The Hunter's Moon

"Twelve points, Majesty," Kyril called, his face shining with pride. "A fine trophy."

Attendants ran to the stag and gutted it. Then the carcass was slung over the back of a packhorse and the group started back for the lodge. Kyril tossed his pennant-tipped lance to a servant.

Vetsera sounded his horn, signaling the end of the hunt and recalling the missing members, who joined the column as they rode along.

It was nearly dark, and Kyril anticipated a warm bath, a stein of beer before the fireplace and the camaraderie of his fellows; and later, a buxom wench to cool the fires burning in his loins.

Kyril, riding in his position to the left behind the archduke, spotted the hint of movement and what looked to be a crouched figure in the brush bordering the trail.

"BEWARE, Prince Rudolph," Kyril shouted. He spurred his horse forward, drawing his pistol, and put himself between the archduke and possible danger.

A figure lunged from the side of the trail, a figure from Hell. Taloned forepaws, the toes elongated like fingers, reached for Kyril. The form of the largest and most grotesque wolf he'd ever seen burned into his brain, as everything seemed to move in slow motion.

The monstrous lupine form, the strange paws reaching for him, the terrible face of bestial rage, the frothing mouth, lips curled back exposing large fangs, would never be forgotten. And then, the creature's long toes gripped his leg and those terrible fangs buried in his side, biting through his leather jacket, ripping his flesh.

Kyril shoved his revolver against the beast and fired. The bullet entered the thing's neck where it joined its shoulders, passed down and tore out through the creature's side.

It screamed and fell back from Kyril, its paws raking the youth's leg, leaving long bloody slashes in his thigh.

The beast screamed again and rolled in the trail under the horses, snapping at its ruptured side. The horses plunged madly, snorting and squealing. Their riders shouted and cursed. Some were thrown.

The scream became a long drawn out wail strangely human in its intensity. Then the beast was gone, running back into the forest.

Von Pelt and a few others surrounded the archduke in a protective ring. At the rear of the column, dogs barked and strained at their leashes.

Kyril stared in disbelief at the blood spilling down his side and leg onto the ground. Then the pain of his ripped flesh hit him and his consciousness receded. Still holding his smoking revolver, he toppled from his lunging mount.

Vetsera leaped from his horse and caught the bridle of Kyril's hunter and pulled the stamping animal away from his son's body.

The archduke issued a sharp command. Two dog handlers slipped the leashes from four of the deerhounds and they took to the trail of the huge wolf like beast that attacked Kyril. The two handlers ran after them, armed with muskets.

The Master of the Hunt ripped a large piece from Kyril's fine linen shirt and held it against the gaping wound in the boy's side to stop the fearful bleeding.