Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale by Tracy Falbe Read Free Book Online Page A

said.
    “It’s a nice looking place. What goes on
there?” Thal asked.
    “They’re men devoted to God and Christ,”
Andreli explained.
    Thal nodded, starting to recall the
omnipresent role of religion.
    “But they’re really not so boring as that
sounds,” Andreli continued. “Some here are literate, and I have a
friend who might be able to read the words on your fur.”
    Thal touched his fur possessively. He feared
that whatever the words revealed would best be kept private, but he
was undeniably curious.
    “We’ll visit here tomorrow,” Andreli said.
“And let’s pray that my Devil’s tongue will convince them to share
some beer with the needy of the world,” he added with a laugh.
    The throbbing metallic ringing of a bell
called the brothers to prayer as Andreli and Thal slipped back into
the woods.
    ******
    Thal was excited as he approached the
monastery. The thick stone walls encircling the hill overlooking
the river beckoned him back to a realm that had become alien to
him.
    Strolling toward the main gate, Andreli waved
pleasantly to the lay brothers working the land. Fresh soil dirtied
the bottom edges of their undyed robes. Simple wooden crosses hung
around their necks on leather cords. No one said anything, and only
two brothers waved back.
    “No women live here?” Thal asked.
    Andreli rolled his eyes. “It’s a monastery,”
he said, and Thal gathered that it was a place of only men.
    The gate was wide open. Two monks in the
courtyard spotted Andreli and rushed into a dormitory.
    “They don’t seem interested in your arrival,”
Thal noted.
    “Brother Ondrej is a very pleasant fellow.
Wasted on the Church in my opinion, but he’s got a nice life here I
suppose,” Andreli said.
    When they walked through the gates, Thal
paused to take in the scene. A church naturally dominated the
collection of buildings. Stone pavers connected all the buildings
and green turf filled the gaps. Andreli headed toward a large
building opposite the church. Ivy and moss clung to the creamy
stucco walls. The main door stood open to let in the fresh spring
breeze. The exuberant morning sun fell on the stone front steps and
a trio of tabby cats sprawled on the warm stone. They scampered
away at impressive speed when the men trotted up the steps.
    “Brother Ondrej!” Andreli boomed like it was
his own house. He called a few more times until a scrawny
buck-toothed young man rushed out.
    “Who let you in here?” the lad demanded with
more temerity than his appearance could lend him.
    “I go where I please. Where’s Brother
Ondrej,” Andreli said.
    “He’s not receiving visitors,” the monk said.
His eyes strayed to Thal.
    “Ondrej loves visitors,” Andreli
protested.
    The monk tore his eyes from Thal and stamped
his foot. “He’s got no more alms for you. He should’ve never given
you begging Gypsies so much as a turnip. You’ll be hanging on our
gate till next spring,” he complained.
    “You awe me with your Christian sentiment,”
Andreli said.
    Thal studied the fascinating exchange. He
wondered why the Gypsies were disliked. They had been kind to him,
and Andreli’s resilience in the face of rejection was
inspiring.
    “We have work to do. What do you want?” the
monk said.
    “Ah, so you’re willing to give me something,”
Andreli said triumphantly.
    The monk stamped his foot again.
    Thal was weary of the confrontation. Gently
he said, “I seek a man of letters to help me read something. I mean
no dishonor to your God.”
    “You have a letter then?” the monk said,
irresistibly curious.
    Thal touched his fur.
    “Nothing for you to read,” Andreli
interjected. He barged past the monk and shouted for Ondrej
again.
    The monk finally came puffing down a
staircase. The black scapula over his shoulders and chest bisected
his white habit that draped his bulging frame. Dabs of ink stained
his right hand. His round face lit up pleasantly upon seeing
Andreli.
    “I should’ve known who was shouting