Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (64 page)

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.

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.