condition to be hopeless.

"I think she can recover," Thal said.

"Is she your mate?" Mileko inquired softly, determined to learn why Thal had rescued this injured woman.

"Give me what you have," Thal said tersely.

Mileko handed him a small bag and told him to use the salve in the dark jar. It would help wounds heal instead of fester. Thal expressed his gratitude and went back to Altea.

Thal put the salve on the puncture wounds left by the iron maiden. She complained that it stung and he hoped that was a good sign. Then he began the unpleasant task of unbandaging her thumbs. He worked with meticulous care and pried off the fabric from her crusted and oozing skin as gently as he could. Altea trembled and tears fell, but she kept still.

"You're so brave and strong," he praised.

Although encouraged, she did cry out several times as he applied the salve to her thumbs. The salve burned deeply but she endured it. The ordeal was not as bad as when he had set the bones that morning.

Carefully he bandaged and splinted the thumbs again and eased her onto her back. "Rest. I will protect you," he said.

"Don't leave me," she said.

"I won't," he promised. The lump in his throat choked him with guilt for the misery he had brought her.

She shut her eyes and Thal returned his attention to Mileko. The mysterious man was rekindling the fire.

"You have a good eye for hiding spots. We can have a fire tonight," he said.

Thal stood over him, still amazed by the arrival of his father's agent.

"Let me tend your wounds," Mileko said.

Thal agreed and Mileko spread what was left of the salve on Thal's arm and hip. "I saw the evidence of your mighty battles. Your father will be impressed," Mileko commented as he worked.

"How do you know my father?" Thal asked.

"I'm his protégé," Mileko answered proudly.

"What is his name?"

The question surprised Mileko. "You don't remember? Mayhap you can't. He said you ran with wolves a long time. I suspect he has many names. I know him as Sarputeen."

Sarpu! The word burst into Thal's mind like someone rushing in a door with urgent news. He remembered people calling his father Sarpu. They had spoken it like an honorary title.

"We shall leave for his home in the morning," Mileko said.

"I don't know if Altea can travel," Thal said.

Mileko looked over his shoulder at the sleeping woman, taking note of her name. He had not expected this complication. "We can risk taking her a short distance. There is a convent not far..."

"No," Thal cut him off. "She stays with me." Then in a heavier tone he added, "There is no one who will take her in."

"She is accused of witchcraft," Mileko surmised, putting the clues together. He had not been in Prague long but had noticed the building hysteria.

"Because of me. I lured her to me. I told myself I had a good reason, but it was only my desire," Thal said. The words had spilled out and he hated that he had made such an admission to Mileko, but perhaps he had needed to air his guilt before confessing it to Altea.

"Man is ever the ruin of woman," Mileko remarked casually.

Thal supposed the man had a point, especially in his case. "She must travel with us, when she can," he said.

Mileko fed twigs into the fire. The little flames filled his unblinking eyes as he went over the situation in his mind. "We must avoid the roads until we are well away from Prague. After what you did, you'll be as notorious as Luther. Why all the killing?" He looked at Thal, very interested in the answer.

Thal explained why he had acted as he did, and Mileko went back to staring at the fire.

"Did my father speak to you of my mother?" Thal asked.

Mileko shook his head. He took some bread out of his bag and shared it with Thal, who set aside a piece for Altea.

"We'll have to hide deeper in the woods until Altea can travel," Thal decided. "Do you think you can go into the city and get more supplies before we move?"

"I suspect helping you is going to be hard work," Mileko quipped.

"And could you take a message to my friends?" Thal added. He needed to extend an apology to his friends and tell them he was all right.

"Who are your friends?" Mileko asked.

Thal explained about the musicians and where they were staying with Lady Carmelita. He also told him about Valentino who deserved a parting word as well.

"Ah, the Condottiere," Mileko said smilingly. "He meant to put a sword through me."

"You saw him?"

"I almost found you at his house but you had slipped away ahead of me. You are a hard man to catch," Mileko said and realized that he would still be trying to achieve his mission if the tortured woman had not made Thal stop.

"What did he tell you?" Thal demanded.

"Don't think ill of your friend. He won't recollect what he said to me," Mileko said and let that revelation sink in with Thal, so that the werewolf would know that he was in the company of an extraordinary man.

Mileko continued, "I'll go forth and make sure those hunting parties don't find your trail."

"How will you do that?" Thal wondered.

Mileko stood up and tossed his bag over his shoulder. "I have my ways," he said. "Tomorrow I'll venture into the city and get supplies and deliver your messages."

"Thank you," Thal said.

"You're welcome. I was worried that you would not want to go to your father," Mileko said.

In that event Thal suspected that Mileko might have had some type of coercion to fall back upon. Sarputeen had sent a powerful man to fetch him.

"I want to see my father. I hadn't known if he was alive. He must be very old," Thal said.

"He must be," Mileko murmured.

A ray of the setting sun came through the foliage and hit Mileko's face. Thal noted the crow's feet at the man's eyes. He was older than his smooth and pale face seemed at first glance. Thal watched him lead his horse to the stream to drink before riding away.

Sarputeen, Thal thought and dwelled on his disjointed memories of his father. Part of him was happy to learn that his father was alive and had sent aid at his most dire time. But Thal knew to be wary. His father commanded the forces that had shaped him.

He took the crust of bread to Altea and woke her so she would eat again. Then he settled in next to her. He stroked her hair and kissed her neck.

The dusk faintly revealed her sorrowful face. "I can never go home," she said.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," she said.

"It is. I brought all of this on you. I'm so sorry. My desire for you made me seduce you. I should not have been so weak," he said and felt worse than ever.

She silenced his miserable confession with a kiss. Even in her battered state, the connection soothed her flesh. The defiant flush of pleasure gave her hope that she would recover and that a new life awaited her. A life with Thal.

"I wanted you. I always wanted you from the first moment," she said. "Now I know you love me. You came for me. You saved me. When they tormented me they said you wouldn't come..." Tears clogged her speech and Thal kissed her forehead, trying to comfort her.

"Only death would have kept me away," he said passionately. Amid his guilt he found relief in the fact that he had saved her.

"Martin was going to rape me. He was working up to it. I didn't know what to do," Altea said. Despite her humiliation she wanted Thal to know that her life had been disintegrating anyway.

Fury tore at Thal's heart. The grisly end he had visited upon her stepfather now seemed inadequate.

"I killed him," he said.

Her mixed emotions denied her enjoyment of the vengeance. She pitied her brothers but when Martin had let them take her away to her doom he had stripped her of humanity. Her nothingness to him and to everyone else had cast her spirit into a desert to wither to dust.

"I confessed to the witchcraft. They wrote it down," she said.

"It does not matter," he said.

Knowing that he was trying to offer comfort, she did not argue but her ingrained faith remained ashamed. Her Church had no sanctuary or blessing for her anymore. And her lack of any skills in witchcraft only made it worse. Condemnation without the power was her lot.

Thal started kissing her again. He could not stop himself. The robust living smell of the woodland and the rising moon eased his aching heart and let him express his love.

Altea relaxed and let his restrained passion distract her from the pain. She longed to know more of what they could do together, but her injuries demanded that their touches remain tentative. The tickling prickle of his facial hair against her chin and the light explorations of his tongue renewed her spirit. Her world was shattered but she could imagine the joys that life with Thal would bring.

After she fell asleep, Thal sat up and spread his fur over her. The moonlight made him itch with the need to transform but it was best that his fur keep her warm through the night.

He even hoped that the enchanted fur would lend some of its power to her flesh and speed her healing. He wondered what would happen if he spoke the spell with the fur on her instead of himself, but he dared not experiment. He might corrupt her flesh somehow or make her a raving beast worse than Rainer.

Reflecting upon his disastrous encounters with the other werewolf, he regretted that he had not been more forceful with Rainer. Perhaps if he had commanded him more precisely then he would have obeyed and be alive. Thal still believed that he could have helped the monk make peace with his condition.

And that condition was likely something Thal could inflict upon others. He expected that his father would be able to tell him more about his powers.

Anticipation to meet with Sarputeen burned inside him, but all of that must wait until Altea was able to travel.

Gently he ran a hand across the fur over the curve of her hip. His carnal curiosity smoldered with impatience. No matter how much his conscience lashed him for the wrongs he had done to her, his lust could not be shamed. When the time came for them to join in love, he would act with joy.

#  Chapter 48. Three More Fugitives

Valentino lounged in Carmelita's bed. She had a very nice bed. If most people knew how comfortable her bed was, he imagined they would kill her in fits of jealousy. He was content to share it.

Rolling over he snuggled his face against the smooth cotton pillow case. His short beard scratched upon the fabric. He was due for a trim. Carmelita had left the drapes drawn so he could sleep in. He was surprised she had arisen so early. They had had much to talk about last night and not to talk about too.

Valentino savored his lethargy. This luxury would give him the strength to battle through his next campaign.

Eventually he heard the light clatter of a serving tray being delivered to Carmelita's sitting room, and the promise of breakfast cleared away his sleepiness. Donning his silk robe, he joined her.

"Good morning," she greeted while the servant put fruit pastries still warm from the oven onto plates.

He stepped over his boots in front of her bedchamber doors. His clothes were haphazardly tossed over a chair.

She leaned out for a kiss and he obliged her while sliding into his chair.

"Oh you're rough," she complained of his beard.

"You love it," he teased.

Carmelita rolled her eyes. They ate in silence until finally she said, "Do you think we shall hear from Thal today?"

"I'm sure we shall hear of his exploits," Valentino said.

"What an extraordinary creature," she commented. The sight of him as a werewolf would amaze her until the grave. She felt privileged by the trust that Thal had shown her when he revealed himself. She wished she could have known him better. She anticipated telling Augustus about it when next they saw each other. She did not dare put the encounter into a letter.

"It's such a pity what happened to my musicians. Thank you for saving them," she said.

Valentino wiped his mouth on a napkin and started picking his teeth with the point of a knife. "You'll have to send them away," he decided.

"No. I love their music. They're special," she protested.

"My love, I say this for your safety. If one man knew they were friends of Thal, then others will know too. I can't risk your association with him becoming an issue. You have other schemes to protect," he explained.

Although she pouted, she accepted his assessment and appreciated his attention to her security. "Where shall they go?" she said.

Valentino shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Musicians are accustomed to living in the street," he said.

The steward rushed in without knocking. He looked confused.

Carmelita popped to her feet. "You are not to barge in on me!" she scolded.

"Sorry, my Lady, but a man is here to see you," he said.

"What man?"

"A magician I believe," the steward whispered.

"I'm not meeting with any magician. Send him away!" she declared.

"But he's in the house, my Lady."

"In the house!" Carmelita cried.

"Why did you let a strange man in the house?" Valentino demanded.

The steward flapped his mouth but was stymied as to how to answer.

"Because he's forgotten how to do his duty. Now get the beggar out of here," Carmelita said.

"I'll do it," Valentino said, becoming concerned. He pulled on his boots over bare feet and grabbed his sword. On his way down the stairs and across the house, he noticed that the other servants had vanished. He found nobody in the foyer. The front door was open. He looked outside and saw a black horse browsing on Carmelita's flowers.

"Good morning."

Valentino whirled. A hooded man in a black cape sauntered out from the ball room.

"You!" Valentino cried, certain that he recognized the rogue but he did not know how.

The man put back his hood and slid a stray strand of black hair out of his face. "You must have a strong mind to recognize me, Condottiere," he commented.

Valentino raised his sword. "Get thee back into the street right now," he ordered.

"You and your fine Italian rapier," Mileko said as if it were cute.

Menacing anger overtook Valentino who advanced on Mileko clearly intending to skewer him and drag him out by the neck.

"Thal Lesky sent me," Mileko said.

Valentino halted but refused to acknowledge the name.

"I assure you I am not in league with those who mean to bring him to justice for his numerous crimes. Nor do I mean any harm to those Thal calls friends. I am Mileko, an agent of his father. Thal will be leaving Prague with me, but he asked that I visit this home and deliver a message to the musicians. Thal thought of you as well, Condottiere. Your presence here is convenient for me."

"Where have I seen you before?" Valentino asked suspiciously.

"We spoke briefly the night before last," Mileko said.

Valentino nodded. He did remember now. "You made me think I was crazy," he said.

Mileko dipped his head as if receiving a compliment. "Please, I would prefer to complete this business quickly," he said.

Valentino yanked shut the front door. "Let me get dressed and we'll go talk to the musicians," he said.

Back in Carmelita's chambers, he quickly explained the new development while getting his clothes.

"I must see him," she said.

"No! Stay away from him. He is a magician, but much more than any street trickster. Be wary I say," Valentino said.

She did not enjoy being told no and resolved to sneak after Valentino.

He knew she was following him and waved her back just before he reached Mileko. She scooted around a corner and peeked as Valentino led the man toward the servants' wing.

The battered musicians had improved. Regis was quietly plucking his harp and scribbling the lines of a new song when Valentino came in with the darkly clad man.

Raphael and Carlo joined them and they listened to Mileko tell of Thal and Altea.

"Oh that poor woman," Regis said.

"How many people did Thal kill?" Raphael wondered.

"I did not count the bodies," Mileko said. "That matters not. I'm here to convey Thal's deepest apologies for your misfortune. He wishes you well."

Carlo moaned at the loss. Regis and Raphael were staggered by the news.

Valentino cleared his throat. This seemed a good moment to tell them his bad news. "Gentlemen for the sake of your hostess I suggest you pack up and go," he said.

Outrage was their natural reaction but each man realized his notorious reputation threatened Carmelita. Proof that she had harbored the werewolf Thal needed to be lacking, despite all gossip.

The three companions groaned at the prospect of immediate homelessness.

"Where can we go?" Raphael said.

"We could be killed if we go out there," Carlo added, and his cut lips made the point well.

Raphael groaned and said, "Oh how can Thal leave us like this?"

"He thinks it would be more dangerous to us if he were with us," Regis said quietly.

"Enough!" Valentino barked. "I don't know how such a magnificent creature puts up with you babies. Have you no thought for his plight? He hides in the woods with an injured woman."

He waved a hand at Mileko and was happy to actually startle him. "You! Take these musicians with you to Thal."

"No," Mileko protested. His eyes darted among the agitated men. Their emotions were stirred, and Mileko beheld one of the situations his Master had warned him would be difficult. To divert the mind of those not really paying attention was far easier than influencing an upset group.

"I can't have these men," Mileko continued while moving his hands into the inner pockets of his cloak.

Valentino grabbed him by the shoulders. He grinned in Mileko's face, knowing that he had thrown the sly one off his game. "You must take them, and I know where you will take them. There is a hunting cabin I know of. It is sometimes handy to have a place where someone can disappear. Thal can take that girl there to recuperate." Gesturing broadly to the musicians, he added, "You will go there too and Thal can take care of you himself."

The three Venetians agreed readily and thanked the Condottiere. Mileko rigidly endured the proposal and resigned himself to the delay and the addition of three more fugitives.

******

One comb had been among the handful of items Thal had grabbed from Altea's room, and he was combing her hair. Her thumbs made the task impossible for her.

Patiently he combed out the snarls with gentle tugs. Altea appreciated his kindness and his closeness. His fingers working through her hair were soothing.

"I'm afraid to know what I look like," she said.

"You're beautiful," he said.

"I've lost chunks of hair. I must look shocking," she said.

"It will grow back. It's not so noticeable," he said and moved some hair over a blank spot.

After all the snarls were out, he was able to comb the hair through its whole length, which reached to the middle of her back. He admired its soft luster and arranged it around her shoulders. His hands massaged her shoulders and from there very lightly moved down onto the cushiony swell of her bosom. She leaned into him, and he put his chin on her shoulder and kissed her neck and cheek. He wanted to embrace her fiercely and roll around and do anything that his mind could imagine, but he dared not. She could bear only the lightest touching.

Altea relaxed against his chest. She remembered when his arms had been covered with fur and had thick claws instead of fingers. She still had trouble reconciling what she had seen with the loving man who was taking care of her. His savage rage that she had witnessed in the torture chamber could have undone even Hercules. But that beast had Thal's heart, and she told herself to never fear him. The werewolf was his special power. It would always make him reviled of society and now she was outcast too. She had dared to step into his world and learned she could never come back. But after seeing her world for what it truly was, she considered that the loss was not so tragic.

"I still can't believe I'm here," she said.

"You're in shock. Don't try to think about it too much yet," Thal advised.

Altea decided to take his advice so she asked him how he became a werewolf.

"My memories are few. I know that my father did something to me to make me a wolf. But I was not just an animal. I was undying. I lived and lived. I'm older than I look. I can see the difference in Prague. There are many more buildings than when I was a youth. And you said my mother was old. I don't remember her that way," he said.

"Her hair was all white when I knew her," Altea said.

"I think when the witch hunters came for her she cast a great spell. It made me change from a wolf to a man. I was in the forest with only this fur with my father's writing upon it," he said.

It was spread across Altea's lap. She feared to meet his sorcerer father who had made the weird blood writing, but she supposed they had no choice but to go to him.

"Thal, if your mother had such great magic why did she not kill the men who killed her?" Altea wondered.

"I don't think she could use her magic to directly cause harm. I was her instrument. I killed them," he said.

Altea remembered the kindly care Gretchen had given to others. It was hard to imagine her hurting anyone.

"Why couldn't she use her magic to save my mother?" Altea said.

"I'm sure she tried," Thal said.

"When my mother got very bad she asked Gretchen for something to kill her," Altea said tearfully. She had never spoken the words aloud before. "How could your mother do that? Is that not hurting someone?"

"She must've seen it as a mercy," Thal offered.

"It was," Altea whispered.

"Altea, magic is powerful, but I don't think it can hold back death forever. Even I shall age and die," he said.

"You know that?"

"I believe it," he said. "At least I hope to get the chance to age. I seem to live dangerously."

Altea laughed and was surprised that she could, but it made her ribs hurt.

He tensed behind her. "Riders," he said.

"How many?" she asked as he carefully moved her aside and propped her on the cart.

"Not many. It should be Mileko but he's not alone," Thal said. He rushed off to his lookout. Pistol trotted at his heels.

From his vantage point he spotted two riders coming across a meadow.

"Valentino," Thal said, very surprised, and he rushed down the hill and out of the trees. He stopped and waved before he got too close and annoyed their horses.

The men dismounted and Valentino rushed up to Thal. They embraced. Mileko hung back to let them talk.

Valentino stuck a finger on the ball embedded in Thal's armor. "Ho! You got lucky. Don't expect that to work every time," Valentino said.

"I'm planning to avoid battles from now on," Thal said.

Valentino's expression showed his dubious opinion about Thal succeeding with that. "Watch your back. You've got a royal reward on you now. The ink is still drying but the reward is 200 florins. Congratulations," he said.

"So you've come to take me prisoner?" Thal said.

"I know safer ways to risk my life making 200 florins," Valentino said. "No, I've come to help, as usual. I hear your lady is in a poor way. I have a cabin you can hide in. I've already sent your musicians there. I'm remanding them to your care."

Thal was shocked by the generous gift of shelter. "You are a true friend," he said.

The Condottiere laughed. Thal was so sentimental. "It's my habit to befriend powerful people," he said.

Mileko cut in. "We don't have much daylight left and far to go this night," he said.

Thal led them to camp. The arrival of another man made Altea nervous. Armor and weapons on a stranger spiked her trauma and she cringed a little until Thal kneeled beside her.

"Please meet Altea," he said proudly as if she were not a battered escaped witch in bandages.

Valentino removed a pack from his saddle bags. He took a knee close to her and flashed Thal an approving look. Valentino meant to kiss her hand, mostly to annoy Thal with jealousy, but then he saw her thumbs. Concern furrowed his brow because he recognized what had been done to her. The brown blood all over her torn clothes and the extensive bruising upset him. The poor girl could not have deserved it.

"Lady Carmelita has sent you clothing," he said and set down the bundle.

She was speechless. Her tears welled up with gratitude.

"Can you stand?" Valentino asked.

"I think so," she whispered.

"Good. You'll ride with me," he said.

"Where?" Altea asked and looked to Thal, who told her about the cabin.

"You're so kind," she said, amazed.

Valentino smiled. "I'm often not kind, but I'm no butcher of women," he said.

Valentino and Mileko withdrew to water their horses while Thal helped Altea dress. From beside the stream, Valentino overheard her cry out in pain several times while she moved. Sympathy lurched in his chest.

"The world is sick," he remarked to Mileko.

"A man of war would know that well," Mileko said.

"And does your sneaking and tricking have any purpose?" Valentino asked.

"I seek knowledge," Mileko said with a prickly tone.

"So you can control others, right?" the Condottiere said.

Mileko looked away. "I'm no crude warmonger like you," he said.

With a grin Valentino abandoned the conversation. He considered himself rather artful with his crude butchery but he saw no need to argue the fine point with Thal's weird new companion.

"I assume you know that if you do wrong by Thal, he'll rip you apart and feed you to dogs," Valentino said.

"I have no ill intentions toward him," Mileko said. He got on his horse to signal his impatience.

Valentino returned to camp. Thal had Altea on her feet and she looked pleased with the accomplishment. A fresh set of clothing had done much to renew her appearance. Valentino suggested that Thal get her into the cart, so she could use it to get on his horse. After Thal got her up on the cart, he hung back while Valentino brought his horse alongside.

"Lean across the saddle and I'll help you get a leg over," he instructed softly. He knew his good horse would keep still for her. He grabbed her hips and boosted her on the horse. She swayed and clung pitifully to the edge of the saddle with her elbows and thighs. Valentino got on behind her.

"Lean against me," he said and she did.

He put an arm around her for support. She gasped and moaned but did not complain.

"Ready?" he said.

"Yes." Her reply was a tiny gasp.

Valentino started riding. Altea shifted a few times until she found the least painful position, but he could tell that every swing of the horse's frame wrenched on her.

Mileko and Thal followed. It was almost dark by the time they came out on a road. Valentino led them north of Prague on increasingly narrow paths. The nearly full moon illuminated their travel and even when they entered a dark woods they could still see the path.

A light up ahead revealed their destination. Thal's friends had put a candle in the window expecting his nocturnal arrival. Regis, Raphael, and Carlo spilled out into the night and greeted Thal happily. But they had to subdue themselves upon seeing Altea. She groaned as Valentino got her off his horse and then Thal carried her inside. A little bed made of split logs with a mattress stuffed with leaves received her. She was grateful to have it.

Thal stroked her hair. "Rest," he whispered. She shut her eyes and he went outside. Pistol gave the cabin a thorough inspection and then jumped in the bed to curl up at Altea's feet. He licked her bare foot.

Thal's friends plied him with many questions. He explained that he was going to see his father once Altea was well.

"We'll travel with you. Just like old times," Regis said.

"It shan't be Paris," Thal warned.

"But there will be new songs," Regis said.

"Then let that suffice," Thal said.

"It's all we've ever had," Regis said. "And thank Heaven but it's good to see you again and have no more talk of goodbyes. We get attacked if you're not with us."

Raphael and Carlo agreed laughingly and Thal considered that he must not live always as if driven from the pack.

Valentino took Thal aside. "I must bid you farewell," he said.

"Stay till morning. You're tired," Thal said.

"Breakfast will be better in Prague," Valentino said.

Thal put out his hand and Valentino took it. "I must go to my father. Mileko says he has a castle in the Tatras Mountains," he said.

"Sounds promising," Valentino said.

"I shall see," Thal said warily. "I'm in your debt for what you've done today."

"I've learned that you're a man who pays his debts," Valentino said.

"I am, and that's why I wanted you to know where I'm going. My father's name is Sarputeen. If you should have need of me, send word, my friend. I will come. You have my promise," Thal said and set his other hand upon their joined hands. Valentino did the same.

"Until then may I suggest you work on your planning skills. Wolves do a poor job of taking bullets into account," Valentino said and tapped the bullet in Thal's armor.

"I will."

"If I start a war I can't finish, I'll send for you," Valentino said.

"If that is what you need," Thal said.

Valentino knew it was not an easy commitment for Thal to make. Despite all the bodies that had bloodied the streets of Prague, it had not been done for Thal's pleasure or profit.

Valentino handed him a bag with some extra powder and shot. He rode off alone into the night, but Thal was not worried about him.

Everyone was exhausted. Thal slid into the bed with Altea and the others fell asleep on the floor. Their presence made him feel very content as he fell asleep.

#  Chapter 49. The Joyous Place

Altea's days at the cabin were a blur of pain and fitful sleep. Thal stayed at her side. When nightmares inevitably came, he whispered soothing words into her ear and his strong hands kept her from thrashing in half awake distress.

Her mind needed to recuperate as much as her body, and Thal made her stay in bed except when she needed to relieve herself. He washed her and fed her and changed her bandages as necessary. Carlo helped him change the dressing on the thumbs because he had a light touch and could stomach the task. When Altea peeked at the ragged skin and muscle, vivid images from her torture made her shake and cry.

One hot afternoon the leaves throughout the forest hung silent and a boom of thunder woke her.

Thal leaned over her. "A storm comes," he said. The shadow falling across the little window confirmed his words.

"The other men are going to move their things inside before it rains," he said.

"Why are their things outside?" she wondered.

Thal explained that after the first night he had made everyone else camp outside so she could have privacy.

"You don't need to do that anymore," she said, not wishing to inconvenience his friends.

He looked at the whites of her eyes. "You are improving," he agreed.

His smile was sweet and relieved, and Altea was glad to see him that way.

Regis banged through the door with his harp case, followed by his friends. Mileko came in last with firewood that he dumped into the little stone and mud hearth. Lightning cracked hard among the tall trees and everyone jumped. Mileko ran out and came back in with his saddle after tethering his horse to the cabin. Fat drops of rain pelted the forest and the wind stirred rapidly.

Everyone hunkered inside. The rain poured and the trees swayed frightfully beneath the booming black clouds. The flaws in the roof were soon revealed. Water drizzled down everywhere except onto the bed that had been strategically positioned by a prior occupant.

Into the soft patter of the passing storm, Mileko said, "Our food is down to the last meal."

"I will hunt tonight," Thal said.

"As a werewolf?" Mileko asked.

Thal nodded. At dusk he took off his clothes, leaving only his fur around his hips. He gave one of his pistols to Raphael. "Do you remember how I said to fire it?" he said.

"Yes," Raphael said, regarding the pistol with a blend of distaste and awe. The thing was as different from a musical instrument as death was from birth.

"Take care," Altea said.

"Do not worry," he said, and she was sure he was looking forward to it.

Adjusting to the company of the other men without Thal was a little more awkward for her, but Regis charmed her into relaxing. He sat on the edge of her bed with his harp. His fingers plucked a little tune.

"Here you do it," he said.

She shrank away. Her hands were useless.

"Just use one finger," he coaxed.

Altea turned from him. The lantern light highlighted the old moss wedged between the logs of the wall.

Regis said, "Altea, you must use your fingers." When she still did not respond, he added, "The master who taught me told me of healing from a bad hand injury. It took a long time, but he remained a great harpist. He told me that he had to use his fingers even when he did not want to."

She regarded the harp now. Tentatively she reached out and strummed a finger across three strings. The twinkle of sound encouraged her.

"Good. Now do it with this finger," he said.

He helped her sit up and then had her go through all four fingers on each hand. It aggravated her pain, but she began to understand his point about keeping her hands active.

"We can work on this every day. Time will come when you can do thumbs again too. I'll teach you to play," Regis said.

"I would like that," she said.

"How is your singing voice?" he inquired.

"I don't know," she confessed. No one had ever complimented her singing, but she supposed she was not terrible.

"We'll do voice lessons too. It'll help pass time," Regis said.

"You flatter me," she said, appreciative of the foreign singer's attention.

"You have to join our group if you're to travel with us. It's how we get our supper," Regis explained.

Raphael and Carlo concurred.

"A lady's voice would be nice," Raphael added.

"I'll try to be worthy of you," she said, aware of their talent.

"You can be the pretty one," Regis said because he wished to make her happy.

"Don't believe him," Raphael joked. "He think he's prettiest."

Regis shook his long hair and played along with joke. Tentatively she smiled, grateful for their friendly humor and because Regis was pretty.

In the morning she heard Thal and Mileko talking outside. She got out of bed on her own and skirted the sleeping musicians to reach the door.

Thal had a deer hanging from a tree. It was neatly gutted and the hunting knife in his hand was ready to begin butchering.

"You're up," he said fondly and came to her. His hands were bloody and he only had pants on. She noticed a recent scar on his chest and wondered at the story behind it.

"Good morning," she said, shyly admiring the hard curves of his shoulders and his bare stomach.

"We'll eat hearty today," Thal said, proud of his kill. The deer's coat glistened with health and its antlers were still bound in delicate felt.

Mileko criticized, "You should've taken something smaller. This meat will go bad before we can eat it all or attract a bear, which would be worse."

Altea judged that he was jealous.

Thal started making incisions around the legs as he prepared to remove the hide. "The meat won't go to waste. You'll take it to the nearest village and trade for things we need," Thal said.

Although Mileko did not admit it, the idea was a good one.

"Altea needs shoes. That will be your priority," Thal added, and she glowed with love for his thoughtfulness.

When he finished the butchering, he went to a stream to wash while his friends cooked a meal. Altea plucked at the harp until she could not bear the aggravation to her thumbs.

After they ate, Thal invited her for a walk. At first she did not think she could do it, but he insisted that it was time for her to be more active.

He took her on a gentle route. They went slowly so she would not risk stumbling on a tree root. Altea admired the vital beauty of the woodland. The damp Earth was cool beneath her toes. Green moss caressed her feet with freedom. She had never smelled a place so pure. The urban stone and stink of her native Prague no matter how artfully dressed up could not compare to the majesty of this place where even a falling leaf presented a transitory glimpse of infinite peace.

This was Thal's world where his cares did not press down on him so much, and she thought him even more handsome.

"I wonder what became of my brothers," she said.

"They were not at your house when I went there," Thal said.

"Martin must have sent them to the country," she surmised. She drooped with melancholy to think that she would never see them again. Her sadness deepened when she considered that they would not want to see her after what she had become in their eyes.

"Their lives will go on, and so will yours," Thal said and put an arm around her. He backed her up against a tree and started kissing her. Altea gave into his advance. The excitement pushed away the pain.

A blissful carefree state consumed her mind. The surging joy and hot pleasure reduced the cost of her trauma. To be loved felt so good. To have his strong body close made her feel exceptional. His shoulders looming over her seemed as big as the forest and she was drawn to its immensity.

Inexorably their hips pressed together. An incendiary and insistent desire tugged at her body and demanded that she yield. She knew no hesitation with Thal. She had no fear of his manhood. She wanted him inside her. Altea tore away from his domineering lips and kissed his neck and chest. She took the silver medallion between her teeth and moaned deeply as his hands gripped her hips. She wished she could sink her fingers into his strong back.

Thal pulled loose the laces on her bodice and tugged open her shirt. She leaned against the tree while he untied the knot in her chest bindings. Her breasts spilled out. She heaved her bosom into his hands because she wanted to give him everything, but she gasped in pain. The medallion slipped from her mouth.

Thal eased back, realizing only now that he had been pressing against her more than he intended. Altea tried to catch her breath as the pain subsided.

Very carefully Thal put his hands back on her breasts. She shut her eyes and savored the sensation of her hard nipples against his palms. A noose that killed all restraint swung on a gallows deep inside her pelvis.

"You're so soft," he murmured as his hands studied the landscape of her body, but he could not ignore the dark bruising that had yet to fade from her chest.

"We must wait," he said heavily.

"No!" Altea gasped. "I want you. Just be gentle."

"I don't know if I can," he admitted.

"But you can control the beast," she said.

"It's the man I fear," he said. He turned from her and put his back against the tree too. "I can't bear the thought of hurting you," he said.

She heard the undertow of discomfort in his voice. Resisting consummation tested his will power to the point of pain.

"You're right," she conceded. Already their heavy petting had aggravated her ribs. Her chest throbbed.

"Just a little while more, my love," he said.

******

Thal admired Altea while she practiced singing with Regis. They stood in a sunny glen not far from the cabin. Each day renewed her a little more. Although her nightmares persisted, her singing gave Thal hope that she would reclaim a sense of security.

The deep controlled breathing that Regis was teaching her was good for her recovery as well. She winced sometimes at the strain but it was strengthening her torso. Thal appreciated the kind efforts Regis was making on her behalf. His friend had a point about giving Altea a role in their little company. Thal had been spending his days in thought about how they would travel. He was an extremely wanted criminal and he was not the easiest man to disguise because of his distinctive looks.

Hiding at the cabin was growing tedious for him. He supposed it was his lusting frustration that made it difficult. He had not taken Altea for a walk since their last encounter. To make sure she got exercise he sent Carlo out with her every day.

The musicians had their music to indulge in, but they were growing restless too. They were accustomed to an audience, and the lack of drink at the cabin was bemoaned continually as a hardship.

Thal had taught them to gather wild edibles to keep them busy and fed, but their meat supply was running low. He must hunt again soon. Mileko had been successful trading the first deer at a nearby village. The shoes he had brought back had even been a good fit for Altea.

Mileko came out of the cabin and stood beside Thal.

"I think she's fit enough to travel," he announced.

"If you let her ride your horse," Thal said.

A nod from Mileko showed his unwillingness to argue about it. "She is lucky. Few come back from torture. She must have confessed quickly," he commented.

"I do not ask her about it," Thal said.

"Does she have any powers?" Mileko asked.

I could give her power, Thal thought even as he forbade the idea. "She's a strong woman," he said.

"But she'll still slow us down," Mileko said.

"Have you a reason for haste?" Thal wondered. He had figured that the longer he stayed hidden the safer it would be to emerge back into society.

"I had not planned on escorting so many," Mileko said.

"I cannot leave them. I've brought them danger and must take care of them now," Thal said, regretting only his mistakes and not future responsibilities.

He wondered at the discomfort in Mileko. "Will my father not accept my friends?" he asked.

"I wouldn't say that, but he may be...surprised," Mileko said. After putting up his hood, he added, "And annoyed with our delay."

"I will take responsibility," Thal said.

"Such words should not be spoken lightly in regard to Sarputeen," Mileko said and walked off into the trees.

Thal let him go. He knew where Mileko went in the forest. Several times Thal had spied on him. Mileko practiced slight-of-hand tricks, knife throwing, and prolonged meditation.

When Altea looked over at Thal, his skin heated up at the flash of her smile. To see her sign of happiness helped him forgive himself a little.

That night he lay in bed next to her and listened for everyone to fall asleep. Her body next to his prodded his physical desire but he was able to keep control as long as they were not alone. He would not treat her like some tavern wench that gets shagged in a hallway.

He kissed her on the forehead and then slipped out of the bed. He hoped a nightmare would not trouble her while he was away. Outside he undressed. A first quarter moon peeked through the forest canopy. Picking up his magic fur he chanted the spell and transformed. Although the process was painful, once it was done euphoria resulted. Thal gloried in his animal power. His connection to the living world around him was unfiltered and the hunt beckoned.

"Thal?"

His wide back paws kicked up leaves when he spun in surprise. Altea had come outside. Her hands were outstretched as she advanced carefully in the darkness. Thal went to her. Her fingers massaged into his fur behind his ears. He rubbed his head on her hip. Her gentle acceptance of him was reassuring. Thal came up onto his back legs and licked her face. She giggled and turned away.

Dropping back to all fours, he nudged her back to the cabin where Pistol waited in the doorway. She understood that she must stay while he hunted. He looked back once after bounding off among the trees to make sure she went back inside.

In the morning everyone awoke to him cleaning another deer. The bloody puncture holes where his hefty jaws had crushed its windpipe were bright upon its neck. Pistol wagged his tail approvingly.

When Altea went back inside, Thal said, "Mileko, take this deer to trade for supplies for our journey. We'll leave when you get back."

"Very good," Mileko said, looking the closest to happy that anyone had seen him.

"Regis, Raphael, and Carlo will go with you," Thal said.

"Why?" Mileko demanded, glancing unhappily at the musicians.

"So you can get them a drink," Thal said, and his friends heartily approved.

"They will attract attention," Mileko argued.

"Then make sure they're not memorable," Thal said with a meaningful look.

"We'll be good," Raphael said and Carlo nodded.

Regis had easily guessed that Thal's motives went beyond merely getting him a mug of beer. "Mileko, don't be dense. Our friend Thal needs some time alone with his lady," he whispered and winked at Thal.

Thal hated the thought that he might be blushing and maintained a stern glower. He cut off some meat for them to cook.

When they shared a meal Thal handed Altea pieces of roast that he cut for her. With both hands and some creative finger placement she was able to feed herself now.

His friends cheerfully helped Mileko pack the deer carcass onto his horse and hustled him out of camp. Altea was surprised when she saw them all go.

Thal's back was to her. He was banking their fire so it could be saved for later. When he brushed off his hands and turned, her nervous excitement reflected his own.

"Do you feel well enough for a walk today?" he asked.

She could only nod. He approached her and carefully took her hands into his.

"I want you with me always," he said.

"Sometimes I think your mother's magic has bound us," she said.

"I doubt she had matchmaking on her mind when she recalled me from the forest. It's your magic that claims me," he said.

She hugged him, and he kissed her. Warm arousal thawed the restraint that had kept them apart.

"Come with me," he said.

Arm in arm they strolled. Thal took her into a grove of trees where the air was especially cool. At its heart a great and gnarled tree much thicker than the others pushed past the canopy with a glorious green crown that overlooked the other trees. Its roots bulged and twisted in every direction and heaps of old leaves made soft beds around its mossy feet.

Thal spread his wolf fur upon the leaves and drew Altea down on it. She leaned back against the soft fur with Thal beside her. Their mouths met and they descended into the joyous place where their cravings could be satisfied.

Thal caressed her face and breasts and loosened her clothing. He ran his hand through her long hair while kissing her neck. She moaned and ran her crippled hands down his arms. Her squirming body beckoned him with needy lust, and he felt ready to burst out of his pants.

Gasping, he pulled away from her and moved back onto his knees. He took her foot and pulled off a shoe and then he removed her other shoe. Altea watched him with dilated eyes as he ran a hand up her leg underneath her skirt and began to draw down a stocking. The gentle slide of his fingers down her bare leg made her shiver with anticipation. Every new place he touched made her want to know more of what he could do.

After both stockings were off, his strong hands moved up her thighs and pushed her skirt up all the way. His caresses lingered on the tender softness of her inner thighs. She arched her back. Her slack-faced willingness invited him to claim the prize his body demanded.

He rubbed a palm upon her pubic area. The coarse curly hairs beneath the thin fabric welcomed him to her secret place. His thumb slid into her warm crevice. He smiled at her sweet high pitched cry and soon felt moisture in her underclothes. He drew them off and then lay beside her again and unlaced her shirt. When he took it off her, he was mindful of her delicate thumbs as he pulled her hands through the sleeves.

The bindings on her chest came off next. Significant bruising remained but was much lighter. On both sides of her body dots of fresh red scars started at her shoulders and ran down to her thighs. Thal nuzzled the bounty of her breasts and spent time drawing each nipple into his mouth. Her gasps and sighs were musical. He wanted each peak of pleasure to be an apology for the pain he had caused, but it was more than that. He wanted to honor her. She deserved this gentle invitation to ecstasy and so did he. Everyone did.

Awkwardly with her injured hands she pulled him back to her lips. Thal shoved her skirt off. She kicked away the tangle of fabric and tugged at his clothes.

He stood up and unfastened his clothing himself, knowing it would be painful to make her fumble with it.

The light in her hungry eyes was hard to interpret when his erection popped out of his dropping pants. She was both afraid and impatient. Thal fell to his knees and pulled her legs around his hips. The scent of her helpless excitement demanded that he express all his male passion.

Careful not to put his weight upon her torso he slowly penetrated her. Altea was tense and tight and trembling but he inexorably pressed himself inside her.

His groaning deepened as she enveloped him completely. He had never felt so safe and free of care. In tandem they moved against each other and discovered the nuanced inner pleasures of their new connection. Their mutual momentum accelerated until Thal was thrusting at her rapidly.

She cried out and he paused, fearing he was hurting her. But she quickly shook her head. "It doesn't hurt," she encouraged, and he resumed. He found a rhythm that made her cry out many times until he could concentrate no more. He leaned back so that he would not accidently press down on her and then gave into the primal demands of his lust. Her squeals goaded their ecstasy until Thal gasped at his finale.

The pleasure erased his cares for a timeless moment. As his body pulsed inside her throbbing hot wetness he crushed his mouth against her, grateful for her physical generosity.

Finally they separated. His head was on the fur next to hers. They petted each other's naked bodies while catching their breaths.

Altea eventually broke their adoring silence. "You didn't ruin my life for this is the most beautiful and alive I have ever felt," she said.

He smiled, sharing in the sentiment. "I'm so happy you're with me. I need you," he said.

Altea had never felt needed before. She pressed her face into his chest and kissed his hard pectoral. A thin sheen of cooling sweat vented his inner fire.

"We have a long road ahead. There will be dangers," he warned.

"You will protect me," she said with great trust.

Thal took her chin. "Yes, but I must also teach you to protect yourself," he said.

The notion excited her. The world had damned her but the blessing of heretofore forbidden possibilities awaited her.

They returned to lovemaking. The comfort and pleasure of their safe union made their lives new again. The fear and violence that had brought them to this place were diminished by the trust and kindness nurtured by their shared ecstasy.

In the cool shade they napped until a green acorn fell from high up and hit Thal's thigh.

"Ow!" he cried and picked up the nut.

Altea awoke and said, "It's a good sign. Something good will grow from our joining."

He tucked the acorn into a pocket of her rumpled skirt. "Keep this to remember this day. Mayhap you shall have a home again where you can plant it," he said.

His words made her think of the home she had lost. Her chest of finely crafted linens had been packed with false hopes and was gone forever. She tried not to think about her beloved handiwork that would never furnish her home.

"I have nothing to give you," she lamented.

"You give me everything. Your love reminds me of what is good in humanity. Too often does brutish greed and hateful killing lure a man to bad deeds," Thal said.

"You killed for me," she pointed out.

Thal did not like that fact. He sat up and reached for his shirt. "You were put in that cage by cruel men meaning to make others cruel," he said. Standing up, he pulled up his pants. "We must be vigilant to avoid such traps," he added.

"How will you not get caught when we travel?" she worried.

"The musicians attract the most attention, and people want to like me. We've done this before. Plus Mileko has skills that I don't fully understand but he will help us. My father has sent him for this purpose," Thal explained.

"And what will people see in me? A harlot?" she asked.

"No!" Thal said. He helped her stand up. "People will see my wife."

To his dismay, she shook her head. "No priest will do the ceremony," she lamented.

He pitied her shame that she could not avoid because of her upbringing. Drawing her close, he gestured around the grove of trees. "Is not your God's creation the finest temple? Did we not join here in joy? I need only your consent and true acceptance to be bound to you. This I promise," he said.

In Thal's world she was not judged for indulging in the physical expression of her heart. Perhaps he gave her more than she had lost. "And I shall call you husband," she said.

Their gentle kiss finished their ceremony. And supported by the courage of the other they set forth upon the road to the castle of Sarputeen.

******

Thank you for reading Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale. Your enthusiasm for my fiction has helped me earn my way in the world. Please tell other people about my novels and leave ratings and reviews online.

Journey of the Hunted: Werewolves in the Renaissance Book 2

Good news! Werelord Thal has launched the Werewolves in the Renaissance series. It continues in Journey of the Hunted: Werewolves in the Renaissance 2.

Return to the dangerous world of the 16th century Holy Roman Empire and join Thal and Altea as they make a desperate attempt to reach Sarputeen. He lives in the castle Vlkbohveza, but Thal must cross Bohemia and Moravia to reach his father in the remnants of the Kingdom of Hungary. But more than the rising price on Thal's head threatens him. Tekax, a rival sorcerer to Sarputeen, now knows of Thal's existence and will do anything to stop him from reaching his father, even if it means working the darkest sorcery and creating an undying fext immune to werewolves.

Read Journey of the Hunted today.

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# Excerpt from Journey of the Hunted

The group continued. The banter of Carlo and Raphael subsided and everyone walked in thoughtful silence until Thal suddenly burst into a run and shouted, "Pistol, no!"

The small brown and white dog trotted back into the road. Fresh dirt coated his nose and paws. He went obediently to his master's heels and they waited for the others to catch up.

"What is it?" Regis asked as he arrived first.

Thal pointed into the tall grass. The trees were few in this spot. Timber had been harvested in recent years. Among the stumps was a mound of soil with a crude wooden cross stuck in it. The green sprouts on the grave were still small, attesting to its recent digging. Thal could detect a whiff of dead flesh. Pistol had only begun to disturb the burial and Thal was glad that nothing had been uncovered.

Carlo and Raphael regarded the grave sadly.

"I wonder who it could've been?" Raphael murmured.

"A suicide maybe?" Carlo whispered. Such a one would not have been allowed to be buried in a consecrated churchyard.

Mileko came up leading the horse. His dark hood shaded his eyes from the bright sun. The cowl accentuated his long nose that protruded above his thin mouth.

"It is likely that someone simply died on their journey and their companions had little choice but to bury him," he said. He was not spooked by the grave like the musicians, who seemed to feel everything and see a story everywhere.

Altea from her vantage point higher on the horse had a good view of the lonely burial.

"The grave is small," she observed, and imagined the dead child. Out of habit she raised her hand to cross herself, but then aborted the action.

She looked away from the grave and saw that Thal was watching her.

"Let's not linger here," Thal said. "A village is not far and I'm looking forward to hearing Regis sing for our supper."

His cheerful comment was forced, but he did not want his companions to see this fresh grave as a bad omen for their journey. Death was in all places. A wolf knew that well and did not fret over it.

Read Journey of the Hunted today.

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I have also written eight other fantasy novels set in the magical world of the rys. For epic adventure please read The Rys Chronicles or Rys Rising series.

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#  Excerpt from Rys Rising: Book I

With polite humility, he asked her only to remove the remainder of his tattoos. He said nothing as Onja worked on his skin. Gendahl paid attention to the sensation of having her magic touch him. She was blocking the pain as she burned the pigments bit by bit from his flesh, and then healed the skin as she went. The stags with their blue antlers gradually disappeared, and Gendahl forced himself to accept the end of his old life. It was the only way he could even attempt to go on. Gendahl could not be forgiven.

A breeze stirred and it was cool against his sweaty skin. He stared at his hands. The absence of his tattoos made him feel different. When his skin was tattooed, he had been only a small boy, and the painful task was one of his earliest memories.

This is my earliest memory of my new life, he thought.

With Onja's firm slender fingers massaging his hands, Gendahl wondered if it had been the will of Jayshem, the God and creator of Gyhwen, that he experience a life other than being Lord of the Lin Tohs.

"Does it comfort you to think that your God willed your suffering and loss?" she asked.

Taken aback by her knowledge of his thoughts, Gendahl pulled his hands away. "What else can I think?" he asked back.

She lifted her eyebrows thoughtfully. The slight stretching of her eyelids sharpened the beauty of her features. His answer intrigued her greatly.

To change the subject, Gendahl examined his hands and thanked her. "I could not go on with my lord-born markings. I am lord-born no more," he announced.

"You are still what you were, Gendahl," Onja contradicted. "Tattoos did not make you a lord."

"But they showed others what I was. I am something new now, but I know not what," he said.

"You are Gendahl, my friend," Onja said, and she smiled.

Her smile seemed to reveal a vulnerability that he would not have expected from her. She was alone as well.

"Your friend," he said although he had no smile to give. "But call me Gendahl no more. I am Amar."

"Amar," she said and liked the name.

"I must go," he said. He scanned the trees, rocks, waters, and mountains around him. Onja's presence enchanted the landscape and made it more beautiful. It was a good place to die and to be born. "Back to the world of men," he added.

Onja nodded with understanding. The time would come when she would go back to her kind as well. "If you want my help before I go back to Jingten, I will be here until the day equals the night," she said, still hoping that he would make a request of her.

"Thank you, Onja," he said and stood up.

Onja reached into his pile of gear and pulled forth his weapon. Proffering it, she said, "Your sword, Amar."

Receiving the weapon from her opened a door in his mind, but he did not yet dare to look inside. He was not ready to receive any knowledge from this awesome being. As he took the sword from Onja and strapped it over his shoulder, he looked into her eyes that sparkled with powers to which no man could aspire. He would miss her.

Amar said, "I start a new life today. It is not a life I want, but perhaps if I keep living, the path to vengeance will present itself." He decided that he needed this goal to keep going. He would view his smashed domain and take to the bandit life, and he would look for a way someday to hurt the Patharki and Ginjor Rib.

He parted from Onja without any more words. Planning to follow the stream through the hills, Amar walked away along the bank. When he turned back, Onja lifted a hand in farewell and he waved back to her. Onja sensed among his many harsh emotions his sadness at leaving her. It was good to have a friend.

You shall have your vengeance, she thought.

******

For a free ebook of Rys Rising: Book I please visit www.braveluck.com.

You can also find any of my novels at your favorite online ebook retailer.

Best wishes and thank you for reading.

Sincerely, Tracy Falbe

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