The Dracula Chronicles: The Path To Decay

by Shane KP O'Neill

  “Mihail might be alerted when Vlad attacks Oltenita.”

  “It is possible, but not likely. They are a very good distance away from each other. And there is no telling that a rider would even find Mihail’s army.”

  “That may be so. If they did find Mihail, then he could well crush Vlad’s force. And then another son lost to me.”

  Rodrigul thought it over and realised there was a risk, even if only a slight one. “You are right. We had better get ready to move.”

  “Yes, that is my thought too.”

  “What if we encounter Mihail before we meet with the Vlach? Do we really want to engage him without our friends beside us?”

  “I cannot see that we have a choice. It is better that we intercept him with the force we have, than allow him to meet with my son.”

  Rodrigul nodded with a heavy heart. His earlier confidence had all but vanished.

  Dracul could see it in his face. “I cannot risk losing a second heir,” he said. “If that happens, the throne would be lost to my family for good. I never groomed Radu to rule and do not even know if he could. We have to ride.”

  “Very well, my Lord. I shall pass the word. Let us hope we do meet with the Vlach before we meet our enemy.”

  He soon had the men ready to leave. As they slowly marched out towards Balteni, Litovoi’s rider appeared with the news the Vlach had moved camp.

  “You had better turn around,” Rodrigul said. “Tell your master we are leaving camp and marching to the rendezvous area to try and engage Mihail Basarab. Our scouts last spotted his army in that area.”

  The rider nodded and galloped off hard back from whence he had come.

  Litovoi was the subject of many legends. He had achieved fame just for his sheer size. Many thought no man in all the Romanias had a girth to match his.

  His prowess on the field of battle sealed his legendary status. Like his father before him, he had never known defeat. Such was his reputation that warlords from all over the Balkans sought him out. They offered big purses to hire the Vlach as mercenaries. Many believed if you had the Vlach at your side, you achieved victory. And it was true, proven many times over. The Vlach did not lose. Litovoi often turned them away, including Hunyadi prior to Varna. It was why the Vlach pounded the war drum on the eve of battle. When the enemy knew they were coming, victory was already half won.

  There was a more famous story spoken about Litovoi. It was of how he had tamed two wolves. As with most tales about him, this one was true. Whilst out hunting a few years before, a pack of wolves set upon him. There were as many as seven or eight. He had killed all but two, which lay wounded from his sword. Instead of killing them, he brought them with him back to camp. In the weeks that followed, he nurtured them back to health. Now they followed him everywhere and guarded his tent while he slept.

  Litovoi was resting against a fallen tree trunk when his rider returned to camp. Despite the very early hour he was chewing on a joint of meat ripped from the boar still turning on the spit. It was still a good four hours before dawn. Even so, his men were up and about readying themselves for the day ahead and the expected battle.

  Both his wolves lay at his feet, busily gnawing on bones he had tossed to them. When the rider approached him on foot, they paused and offered low growls from deep in their throats.

  “Rest easy, men,” he cautioned them.

  On his command, they returned to their bones. The rider was wary of them, but knew they would not harm him now that their master had spoken. He rested his hands against his thighs while he got his breath back.

  “What is it?” Litovoi asked him, noticing he had ridden harder than normal.

  “My Lord, Dracul and his army are on the move.”

  “Are you certain of this?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Did they say why they are marching without us?”

  “No, my Lord,” he gasped, still out of breath. “But they are on the move, heading for Balteni in the hope they might engage Mihail Basarab.”

  “Very well. Then we go too.”

  He got to his feet and tossed the joint away. Taking a deep breath, he uttered the Vlach war cry. It was the same sound his men made after each chorus of the drum. In minutes, they were mounted and on the move, armed and ready to fight.

  Dracul had an uneasy feeling as his small army marched west. He knew in truth he should have met with Litovoi first before seeking out his enemy. His main concern though was for his son. That far outweighed his need to have the Vlach at his side.

  Rodrigul felt uneasy too. His fears were born from not waiting for the Vlach. He knew all the legends and had often helped spread them. They could not lose with them at their side. Yet they had decided to march before giving the Vlach adequate time to meet them. He wanted to argue the point with Dracul, but then thought better of it. They had spent many years side by side and he was as loyal as any man could be. When his voivode gave him an order, he followed it to the letter. He trained his eyes to the road ahead and his thoughts to the coming battle, for there was sure to be one. If ever there was a time to have a clear head, it was now. He knew he had to keep his focus, but had begun to dread the battle they would have to fight. The night was growing ever colder and shivers ran down his spine. He blamed it on the cold, but in his heart he knew it was fear.

  These feelings filtered to their men. Earlier there had been excited whispers through the camp that the Vlach were joining their side. In spite of that, they had set off earlier than planned.

  The only consolation Dracul could draw was that he had with him good fighting men. Many of them had seen action. They were older and tougher than the force coming up against them, or so he hoped.

  He prayed the Vlach met them in time. Their progress was slow because of the infantry. The Vlach were good riders, among the best. For this reason, he knew they might still be at his side when they struck the first blows on the battlefield.

  They arrived at a crossroads and stopped. The road crossing their path from right to left came from the Dimbovita. This was the road to take them to Balteni and sure to be the route used by the Vlach.

  One of Dracul’s scouts caught their attention when he appeared racing down the road from the east.

  “I wonder what news he brings,” Rodrigul said.

  “We shall soon see.”

  The scout found Dracul at once, eager to deliver his report.

  “You have seen Mihail’s army?”

  “Yes, my Lord. It is about ten miles from here.”

  “In which direction?”

  “It is directly south of Balteni.”

  Dracul felt a rush inside. They were getting closer to each other. “Good work,” he praised him.

  They marched at an easy pace for another two hours. Dracul wanted to keep his men warmed up, without tiring them. It was little more than an hour until dawn when they stopped again near to where they had agreed to meet with the Vlach.

  Rodrigul looked down the slope towards Balteni. It was a village about five miles to the north of Bucharest. They still saw no sign of the enemy though updates from the scouts advised them they were close. But with the tree cover at the roadside, he knew they would see Mihail long before he saw them.

  “I think we should wait here, my Lord,” he said. “If Mihail is to the south of Balteni then he should be down there behind the village. The slope is the easiest route up to this road, so I anticipate he shall come this way. And being that we have an inferior number, I feel the slope might assist us.”

  “Yes, you are right. Tell the men to prepare. We shall let Mihail come to us.”

  Rodrigul prepared the men for a surprise attack. “Remember Tirgoviste,” he said to them to gee them up. “Remember what they did to our capital when we smear the field with their blood.”

  Mihail’s scouts had worked equally as hard and as well. Late in the afternoon, one of them came upon Dracul’s camp, undetected. Dracul’s lookouts were not the best and had their minds on other thin
gs. He scrutinised the camp with care, making note of the numbers. When Vlad departed, he followed at a safe distance.

  Vlad had continued to march east and in the scout’s mind, out of harm’s way. He headed back to Mihail to inform him of the news.

  Mihail decided to strike against the camp. His scout advised him that Dracul’s men had enjoyed a heavy feast. It would be the perfect time to attack, especially as they did not appear to be expecting one. As soon as darkness fell upon the region, he marched his army north and stopped by Balteni. He intended then to march again before dawn, aided by the full moon, and arrive at Dracul’s camp soon after first light. Dracul would not expect an attack that early in the day. With his superior numbers, he was sure victory should be swift and easy. The reign of Dracul would come to an end once and for all.

  He had endured little or no sleep at all the previous night. The message of the Vlach war drums rang loud and clear in his ears. It was the only reason he had rested his army one more night. They had to be fresh for this battle. But his scouts had seen no sign of the Vlach, and a dozen had combed the countryside long and hard. Now Dracul’s Turkish allies had marched away. With them heading east, he hoped they were returning home.

  Now was the best time to attack. He intended to make full use of his advantage.

  Soon Dracul caught sight of Mihail’s army coming over the crest opposite. His heart raced while he watched it descend into the valley below. The timing of his attack was going to prove of vital importance.

  His men were eager to charge. They did not care that they faced far superior numbers. Whispers passed along the line telling them to hold and remain quiet.

  The enemy began the ascent up the slope towards them. Rodrigul felt the tension now, too, more than ever. There was no rush to equal a fight to the death. That was what this was going to be.

  The two hundred infantry huddled in a tight line three rows deep.

  “It is kill or be killed,” he said to them. There was no other tactic. One army faced elimination. That was all there was to it. “Remember Tirgoviste when you strike your first blow. And for every one after it.”

  Mihail’s army was half way up the slope. Now was the moment.

  “Forward,” Dracul gave the order, barely above a whisper. “Leave no one alive.”

  His men walked with great stealth through the trees. Then they crouched down and began to descend the slope to meet the oncoming army. The bushes littered about them, allowed their progress to go undetected. Dracul and his cavalry waited near the trees. The moment he heard his men charge, he would follow.

  Soon, only forty yards separated the two armies. Rodrigul sounded the battle cry his men had been waiting for. “Charge! For Tirgoviste!”

  “For Tirgoviste!” two hundred voices cried out.

  They broke from their cover and sprinted down the slope, taking their enemy by surprise. Many of them stood frozen to the spot. They watched in disbelief as the two hundred men charged at them. Some were so scared, they instantly turned and ran.

  Dracul watched his men crash into Mihail’s army, a force comprised mostly of new recruits. The fact the majority of them hailed from Transylvania gave the fight an added edge. They had always thought themselves superior and his brave Wallachian soldiers would want to prove otherwise.

  He heard an almighty crunch when the two sides came together. Cries filled the night air as cold steel pierced armour and then flesh.

  His cavalry, in two units, moved to support his men on either flank. They ploughed into the enemy, the sound of horses crying out as they entered the fray.

  Mihail tried to quickly assess the situation. He had a clear view of the battle in the moonlight. His positioning was poor and he found himself stranded on the right flank of his army. He could not guide his mount into the areas that mattered.

  He turned and rode along the back of his ranks. Where some of his men were fleeing the battle, he harried them and rallied them together to fight.

  “Where is the courage in you!” he screamed. “If you run, you condemn your comrades to die. Get and fight like men! If I wanted boys in my army I would have recruited boys!”

  His words were enough to bring them to order. They shouted a war cry and ran into the fray in support of their comrades. Mihail rode on until he found an opening big enough to ease into. The men there moved when they sensed his mount in their midst. His cavalry followed close behind and poured into the gap he created.

  Their presence spurred his men on. Despite their initial losses, they slowly began to stem the tide that had threatened to engulf them. They knew there was nowhere to turn and began to fight like men staring death in the face. They held the charge in check amid a fierce exchange. And slowly, but surely, they began to drive their enemy back up the slope.

  Dracul’s cavalry fought with great courage and equal gusto. In quick time, they depleted the numbers of enemy horsemen on the slope. It left Mihail with only the cluster of cavalry that surrounded him.

  In the heat of battle, Dracul’s mount took a fatal blow and crashed down to the ground. Dracul jumped clear of the beast as it fell and was on his feet again in moments. The horse lay with legs trembling as blood gushed from a deep wound in its chest.

  The enemy soldiers bayed for his blood. Three of them came at him. But with the Fier Negru in hand, he fought like a savage to remain alive.

  Rodrigul saw his voivode fall from his horse. They had separated without realising in the thick of the fighting. He fought as best he could, still in the saddle, to get close to him again. His efforts saw him and some of his men clear a path towards Dracul.

  They surrounded their leader to give him a chance to catch his breath.

  “Are you well, my Lord?” Rodrigul called over the din.

  “Yes, Alin. I am not yet dead.”

  He looked exhausted. At fifty-two years of age, he did not possess the same energy levels, as in days gone by, to fight with such fervour.

  The Vlach crossed the Dimbovita on the bridge near Bucharest. They followed the road that bypassed the city to the north in the direction of Balteni. Long before they arrived at the scene of the battle, they could hear it. It spurred them to ride faster and they soon arrived at the roadside where Dracul and his men had waited before launching the attack.

  Litovoi looked down on the battle with his lieutenant, Marc Samiu, at his side. He was not impressed. “There is no discipline,” he said, noticing the raggedness of Dracul’s men. “No strategy that I can see.”

  “They are outnumbered and fighting for their lives, my Lord.”

  “Yes indeed.”

  “It is sheer bloodlust.”

  “Yes,” the great warrior nodded. “It is admirable, but such a waste. My friend has precious few men to lose. Yet he is throwing them away.”

  “Shall we go and join him?”

  “Yes, let us save our friend from himself. Bows!” he shouted out to his men.

  His three hundred men drew their bows from their backs. When they looked ready he gave the order. “Forward!”

  The Vlach charged through the trees and down the hill. The roar of three hundred sets of hooves echoed around the valley like thunder. Mihail’s less experienced men looked up to see what the sound was. Fear raced through their hearts when they saw the Vlach charging their way.

  Many of them received a sword through the gut. The Wallachian veterans knew better than to look away in the heat of battle and seized on the opportunity presented to them.

  Dracul and Rodrigul both sighed with relief. They thought it the most wonderful sound they had ever heard. The symphony of three hundred charging horses was music to their ears. Until that moment, the battle was slipping away.

  “Fire!” Litovoi screamed, releasing the arrow from his bow.

  Even riding at such speed, his men had the ability to fire an arrow with accuracy. A hail of wood and metal flew over the front lines engaged in battle. Screams rang out all over the slope as the missiles found many of their intended ta
rgets at the back of the melee. A second wave followed it. Then they strapped their bows over their shoulders once more.

  The second volley they aimed at Mihail’s cavalry. It tried desperately to regroup and meet the new threat coming towards them. The arrows ripped through their ranks, bringing down many a horse and rider.

  “Swords!” the Vlach leader cried out.

  Litovoi drew his own and waving it over his head, he charged into the remnants of the enemy cavalry. The Red Hand warriors followed him in and wreaked death and destruction on all in their wake.

  At that point in the battle, Mihail’s army had halted the onslaught from Dracul’s force and turned it so that it had the advantage of the slope. Now with the arrival of the Vlach, his men found themselves pinned between the two separate forces. The Vlach hit them hard at their rear. Mihail’s officers tried, but in vain, to turn their rear ranks around to face Litovoi and his men.

  They lost any hope of escape. The remainder of Mihail’s cavalry was shattered. The Vlach crushed both man and horse into the earth. Their blood soaked the ground and Death expelled the odour of a flurry of new victims into the air.

  Rodrigul now felt it safe to leave Dracul’s side, and attacked the enemy infantry with renewed vigour. Dracul ran back into the fray himself, his aching limbs finding a new burst of energy.

  Trumpets sounded on the distant horizon. The thunder of hooves against the ground rose up over the din once more. Mihail retreated with the half dozen riders he had left to see what force now approached.

  In moments, a huge black line appeared over the crest to the south, silhouettes against the brightening horizon. Mihail saw more than four hundred horsemen. His brother had arrived at last. Dracul turned his head and saw them too. It meant his son had failed in his primary objective.

  The Vlach were tempted to charge at them. But to a man, they knew to ride up the opposite hill would give the advantage to the enemy. They turned, and rode back up the slope on their side of the valley. It would give them the leverage they needed to mount a fresh assault.

  The battlefield had grown sparse in places. Mihail searched through those still standing for a glimpse of Dracul. He spotted his great opponent fighting bravely against his men. One by one, they fell dead under the might of the famed Fier Negru.