The Book of Kane (6 page)

The screams were stilled. Now! snarled the leader in command. Now, go! Before the others can come! More of this will follow for us! But now, go! The wolves wore loath to abandon their twitching prey. It was asking much to go. But the leader must be obeyed. Reluctantly the pack released their booty and pointed their gray muzzles to the outside.

Several humans greeted them in the courtyard—the hopeless shrieks of the dying had aroused the castle. Now the humans stopped in terror to see the crimson-splashed pack pour from the lodge behind their leader.

It was silhouetted there in the pale moonlight—a ghastly hybrid of man and wolf. Covered with white fur it was, and taller than the average human whose shape it borrowed. Cruel claws ended its toes and fingers; its arms long and legs strangely set. Atop its great shoulders was set a demon’s visage—a furry head with high pointed ears and a long jaw more wolf-like than human. Its sharp tusks dripped red in the moonlight. And its bestial eyes gleamed an evil crimson with blasphemous hatred of mankind.

The soldiers drew their weapons in desperation. But they were only four, and the wolves simply overran them—bearing their victims to the earth and slashing them to tatters. A few wolves fell before the humans died. The creature threw itself in fury upon one soldier whose blade had smashed through a gray murderer. Knocking away the human’s weapon, the creature pulled him to its chest in an awful hug. Ribs and vertebrae snapped, as razor fangs buried in the unprotected throat. Then the leader tossed the husk aside and raced through the gate with the pack, as now more men with torches and weapons emerged from the castle. They vanished into the forest.

A scene of hideous carnage greeted the belated rescue party. Those who entered the fatal lodge recoiled in horror at the sight of the slashed and mutilated carcasses of their comrades. In the trampled courtyard, one man yet lived.

“Wolves!” he gasped out with his final breaths. “Dozens of them! It led them in here! A demon! A werewolf! Let them in so they could murder us all! A werewolf!” He died screaming shrilly of dripping fangs.

Kane considered the man’s disclosure. He had just gotten to the scene and had not seen the retreating attackers. Questioning of the men revealed that no one had had any more than a fleeting glimpse as the wolves slipped into the forest. The servants and soldiers who had slept within the dining hall had been first to the scene, and none of them could give an intelligent story of what little they had witnessed.

In a frightened group they dared to go beyond the gate. The tracks of many wolves could be seen in the torchlight. Other tracks were present as well—a single set of almost human footprints. But no bare human foot had made them, for the steps were oddly contorted and the marks of talons reached deeply into the snow.

The worst part was when they dared to follow these uncanny tracks. For the trail of the werewolf led only part way to the woods. Then it curved around and headed back to the castle, to a point along the wall on the far side of the courtyard. Here the tracks indicated that the creature had vaulted the high wall, and on the other side the snow was too trampled to say where he had gone. But it was all too clear that the werewolf had not left the courtyard again.

“May all the gods have mercy on us!” cried someone. “One of us is a demon!”

“Not counting the women, that leaves our strength at about thirty,” was Troylin’s gloomy conclusion. “And out of this number, one of us is a werewolf,” he pronounced, looking over the grim assemblage. It was noon of the following day. A careful search since dawn had failed to turn up any trace of the creature. Since no one had left the enclosure, the werewolf had to be still within. The castle was small—really no more than a fortified manor. A systematic search, check and recheck, of every conceivable hiding place had been carried out. It was plain then that the demonic leader of last night’s attack was not present in the form described by the dying soldier and only faintly glimpsed by those first on the scene. Only one conclusion was possible. The creature was a werewolf—a demon capable of assuming human form to mingle with unsuspecting mankind. As it now was doing.

“There are several types of creatures generally referred to as ‘werewolves’,” explained Lystric. “One type is a human who for some reason can alter his shape into that of a wolf or semilupine hybrid. In other cases, some malevolent demon, ghost or other spirit will assume such a form—although this is merely one choice of many physical manifestations within its power.” He warmed to his lecture. “Yet another type occurs when a wolf is able to assume human form. This monster is usually called the ‘wolf leader’ and is by far the most dangerous. While the other types represent basically solitary habits, the wolf leader is able to coordinate the action of many wolves in order to carry out its fiendish goals—usually wholesale slaughter of mankind. Of course, there are many finer shades and distinctions. Not to mention those harmless individuals who through some mental disorder imagine themselves to be wild beasts.”

“Meaning your charge Henderin, no doubt!” snapped Tali. “Sorry, graybeard, but we’re not buying your burst of fine talk and lecturing! We all know that madman’s no harmless nut—we know about that poor bastard he killed in Carrasahl! Same as these other guys here! ‘Demonic possession’ I believe you said it was then.

“Well we think this thing has gone far enough! You’ve had your chance to exorcise the devil! All you’ve done is loaf around and use Henderin to get free meals! Well by Thoem, we’ve had enough stalling, and now there’s going to be some action!”

“Just what do you mean by that?” thundered the baron, pounding on the table. “Just what sort of ‘action’ do you have in mind against my son!”

Tali retreated a bit, then supported by the opinion of his fellows, he began less belligerently, “Now, milord we all understand how much the boy means to you. And the bunch of us has been loyal to you throughout. There was plenty who said we’d regret ever coming up to this godforsaken place with a madman along. But damn it all, we’re not about to sit here and be slaughtered in our beds just because your son is too highclass to burn for his crimes!” His fellow retainers murmured assent.

“May I remind you,” Troylin hissed, “that murder of an aristocrat—no matter how insane—by a commoner carries a sure penalty of crucifixion! And I assure you that anyone who tries to lay a hand on my boy I’ll cut down myself!”

The crowd was getting dangerous. Tali retorted, “Well then, there’s some of us who’ll run that risk if we have to—better than taking our chances being snowbound with a wolfpack at the walls and a werewolf in our midst! And there’s no punishment when there’s no witnesses!” he added significantly.

“What are we doing!” Breenanin shouted over the ugly growls of the crowd. “You stand there talking about murdering someone who’s never given any of you a just cause to complain! A month ago you would have died for Baron Troylin! Time and again I’ve heard you congratulate yourselves on being in the service of one of the most generous and easy going gentry in the land! And now because you’re suddenly frightened, you talk of killing his only son—whom all of you thought was a great guy before his sickness! You even talk of massacring all of us! I’d prefer letting the wolves in—they’d show more gratitude! You don’t even know if Henderin had anything to do with these murders!”

The two factions glared at one another uncertainly. They were ordinary folk, a country baron and a lot of provincial retainers from a backwater kingdom. Murder and mutiny were foreign to their rustic background, but terror of the unknown and the presence of hideous death brutalized them all. The retainers must regain their accustomed security at any price; Troylin would fight to the death to preserve his son.

Kane had carefully avoided identification with either side. It was not his fight and as always his only loyalty was to himself. He needed the baron’s hospitality until the way south was open. After that he cared less how they resolved the dispute. Still as long as he was here and a werewolf was haunting all in the castle, he was an interested party. And at present he did not want to get involved in mutiny—especially since strangers made bad risks as witnesses.

Tali persisted. “Well, if Henderin isn’t the werewolf, there’s sure a lot of evidence against him! First, we know he killed that guard like he was a wild animal, and we all know he’s crazy. All the time asking for raw meat and howling nights and going berserk! Second, when the hunting party was attacked yesterday, Henderin was running around loose. Caught him coming back from the forest. Mighty strange wolves attacking armed men on horseback, while an unarmed man on foot runs around unharmed. Like he didn’t need to fear them—like he was out there telling them to kill us! Ok—where is Henderin when these other attacks happen? Poor Bete gets his in the storm, bunch of travelers get theirs too—and the thing last night in the soldiers’ quarters! And Henderin—oh, he’s safely locked up! So we’re promised. Only thing is—we’ve just got Lystric’s word for that! And I for one don’t care to believe everything that scheming old fossil has to say!”

Lystric snarled a stream of curses, and the affair came close to blows. Kane saw his chance.

“That’s a most interesting point you’ve made.” The baron eyed him in disgust, but he went on. “Let’s talk about Lystric for a moment. I understand he was just a fifth-rate back of a wizard with a smattering of occult knowledge—unable to make a go of it, until suddenly he gets this job. Sort of suspicious, don’t you think? A perfectly normal, likable guy begins to act like a wolf, and this cunning old fakir announces he knows how to cure him. Nice soft position for him—but only as long as Henderin stays mad. And I understand about all Lystric’s idea of treatment consists of is letting Henderin run around until he snaps out of it. Interesting way to treat demonic possession. Put it all together and it sort of sounds like Lystric has made a plush position for himself. There are several strange drugs and countless spells that can make a normal man begin to act like a wolf.”

Lystric was shrieking protestations and curses by this point, too enraged to make a rebuttal. The others were listening intently.

“So Lystric thinks he’s all set,” continued Kane. “Once in a while Henderin gets away from him and stirs up some mischief, so the old vulture finds it necessary to claim he was under lock and key all the time. Or take it a step further. Maybe he’s mad himself, and he’s using Henderin as a tool to destroy us. I understand he and the baron have no cause to love one another. Magicians have curious ways of settling grudges.

“And for that matter, Lystric just might be a werewolf himself. Not the first time a sorcerer lost his humanity by meddling in the black arts. With Henderin as camouflage, it would be a perfect set up to wipe us all out while we chased the wrong fox.” “So what do you suggest we do?” asked Tali, no longer as sure of himself.

“Remain calm. My point is we don’t know that Henderin is really a werewolf, and Lystric has some mighty questionable connections himself with all this. So we place a guard on them both. Henderin is locked up—we just need to make sure he stays that way. At the same time put several men to watch Lystric. That way they’re both harmless—and no one gets hurt. If they’re innocent, we’ll let them go. And since they’re under surveillance, we’re safe from them. No rebellion, no useless fighting. We might even see a sudden improvement in Henderin’s condition.”

He paused. About him his listeners were showing signs of assent. Here was a reasonable solution that both factions could accept.

“Sounds good,” concluded Tali, who seemed to act as spokesman. “We’ll do it then. Forgive us, milord, for our threats. Of course none of us mean any harm to you or to Henderin—if he’s innocent. It’s just this whole business has gotten the lot of us unhinged. We’re all in a bad fix here, and not knowing whether the man next to you is a friend or a monster… We just lost our heads.”

“I understand,” assented the baron, his temper still aroused but somewhat suppressed. “Let this be the end of this nonsense and I’ll let matters pass. Sure we’ll put a guard on Lystric and my son—and we’ll watch them. But there’ll be no harm to Henderin while I’m master here!”

“All right!” Lystric hissed, forcing himself to speak slowly. “I’ve listened to all this stupidity as long as I can stand it. I’ve heard myself insulted, my motives misinterpreted, my methods criticized—and by a batch of ignorant slobs. I’ve been accused of all manner of nameless crimes and schemes. Now I’m to be put under guard. All right! Go ahead! Obviously I can’t stop you blundering, cowardly fools from your idiotic vigilantism! So lock me up then!

“But I promise you you’re barking up the wrong tree. Time will prove I’m innocent as well as my charge. And while you’re guarding me the real werewolf—assuming it’s not just the product of your terrified delusions—will be running around with impunity! And don’t forget I’m better suited to protect you from it than anyone else among you. Who else has any training or understanding of the necromantic arts? Given time, I tell you, I can discover means to ferret out this creature in your ranks—to seek him out and destroy the beast! Didn’t I earlier warn you all of the danger I bad foreseen in the stars! And no one listened. Fools! Ungrateful scum the lot of you!” The astrologer’s manner was not designed to win him sympathy.

“And now let me tell you something for a charge. I’ve done some thinking on my own, and I’ve got some of my own suspicions! Does that surprise you? Sure! He’s a scheming old charlatan, you say. Bah! What do ignorant buffoons like you know of true genius! Peasants who measure ability by material wealth! I tell you, my talents are so far beyond your mundane groveling imaginations that I waste my breath even trying to help you!

“But listen! Think on this while you smugly pass judgment upon your betters. When did all this start? When this man called Kane came riding up to our door out of the storm, that’s when! And just what do you know of him? A wandering mercenary, he tells you. And you believe! Well I’m not an ignorant backwoods plowhand , and I know something of what goes on in the rest of the world!