Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (70 page)

“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.

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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. You can get free ebook samples
from these series at my website. To ask a question or send me a
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I’ll be busy writing more novels.

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.

******

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Best wishes and thank you for reading.

Sincerely, Tracy Falbe

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