“Be gone!” she screamed at him.
She allowed him to get to his feet. He squinted his eyes in anger. She did the same, though more out of contempt. He wiped a trickle of blood from his lower lip where she had slapped him. She watched as he licked it off the back of his hand and grinned.
His confidence even now unnerved her. She so badly wanted to drive the sword through his belly. However, he was the Captain of the Guard and she but a lowly peasant woman. No matter what he had done to provoke her, she would surely hang for it.
Thinking about it broke her concentration. Varkal saw her eyes wander and ran past her, grabbing the baby from the cot. She looked on in horror when he wrapped an arm around the body of her child. His other hand he pressed against the baby’s throat.
She stepped closer to him, her mood growing more agitated as she raised the sword above her head. “Put my baby down!”
Even then, he could not take his eyes from her breasts. He smiled at the threat, unnerving her even more when it broadened to a sinister grin. Her lower lip trembled. She knew he would hurt Carol to get what he wanted.
As if reading her mind, he said in a low growl, “If you do not drop the sword, I will choke the life out of the child. It is your choice. Do it, or the child dies.”
The woman hesitated. She took a moment to weigh up her options. The safety of her child had to take precedence, and she had no choice but to comply with his demand. Her face showed her dismay, but there was nothing she could do.
She feared what he might do now after this episode. His eyes indicated he intended to make her pay for her actions. Whatever that entailed, she had to make the right choice and could not risk the life of her baby. Lowering her head in defeat, she dropped the sword to the floor.
“Get down on your knees!” he ordered.
She did as he said without taking her eyes from him. He gritted his teeth and tossed the baby over her head.
“Carol!” she screamed in horror.
She turned to see her child hit the floor a few feet away. It neither cried nor moved. A horrible feeling passed through her. Is my baby dead?
In her state of panic, she forgot Varkal. He walked up to her and kicked her hard in the abdomen. The blow paralysed her. A sickening groan escaped her throat as she fell into the foetal position on the floor, gasping for air. With both hands, she clutched at her stomach. Still, her eyes focused on her baby only a few feet away. It crushed her knowing she could do nothing for him now.
She struggled to her feet, all fears for her own well-being now gone. Varkal grabbed her by the hair again, forcing her to cry out in pain as he dragged her into the other room.
He pinned her arms behind her back. She had no fight left, and it brought a smile to his face. Now he could have what he wanted. Eyeing the table, he knocked the few utensils on it down onto the floor. He then pushed her down against it.
The woman let him do as he pleased. With her head pinned to the table, she had a view into her bedroom. She could see the lower half of Carol’s body on the earthen floor. Tears stung her eyes. Closing them, she wished she would die.
Chapter 17
TRANSYLVANIA. THE FORESTS NEAR BRASOV.
OCTOBER, 1494. SUNSET ON THE SAME EVENING.
Varkal’s lieutenant dismissed the men after he rode off into the forest. With a trusted aide at his side, he decided to follow his captain. Varkal had been so eager to get away that it more than aroused his curiosity. It was not the first time he had done this. He wanted to know where his superior had gone, and, the reason for doing so.
He hated Varkal more than any other man. The captain had long stood in the way of the progression of his own career. As the son of the boyar, Victor Florescu, he believed Varkal’s role should have been his. He longed to find a way to smear his rival’s reputation. Then he might get what should have been his position as a birthright.
The lieutenant and his aide witnessed the duel outside the shack. They saw him kill the peasant farmer in cold blood with the axe. Right away, he sent his man back to the garrison to get help. He then watched as his rival smashed his way into the shack.
When Varkal disappeared inside, he tethered his horse and followed. He climbed down the sloping rocks near to the cascade. The dead man lay close by. He smiled when he passed him, and whispered a thank you. The man’s death would provide him with the ammunition he needed to end the career of the one he so despised.
Varkal kept the woman pinned against the table with his legs. He reached for a skirt that rested on a stool nearby and, after tearing off two strips of the material, he tied her hands behind her back. She groaned at his roughness.
“I see you are no longer so brazen. Are you, bitch?” he cursed.
She did not answer. Inside, she felt numb. She cared for nothing he said or did to her. Her whole world had caved in. With it, she had lost her will to live.
When he kicked her legs apart, she hardly noticed. His erection strained with the excitement as he reached down between her legs. She felt his fingers probe her, but did not flinch. He did not care that she was not moist or that she was unresponsive. Holding his fingers against the insides of her opening, he guided himself in.
She cried out as he entered her. He grabbed at her breasts with such vigour that it brought fresh tears to her eyes.
The lieutenant stood at the open doorway, though Varkal did not see him there. He felt compelled to rescue the woman. The urge to walk up behind his rival and kill him was strong. Then other thoughts entered his head. Soon the Guard would arrive in numbers. He wanted to see Varkal shamed and humiliated. For that, he needed them to witness this crime.
Varkal was oblivious to all but his own pleasure. The distress he caused the woman only fuelled his own excitement, his climax not far away. His urgency building, he tore another strip of material from the skirt. He wrapped it several times around her neck before pulling it tight.
It cut off her air supply at once, and her eyes bulged under the strain. For the first time that day, she felt real terror. Even though she had just wished for death, the reality of it was another thing.
The stories she had heard flashed through her mind. She realised she was about to be the next victim in a long line of sex murders in the region. Everyone she knew had spoken of them. A series of women, both young and old, who lived alone or in remote areas had suffered this same fate. Their killer had raped and then strangled them. With Cosmin at her side, she had never feared such a fate might befall her. Her husband was once a fine soldier, and he had always kept her safe.
She fought in vain to free her hands, though it prompted Varkal to lean harder against her. He trapped her thighs with his and pulled tighter on the strip around her neck. His thrusts grew faster and harder. She did not notice, although each one almost lifted her from the table. Her face had turned purple, and her tongue swelled in her mouth.
“Come on,” he urged.
The sweat poured from his face and coated the rest of his naked torso. He pounded her harder in the hope he could reach the moment. Her vision blurred and her mind clouded over. Only the tiniest amount of air remained in her lungs and she knew her time was up. For a brief moment, she saw everything with real clarity, and her fears began to ebb away. She embraced death, knowing it would reunite her with those she loved.
Her bladder opened in a flood over his genitalia.
“Yes!” he cried out.
It was the moment he had craved to satisfy his perversion. The first girl he had killed did the same. From that moment on, he had sought it from each of his victims. His knees buckled with his orgasm, and the woman collapsed beneath him, her life ending in that moment. He thrust a few more times until he had emptied his sac.
He released his grip on the material. When he did, her head dropped forward and smacked against the table. Breathing hard, he flopped in a heap on top of her.
The lieutenant looked into her staring, bloodshot eyes. He then turned his attention to the man he loathed. The wretch had n
o way out of this one. It was Varkal all along who had killed these women. Soon, he would watch him swinging from a tree. “Varkal!” he shouted. “It is you! It has always been you!”
His outburst startled his rival. Varkal withdrew from the woman and stepped back. Her body slid from the table and fell to the floor at his feet.
“You are the one we have been looking for.”
The wretch walked slowly toward him, making no attempt to hide his now-flaccid penis. The lieutenant drew his sword, and brandished it to let Varkal know he was prepared to use it. Oh, how he so wanted to use it.
“I did not see you try to help her,” Varkal said, holding his hands out to either side. His confidence unsettled his opposite. “Perhaps you enjoyed it more than I. Did you like watching, Anton? Is that what excites you? Watching a helpless woman die?”
Even though Anton held the sword, it was he who stepped back when Varkal moved forward.
“Look at you!” Varkal sneered. “Even with the sword in your hand, you have no backbone. And you wonder why your father favours me over you?”
“It is all over for you, Varkal. The Guard is on its way.”
“The Guard is loyal to me!”
“You may think so, but they despise you.”
“Soldiers are like dogs, dear Anton,” he said. “They bow to strength and authority. When they sense a coward, they are quick to turn. And you are a coward, Anton. It is a trait the Florescus are famed for.”
“Say what you wish. You are finished. I shall see you swing before nightfall.”
Varkal squinted his eyes. “I have given you a chance to kill me. You shall never take me alive. So why not run me through? You would rather do that, I wager.”
The idea tempted him, but when his rival pressed forward, he stepped farther back. “No, I want to see you dangle from a rope.”
“Even with the upper hand, you lack the courage of your convictions. Show me some steel, man. Run me through!”
His slow retreat allowed Varkal the room he needed. The captain seized the moment and threw himself headlong into the bedroom. In his dive, he dragged the lifeless body of the baby with him. He brushed it aside with his foot and retrieved his sword.
Anton’s heart thumped hard in his chest. He had never had the courage to go up against Varkal, and he feared he might lack the same conviction now that an opportunity had finally presented itself. The taunts Varkal had thrown his way had reopened old wounds, wounds that had never healed. His father had overlooked him for good reason, and he knew it. All his life, he had failed to live up to his father’s expectations, and it made him the subject of gossip and ridicule. He saw it in the eyes of the men at the garrison and anyone else whose gaze he met. On this day, though, fortune had smiled on him. He had caught Varkal in the act and had the means now to destroy him and remove him from his way, once and for all. His father could not deny his claims after this.
He gave chase and saw his rival kick the dead baby away before rising to his feet with sword in hand. In a second, Anton saw his hopes begin to fade again.
Knowing he was the better man with the sword, Varkal launched an immediate attack. The fight took them outside into the fading twilight. Anton remained on the back foot the whole time.
They fought hard for several minutes, with neither man gaining an advantage over the other. Varkal had underestimated the ability of his opponent. Anton lacked courage, but he did not lack skill.
Varkal’s wound showed signs of blood again. After a time, they rested against tree stumps a few yards apart.
“You are losing your edge,” Anton said between breaths.
“Perhaps, but you have not yet killed me.”
“No, but you shall not be leaving here, either.”
It occurred to Varkal that Anton was buying time for the soldiers from the garrison to arrive. He knew he had to finish this if he were to get away alive. “We shall see,” he said, straightening up.
He tried to flee, but Anton blocked his path. In the same moment, he caught sight of flickering torches through the trees. The sound of distant voices and approaching horses met his ear.
Anton grinned at his worried expression. “It seems that your end is closer than you thought.”
Varkal took a deep breath and glared at him.
“Would you like to pick a tree?”
“Not a chance,” he said defiantly as he lunged forward again.
Anton darted to one side just in time to avoid a sword through his gut. He countered and brought his own down in an arc. The blade connected with his rival and sliced a deep gash across Varkal’s left forearm.
It was the second injury Varkal had suffered in less than an hour. He flew into such a frenzy that Anton could not cope with his next assault. Anton’s weapon flew from his grip, and, disarmed, he backed up against a tree.
Varkal pressed the tip of his own sword against the underside of his chin. “If I do hang, Florescu,” he said, as he grimaced, “you shall not be here to see it.”
With that, he ran the tip of the blade across Anton’s throat. He glared into the eyes of his enemy before stepping aside.
Anton lurched forward and dropped to his knees. He put his hands to his throat to try and stem the gush of blood. Gasping for air, he collapsed to the ground as it choked him.
Varkal whistled to his horse and mounted it as soon as it came to him. He looked over to see the first of the soldiers appear through the trees. They saw him mount his horse, naked, and ride off in the opposite direction.
In the twilight, he hoped to make good his escape. Darkness was fast closing in, and soon it would engulf the forest. A dozen riders gave chase. The others stopped at the old shack, where there was much for them to investigate.
The boyar, Victor Florescu, dismounted outside. He saw with his own eyes the grisly scene inside the hut. For a moment, he gazed at the dead baby in the bedroom. He then walked up to the dead woman, although he did not speak.
“She died the same way as the others,” one of his men said.
Florescu looked down into her wide and terrified eyes. The look of fear behind them sent a cold shiver through him.
“Varkal is the man we have been looking for, My Lord.”
Florescu seethed with anger. Varkal Gabrul was his most trusted deputy. Yet his captain was the one he had so desperately sought. It was he who had terrorised the region and cast a black cloud over it. “He shall feel my justice for this,” he vowed, as he stepped outside again.
The justice he meted out was usually swift and severe. He did not like his peace disturbed. Yet these crimes of Varkal’s were the worst he had seen in his domain. “Where is Anton?” he asked his men. “Is there any sign of him?”
“He is here!” someone shouted.
Florescu and his men walked over to the spot where his son had fallen. He gazed down at Anton’s dead body. His legs almost buckled with the shock. Anton had never been of much use. Still, he was his son, and he loved him.
His eyes watered both from grief and the hate he felt for Varkal. With his blood boiling, he looked to the trees. He yelled at the top of his voice so all could hear him. “I want him brought back to me alive! I shall give five hundred gold ducats to the man who brings him to me!”
Chapter 18
TRANSYLVANIA. THE FORESTS NEAR BRASOV.
OCTOBER, 1494. LATE EVENING ON THE SAME DAY.
Even in his flight, Varkal heard Florescu. The boyar’s voice carried far into the night. Varkal feared his words, and his heart thumped in his chest as he sought the darkness of the forest. The soldiers he had hunted with earlier would hunt him now. This he knew well. Five hundred gold ducats was quite a bounty, and his future looked bleak.
He looked up to the dark skies, thankful that night was closing in. The shadows loomed all around. Soon they would engulf him and shield him from his pursuers.
His horse seemed edgy, and it shied many times to one side, fearing the shadows. He deviated from the regular path through the forest and slo
wed it to a canter.
He heard the soldiers draw closer. Their flickering torches hinted they were not too far away. He knew he could not outride them. When the sun went down, it took with it the warmth of the evening. Still naked, the night air chilled him to the bone.
It prompted him to dismount and seek a hiding place on foot. He felt tired and weak and sore from the saddle. Riding naked was never a good idea, as he soon realised, the saddle and the animal’s hide rubbing against his exposed flesh. His injuries had seeped a lot of blood, and although the bleeding had eased a little, the pain was far from going away.
He stumbled upon the hollow trunk of a fallen oak and pulled back some of the bushes that had grown over it. A quick check assured him it would suit his purpose. Inside, he saw a space large enough for him to slide into. His horse bolted when he slapped it hard across the rump with his sword. He then settled down to hide.
Their voices carried on the wind that gusted through the forest. It worried him that he could hear their words with such clarity. They spread out in a line through the trees, ten yards apart from each other. If he were there, then they knew they would find him.
It did not take long for them to draw close, and a few excited cries rang out around him. His pursuers had located his horse. Despite driving the animal away, it had come back and grazed now only a dozen yards from his hiding place.
“He cannot be far away!” one of them shouted.
Varkal recognised the voice of Adam Petrescu. His heart pounded in his ears as the group converged on the oak. Horseshoes crunched the leaves only a few feet from his head. They were so close, he dared not breathe for fear they might hear him. Then there was silence. Their torches lit the entire area. They had all stopped to listen for any hint as to where he was hiding.
“Comb this area,” Petrescu said, breaking the silence. “He is close. I know it.”
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 156
