Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (23 page)

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.

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.