The Dracula Chronicles: The Path To Decay

by Shane KP O'Neill

  “By that I also mean you do not have to call me Sire. Such protocol is not necessary when men talk as friends.”

  Dracula fell silent. He had never found it easy to interact in this way.

  “Let us walk a while,” Murad said. “It is too cold to be sitting around. At my age the joints tend to stiffen up rather too quickly.”

  “I see Hunyadi is back in the world of men. I wonder what rat hole he crawled out from.”

  “Yes, he has made his return.”

  “Do you think he might pose you any more problems?”

  “Thanks to you, no. He has lost much of his power. I have not even had the chance to congratulate you. That was yet another splendid victory in the field.”

  “I was merely doing my duty.”

  “I only wish I had three more like you. All my problems would be solved.”

  “You have very able men all around you. There is no cause for worry.”

  “Mehmed is a worry to me. I wish he were even a little like you. If he was, I could die in peace and not have to carry this burden with me.”

  “I have never been close to him.”

  “You are not alone there. I fear he envies you.”

  “Why would he envy me?”

  “All that you are, he wishes he could be. You are a hero and he has achieved nothing. And perhaps he resents the way I look upon you.”

  “How do you look upon me?”

  “I know I have not always been so kind to you but…”

  “I am sure the beating I received from you was well deserved.”

  “That might well be true. Still, to me you are the son I wish he could be. You are everything he is not.”

  “I have seen the way he looks at me. There are times where I wonder if he might have me murdered in my sleep.”

  “No harm shall ever befall you while you are here. You can be sure of that.”

  “I hear you, yet I can never relax. Too many people would as soon see me dead. I fear Mehmed is one of them.”

  “This is your home for as long as you need it to be.”

  “I know that and I appreciate it.”

  “By the same token, you are free to leave any time you choose. I would rue that day, but do not feel obliged to stay if you ever feel unsure of your safety.”

  “Thank you. I shall keep that in mind.”

  “You could take on another commission if you so choose. My armies are always in need of men like you to lead them.”

  “With respect, Sire, I am tired of fighting at this time.”

  “As you wish. The option is there if you ever want it.”

  Dracula was lost in thought for a time.

  “What are you thinking of?” Murad asked him.

  “My mind is on the chances I have lost. I wish I could do it all again. Already I can see the mistakes that I have made.”

  “We all wish for that. If I had my time again, not getting to know Mehmed’s mother is one thing I would do differently.”

  They both laughed.

  “You shall have your chance again,” Murad assured him. “I am not saying it shall be easy. Basarab is a very shrewd man. He has already made an approach for an alliance with me.”

  This was not news Dracula welcomed.

  Murad put a hand on his shoulder. “Do not worry. I can see past his ruse.”

  “I am glad of that.”

  “I still recognise you as the one true candidate for the Wallachian throne.”

  “I thank you.”

  “All he does is for a reason. Hunyadi’s weakness is at the root of this.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I did not get where I am by chance. I know my enemies well. It is a lesson you need to learn. Know your enemy.”

  Dracula nodded that he had taken the advice on board. Murad looked up at the greying skies. It was getting late and rain was in the air. “I should leave you with your thoughts. It is becoming too cold for me.”

  “Yes, it is cold.”

  “Then walk with me back to the palace.”

  It began to rain, but Dracula remained outside. He liked the gardens in the centre of the palace grounds. Here, he could be alone with his thoughts. He gazed into the darkness. “Are you here, Lucy?”

  She had not come to him since the day by the waterfall. “I am here.”

  He looked, but did not see her. In her black dress, she blended well with the background. “Where? I do not see you.”

  She stepped forward, her black eyes fixed firmly on his.

  He smiled when he saw her. “I have missed you.”

  “You have been busy. I did not want to distract you.”

  “Busy making enemies, yes.”

  “It is good to have enemies. They keep you on your toes.”

  He did not disagree. She always spoke with wisdom. “Have you lost your interest in me?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Of course I have not. That could never change.”

  “It does not feel like it. I rarely ever see you.”

  “I have an interest in all that you do. But you have to be the master of your own destiny. Those are the rules.”

  “Whose rules?”

  “The rules of the universe.”

  “Is there such a thing?”

  “Of course.”

  “Who set them? Someone had to.”

  “God and Lucifer.”

  He gave her a look that hinted he did not believe her. “Truly?”

  “Yes. They agreed the rules after the First Great War of the Angels.”

  “So you are saying such a thing happened?”

  “Oh, of that you can be sure.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “And you are restricted by them, too?”

  “Yes, the rules are very clear and abided to by all. I have the power to jump in when Death rears his head. That is, if I am there before the event. I can also guide you on your way. But you must make your own choices. Your will is your own.”

  “What about the times we spend alone?”

  “You mean when you have your way with me?”

  “Yes. Or when you have your way with me,” he said, his face reddening a little.

  “Then, that is you and I. It interferes with nothing. So it is allowed.”

  He pushed her up against a wall and kissed her hard on the mouth. For a brief moment he thought of Natalia and how her lips felt so much warmer.

  “Do not think of her when you are with me,” she warned.

  “It is you I want,” he whispered, sucking on her ear lobe.

  “Then have me. I am yours to take.”

  He pressed into her, kissing her neck with a hunger that was rare for him. She closed her eyes as his hands rubbed the outside of her thighs, raising her dress up around her waist.

  “You belong to me, and always shall belong to me,” she said, so faint that he did not hear.

  He hooked his arms under her knees and lifted her three feet off the ground. She pulled her dress down over each shoulder to reveal her firm breasts.

  His biceps bulged and pressed against the insides of her thighs. Pushing her hard to the wall it spread them wider, exposing her sex. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held onto him. It allowed him to free a hand and release his throbbing erection.

  Her nipples were hard and ached against the cold. He took one of them in his mouth and sucked. His penis touched against her opening, which already felt moist and in need of him.

  They groaned together on penetration. He did not move for a while, happy to just lie inside her and feel her warmth. She closed her eyes, letting her mind drift away. Every nerve in her body came to life. The sensation of him filling her inside touched her every fibre.

  With her thighs spread wide apart, he was able to inch his fingers up her back. They took a firm grip on her shoulders and pulled her down harder onto him. She pushed her knees against his ribs, hooking her legs around his waist to prompt his first thrust. He duly obliged and drove himself into her. Sh
e gasped as he touched her deep inside, his pubic hair brushing against her aching clit.

  “Take me, Vlad,” she groaned. “Take me hard.”

  He increased the speed of his thrusts, taking them both closer to climax. When she sensed his was building, she ground herself harder against him. He pumped her harder and faster, until they were both gasping for breath.

  A moment later, he filled her inside. His orgasm triggered hers and she bit hard into his neck, breaking the skin. Touching her tongue to the wound, she tasted the trickle of blood. It was one she liked, and she ran her tongue more firmly over it. A rush of ideas entered her head.

  He collapsed against her, pinning her still to the wall. She looked beyond him into the darkness and smiled, knowing she owned him completely.

  MOLDAVIA.

  THE CITY GATES AT SUCEAVA.

  DECEMBER 11, 1449.

  Dracula rode up to the main gates outside the city of Suceava. He was eighteen years old today, but it had not even crossed his mind. After twelve days of hard riding, he was weary and ached all over.

  No one at the gates came out to see him, or answered his calls. Where are the sentries? It irritated him that the gates stood closed to block his entry, but he kept his calm. He did not like being out in the open and exposed. If an assassin were on his tail, he would make an easy target. While he waited, he thought back to his year spent in Anatolia.

  It had been a quiet summer in the palace. He often left the grounds and spent his days wandering the city streets. By habit, he liked to roam through the bustling markets. He loved to take in the scent of spices and freshly cooked food.

  The peasants looked on him curiously. He stood out with his paler skin and odd-looking clothes. But it did not alienate him from them. There was no shortage of women happy to spend an hour or two alone with him in quiet rooms. In spite of his general dislike for the Turks, there was much here that he did like.

  He spent less time in the palace with good reason. Mehmed, over time, grew openly hostile towards him. He even clashed at times with Radu, his own brother. Radu was close to the sultan’s heir and involved himself in all that Mehmed did.

  Basarab had worked hard all year to secure a treaty with Murad. The two sides were still discussing terms, and the treaty remained unsigned. But it worried Dracula that relations seemed good between them. Basarab had made a demand for Dracula’s extradition. He wanted him to stand trial for his “crimes” in Wallachia.

  Murad had no intention of handing him over. Mehmed, on the other hand, fought him hard on this. He wanted Dracula gone and saw this as the best way of achieving that end. Every day at court, he argued the point to his father’s advisors. He maintained that a treaty with a neighbour took precedence over the rights of an individual. Murad held firm and ignored his rants. He looked on Dracula as a son and did not want to give him up.

  It forced Mehmed to resort to other tactics. He devised a plot to have him killed in the palace. Dracula was still haunted by the moment he awoke to find Kodza Hazar sat on his bed. He thought back to it now, a chill running down his spine.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked nervously. He remembered the last occasion when he had awoken to see Hazar sat over him. That had led to his first and only visit to the seraglio, and his meeting with Ayshe.

  He knew Hazar had first served the sultan as an assassin. His success in that role brought him great notoriety, but equally much respect and fear.

  Hazar looked straight at him. His mad eyes unsettled the younger man as always. “Rest at ease, Vlad. I am here as a friend.”

  He could not relax, and remained guarded. It had been on his mind for some time that Mehmed wanted him dead. Who was there better than Hazar to carry out such an order? “You have not come here to kill me?”

  “The Heir has ordered me to do so, yes.”

  Dracula’s heart thumped hard inside his chest. Hazar could strike at any moment and he was powerless to stop it. His sword was out of arm’s reach. But Hazar had not used Mehmed’s name. That hinted at a lack of respect or dislike for the royal.

  “I am not going to harm you,” Hazar said in the quietest way.

  The calm in Hazar’s voice made him even more nervous. He could not understand why he was still alive.

  As well as he could hide his thoughts, Hazar read him with ease. “If I had come here with that in mind, we would not be talking. You would already be dead.”

  “He gave you a direct order. In sparing my life, are you not risking your own?”

  “No, I have no fears for my safety. But then neither should you.”

  Dracula still did not know if he could trust him. He knew Hazar had the ability to end his life in the blink of an eye. Of all the men he had met or even fought in his young life, this man was the only one who instilled any fear in him.

  “I serve his father, not him. To that end, I went at once to the Sultan.”

  “What did he say?”

  “The news did not please him. He has grown very fond of you over time. But his son does have power, and influence. We sat and devised a plan to save you.”

  “How? His spies must have their eyes trained on this room.”

  “I shall say when I came here to carry out the order, you were gone.”

  “Thank you.”

  Hazar threw him a pouch. “A gift from Murad. Do not let them see you leave.”

  Dracula could tell from the clanging sound that it was full of coins. “What is it?”

  “Enough coin to guarantee you safe passage wherever you choose to go. You have to leave at once. When you escape the palace, do not look back.”

  Dracula nodded. There were few places left that he could go. To try and hide in Wallachia would surely lead to his capture and death. Remaining here would end the same way for him. He did have friends in Transylvania. But if he went there, Hunyadi was sure to hear of it and send in his assassins too. He had to go north.

  “I wish you luck,” Hazar said, turning to leave. “It was an honour to know you.”

  With that he was gone. Dracula moved fast and was out of the palace in under a minute. He bribed the guards at the gates to make good his escape. For two days and two nights he did not rest. He travelled north along the coast of the Black Sea towards Moldavia. That was the only place he might be able to live in safety.

  “State your business,” a sentry said, his gruff tone snapping him out of his reverie.

  “I am on my way to the palace, to see the Voivode.”

  A second sentry joined the first, who gave him a mocking grin. “And why would you wish to see the Voivode? Why would he even entertain you?”

  “Why are the gates of the city locked?” Dracula asked, ignoring his question.

  He did not know that the voivode’s half-brother, Petru Aaron, had attacked some towns to the south. The attacks had been repelled, but the gates to the capital remained locked now to all strangers.

  “You had best answer,” the second sentry advised. “Or access to the city shall be denied you.”

  “The Voivode is my uncle. His sister, Cneajna, was my mother.”

  The sentries became more alert, the grins gone from their faces. “And your name, my Lord?” the first of them asked.

  “I am Vlad Dracula, the son of Dracul.”

  The sentries opened the gates at once and admitted him inside. They knew him well by reputation and instantly felt nervous in his presence. “Wait here if you would, my Lord,” one of them said. “We shall escort you to the palace.”

  Soon after that six horsemen flanked him, three on either side. They rode with him to the palace where a guard took his horse.

  “May I take your sword, my Lord?” one of the guards asked him.

  Dracula gave him a hard stare, reluctant to part with the Fier Negru.

  “We cannot proceed until you surrender your sword, my Lord. We do not know you and have to consider the safety of our Voivode over all else.”

  Dracula complied and unhooked his belt, handing t
he scabbard with his sword to the guard.

  “Thank you, my Lord,” the guard said. “If you would follow me.”

  The six guards escorted him to the court where Bogdan was entertaining his guests. They waited at the entrance while one of the guards walked on ahead to advise the voivode of his nephew’s arrival. When he returned, he motioned to Dracula to follow him.

  As he walked the length of the court, a crier announced him to all the guests. The large room fell silent while everyone studied this young man they had all heard tales of. To see him in the flesh was quite something. Many of the ladies especially took a keen interest in him. The men, on the whole, eyed him with curiosity and wondered if he was as able with the sword as the stories about him claimed. For certain, they saw a confident and very broad-set young man who had a very strong presence. He met the scrutinising gazes of many of them, but did not show any emotion.

  “Come,” Bogdan prompted with his hand.

  He walked up to where Bogdan sat on his throne and bowed. “I thank you for receiving me, Highness.”

  “I would not likely refuse such a distinguished visitor.”

  “You know that it is I?”

  Bogdan laughed. “It is not hard, my dear nephew. I only have to take one look at you to know you are your father’s son. The crier announced you on your way in, but all the same, introduce yourself to the court, Vlad Dracula.”

  The young prince turned to the room. “My dear uncle does me a great honour. I am Vlad Dracula, the son of Vlad Dracul and Princess Cneajna Musatin.”

  The people in the room bowed to acknowledge him.

  “That you are,” Bogdan said. “What brings you to my court, young man? I have not had the good fortune to set eyes upon you since you were but a young boy.”

  Of course Bogdan was his mother’s brother. Princess Oltea, his wife, sat to his left. She was a Wallachian and also related to Dracula’s family.

  “I am seeking your shelter, uncle. My enemies are closing in around me. I have nowhere left to turn.”

  “We all have those. It comes with having royal blood in your veins.”

  “My father called it the path to decay.”

  “That is one way to describe it. Fame and fortune also brings with it many perils. This is especially so when all men covet what it is that you have.”