The Book of Kane (8 page)

Still determined to see it through, Kane stepped to the door. It was unlocked, as he had expected. A peephole was agape through which the guards had watched the interior. Looking through, Kane could see nothing lurking within.

He once more kicked in the door and hurled himself into the room, following his earlier procedure. Nothing moved. Lystric was in one corner, half under a table.

Kane examined the astrologer. Whatever his schemes or abilities, he would exercise them no more. Lystric’s head was all but torn from his body, and hungry fangs had ripped away most of the soft flesh of his arms and legs. The werewolf had not been able to contain its unspeakable appetite all night.

Nerves prickling, Kane slowly rose from the mangled ruin of a man. Perhaps the answer would lie in Henderin’s chamber upstairs. Sword ready for instant action, he tiptoed to the door leading to the tower stairs. The door was still locked, whatever that might portend. Kane carefully manipulated the bolt. A sudden scratch of claws on stone warned him! Kane jumped from his attention to the bolt, whipping around with blade swishing!

The werewolf glared at him balefully, its bloody tusks gnashing hideously! A low snarl rumbled in the creature’s threat. Taller than Kane it stood, and under its white fur rippled bands of steel-like muscle.

Before Kane had a chance to do more than recognize the beast’s awful presence, it sprang for him! Putting all his tremendous strength behind his stroke, Kane smashed his blade full against the lunging werewolf!

Had his attacker been a man, the blade would have sundered him to the waist. But from the werewolf’s shoulder the sword bounded back as if it had struck slightly resilient iron! The sound was a dull thunk , and no other evidence was there that the blow had landed—the werewolf’s spring was not even slackened! Yet Kane’s arm ached to the marrow with the force of the resounding blow, and his sword bounded from numb fingers!

In a split second the creature was on him, fangs slavering, fetid breath in his face and taloned hands clutching for his throat! Kane had no chance to dodge! The snarling force of the creature’s lunge smashed him onto the floor! His head cracked against the stones, and consciousness mercifully left him, as those burning eyes bored into his mind!

Sometime later he regained consciousness. Kane rolled to his knees weakly. His head was in agony and his mouth was full of blood. Then with a start he realized two things. One, that for some reason he was still alive. And secondly, he was no longer by the tower stairs, but lying beside Lystric’s corpse. In disgust he recognized that the blood in his mouth was not his own!

He spat in revulsion and groggily stood up, staggering to the doorway.

“Don’t move another step! I’ll skewer you for sure!”

Kane saw, with sudden awareness of his situation, that Evingolis was standing in the doorway—a crossbow aimed at the other’s heart.

Running feet and shouts sounded from the hallway.

“Well, Kane,” said the minstrel in awe, “you played it cleverly. I’ll admit I never thought you’d be the werewolf!”

The surprising thing was that they had not killed him immediately. Kane’s fast tongue was some help in postponing matters, but he suspected Breenanin had been more effective. The baron had not completely forgotten that Kane had rescued his daughter from almost certain death.
Evingolis had spelled it out, point by point. The first death had occurred right before Kane had ridden out the storm. A search after the storm had disclosed the mutilated remains of another band of travelers—abroad in the blizzard with Kane. During the hunt it had been Kane’s party that the wolves had attacked, and only Kane had been witness—himself miraculously unscathed. And when the werewolf and its pack murdered the soldiers in their lodge, Kane had not come upon the scene until late. Finally, this last attack had come while Kane had prowled the hallways alone. And when Evingolis had discovered him, he was crouched beside the torn body of the old astrologer—a man who had claimed to have damning knowledge of this mysterious stranger.

But they had not killed him yet. Instead they had taken Kane and thrown him in a cell in the castle’s cellars. Now a thick wooden door fastened by a stout bar stood between Kane and three menacing guards. Through a narrow grilled aperture in the door, Baron Troylin regarded his prisoner.

“You know you’re making a mistake in this,” offered Kane.

“I suppose you killed Lystric because you knew he’d unmask you. And to think you even had me suspecting poor man!”

“Damn your thick skull! That old fool couldn’t count his fingers and get a correct answer! I told you I found him like that before the werewolf knocked me senseless by the stairs!”

“Strikes me as a bit odd this werewolf didn’t kill you—even went to the trouble to drag you across the room. Didn’t know such a thing had that much restraint.”

Kane pounded his fist on the wall in frustration. “It may be a monster, but the creature’s as cunning as any man. Looks like it hoped to frame me and throw the rest of you off the scent.”

Troylin snorted in disbelief. “Speaking of framing, that’s a nice job you did on my son. Guess you figured to make it look like he’d broken loose and slain the lot! Only we caught you before you could finish preparations—had to stop for a meal, I guess! Too bad you didn’t arrange for Henderin to escape first. You might have had us all believing it was him!”

“You’re just so damned anxious to clear that son of yours, you’ll grasp at anything else that presents itself! Why wasn’t I a werewolf when Evingolis found me? Why didn’t I kill him and escape? How’d I get this crack on the skull? Why did I rescue your daughter from the wolves?”

“Oh, I’ll agree there’s a few things that don’t seem to check out. That’s the only reason you’re still alive—which you won’t be if you try to break out of here! Most of them would be just as happy to see you burning right now, only I figure I owe you at least a chance.

“So we’ll just watch you a few days—Henderin too, just to be safe. If the creature strikes again, we’ll be sorry for doubting you.”

“More than likely you’ll be dead—and me with you! And what if nothing more happens?”

The baron shook his head grimly. “Guess then we’ll just have to build a fire for you to sit in.”

Kane cursed in frustration as the baron departed. The yokels would do just that, and Troylin would consider Henderin cleared of guilt. Meanwhile if the werewolf still were at large, which seemed an absolute certainty, the idiots would drop their guard and let him roam at will. He sat down in disgust, enjoying the agony of his battered skull.
After several hours of watching vermin crawl through the straw, Kane heard a fierce growl. He jumped to the door and saw one of the baron’s hounds bristling before the entrance.

“Stay back, milady! He’s on guard and he’ll bite your pretty leg sure’s the world if you go any nearer!”

“Then call him off! I want to talk to Kane!” It was Breenanin.

“The baron said no one was to talk to Kane except him.” Some coins tinkled. “Well, guess you can see him just for a moment. Make it short though! Don’t want to make trouble. Come here, Slasher ! Easy boy! Cut that growling now! Hear me!”

Breenanin’sfrightened face appeared before the spyhole . “Oh Kane!” she cried. “I was sure they’d kill you!”

“About what I figured,” he replied. “Thanks for pulling for me with your father. I’m afraid though that they’re convinced I’m their werewolf, and either way things don’t look too bright for me.”

She looked at him in consternation. “Well, I know you can’t be a monster! Not after you saved me from those dreadful wolves! Anyway, you’re too gentle to be a monster!”

Kane started. No one had accused him of gentleness in some time.

“They’re wrong, I know! And time will prove it to them!” She stopped uncertainly. “But the only way they’ll know you’re innocent will be for the werewolf to kill again…” She trailed off, unsure where this left her. It seemed horrible to hope for more deaths, but if the creature stayed hidden, then this man whom she believed she loved would die hideously in the flames.

“The werewolf is still here, you can be sure of that. But whether it’ll attack again soon, who can say. It’s true that steel can’t hurt them, though! I should have cut the beast in half by all logic, but my blade rebounded without a mark. Uncanny sensation—it was all solid flesh when it hit me, but my sword was turned back as if I’d struck stone. Left my whole arm numb from the impact.

“They say only a few things can kill a werewolf, outside of more potent sorcery. Fire, of course. Silver is said to be the only metal to pierce its magic invulnerability. Outright physical combat can hurt one, too. I’ve read of wolves tearing them in rare battles for leadership of a pack. If you have anything silver to use for a weapon, you might keep it near you. If the baron would only listen to me, he should cast some silver points for arrows or spears.”

“I’ll try to talk him into it,” Breenanin answered brightly. “And I’ve got a little silver bladed dagger that I wear for hunts. Not much of a weapon really—just a lady’s toy—but I’ll keep it under my pillow.”

The guard muttered anxiously, “Hey, come on now, milady! If the baron finds you here of all people, he’ll damn sure flay me! Cut things short!”

“I’ve got to run now,” she told him wistfully. “I’ll see what I can do. Don’t worry!” She ducked from the aperture and left the dreary cellar.

Kane listened to the watchdog’s snarl, and an uneasy thought recurred to him. Where had Breenanin been during these murderous attacks? Something about her presence in that tree and the wolves’ half-hearted attempts to reach her had been nagging the back of his mind for some time. He shook the thoughts away. Again only guesses and circumstances! Any man here could be shown guilty by that course! Troylin, Evingolis, Tali—any of the baron’s men. And she was but a girl!

But wasn’t the she-wolf fully as dangerous as the male?

When the light of the full moon shone whitely through the bars of his window, Henderin knew it was time. Most of the furniture of his room was in shambles—smashed during his rages. Now he rose from the nest of litter he had collected in one corner; he assumed a crouched stance and began to shuffle stealthily about the debris-strewn chamber, a low growl in his throat. It was hard to think at times, but he fixed the details of what he must do into his disordered brain. Excitement over what must happen tonight ran riot through his senses, and he delighted in prowling around, listening for sounds of his guards, savoring the thrift of the adventure.

All was silent. Henderin slipped to his window and looked down over the courtyard below. Nothing moved. Satisfied that none watched, Henderin pulled at the stone at the base of the window ledge, grunting with the strain. As he knew it would, the stone tore free of its setting, for the crude mortar which held it in place had been carefully weakened. He placed the heavy stone on the floor of the room, then turned to the iron bars. With the stone removed, the bars set exposed in their sockets, which had been cut into adjoining faces of the inside and outside stones of the ledge. Henderin easily worked the bars out of their half sockets below and slid them down from their upper attachment to the wall.

The way cleared, he swung onto the ledge and carefully lowered his body over the edge. Now was the difficult part, but one which he knew he could carry out. The wall was built of rough-cut stones, whose edges jutted outward unevenly. The tireless hand of the elements had eroded enough of the grainy mortar to provide an appreciable crevice between the rough stones. These furnished a precarious hold at best, but to one of Henderin’s strength and agility it was sufficient purchase to climb down the wall and drop into the empty courtyard. And furthermore, Henderin obeyed secret urgings beyond all denial—he could not fail.

With a bark of triumph he dropped the last few feet. It had been a faultless escape. Laughing softly, Henderin vanished into the shadows of the courtyard. There was much yet to accomplish.

The castle slept uneasily. Death had struck relentlessly among its inhabitants. Even now, when the creature who held them all in cold letter must be securely locked and guarded, a fearful doubt yet gnawed at their hearts. But still man must have sleep. So they trusted to locks and guards and slumbered fitfully—this pitiful remnant of the castle’s household.
And in the silent hallways, death stalked. No human eyes had seen it slip across the snow strewn courtyard and in the shadow of the gate softly draw back the bar. Only the dead eyes of Gregig the porter—he had slept at his post a final time—watched the long, gray shapes slink through the opening in an endless line of red death. No one saw as this silent pack of blood-mad wolves followed its leader through a small, unguarded door in the castle’s rear.

Nails clicking softly on the dusty stone, the deadly horde padded across the unfrequented storage room and penetrated the heart of the castle.

The hounds were first to scent the presence of their natural enemies, and they greeted the pack with fierce snarls. Thus the men who patiently stood guard outside Henderin’s empty chamber looked upon death.

For one startled moment they were frozen in horror as the howling wolves and their nightmare leader raced through the hall toward them. Then they shouted the alarm and drew their swords for a desperate last stand. The shouts of the doomed retainers added to the snarl of the lunging wave of gray fury—and the combatant swirled in a howling, milling melee!

This time the wolves faced not helpless sleepers or unsuspecting victims. The retainers were well armed and mad with the hopelessness of their position. Dripping swords hewed into the onrushing ranks, smashing through one furred devil after another. The hounds battled gamely beside their masters, equally determined to meet death with as many of their hated enemy as possible. The stones ran slippery with blood, as the halls resounded with shrieks and howls of agony.

But the wolves were too many, and their awesome leader made them invincible. In unspeakable fury the werewolf leapt among the struggling figures and seized one of the soldiers. Ignoring the human’s desperate sword thrusts, it hurled its helpless prey against the stone floor, smashing his skull with the impact. Already the hounds had gone down under an avalanche of slashing fangs, and the remaining humans now fettered before the pack. Blood spurting from frightful wounds, they continued to hack wildly at their slayers, even as the pack pulled them down to mangled extinction.