The Dracula Chronicles: The Path To Decay

by Shane KP O'Neill

  “What is it?” Basarab asked, trying not to gag.

  “It is a message from Dracula,” one of the Wallachians said.

  He had not yet seen the face on the severed head. “What does it say?”

  The officer looked to him with an expression of disdain. “He says he has liberated your sister.”

  WALLACHIA.

  VLADISLAV BASARAB’S TENT IN HIS CAMP

  ON THE VEDEA RIVER.

  LATE NOVEMBER, 1448. MOMENTS LATER.

  That is my sister?” Basarab cried out.

  “Yes, my Lord,” the officer said. He did not show any emotion. “I am sorry for your loss.”

  Two of the men had to catch him as he fell. The shock was a devastating one. The officer ordered one of the others to bring him some water. He then put it to Basarab’s lips for him to drink.

  The deposed ruler broke into a sob. “My poor beautiful, Natalia. What kind of a twisted act is this? How could anyone do such a thing?”

  His officer sent all but one man away. “Do not allow it to affect you, my Lord.”

  Basarab glared at him, the anger within him threatening to explode. “How can it not affect me? I loved my sister and he has murdered her!”

  “I know it is a devastating blow, my Lord. But that is why Dracula did this. It is a tactic to crush your resolve.”

  “Well he has failed in his endeavour. He has taken away the head of my dear sister to make a point to me? I am going to kill him and all that he holds dear.”

  You have already helped kill those he loved he thought, although he dared not say it out loud. “I fear it is the only way you can ever resolve this.”

  “What is that?”

  “By killing him. While he lives he shall gnaw at you until there is nothing left.”

  “We shall see. In the coming days I shall drive him out of my territory.”

  “I think you should consider the use of assassins.”

  “And I think not,” he said, his voice strong and firm. “I want him to die at my hand. Only then can I feel vindicated.”

  DRACULA’S HEADQUARTERS AT THE ROYAL PALACE IN BUCHAREST.

  KAZIC felt deep concern when he received word of the army camped to the west by the Vedea River. Its size and location posed a real worry. At most, it was two day’s march from Bucharest. He sought out Dracula at once to relay the news. “My Liege,” he said. “We have a matter of the greatest urgency to discuss.”

  Dracula did not like the look on his face. “What is wrong?”

  “Basarab has crossed the Danube into Wallachia.”

  The news in itself indicated another battle was close at hand. It did not concern him too much. He did not think his enemy could muster a force strong enough to challenge him. But the look on his friend’s face eroded his confidence. “When did you hear of this? When did they see his army?”

  “This night past. A scout from Giurgiu has brought word.”

  “So he could be as close as a day’s ride from the city?”

  “Yes, my Liege.”

  A grin spread across Dracula’s face. “I have waited so long for this day.”

  “The news is not good, my Liege.”

  “Why is it not? We have been expecting him to come to us.”

  “His numbers are as high as twelve or thirteen thousand.”

  The size of the army staggered him. “Are you certain? How could he have assembled such a force after we crushed him at Kosovo Polje?”

  “Yes, my Liege. His force consists of Hungarian infantry in the main. At most he has five hundred cavalry.”

  “We are more than six and a half thousand.”

  “Yes, my Liege. I know this, but we cannot defend a city with cavalry. We need archers and good infantry.”

  Dracula had not considered this. He had only ever attacked, never defended.

  “In the confines of a city,” Kazic went on, “our cavalry stands to be crushed by an invading army.”

  “Then we shall engage him in the open.”

  “Yes, we can do that. But we are sure to encounter heavy losses. If we prevail, then there would not be many of us left. The wolves shall get the scent of blood and descend upon us.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “I think we should abandon the country to them.”

  “Are you mad?” Dracula shouted. “I have only in recent times seized control. We cannot give it up! I am Draculesti. It is my destiny to rule here!”

  The speech did not move Kazic. He was concerned only with the situation at hand. “We can try and engage him in the open, my Liege. But you stand to lose everything. You even risk capture or death.”

  “Without my throne I have nothing.”

  “I was thinking as much for the welfare of our men. We are not equipped for a serious campaign.”

  “The men serve me!”

  Kazic nodded. Dracula did not realise if he placed them in a hopeless situation where they could all die, they would desert him. “They may abandon you if you choose to send them to their deaths.”

  Dracula drew his sword in a fury and held it to his friend’s throat. “Remember to whom you are talking,” he warned.

  The Serb met the threat without a hint of fear on his face. “I say it as it is, my Liege. Take it however you will.”

  He put the Fier Negru away. “I am sorry, Kazic. Forgive my lack of insight.”

  Kazic nodded again, but hid what he felt inside. Since taking the throne, Dracula had changed. He was no longer the brash, exciting young commander. These days, he was sullen and bad-tempered, suspicious of everyone around him.

  He did not say it, but Kazic thought the Wallachian throne was a curse. “The men would follow you anywhere, my Liege. But not to certain death.”

  “Do you doubt my capacity to lead them to victory against Basarab?”

  “Not for a moment, my Liege.”

  “Then why do you hold such a stance?”

  “Their resolve might desert them in light of the odds against them.”

  “It is purely conjecture then?”

  “I speak only from my experience. It is much better to leave safely and be able to return stronger, than it is to retreat after a defeat. That is how they shall view it.”

  Dracula thought about it for some time. It appeared his dream was in tatters. “Very well then, we shall go. But promise me when I return you shall be at my side.”

  Kazic took his arm. “You know it, my Liege.”

  “I want the city burned to the ground. I shall leave him nothing but ash.”

  Kazic frowned at his words. It was a rare occasion that he ever displayed any kind of emotion. “With respect, my Liege. If you burn every city you pass through there shall be nowhere left for you to go when you return.”

  Dracula growled as he left the room. “Must you always be right?”

  Kazic led the Turks out of the city. They rode east and then due south to the Danube. Basarab reached Bucharest and secured it before giving chase. With an army of infantry he had no prospect of catching his enemy.

  Once the cavalry had crossed into Bulgaria, Dracula stopped and looked back at the green hills of his homeland. He took a deep breath and vowed. “I shall be back.”

  WALLACHIA.

  THE FOOTHILLS OF THE CARPATHIAN

  MOUNTAINS NORTH OF NOVACI.

  LATE FEBRUARY, 1449.

  One of Andrei’s sisters found him in the woods after an hour of searching. Snow covered the ground still and the cold stung her skin. The bare trees formed a stark contrast to the white blanket that covered the ground. The Carpathian Mountains loomed high behind them, adding more white and dark browns to the picture.

  The gypsies had remained west of the Arges for more than a year. Fewer people occupied these areas and after what they had endured, they needed the quiet to recuperate. They hunted in peace and continued to raise their young in their centuries-old traditions. Constantin’s health had slowly begun to fail him. This made the gypsies reluctant to travel aga
in.

  Since the night the angels and demons had fought over him, Andrei had spent much of his time alone. He knew the others still loved him as much as before. Yet they looked upon him now in a different light. It affected him in many ways and made him more withdrawn. He felt so much guilt for bringing danger to his loved ones. Often he struggled to come to terms with the reality of his life, and of his situation. He looked deep within himself to try and better understand why God had chosen him and where his path would lead. All he knew was Lucifer and his minions wanted him dead. The reason for this and what God expected of him he was still to ascertain.

  What Sonnielion had done to Tania still haunted him. He realised he had almost cost his sister her life through his hesitancy. Tania remembered nothing of the event. He was thankful of that.

  “Andrei!” she called out. “I have looked everywhere for you.”

  He raised a hand to silence her, although he did not look around. “Hush.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “There is a ewe about to give birth. She has showed signs of it all morning.”

  “Why would you wait around to see that?”

  “She is the first of the flock. It means spring is close, but she is early.”

  “But even still?”

  “There is no animal on God’s earth as fair as a lamb.”

  “I have not heard such a thing.”

  “It is the only one of all God’s creatures the Devil cannot imitate.”

  “You must come at once.”

  He turned around for the first time. “Why? What is wrong?”

  “It is Papa. He is dying.”

  The news struck his heart like a thunderbolt. “I have not seen him this day. How can this be? He seemed well enough but a day past. You must be mistaken.”

  “He is old, Andrei. Very old. It is his time, but he is waiting for you.”

  “Then I must go to him.”

  He found Constantin lying in his tent with his blankets wrapped tight around him. The old man held up a feeble hand when he realised his most cherished son had arrived. “I could not leave until I had seen you one last time.”

  “Leave, Papa? You must not speak of such things. I did not realise you were so unwell.”

  Andrei sat down and touched the back of Constantin’s hand to his cheek. He rubbed his face gently against his father’s hand, caressing it with all the love he possessed for the old man.

  “I am not unwell, my son. I am old and my body has given up. It would have pleased me to have passed on with the sun on my face. Alas, we cannot choose when it is our time.”

  Tears welled in Andrei’s eyes. “But you are the finest man I know.”

  “If I was nearly as good as you then I would be a great man.”

  Andrei did not reply. He fought it as long as he could, but finally he broke down.

  “Do not weep for me, my son. We have had seventeen wonderful years. Years I did not deserve. I had the great fortune to watch you grow into a man, and I thank God for that.”

  “I am not ready to let you go.”

  “You must let me go. It is your time to lead our people.”

  “I cannot lead them, Papa. I am not ready for that.”

  “Yes, you can. You are a great man already, but do not know it yet.”

  “I do not even know who I am.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why I am so different. Even the colour of my eyes sets me apart.”

  “Because they are blue?”

  “Yes.”

  “It is God’s mark on you. The gifts and abilities you possess were given to you by Him.”

  “But why? What is His purpose?”

  “Only you can find the answer to that.”

  “Does it have something to do with my birth father?”

  “You know who he is?”

  “Of course I do, Papa. You are my true father. But I know Vlad Dracul sired me. My mother told me his name.”

  Constantin thought back to the time Dracul sinned against Magath. He still felt much guilt over it. “I spit on his name.”

  “He forced himself on my mother, did he not?”

  “Yes,” the elder sighed, struggling a little for breath. “But you were meant to be here. That much is clear to us all.”

  “It is so unfair that she had to give her life for me. She endured enough.”

  “Yes she did, but she loved you so much.”

  “I remember the night she brought me into the world.”

  He found it hard to imagine how this could be true, even though Andrei had said it before. “Do you really, Andrei?”

  “She leant over my crib and kissed me goodbye. She told me not to be afraid.”

  “I saw that moment,” he whispered, tears in his eyes. “I owed it to her then to raise you as my own.”

  Andrei stroked his face. “Thank you.”

  The old man smiled. “You have no need to think of Dracul. He has gone to meet his maker and answer for his sins.”

  Andrei nodded. “I know, Papa. But I have a connection with one of his sons. The one who was born the same night as I.”

  “The one you see in your visions?”

  “Yes, Papa. It is he that I see.”

  “Then whatever that reason might be, my son, you must find it.”

  A slight gasp escaped his lips and he closed his eyes. Andrei knew he was gone. He gazed down at the man he had known as his father and cried. For a time he stroked Constantin’s long grey hair and thought of days gone by. But he knew the others were waiting. As he stood up to leave, he tidied the blankets that covered him.

  The gypsies stood around outside the tent. They knew it was the old man’s time. He had left instructions that Andrei was to take over the leadership of the tribe. When Andrei emerged from the tent they dropped to their knees and bowed.

  “We shall stay three more days until my father is buried. Then we shall move on.”

  ANATOLIA.

  THE ROYAL PALACE OF SULTAN MURAD II

  AT ADRIANOPLE.

  LATE FEBRUARY, 1449.

  John Hunyadi surfaced again early in the New Year. He agreed terms for his release, which favoured Branković, his captor. They included a union of marriage between his youngest son, Matthias, and Elizabeth Cilli. She was a granddaughter of the Serb, and only seven years of age. But even more important than this, she was a member of the very powerful feudal German Cilli family, her father being Ulrich von Cilli. After his release, he returned to Hunedoara. There, he set about picking up the pieces of a second humiliating defeat.

  Wallachia saw a flurry of activity in the early months of the year. Basarab worked hard to ensure there would be no repeat of the previous coup. He fortified each of his towns and cities. On top of this, he rebuilt his army, posting strong garrisons in all of them.

  Even he could see the balance of power had shifted towards Anatolia. So he sent envoys to Murad to try and negotiate better terms than those he had with Hunyadi. He fell out with Hunyadi after their defeat, where he felt his ally had left him all alone to save his throne. In his mind, the White Knight had lost his true power now. He did not care if his actions irritated him. In the event of hostilities between them, he felt sure of the fact his brother would come to his aid. With this in mind, he looked to rebuild and develop the northern city of Tirgoviste once again.

  Murad found himself further alienated from his son, Mehmed. He could get no sense from him and they rowed all the time. His health began to slowly fail him. He feared at any moment his heir might rise up against him and seize power. In the event of his death, the empire would need a strong successor. It was only for that reason he did not have Mehmed removed from the court, or even killed. For all his failings, the sultan’s heir had an astute mind and a penchant to see the empire live on and expand.

  He was glad to see the return of Dracula to the palace. With things the way they were with Mehmed, he looked to Dracula for the comforts a son could provide.

  For a w
hole month, Dracula hardly spoke a word. Murad knew he was still coming to terms with losing his throne so soon. Because of that, he left him to his own devices. The palace was a home to him for as long as he wanted it. It meant he was free to do and act as he pleased.

  Dracula mulled over more than just the loss of his throne. Any place he walked within the palace held a memory of Natalia. Some days he felt deep regret at what he had done. Only for Lucy he knew he might still be with her now.

  By late February, Murad could bear his absence from court no longer. He took a walk in the palace gardens. A guard had informed him the young prince sat there alone. The first buds threatened to bloom from the plants all around him.

  “Are you ready to return to the world of the living?” he asked.

  Dracula was deep in thought. He looked up, a faint smile on his face. “I am sorry, Sire. I did not see you there.”

  Murad sat down beside him. “If you are half the man I know you to be, then you shall rise above this.”

  The younger man shrugged at the remark. He felt there was nothing that could lift him from his gloom. “I am not much of a man if I cannot hold on to my throne for more than six weeks.”

  The sultan let out a deep sigh. “You were a victim of circumstance. That is all.”

  “I am a failure.”

  “We both know that is not true. The throne shall be yours once more. These things can take time. I do not doubt you shall rise again.”

  “It is good that someone believes it, Sire. I cannot profess that I do.”

  The guards lingered close by. Murad wanted to have some privacy to talk and dismissed them. When they moved only a little further away, he stood up. “If I need protecting, I have Vlad at my side. I am sure he could do it more adequately than any ten of you. Go and leave us in peace.”

  He sat down again beside his protégé. “In times like this when we are alone, let us talk like men. Like good friends.”

  This brought a smile from his companion. “Very well, Sire. I would like that.”