The Curse of the Eberbachs

by Heather Sparrows and Anne-Li

Part 6: Tyrian. 1588, a few months later

He stumbled again and fell, slumping to the ground. Snow-mixed rain began to fall, pelting him as if urging him to continue. Luckily his thick fur protected him from the worst onslaught and, with a considerable effort, he pulled himself up and staggered in under a thick-limbed spruce. Something had died there not too long ago – a small animal, a rabbit maybe. There were still some bones spread; a few fluffy tufts of brown and white hair clinging to the carcass. No meat left though. "Hellfire," he muttered and collapsed again. Hunger tore at his innards, worse than he had ever felt before. Perhaps the body he was in experienced starvation differently, more acutely than a human?

Unexpectedly, a lump of snow crashed on his head, having fallen from one of the trees. Surprise made him jump back, scraping his head roughly against a low-hanging branch. More snow fell. He collapsed and curled up as tight as he could. If a dog could have done so, he would have cried.

Alone. All alone. Nowhere to go. They wanted to burn me!

About a week ago he had been rudely awakened by a shrill scream much too close to his aching head. The maid he had bedded the night before, a blond little thing with huge breasts, clutched the sheet to her bosom, stared at him as if he had shown himself to be the old troll himself and howled her lungs out. After that, things had gotten rather hectic, ending with him escaping with part of his tail cut off, a bleeding wound in his side and a badly burned paw.

The paw still hurt. He morosely brought it up to his snout and licked it. To do so didn't help much in the long run, but comforted him a little. He really should stay in one place for a few days, give it a chance to heal properly. He had run for nearly five days straight, to get to his lieutenant, a man he thought that he could trust above all others. Only to be chased out of the man's home with an axe.

Nowhere to go. Nowhere at all! What can I do? I can't live like this for the rest of my life!

But there really was nowhere for him to go. No name presented itself to him, no place that would welcome him – not since he had shown himself to be anything other than a stray, well-trained dog, anyway.

A howl cut through the cold winter air, joined by several more. Tyrian struggled to get up on his feet. He had heard the pack before, but now they sounded much closer. He crawled out from under the tree and started loping through the snow. At least the rain had all but stopped, momentarily no doubt. He hoped to get back up on the road soon, so that he could follow it to a settlement. If he would have to play stupid dog for a while, he could do that, at least until his paw had healed and he had thought out some plan, though for the life of him he could see no viable option left.

If only Heinz was older! he thought with some annoyance. His son was only ... what was it now ... a year? A year and a couple of months? Something like that. Had Heinz been older he would surely have cared for his father in his misfortune. No use going there now. There was no love lost between him and Hedwig, Heinz's mother, beautiful bitch that she was. Their coupling had been a business arrangement, nothing more. Heinz had been an unpredicted complication.

Another howl, much closer.

God's warty nose! He forced his legs to run faster. Just then a grey shape broke out from the trees to his left. He didn't hesitate, but dove straight at its legs, to throw it off stride and give himself time to roll and tear its throat. It still managed to bite him in the neck, going through even his thick, golden fur and nip through his skin. He yipped and tossed, finally managing to rid himself of the weight so that he could keep running – only to see a second wolf approaching. He was no expert on these animals, but it looked lean and wild. Probably the harsh winter had robbed the pack of many of their normal prey. He himself hadn't been able to find anything to eat, that was for sure.

Three more wolves suddenly appeared in his path and he quickly turned right, hoping to be able to slink past them. No such luck – within moments he found himself surrounded by a dozen of the shaggy beasts.

Had he been a religious man, he would have prayed, but God had never given any indication of having heard him before and could not be relied upon to help him now either.

"Stay away from me, you moth-eaten bedroom carpets!" he shouted and saw them startle, probably not expecting such sounds from something so close to themselves in appearance. He looked a bit like a big, heavy set wolf, albeit a golden one.

"If you come any closer I will tear you all to shreds, you howling fleabags!"

Only, there were twelve of them. Perhaps even more, he thought when he saw something move in the forest behind them. For a common yard dog he was gigantic and he was certainly bigger than the wolves and in much better shape than they were at that, except for his poor paw. Still. There was only one of him and he hadn't had any training in fighting as a dog.

I should have stayed with Benedict this autumn.

The image of the lean, blond pirate rose in his mind – the other's bright smile and twinkling eyes. Benedict had made it clear that Tyrian would have been welcome to join him over the winter, but Tyrian had had quite enough of rest and had been eager to see new parts of the world. There had been so much to do and so little time – less time than he ever could have imagined.

One of the wolves stepped closer. He yelled at her to leave, but this time the human voice didn't seem to frighten her. A packmate followed suit.

Very well then ... he thought bitterly. Once more he conjured up the image of his son – a cute little tyke he was – and, for whatever reason, the image of Benedict rose again. The man looked solemn for once, not smiling. With some regret Tyrian shook his head to clear himself from the distractions. Then he readied himself and took his last stand.

end part 6.


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