Natalia turned her head away in disgust. They could see she did not agree.
“You would do that even after what he said to you? With all the misery the throne has brought to your family?”
“Yes, for it is what I must do. So that I may honour his name. My father fell because he trusted too many of the wrong people. I shall not make those same mistakes.”
Rodrigul knew it to be the truth. “I am glad you have chosen to follow after your father,” he beamed with delight. “He would have been proud to know it.”
“I do not know where I should begin, but I shall find my way.”
“You have Basarab’s sister. It is a start.”
Vlad looked to her. “I am sure he would dispense with her if the need arose. She is hardly much of a bargaining tool.”
“So why not let me go?” she said, her tone as icy as ever.
“Keep dreaming, wench,” Rodrigul said, looking at her to add emphasis to the deliberate insult.
“Afford her some respect, Alin. She is my aunt after all.”
Rodrigul gave her one last disrespectful stare before turning away. “Are you hungry, my Lord?”
“Yes, I have appetite enough to eat a horse.”
They ate around the fire and chatted quietly for a time. The subject came on to Vlad’s long exile. He recounted his time there in great detail.
“And what of Radu? How is he? I sensed you did not tell all to your father.”
“He is lost to us,” Vlad advised him. “His only purpose is as a consort of Mehmed’s.”
The idea horrified his friend. “You are certain of this?”
“Yes. Mehmed, it seems, prefers the company of boys to women.”
“Then it is good that your mother cannot hear this said of him.”
“Well, he likes Radu,” Vlad said, his tone souring. “And Radu is not strong enough to resist. Perhaps he does not desire to, I do not know. I no longer have any love for him. And I no longer wish to speak his name.”
Rodrigul was sad to hear it. He, like everyone else, had been fond of the boy. Maia had never got over losing him to the Turks.
“I must return there,” Vlad told him.
“Why, my Lord? You are a free man. Your father is gone.”
“I gave Murad my word. I must honour it.”
“Then I should go too. My place is to serve you. And it is a dangerous road to Anatolia. Full of vagabonds and thieves.”
Vlad nodded. “I would be happy to have you at my side.”
“What is in the sack?”
Vlad looked to the package tied to his horse. He got to his feet and pulled it down. “Sheepskins for the three of us. I acquired them on the road from Tirgoviste. The weather is turning ever colder. We would need to dress in warmer clothes if we are to survive.”
He threw one to the woman, which she was glad to wrap around her body. She did not thank him for it.
“Try these too,” Vlad said, throwing her some warmer footwear.
She discarded her shoes and tried on the slippers. They were made of sheepskin too and felt warm and comfortable.
At first light, they set off eastwards for the border with Moldavia. They had to plot a course that avoided the south of the country. It was there Basarab was at his strongest. Vlad’s enemies would not forget what he had done there and the towns he had burned. They reached the border and turned south towards Bulgaria. Natalia had her own horse now, so they made steady progress.
The night before Christmas, they reached the border and set up camp. Vlad was feeling sore after weeks of constant riding. He welcomed the rest more than usual.
He saw Natalia on her knees praying as he lay down. Rodrigul settled down for the first watch. It was a ritual they followed every night, taking turns while the other slept. If not, they could lose their lives. Vlad closed his eyes to go to sleep.
“Have you decided what you are going to do with me?” Natalia asked him before he settled.
The question irritated him. He wanted to sleep. “No.”
She tried a new approach. “You are not a cruel man, it has to be said, in spite of what I have seen you do. You have treated me well.”
“Why would I treat you otherwise? I bear you no ill will.”
“Yes, I can see that,” she said, nodding her head, even though he was not looking. “That is why I hoped you might release me. In that you have arrived safely at the border.”
Vlad chuckled. “You want me to release you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I have no desire to proceed any further. You have no need of me.”
“Believe me, dear lady,” Vlad said, opening his eyes and sitting up. “You do not want to be roaming the countryside around here on your own.”
“I can take care of myself.”
He grinned at her naivety. “That is what you believe, I am sure. But, I think not. I wager it would be short of an hour before you were raped and dead with your throat cut.”
His words startled her. In her need to get away, she had not even considered that possibility.
“Relax and travel with me,” he said. “I shall liberate you soon enough. If I released you, you would surely meet a terrible end. I do not need that on my conscience.”
“You have a conscience?”
He ignored the remark and turned over. “Go to sleep.”
Vlad opened his eyes immediately when he heard the sound of a twig snap. The others heard it too. The men rose to their feet in moments with their swords drawn.
They listened intently for another sound. It did not come. Rodrigul sheathed his sword again. “It must have been a deer.”
No sooner had he spoken, than an arrow struck him in the chest. Natalia screamed and crawled behind a rock when she saw him fall to the ground. Vlad braced himself, fearful he was the target for the next arrow.
A half a dozen men emerged from the trees. One held a bow in his hand. They looked ragged and dirty. A few of them licked their lips when they saw Natalia, no good thoughts running through their heads.
One of the others eyed Vlad with his magnificent Toledo blade. He did not doubt that Vlad could use it. “Give us the woman and the horses,” he said. “Then you can go about your business in peace.”
Vlad looked him straight in the eye. The man could see he would never comply. He drew a knife and stepped over Rodrigul towards Vlad to enforce his demands.
He screamed, a look of horror crossing his face. Vlad looked down to see his friend drive his sword up through the man’s groin. The man dropped the knife and grabbed at his crotch, where blood oozed from between his fingers.
Vlad used the moment to drive his sword through the stomach of a second. He withdrew it and let the man fall. Two others approached him, unperturbed by the loss of two of their number. The remaining two men grabbed Natalia and made for the trees.
“Vlad! Help me!” she screamed.
Rodrigul managed to get to his feet and drew the attention of one of the two outlaws squaring up to Vlad. The man swung at him with a blade. He reacted well, despite his injury, and sliced an arm off his attacker. The man screamed in the same manner as his comrade only moments before, looking down in disbelief at his severed limb. Rodrigul did not waste a moment and ran him through.
Vlad lunged at the other man, who turned and ran back into the trees. He would have pursued the miscreant, but was more concerned with the welfare of Natalia. The two who had abducted her, had dragged her a fair distance from the road. It worried him that he could no longer hear her screams. So he grabbed his bow from his horse and ran into the trees after them.
One of the men had hit her across the back of the head to silence her, and carried her away. From her groans, they knew she remained conscious. They hurried through the trees in the direction of their hideout, where they were anxious to have their way with her.
Vlad ran as fast as he could. He did not know the area like the men he pursued. Still, he pressed on, desperate to find h
er and bring her back safely. The light of the moon was all he had to aid him in his search.
In time, he came to a clearing by a river. Up ahead he caught sight of the two men crossing it on a fallen tree. One of them had Natalia over his shoulders.
He placed an arrow in his bow and took careful aim. It whistled through the air and struck the first man in the left ear as he was turning to look around. He did not even cry out. The missile ripped through his brain and half exited from the other side. His friend watched him collapse and fall into the river below.
Vlad ran to the end of the fallen tree on his side of the river. The man, fearful for his life, tried to run the rest of the way across. He knew Vlad would not fire upon him. If he fell into the river, Natalia would fall too.
“Let her go, and I shall let you walk away!” Vlad shouted over the sound of the raging current below.
The man stopped and turned, knowing he was safe. He saw Vlad at the river’s edge with another arrow fixed in his bow. “Perhaps I should toss her into the river.”
“If you do, you die.”
“What is she worth to you?”
“Not a lot,” Vlad said. “She is my prisoner. If she was lost to me, I would be able to travel on my way much faster. The choice is yours. You can live or die.”
This left the man at a loss. He had hoped to extort some coin from the stranger, whom he could see came from noble stock. To continue across the river did not prove a viable option. Once there was no fear of the woman falling into the torrent the stranger would fire his arrow and kill him. He had no choice but to let her go.
The man set her down carefully onto the tree and allowed her to walk across to where Vlad waited. Once she reached safety, she clung on to his arm, still shaking with fear.
“Release my arm,” he told her.
The man remained standing on the trunk of the tree. He waited with nervous hope that the nobleman was true to his word.
“I would advise you to run!” Vlad shouted to him. “I shall give you to the count of three.”
The man had a bow strapped to his waist. Vlad realised he was the one who had fired at Rodrigul. The moment he turned, Vlad fired his arrow. It struck him in the base of his skull, killing him outright. He, too, toppled over into the river for the current to carry him away.
“I am glad you do not always keep your word,” she said.
“Only to people who matter,” he said, his tone as cold as the water nearby.
He strapped the bow over his shoulder. Taking her by the hand, he led her back down to their camp. His only concern now was for his friend.
In his absence, the other vagabond to flee the scene had returned. With Rodrigul badly wounded, the outlaw figured he could make off with the horses.
Rodrigul resisted all his attempts to do so, and offered several wild swings of his sword to ward him off. The man grinned at him, showing a mouth full of blackened teeth. He brandished a six-inch blade, which he was determined to use.
He lured Rodrigul into one lunge after another and slowly sapped away his strength. Each time Rodrigul exerted himself, the wound in his chest opened a little further. The arrow still protruded from its point of entry and he began to feel faint.
“It is the end for you,” the outlaw taunted him. “Why not step aside and spend your last moments in peace?”
“I shall run you through, you wretch,” Rodrigul vowed.
“Not if I gut you first.”
“Do it, if you are man enough. That is the trouble with vermin of your like. There is no backbone in any of you.”
The man lunged forward with his blade. His speed of hand caught Rodrigul by surprise. The captain groaned hard when it tore through his stomach. His legs buckled beneath him and then gave way. The other man held him up and gritted his teeth as he drove the blade in a second time.
Rodrigul’s eyes bulged, and blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. His face turned red and contorted with pain. He felt the man run the blade across his stomach and gut him as he had said he would.
“Alin!” Vlad cried out when he arrived back at the roadside and saw his friend pinned by the other man. He took his bow in hand again and grabbed an arrow from the quiver.
The man stepped back from his friend and withdrew the blade, Rodrigul’s blood coating his hand. He turned and ran for the cover of the trees on the opposite side of the road.
Vlad fired the arrow into his thigh. He watched the man fall down screaming and clutching at his leg. Then he put a second into his thigh beside the first. He breathed with satisfaction when the man screamed again. The man attempted to get up, but took a third arrow in his other leg. A fourth struck him in the hand, nailing it to the same thigh.
“You have nowhere to run, you cur!” Vlad snarled at him.
The man cried openly, the agony too much to bear. When Vlad stood over him he pleaded. “Please, my Lord, do not kill me!”
Vlad looked down at him with real hate. When he heard his friend groaning, he fired a fifth and fatal shot into the man’s stomach. “Let you feel the same pain.”
The man cried like a child, coughing and choking on his blood. His body turned cold and all feeling from the neck down deserted him. He lay paralysed in the middle of the road, where he would slowly bleed to death.
Vlad ran to Rodrigul’s side. His friend had slumped down against some brush and looked close to death. There was blood everywhere. Vlad ripped away Rodrigul’s shirt to see the extent of the damage. When he saw the wound to his stomach, he gasped in horror.
Natalia burst into tears. She put a hand to her mouth and turned away. Vlad tried his best to make his friend comfortable, knowing death was upon him. If he had any tears left in him, he would have cried too. Life, it seemed, was determined to deal him one crushing blow after another. He felt resigned to losing everyone he loved.
Vlad saw Rodrigul’s face turn deathly pale and he could see his friend was in terrible pain. In that moment, he considered whether he should put his friend out of his misery. Allowing him to remain like this was just cruel.
“I am sorry,” his friend gasped from bloodied lips. “That I shall not make your great journey with you.”
“Try not to speak, Alin,” Vlad urged him.
“I must,” he groaned, struggling for breath. “I have such little time.”
Vlad put an arm around his neck and cradled him.
“Learn from the mistakes of your father,” he advised, his voice weak.
“I shall, Alin.”
“Do not make the same ones. Do not allow your enemies the chance to strike you first, like Florescu did to him.”
Rodrigul groaned horribly, his blood curdling in his throat. He coughed and choked, clots of it in his saliva. Vlad placed a sheepskin over him to keep him warm.
He forced a smile at the consideration Vlad showed him. “Trust no one.”
Vlad nodded, hardly hearing his words. Then Rodrigul gripped his wrists. “Vow to me to avenge your father.”
“I promise, Alin.”
With that he released his grip and breathed his last. Vlad turned to Natalia. “His name is Alin Rodrigul! Remember it! He died defending your honour!”
She did not answer, but continued to cry instead.
Vlad looked at her with disdain. “Do you still want me to set you free? There is the road if you wish to leave,” he said, pointing to it.
He had no tools with which to dig a grave. So he laid his friend’s body in a bough at the side of the road and covered him with leaves and stones. He used his friend’s sword to mark it. “I am sorry, Alin. You deserve so much better than this. Rest in peace, good friend.”
Vlad retrieved his arrows, cutting them out of the body of the dead outlaw with a knife. He then took Natalia by the arm. “Come. We have to move on. It is not safe to remain here.”
They saddled up and continued on their way to Adrianople.
ANATOLIA.
THE ROYAL PALACE OF SULTAN MURAD II
AT ADRIANOPL
E.
JANUARY, 1448.
Murad called a meeting with his advisors at the turn of the year. They found him in an agitated mood. Even the odalisques in the seraglio felt the sharpness of his tongue. They, too, could tell all was not well with him. He usually showed them the utmost respect. This was despite the way he used them. In the last week, he had shown barely an interest in any of the women, even Ayshe.
His advisors did not look forward to the meeting. Word had spread throughout the palace of his foul mood. None of them had seen him in days. They shared the opinion he was ready to vent his anger on them.
Kodza Hazar entered the room first. His current status saw him as Murad’s most senior vizier. When he saw the sultan he bowed. “You wanted to speak, Sire?”
“Yes,” he fumed. “What has taken you so long?”
They had come at once. “A thousand apologies, Sire.”
The group filtered into the room and bowed in turn.
“Come on!” he shouted at them. “I do not have the whole of the day!”
“What is ailing you, Sire?” Hazar asked him.
He was the only one of the group that could speak unless addressed first.
“I want to know what has happened to the son of Dracul!”
“There is still no word, Sire. Our people are trying hard to locate him.”
“Then they are not looking hard enough!”
“I shall see to it that matters improve, Sire.”
“You better had! I shall not tolerate it! You are all easily replaced!”
They knew he did not mean it. He had assembled this team of advisors over a long period of time. Their advice was crucial to him. But each man, only all too familiar with his moods, knew it best to remain humble at all times.
“Yes, Sire,” Hazar said, bowing again.
“How long has it been since Kazic returned from the Romanias?”
“Eight days, Sire.”
“Eight days! Eight days! And still no sign of the young Dracul!”
“I am certain he should return, Sire,” Hazar said in an attempt to placate him. “I believe he is of sound character. He would not relent on his word.”
“We shall see,” Murad said, a deep frown burrowing long lines into his forehead. “I have my doubts. In my experience the Draculestis are not to be trusted. As it stands, what do we know?”
The Dracula Chronicles: The Path To Decay Page 11
