Wolf's Cross (16 page)

T
he book was not difficult to locate. It sat on the desk, wrapped in a pearl-white cloth covered by interlocking crosses embroidered with golden thread. He gently unfolded the cloth to reveal a book with a delicately tooled cover. The device of the Teutonic Knights was inset into crawling vines
and flowering plants that had been embossed onto the brown leather.

Despite his uncle’s suspicions, Telek’s initial thought was that this was some sort of devotional book. The first few pages of delicately inked script did not dissuade him. The first few psalms in Vulgate Latin gave the appearance of a book of hours.

He turned the pages with care, not expecting much more.

But a few pages in, he stopped. The text changed from the psalms—the writing was still Vulgate, but in a smaller, more controlled hand. The page itself was different, closely written, with small, angled margins that spoke to being removed from some prior book and rebound into this one. Facing the new text was a miniature painting showing a monk at a scribal bench, wearing robes bearing the black cross of the Order. At the monk’s feet, a sword lay wrapped in some sort of animal skin.

The words across from the studious monk read:

Telek arched an eyebrow as he worked his way through the Latin text. He found it somewhat harder because the words were not familiar biblical verses, and because the writing was so cramped.

But it was clear that he was not looking at a typical book of hours. He was reading a copy of a report from the Teutonic Order to the pope over a hundred years ago, before the Germans had
pacified half the pagan wild that was now the Monastic State to the north. As usual, his uncle’s instincts had proved sound.

He turned the page and sucked in a breath at a monstrous illustration. A demon with a massive snarling wolf’s head faced him. It stood upright on a wolf’s legs, ending in massive splayed paws, and it was covered in shaggy brown fur. Its arms were long and ended in clawed, half-human hands, one of which held a severed human leg, which it gnawed upon. It stood in front of a dark cave piled high with human bones.

Telek stared at the passage. He had heard travelers’ tales of any manner of strange men and beasts. Men with mouths in their stomachs or skin black as coal; horses with horns growing from their noses. Giants. Dwarfs … He had even heard, on occasion, stories of men who could become beasts at will.

Of course, most such tales were told by some wit who had heard tell of the tale from someone who had heard the tale told by someone who might have once met someone who had known someone who had actually seen such a thing. Of things that moved in the world, Telek trusted his own eyes and ears more than any story. He had known too many drunkards in his life.

But the character of this tale was different, and not only because it was written in the book of a warrior monk who should have little interest in these travelers’ tales. There was something to Brother Semyon’s words—an absence of anything that might be called passion or awe at the telling. For all the vitality of Brother Semyon’s words, he might have just as well been describing the proper aspects of cheese making.

Telek skipped to the next page, and the illustration there was even more disturbing: the same scene, the same skull-strewn cave. Only instead of a brown-furred monster, a naked man stood in a similar posture, still holding a severed human leg. The blood on the man’s chin was angry scarlet against his pale white skin.

Telek wondered, now, exactly what had attacked the Germans. The dead and wounded had borne marks of tooth and claw from some monstrous animal. Was the wolfbreed of Brother Semyon’s words the same beast that the Order had faced, and had they fought such a thing in Masovia?

The phrase “wild and untrained” hung uncomfortably in his mind.

So we now turn to cataloging the unique aspects of this creature, those that differentiate it from both wolf and man
.

“‘And the source of their utility’?” Telek repeated the Vulgate, uncertain if he understood the meaning.
Utility for what?
The passage had an additional note in a hand different from Brother Semyon’s. It was hard to decipher, as the writing was not from one trained as a scribe, and it was German rather than Vulgate. When Telek translated the words as best he could, it read something like:
Brother Gregor reports that those of Semyon’s wolfbreed he has seen can also take on the aspect of a true wolf to hide themselves in the wilds …

He turned the pages, scanning the text as fast as he could
while still managing to form sense out of it. Brother Semyon expounded upon the “wolfbreed” at length and exhaustively, writing in such detail that Telek had to assume that the monk had direct personal knowledge of these things.

Some passages were written as if Semyon himself had carried out the tests—battering the creatures’ legs to see how quickly and perfectly the bones would knit back together. And when he spoke of cutting flesh, it was with uncomfortably close attention to the effect upon male circumcision and a virgin’s maidenhead.

The illustrations, likewise, became more bloody and graphic as he progressed—especially when he came upon the itemization of these creatures’ weaknesses. When Brother Semyon wrote, “
The preternatural healing of these beasts does have precise limits. Any damage that destroys the brain or heart, or severs its connection to the body, shall be mortal to these creatures,”
the miniature facing it showed a decapitated wolf thing, its bloody lupine head resting in its lap. Next to it, and more disturbing, was a naked woman’s body with a hole carved between the breasts.

Other limits were enumerated with similarly grotesque illustrations. The wolfbreed required air, so they were susceptible to drowning. They could also be burned to death if held within a large enough fire, as the fire would burn the flesh faster than they might heal. But the most important limit was their vulnerability to silver.

Not only could silver chains bind these creatures, but contact with the metal would halt their changes as well as limit their healing prowess to that of a normal creature. And wounds inflicted upon them by a silvered blade wouldn’t heal much faster than like wounds inflicted on any other creature.

The text left Telek with little question about what had attacked these Germans. Even without the wounds that had come from some large predatory animal, they had the weapons of silver.
A treasure of the metal strapped to the sides of men who had ostensibly taken a vow of poverty.

Telek cursed at the arrogance of it all. How could an honest Christian man chase something like this into someone else’s lands, then refuse to speak of it?

What were they hiding?

I
t was late evening when Telek slipped from Heinrich’s apartments. Since he was only the length of a corridor from his uncle’s private rooms, he went there to remain unobserved and wait for the Wojewoda Bolesław. He propped himself in a chair, folded his hands together, and fell into a weak, troubled sleep.

His uncle came in sometime after nightfall and woke him from fitful dreams of devil-wolves.

“So my nephew has spent the evening lazing about rather than entertaining my guests?” There was humor in his voice, but it was colored by something darker.

Telek stretched until his joints popped. “Dear Uncle, I did not wish to appear before your guests and complicate whatever explanation you had given for my absence.”

“Good instincts you have, my boy.” Bolesław walked around to a chair facing Telek’s and dropped into it with a grunt. He shook his head and pointed at his nephew with the folded piece of parchment he carried. “So did you learn anything useful, or did you use this only as an opportunity to nap through the Duke’s court?”

Telek leaned forward and nodded. “I learned what they are hunting.”

“Ah.” His uncle smiled wider than usual, showing the gaps in his scarred jawline. “Tell me, and we can see how closely your
knowledge aligns with the tales our guest deigned to tell the bishop.”

“This is a bit extraordinary.”

“Go on. After this night, I expect no less.”

“Well, from what I read, there is a century-old group within the Order that calls itself the Wolfjägers …”

Telek told his uncle about Brother Semyon’s wolfbreed creatures, repeating their strengths and weaknesses as he had read them. Once he had given a full accounting of what the creatures were, his uncle grunted and glanced at the parchment in his hand.

“You have presented much more detail on what it is they hunt.” He handed the parchment to Telek, who immediately noticed the papal seal next to a signature.

“Brother Heinrich was kind enough to lend me his letter of authority, once the bishop encouraged him to,” Bolesław explained.

Telek scanned the letter. It gave the Wolfjägers of the German Order papal authority to travel without let or hindrance through all Christian lands in their pursuit of agents of the Devil. Telek lowered the parchment and said, “Agents of the Devil? Isn’t that a somewhat vague premise on which to invade Masovia?”

“I think Brother Heinrich recognized that, which is why, I suspect, our guest hesitated in producing this letter. Apparently they are pledged to secrecy on the exact nature of these demonic forces but are permitted to discuss such with high officers of the Church.” He leaned over and took the parchment. “Of course, after his audience with Bishop Leszek, I asked as much. But now the bishop shows a similar reluctance to deal with the details of the matter. A ‘wolflike demon abroad in the land’ was as close to a description as I was given.”

“I see. And is the Duke satisfied with this?”

“I left the bishop in conference with the Duke, who has the final say, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I suspect he may allow the Order’s men some freedom, in deference to the diplomatic delicacy of the issue. However, my long experience with the Order inclines me toward suspicion.” Telek’s uncle looked thoughtful for a moment. “I must admit, your tale seems to belie that. It is indeed some great evil that they are searching for.” Bolesław’s gray brows wrestled above his nose as his eyes narrowed. “But your face tells me that there is more to this.”

“Uncle, I base my suspicions on a single hasty reading of a single book. But I believe that the Order may in fact be chasing a demon of their own creation.”

Bolesław snorted. “Are you saying these men of God are in league with Satan? I have no love for these troublesome monks, but even I don’t easily see them as practicing diabolism.”