Journey of the Hunted

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 werewolf

Altea Kardas, a confessed witch

Regis, singer and harpist of Venice

Raphael, lutist of Venice

Carlo, zink player of Venice

Mileko, protégé of Sarputeen

Sarputeen, sorcerer and father of Thal

Rotfeng, a werewolf

Petr, a priest

Simona, a priestess

Guther, a bounty hunter

Hammerlith, a miner and dwarf

Tekax, a sorcerer

Janfelter, an assassin

Emil, servant of Sarputeen

Sir Krengar, a knight of Zilina

Karl 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.

Chapter 2. Stay For a Drink

When three men emerged from a forest path onto the road, they were surprised to see a motley group of strangers with a woman on a horse. Altea felt their eyes on her, and anxiety clawed at her guts like a cat in a wet bag.

What did the men see when they looked at her? Did they see the witch that she was confessed to be? Would they want to strap her to a stake and consume her with flame? Thal had saved her from that fate but a gulf had opened between her and the people she had once counted herself among.

Thal hailed the men. By their matching looks they appeared to be a father with his two grown sons. They had bundles of wood across their shoulders, but they set them down to speak with the strangers. Their hatchets were handy at their belts. The blades gleamed from good maintenance.

With Pistol at his heels, Thal approached them. Altea envied his easy confidence. She wanted to regain her own. Willfully she lifted her chin. She must not let them think their staring could intimidate her. The horse slanted its ears back, perhaps sensing her turmoil.

Who be you folks? the older man asked of the strangers.

A band of players wandering the land, Thal replied.

You must be headed for Prague then, the man said. After a second look at Thal, he eyed him more closely. His armor and weapons were naturally worrisome.

We’ve been there, Regis interjected. It seems we got a bit lost on our way out.

Your speech is strange, the man said, noticing the accent.

Thal explained that Regis, Carlo, and Raphael were from Venice. He then introduced everyone. He had no idea where Mileko was from, so he did not mention it.

And my wife Altea, recently of Prague, he said and smiled toward her.

A little shiver of pride cheered Altea. To hear him declare her his wife made her feel valued.

And I am Thal, he said and extended his hand to the fatherly man.

Altea was not shocked that Thal had so openly mentioned his name. He was a brash soul, but she still held her breath. Trust him. He’ll get away with it, she told herself and exhaled.

His name caused a ripple of recognition across the faces of the two younger men. Their father was a better master of his expression, but he was slow to raise his hand and grip the extended palm.

The man cleared his throat and said, That might be a bit of a dangerous name. Perhaps you haven’t heard yet about the notorious criminal Thal Lesky.

Oh, I’ve heard. A thousand florins for his capture, Thal said.

Two hundred, blurted one of the sons.

His father shot him a disappointed look.

Only two hundred? Then he can’t be that bad, Thal said. Did he really kill the Magistrate in Prague?

Yes, and many others, the father replied. He glanced again at Altea, and she suspected that he was rethinking the details he had heard about the werewolf attack upon the Court and jail.

Thal continued, Powerful people can make powerful enemies. I say it’s best not to involve ourselves with such things.

The older man pushed back his felt cap and scratched the thatch of white hair over his forehead. Slowly he nodded and then grinned.

We’re not a family likely to shed a tear over a Magistrate. I’m Karel Truhan. These are my sons David and Dominik.

The younger men now shook hands with Thal.

Karel added, I think your name is going to attract attention, even though you’re not Thal Lesky.

Have people been looking for him? Thal asked.

Strange nasty men have come past our farm three times, said David.

Bounty hunters, Karel clarified.

I’ll be careful, Thal said. Changing the subject he asked, Is a village close where my musician friends can earn us supper?

We don’t get many troubadours on this back road, but you can reach Stara Boleslav from here. I imagine there’s a supper to be gotten for a good song, Karel said.

We have many good songs, Regis declared, looking forward to having an audience again.

Altea slid off the horse. She wrapped her shawl over her hands to hide the splints and bandages on her thumbs. Let my horse carry your wood, she offered.

You need to ride, Thal said with concern.

I need to stretch my legs, she countered. Asserting herself loosened the stress from her midsection. I’m sure these gentlemen would appreciate a little help, she said. Her smile warmed the cheeks of David and Dominik.

My boys have no need to inconvenience a lady, Karel said.

Please, it’s no trouble to me. Maybe you can find more things for them to carry on the way home if you worry I’m inviting them to be slothful, she said.

Crumpling to her charms, Karel chuckled. We thank you, he said and motioned for his sons to load up the horse. Mileko silently helped them tie on the bundles of sticks.

When everyone got moving again, Regis made sure to strike up conversation with the locals and was soon fascinating them with accounts of fabulous Venice. Altea suspected he was trying to keep them from speaking with Thal, and she appreciated the chance to be close to him.

I miss you stuck on the horse, she said.

I’ll not see you worn down with hard hiking all day long, Thal said. He slid a hand onto the small of her back.

My butt is sore from the saddle, she complained.

Your feet will be sore soon enough, he warned her.

She did not doubt him. The journey ahead would be far greater than anything she had ever done. Until her escape with Thal she had never been out of sight of Prague, and Thal was likely right about her not wishing to walk all the way to the Tatras Mountains where his father dwelled.

The woodland soon gave way to pastures and fields. Golden wheat and tall rye were ready for the scythe.

Up ahead a boy herded two milk cows with big calves onto the road. Pistol tore off yapping at the livestock. He was too small to make them run, but the calves kicked and the boy yelled.

Pistol! Thal called. The small dog returned to his master, panting happily from his sport.

Is it safe here, Pistol? Altea whispered.

The dog looked at her and then looked to Thal.

He likes it so far, Thal said.

Altea adjusted the shawl around her hands, but there was no way to make the arrangement look normal, especially on a warm day.

What will I say has happened to me? she whispered.

Thal frowned thoughtfully. He was usually quick with answers, but Altea could tell that he was stymied. The damage left by the thumbscrews was hard to explain in any other way.

You fell down, he finally offered.

I suppose that will work, she said.

Ahead she spotted a homestead and her eyes widened with apprehension. Her return to society was at hand. Smoke rose from the chimney of the stone and timber house. A small child played in the front yard. Chickens scratched. A big lady was arranging plums on drying racks. The sleeves of her shirt were white. A gray bodice with laces struggled to contain her ample bosom. A pale blue skirt brushed the tops of her bare feet. And a crisp linen wrap contained her hair.

She stopped what she was doing when the unexpected group arrived with her family. A toddler in a cream-colored shirt and diaper ran to her and gripped her legs.

Altea stared at the grubby face of the little boy. Sorrow stabbed at her as she thought of her little brothers that she would never see again.

They would not want to see me, she thought.

Karel hurried forward to his wife so he could introduce the people he had encountered. Rather bemused, she looked at the strangers. Her gaze always came back to Thal.

Karel hollered to his sons to unload the wood and draw up fresh water from the well. While the horse slurped at the trough, the men passed around the cup and then Thal refilled the dipper and held it up for Altea. He had become used to aiding her with the small tasks of daily existence, but she suddenly loathed to appear so helpless. She would have to reveal her injury eventually. The longer she hid her condition the more she feared looking guilty. She tossed the shawl over her shoulder and reached for the cup. Her bandaged thumbs made grasping it awkward. She took a long drink and avoided looking at anyone. Thal took the dipper from her and she put the shawl around her hands again.

Thank you for the water, Thal said. We’ll be on our way.

Pray stay and have a drink with me, Karel invited.

Thal halted mid step. He had been trying to rush away, but the pleasant offer was tempting. Regis caught his eye. A drink would be most welcome.

That won’t be necessary, Mileko said pointedly.

Oh, I see… Karel mumbled.

Of course it’s not necessary. That’s what makes it special, Thal said.

Yes! Karel said much more brightly.

Altea noticed the musicians perk up. Carlo flashed her a smile. He was her same height and their eyes often connected. She knew he always looked forward to a drink.

Your offer is very kind, Thal said.

Karel led them toward a table and benches in the yard. Woman, get my good bottle, he said.

His wife went inside with her toddler trailing. The musicians and Thal settled in on the benches with their hosts. Mileko hung back. Altea was not sure if she should sit. Joining a group of men at a table seemed strange.

The lady returned with a tray of cups and a big ceramic jug. After delivering them, she asked Altea to come inside with her. Altea glanced at Thal. He seemed at ease. She knew he was a good judge of people and decided to trust his example.

Thank you, she said and followed her hostess.

When she crossed the threshold the homey atmosphere was a shock after weeks hiding in a crude cabin. Stew simmered over the fire. The aroma of fresh baked bread tugged at her appetite. Medicinal and cooking herbs hung in bundles from the rafters. Lacy curtains framed the sunny windows. The little boy ducked behind a table and peeked at the visitor.