Journey of the Hunted

Werewolves in the Renaissance 2

By Tracy Falbe

Journey of the Hunted: Werewolves in the Renaissance 2Copyright Tracy Falbe, all rights reservedFirst published 2014 by Brave Luck Books ™ an imprint and trademark of Falbe

Publishing. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-

sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events described herein are

products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not done on purpose by the author.

This work is protected by U.S and International copyright law. All rights reserved to the copyright holder, Tracy Falbe, who spent a year of her life developing and crafting this story and whose written works generate one of her few sources of income. Except for reasonable quotes and excerpts by reviewers, the content of this book cannot be reproduced or distributed in whole or part in any medium without express written permission from the publisher.

To contact Tracy Falbe, please visit her website at www.braveluck.com. Cover design copyright Tracy Falbe. Stock images used in design are licensed by

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Dedication

To those rejected for what they are.

“What the people love has little to do with what comes to pass,” Mileko argued. “Don’t fancy yourself some folk hero. You’re the monster in the night and they will always fear

you.”

Author’s Note on the Historical Period

In the year 1561 the Kingdom of Bohemia maintained an uneasy peace. The recent 1555 Peace of Augsburg had established that Protestant and Catholic states could coexist within the Holy Roman Empire. But extreme religious tension persisted, and more ravages were in store for Bohemia in the heart of the Holy Roman Empire.

Parts of the Empire had already suffered through wars spawned by the Protestant Reformation during the 1520s, 1530s, and 1540s. This deepening conflict exacerbated damage done even earlier during the Hussite Wars of 1419 to 1434.

Worse yet, on the horizon lurked the Thirty Years War that started dramatically in 1618 with the Defenestration of Prague. Mass atrocities defined this war when ever larger armies of conscripts and mercenaries sacked cities up and down Europe. The suffering of the people was epic.

Journey of the Hunted is set in the discontented decades before this carnage and famine spilled across Europe.

During this time everyone was afraid. Printing technology was spreading new ideas more rapidly than ever before. Those who craved change continually confronted the guardians of the status quo.

Foreign threats worsened the anxiety of social upheavals. The Ottoman Turks had made considerable conquests in the 1530s and claimed much of the Kingdom of Hungary. The Holy Roman Empire was on constant guard against this hated enemy.

The 16th century was also a time of rising populations. More land was being cultivated. Capitalism was taking its modern form. Advances in technology in the 14th and 15th centuries had expanded mining operations. A larger flow of gold, silver, copper, and mercury from the mountain mines financed exploration and infrastructure. The Fugger family of Augsburg arose as one of the most influential forces in Europe. The family controlled a vast fortune that included mining monopolies and banking. Their wealth paid for the wars waged by Holy Roman Emperors.

An expanding economy meant more to fight over for the princes and priests of Europe. And more people and more metal meant more soldiers and more weapons. Advances in gunpowder weaponry gave warmongers new toys with which to spread destruction. In the beginning the Ottoman Turks were the best at this game, but Europe was catching up.

Understanding the broad strokes of this historical canvas, I imagined a land where one age of history was shifting to the next. The stable and largely rural populations of the Middle Ages were giving way to population growth and urban development. Buildings were going up. More resources had to be extracted from the land as cities grew or were rebuilt after incessant wars.

While researching the route of this fictional adventure, I often read about destroyed churches and burned towns. I mention these things here so you will better appreciate details stitched into the story.

Although the people of Europe at this time noticed their rising population with concern, my view from the future let me imagine a Europe with tens of millions fewer people. Deep old forests with few trails still existed, but civilization was biting more deeply with every passing year. Many timbers were needed to build the palaces, homes, mills, and ships demanded by an expanding economy. The wild places had no defenders,

and the ravenous economies and war machines of Europe plundered them at will. Science, technology, and nation states in conjunction with their chosen religious institutions took strict command of the social order. These forces aggressively stomped out old ways of viewing the world. A connection to Nature became a connection to the Devil in the eyes of priests and kings alike.

From this brutal time our modern age was forged.

The Cast

Thal Lesky, a werewolfAltea Kardas, a confessed witchRegis, singer and harpist of VeniceRaphael, lutist of VeniceCarlo, zink player of VeniceMileko, protégé of SarputeenSarputeen, sorcerer and father of ThalRotfeng, a werewolfPetr, a priestSimona, a priestessGuther, a bounty hunterHammerlith, a miner and dwarfTekax, a sorcererJanfelter, an assassinEmil, servant of SarputeenSir Krengar, a knight of ZilinaKarl Thurzo, Duke of Zilina

Chapter 1. My Name Is Thal

Thal regarded the empty rutted lane with trepidation. His worry played across his face in this unguarded moment when he was alone with only his dog. He did not want the others to see his doubts. They looked to him to keep them safe, except for Mileko who wished to be the one in charge.

Trees crowded the road on both sides. Herbs and grass along the edges were tall and heavy with seed at late summer. Birds sang. Jittery butterflies bounced across the sunny spots. The benign rural track should have looked inviting, but Thal knew that returning to human society was a perilous endeavor.

Two hundred gold florins. That was the bounty upon his head now. Ten fold what it had been before his bloody

visit to Prague. While the royal ink had been drying on the new reward for his capture or death he had hidden in a forest north of the city. The seal of King Ferdinand Hapsburg of Bohemia himself had been applied to the papers sent forth bearing royal condemnations

for his terrible crimes, both real and imagined. Thal was now a concern of the Holy Roman Empire.

He did not worry too much about himself. He was hard to catch and hard to kill. And generally he was well liked among the people. He liked people too, at least the kind ones. He would be rubbing elbows with the folk again soon, and the challenge would be to elicit their kindness and avoid the attention of those who hunted him. Thal figured that it was a safe bet that those who hunted him would not necessarily be popular with the common folk.

Traveling off the roads would be safest for his companions, but Thal had no wish to inflict continued hardship on them. They had scanty supplies, and the gentle season would not last forever. They had far to go before he could gain real shelter. He would need all his cunning and charm to lead them out of Bohemia and across Moravia. And then farther still into the land of the Slovaks where his father Sarputeen lived. With his father Thal believed he would find safety. And he also hoped to learn about the magic that had altered his life.

Sarputeen had sent Mileko to guide him to his castle. Thal was grateful for the arrival of help when his need had been greatest. Although mysterious, Mileko was talented, and Thal expected to rely upon the man’s skills during their dangerous journey.

Thal sniffed the air. No people were about but someone came down this lonely track most days. His anticipation to return to the world of people surprised him because he loved the forest. It was the place where his soul could draw breath, but he was a man too and civilization was not without its delights.

His dog Pistol whined eagerly and wagged his tail. “Yes, it’s best we get started,” Thal agreed. He slipped back into the trees. He tread lightly, mindful of every impression left by

his boots. With subtle movements he avoided snagging his cloak on the leafy twigs that reached greedily into the sunshine at the edge of the road.

Back under the shade, the grass and weeds diminished until only drab forest litter rustled beneath his feet. Patient green shoots of undergrowth sipped at the light between the trees. The contrast to the open breezy roadway was sharp to his sensitive mind. The perpetual slumber of lucid dreams embraced this forest from root to crown. This energy welcomed his spirit, and he appreciated his kinship with the surroundings.

Not far from the road his companions awaited him. Mileko’s black horse snorted when Thal drew near. Even after weeks in its proximity the animal still remained wary of him.

His five companions were gathered near the horse. Altea, the only woman among them, walked forward to greet him. Thal smiled because that was what he always wanted to do when he beheld her.

My wife, he thought fondly, still getting used to the idea. She did not smile back. Her worries were not hidden. This emotional turbulence

darkened the stormy gun metal flecks in her sky blue eyes. Thal understood that she feared their return to civilization more than he. In his arms she had confided her despair to him more than once. With her skin against his, she had confessed that she did not know who she was anymore. The young woman who had thought mostly of suitors and hope chests and starting a family was outcast now. The oblivion of her identity confronted her. She had to venture forth with a scarred body and face the threat of

wholesale condemnation. She was not even fully healed yet. For her sake Thal had delayed traveling as long as he could.

“Is anyone on the road?” Altea asked. Thal brushed a strand of her golden hair behind her ear. “Not right now,” he said.Having no reason for delay disappointed her.To reassure her he said, “It shan’t be like Prague.” Altea mustered a hopeful smile. She believed him, but one glance at the pistols and

sword at his waist, the cuirass with the lead ball embedded in it, and the wolf fur peeking from beneath his cloak told her that trouble would find him.

She went to the horse. Mileko held its bridle. Regis came forward to help her mount. Her healing thumbs were still too delicate for her to grip anything yet. Thal stayed back to avoid agitating the horse. He watched his friend hold the stirrup so she could get her foot in it. Then Regis pressed close to the horse and offered Altea his shoulder. She hitched an elbow over his shoulder and pulled herself up. As she tossed a leg over the saddle, Regis quickly grabbed her skirt to make sure she did not slide off the other side.

Thal wished he could be the one to help her, but he was not jealous to see Regis touching her. Even though no other man could trust Regis with his woman, Thal counted him as a close friend and knew that the Venetian would never betray him like that. Regis knew what Thal could do when his temper was bad, and it was the rare fool who would knowingly provoke that.

Now that Altea was on the horse, Carlo and Raphael helped Regis strap their instrument cases to the saddle. They were looking forward to having a beast of burden to carry their musical instruments. They had mostly walked from Venice all the way to Prague with their beloved instruments on their backs.

Mileko was the one who would get a taste of walking now. He stroked the white blaze on the face of his black horse. Thal had insisted that he give up his mount to Altea. There was no arguing with her need, but Mileko’s annoyance with the situation was no secret.

Thal led them to the road. He stayed a little ahead of Mileko and the horse. Pistol bounded back and forth across the road sniffing and chasing through the herbs and bushes. Regis came alongside Thal. He had cut a sapling and was using it for a walking stick.

“I feel a bit naked without my harp on my back,” he said. “I’m sure the horse won’t mind if you take it back,” Thal said.Regis chuckled. “I’ll give the horse a chance. If I’d really thought about the hardship

of walking from Venice to Bohemia with my pack on my back I might’ve stayed home,” he said.

“What? Have you lost your craving for adventure? Do you no longer wish to learn new songs from far away places?” Thal said.

A wistful sigh passed the singer’s lips. He looked up the road and the familiar wanderlust tugged at him. “Your father has a castle. Perhaps you can convince him to be a patron of us,” Regis said.

“I will do my best,” Thal said, knowing that Regis and his companions were always interested in high class supporters. Their music deserved it. Perhaps his father could be a proper patron to the musicians. Mileko has said that Sarputeen was the lord of a castle. Although memories of his youth were spotty, Thal recalled no castle. His father must

have gained it during their long years of separation. Altered by magic, Thal had lived as a wolf in the forest for decades. The year was 1561 now, but the year of his birth was unknown to him. His young man’s body was deceptive for his heart had beaten for many seasons. He had taken in the wisdom of the land, but the world of men remained strange, fearsome, and exciting.

Regis glanced back at the others. Delicately he said, “Mileko suggests you think of a new name to travel with.”

“Why does Mileko not tell me this himself?” Thal said.“He supposes you will listen to me,” Regis said. “I listen to him,” Thal said testily. “It’s a good idea,” Regis said. “I suppose,” Thal grumbled. Hearing his friend’s unhappiness, Regis said, “This bothers you.”“My name is important to me,” Thal said. It was the name written on the inside of his

wolf fur. It was the word that completed the transformation spell. Regis considered that a name change might be pointless. Thal’s unique looks were

not easy to hide. His graceful yet sturdy physique advertised his superior strength. The flecks of black and silver in his glossy reddish brown hair were odd, and his striking eyes captivated all who noticed their blended colors.

“Do you want me to change my name?” Thal asked. Affection for Thal surged inside Regis. He knew Thal asked only for the benefit of

the others and not himself. Those who hunted Thal threatened all of them. Even if Regis abandoned Thal, he was known to associate with him. He could be captured and interrogated. It had happened already and his rescue had been a bloody affair.

“Not if you don’t wish it my friend,” Regis said. “Thank you.”The group continued. The banter of Carlo and Raphael subsided and everyone

walked in thoughtful silence until Thal suddenly burst into a run and shouted, “Pistol, no!”

The small brown and white dog trotted back into the road. Fresh dirt coated his nose and paws. He went obediently to his master.

“What is it?” Regis asked, catching up. Thal pointed into the tall grass of a meadow. A crude wooden cross stuck up from a

mound of soil. The green sprouts on the grave were still small, attesting to its recent digging. Thal could detect a whiff of dead flesh. Pistol had only begun to disturb the burial, and Thal was glad that nothing had been uncovered.

Carlo and Raphael regarded the grave sadly. “I wonder who it could’ve been?” Raphael murmured. “A suicide maybe?” Carlo whispered. Such a one would not have been allowed to be

buried in a consecrated churchyard. Mileko came up leading the horse. His dark hood shaded his eyes from the bright

sun. The cowl accentuated his long nose that protruded above his thin mouth. “It is likely that someone simply died on a journey and his companions had little

choice but to bury him,” he said. He was not spooked by the grave like the musicians, who seemed to feel everything and see a ghost story everywhere.

Altea from her vantage point higher on the horse had a good view of the lonely burial.

“The grave is small,” she observed, and imagined the dead babe. Out of habit she raised her hand to cross herself, but then aborted the action.

She looked away from the grave and saw that Thal was watching her.“Let’s not linger here,” he said. “A village must be close, 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.

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