Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (16 page)

“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.

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.