The timid falsetto voice of the serving boy drew the reptilian gaze of the sorcerer. The boy announced the arrival of Janfelter.
Tekax nodded once to grant his permission. The lad scurried away after holding the door for the fext. He preferred the chilly dark hall to their company.
Upon seeing Janfelter’s condition, Tekax disliked the evidence of his creation’s vulnerability. Splotchy stubble had replaced Janfelter’s long dark hair, and slowly healing burns persisted on his neck and lips. His eyelashes had only grown back halfway. Janfelter twitched when he bowed because a sharp pain struck him when he bent over.
“Tell me everything,” Tekax commanded. He fondled the handle of his cane while his champion recounted sowing terror among the locals near Zilina. Those deeds had drawn Thal out, but the werewolf now had a band of followers to aid him.
Tekax ruminated on the news that Thal had assembled a group of servants. When Janfelter confirmed that Sarputeen also traveled with his son, Tekax concealed his deep surprise. Sarputeen had sequestered himself a long time, and Tekax took a moment to accept that their confrontation was now at hand. All of the past glories of conquest and power that Tekax had once enjoyed faded as he anticipated the conclusion of his oldest rivalry. The magic that he could not have would soon be gone from the world where his power would hold sway without judgment.
“There’s more, my Lord,” Janfelter continued when he judged that Tekax was receptive again. “In Pressburg, Sarputeen worked his powers upon the people and inflamed them against me. He poses as some Christian monk and none seem able to see through his guise. This is how I came to be struck so low. I had to escape the burning stake itself!”
“He did this in the town?” Tekax asked.
“Yes.”
“He is not a creature of the town,” Tekax murmured. He knew of Sarputeen’s wiles that could ensnare and command individuals, but he had not guessed that the werelord’s charms could extend to large groups.
“I know not what they were doing in Pressburg,” Janfelter concluded.
Tekax considered the mystery but could think of no reason to account for Sarputeen’s mission to the river town. Perhaps it did not matter.
“Where are he and Thal now?” Tekax asked.
“Forgive me, my Lord, but I do not know. I came here via Buda and encountered no sign of them,” Janfelter answered. He stood patiently, as immobile as a corpse, while his lord pondered the new information.
Tekax resisted the natural urge to criticize Janfelter for his failings. The man had given his utmost in his service and suffered for his loyalty. Janfelter belonged to him in totality, and Tekax placed much value on that. Janfelter and those like him who had served in years past were the best that Tekax could hope to have. Even so, none of them came close to what a son of Gretchen could have been. He should not have let her slip away. He should have found a way to force her to stay.
The old resentment at losing his chance at a son stirred the pot of his hatred. The aroma of its simmering jealousy whetted his appetite for the reckoning that Sarputeen would soon face.
“Ready the tower. Light the great lamp,” Tekax ordered. Janfelter bowed away to inform the servants.
Tekax heaved himself out of his chair with his cane. The chill of winter had set into his joints like frost on stone. The knowledge that the years were catching up with him flirted with his consciousness, but he shrugged off the notion. His mind understood things that most men could not grasp in a hundred lives, and his potions would banish this elderly creaking.
Tekax pulled a key ring from his belt and opened a cabinet. Small ceramic bottles lined the shelves, and he drank the contents of one. The effect would not be immediate, but gradually his aches and pains would retreat. He had never had the bodily strength and speed of Sarputeen, but his cunning and craft would foil the beast if he dared to come to his castle.
And Tekax suspected that Sarputeen was truly coming for him in person. He would meditate until he detected his rival’s whereabouts. He suspected that Sarputeen was not far away.
Tekax reached the tower’s roof late in the afternoon. The servants were just finishing setting up his table and equipment and removing the flags. The great lamp drew oil from a cauldron of oil. The wick as big as a blanket blazed, and the wind tugged sooty banners of smoke across the cloudy sky.
The servants hastened to complete their chores. Their cringing postures revealed their fear of their master. They had no desire to witness his sorcery.
Tekax walked to the rampart and looked across the land. The wind whipped at his loose robe, and he felt vitality spreading through his body.
Once the tonic was fully in effect, he went to his table. The apparatus that held a wafer thin sheet of metal quivered in the wind. He steadied the enchanted metal with his gentle fingertips and drew slow, even breaths. He slid gradually into a deep meditation. His fingers hovered barely above the sensitive metal membrane. He delved his memories for the sound of Sarputeen’s voice. His rival would sound older now but those nuanced tones and authority would still be there. A seductive voice, Tekax recalled.
After he gathered fully the memory, Tekax set his great mind to listening. Many energies of the world converged on his tower where masters before him in the distant ages of sorcery had gathered to ply their crafts. His sensitive machine tapped into the invisible power that conveyed the thoughts and voices of the world.
The tonic that warmed his body protected him from the biting wind that picked up as darkness overtook the land. A few lanterns twinkled in the village at the foot of his fortress where simple people knew nothing of his esoteric deeds.
Tekax patiently filtered the great many noises that bombarded him as he probed the land. The enchanted metal vibrated against his fingers. The barking of a dog insistently tugged at his attention. When it stopped, he was at first relieved to be rid of the annoyance, but then he reconsidered. Why had that particular dog’s bark attracted his attention?
Tekax did not hear the bark again, but he kept his attention on the dog’s location, and he finally heard a rich voice mellowed by age…
“We must wait for the moon.”
Tekax missed any lines that immediately followed because of his excitement. Focused again, he heard another voice.
“People watch us from the hill tops.”
Thal? Tekax guessed.
“Let them watch.”
“Valentino wants to shoot the canon at them.”
“I suppose he’s here to make those types of decisions.”
“I suspect he needs to practice.”
Their familial rapport soon repulsed Tekax who ended his meditation. He had found Sarputeen’s location, and he seemed in possession of canons. The astonishing revelation almost made him doubt what he had heard. Sarputeen, the creature of the high mountain meadows, shifting river banks, and mossy old growth, had taken up modern tools of war. The move was most unexpected.
Tekax blinked to wet his eyes that had grown dry in the wind. Too little, too late, he decided and held Sarputeen’s advance with some disdain. The wolf was powerless against a warmonger.
A fit of coughing overtook Tekax. As he cleared his throat, he realized his weariness. His exposure on the tower to the driving cold wind had sapped his vigor. The tonic wore off more quickly than it had even a few short months ago.
Tekax went inside. He took his time on the stairs due to the ache in his knees. He hollered for Janfelter, and his voice boomed up and down the barren stairwell.
His champion met him at the door to his private meeting chambers. The tower’s chill forced squeaks from the tight hinges of the heavy door.
Tekax related his orders without preamble. “This night prepare all my men to go west on the hill road. Sarputeen, Thal, and his allies are advancing on us with canons.”
“Canons?” Janfelter said incredulously.
Tekax nodded. “He likely means to attack this fortress on the full moon,” he said.
“How many men does he have?” Janfelter asked, wary of Sarputeen’s ability to rile crowds.
“That’s what I task you with learning,” Tekax said. “Send back word of what you find and give battle.”
“Yes, Master, I will most earnestly,” Janfelter pledged.
“Will you?” Tekax demanded.
“Of course, Master. I want very much to make those werewolves pay for the trials I’ve suffered on their account,” Janfelter said.
“Before you leave, inform your mother and sister that they are to be lodged in the tower. With trouble on the horizon, their safety concerns me,” Tekax said.
Janfelter knew that no one’s safety concerned his master. Dread on behalf of his kin revealed the remnants of his humanity, but he hid his heart from the sorcerer. Obedience was the only reasonable course. He understood that Tekax wanted to increase his motivation beyond a matter of personal pride. Failure would lead to consequences for the two women in the village.
“I will do all that you have set before me, Master,” he said.
Tekax waved the fext away. He fingered the keys hanging from his belt and considered his cabinet of tonics. Despite his fatigue, he chose to forgo the pharmaceutical boost even if more work lay before him tonight.
While the sound of Sarputeen’s distant voice remained fresh in his mind, he went to his main hall. A single brazier burned at the center of the room, and candles glittered on the ancient walls. He felt the coldness of the stone floor radiate up his metal cane into his hand. He approached the brazier and stared at the fire burning in its pit. Smoke curled and left sooty film on the distant ceiling. The wolf skins hanging from the walls reminded him that unruly Nature could do little against him. His mind delved the secrets of the physical world, and his arts harnessed materials to his will.
Slowly, he circled the brazier. His eyes scanned the stone floor tiles until he spied the carefully fitted edges where the stones had been laid over his iron installations.
Upon occupying the old fortress, he had set his workers to installing his traps. His largest one was in here where presumably an invader would burst in after conquering the main the gate, but Tekax had never activated its magical elements.
With his cane, he traced the edges of the stone tiles that concealed the buried parts. He let his malice build inside him. He called upon the painful feelings that had assailed him when Sarputeen had chosen to withhold knowledge and then Gretchen had turned her back on him. He could have given her everything. She could have lived in luxury in the East and practiced her crafts under his protection. Instead she had chosen to love an animal and die in obscurity.
He shook his head and drew out the festering pus that was his jealousy. With it, he encoded the spells that he cast. Through the night, he walked the edges of his trap and imbued its concealed mechanical energy with his wicked ingenuity.