Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale by Tracy Falbe

hinted.
    “We could help your brewers sample the latest
batch and offer opinions,” Andreli put in.
    Ondrej sighed. “There’s no shortage of
volunteers for that duty. Now what about this letter you need read?
Or was that just a pretense to gain my audience?” he demanded good
naturedly.
    “It’s not a letter,” Thal said. He drew the
fur off his shoulders.
    Andreli said, “There is writing on the
skin.”
    Turning over the lustrous fur, Thal proffered
it to the monk.
    “Oh,” Ondrej breathed, immediately entranced.
He leaned over the artifact and scanned the brick red lettering.
Gently he took the fur and spread it on his desk.
    “These are Latin letters,” he said
confidently. “But…”
    He trailed off and Thal and Andreli looked on
impatiently. Ondrej turned the fur around and looked at the letters
and then turned it back the other way.
    “What is it?” Andreli asked.
    Ondrej patted his round cheek thoughtfully,
obviously a little confounded. Finally, he explained, “The
characters are Latin but they do not make Latin words. I can sound
things out, but I don’t recognize the words.” He ran a finger along
the words and read, “Bin rum aptudarn. Cass lupu trinostulio. It’s
just nonsense. I’ve never laid eyes upon this language. Where did
you get this?”
    “From my father,” Thal said.
    “And where was he from?” Ondrej pressed.
    Thal did not answer.
    “He has trouble remembering his past,”
Andreli put in. “He wandered out of the Sumava with only this fur.
He told me he’s from Prague.”
    “My mother is from Prague but not my father.
I can’t think of where he was from,” Thal said.
    Assuming Thal was the bastard of some harlot,
Ondrej returned his attention to the intriguing lettering. “Is this
written in blood?” he asked, suddenly uncomfortable.
    “It looks like it is,” Thal said. “Can you
read it all to me? If you teach me all the sounds of the letters I
think that will help me remember what it is. I recognized my name
at the bottom.” He pointed to the word and Ondrej saw that it
definitely said Thal.
    “But these words are just nonsense,” Ondrej
protested, beginning to suspect that Thal was crazy and had
probably been wondering the land suffering from fits. Perhaps he
had even scrawled the nonsense in his own blood, driven by some
strange delusion. Yet Ondrej could not entirely accept his logical
guesses about the stranger. Thal looked healthy and lucid. He had
no outward traits of a madman, and Ondrej had seen more than a few
of those lost souls over the years.
    Thal wanted to overcome the monk’s reluctance
and suggested, “The words might be a code. If I hear them all, it
will help me remember.”
    “A code?” Ondrej whispered. He had heard of
such things. Some scholars liked to correspond in codes, but it
seemed a bit devious and un-Christian. And the blood ink was
certainly unholy.
    The monk glanced at Andreli a bit
reproachfully and then leaned toward Thal. “Young man, I fear this
might be the work of some devilry,” he said.
    Thal did not doubt it but said nothing.
    Ondrej continued, obviously wishing to show
off his knowledge on the subject. “There’s much devilry afoot these
days. A group of Jesuits just passed through here, heading north.
They told me how heresy and witchcraft are getting out of hand.
Mother Church needs her faithful to set things right. The door to
the Devil’s barn has been left open since Luther tricked people
with all his lunacy.”
    “Yes, the northern lands have all gone over
to Luther’s ways I hear,” Andreli commented.
    “Not all of them,” Ondrej said pointedly.
    “Tell me about this devilry,” Thal said,
impatient to get to the heart of the matter.
    The gravity of the subject did not suit
Ondrej, but he was honestly concerned about the wanderer.
    “Young man, I fear that you were taken
captive by warlocks or witches and who knows what happened to you
in the forest. They left this strangely lettered fur as some