Son of the Dragon

by Victor T Foia

  “That’s no news to me, dear,” Alba said, vexed she would’ve already heard of something he’d only learned hours ago. “I know he’ll be gone all summer.”

  Helena didn’t appear disappointed that her information failed to surprise him. The witch was up to something. Why didn’t she just leave? But Helena gave no sign she was inclined to do so.

  “Is that what Michael Novak told you when he was here this afternoon?” she said.

  Alba tried to figure out who among his staff would’ve spied for Helena on his conversation with Michael. “Dracul’s asking the boyars to vote his son Marcus as regent in tomorrow’s council. Then, in about a week he’ll set off with him and a few hundred mounted guards on military maneuvers along the Danube, from Nicopolis to the Black Sea.”

  “And you consider it natural the king would take his heir on a three-month trip, just to show him the ways of the army?” Helena said. “I don’t. Why not teach Prince Marcus all he needs to know around here?”

  Alba had entertained the same thought. Helena’s astuteness was a constant source of annoyance for him. “Dracul has this wild notion he can turn Kilia into a Genoa on the Danube,” he said. “I think the true reason behind the trip is the building of a port there, not his son’s military education.”

  Helena smiled, condescending. “I find that speculation idiotic. Building docks and warehouses is the job of masons and carpenters, not that of kings and regents.”

  What was she leading to? Alba knew that was what this beastly woman expected him to ask, so he remained silent to spite her.

  “I think Dracul’s trying too hard to convince you he’s going to be out there in the country for months,” Helena said. “He sends his chancellor with explanations to you, like an errand boy? Might that not mean he’s planning to be elsewhere?”

  Alba cocked his head and looked at her through narrowed eyelids. If true, that would be interesting to know. To arrange for such an elaborate deception, Dracul would have to be up to something important.

  Helena seemed to register Alba’s raised interest and made him wait a few moments before continuing. “Well, not being as gullible as you are, I set out to get to the bottom of this. And what better source for truth than the new regent himself?”

  “You spoke with Prince Marcus?” Alba said, unable to imagine the circumstances of such a dialogue.

  “Not exactly,” she said, coquettish. “I had Esmeralda tease the secret out of him.”

  “What?” Alba cried, falling back a step. “You let Marcus get close to our daughter? Why, that boy’s nothing but a brainless, walking erection. How could you even think to—?”

  “Don’t you worry about Esmeralda’s virginity, Husband,” she said, heated. “That’s my domain. Marcus has been mooning over our daughter for the past month, lurking daily outside our wall. So this afternoon I let him into our garden to walk with Esmeralda. But not for a moment did I turn my head away from them.” Helena raised her hands like two vicious claws and hissed, “I’d rip out the prince’s cock and balls with my own nails if he laid a single finger on her.”

  Not many things about Helena reassured Alba. But her fierceness in the defense of Esmeralda’s maidenhood did. Helena knew that no good match could be made for a damaged girl. Mollified and curious, he said, “Tell me what you’ve learned.”

  “Dracul’s been ordered to Edirne by the sultan,” Helena crowed. “He’s planning to go there on the sly, disguised as a merchant. Marcus and Vlad will make the journey to the Black Sea with the guards, to provide Dracul cover.”

  “Why would Dracul need cover for a visit with the sultan?” Alba asked, baffled. “He’s been to Edirne before and made no secret of it.” He saw withering scorn on Helena’s face and knew she was about to humiliate him with her reply. Think fast. Then, before Helena could scorch him with her disdain, he saw the reason. “Hunyadi,” he blurted out.

  She grinned and her look softened. “You’re starting to think, Dan. Dracul’s been going to Nicopolis every year since the treaty to hand over the tribute to Hassan Bey. But the last time he’s been in Edirne was five years ago. At that time, Hunyadi was but a mercenary in the service of some Italian duke.”

  True, five years ago Hunyadi was no threat to Dracul. Now he was the biggest landowner in Hungary, Governor of Transylvania, and Captain General of the Kingdom. Alba’s mind began to race with the possibilities. “Hunyadi would pay a lot for this secret, wouldn’t he?”

  “You know he would,” Helena said. “With Dracul in Edirne, he’d be able to place a new king on Wallachia’s throne. Someone who’d dance to his tune.”

  Alba had dreamed for a long time of expanding his land holdings to the north side of the Carpathian Mountains. Perhaps the time had finally arrived. “I could get a small county in Transylvania out of Hunyadi, in exchange for this secret,” he said, and watched Helena, expecting to see approval in her eyes.

  She nodded and gave him an encouraging smile.

  “And maybe the right to collect custom taxes at one of the mountain passes. Bran, perhaps?”

  “Not only that, but even the title to the Bran Castle itself,” Helena said in a tone sweeter than Alba could remember ever hearing from her. “Hunyadi would find all of that a small price to pay for being able to play kingmaker.”

  “The moment Dracul leaves town, I’ll dash to Eisenmarkt to negotiate a deal with the governor in person,” Alba said.

  Helena watched him for a while with admiration. Alba thought she even betrayed pride in him, and that made him feel vindicated for many a past belittlement at her hands.

  Then she jumped to her feet and rushed at him, her face puckered up, hideous. “Now that you’ve proven yourself once again incompetent in matters of strategy, I’ll tell you what you’ll do.”

  Alba retreated, but she pursued him until his back was against the wall. As she pressed him with her generous bosom, he was forced to look into her mouth and inhale her stale breath.

  “You’ll go nowhere and speak to no one about Dracul’s trip to Edirne,” she growled.

  “But why?” he said, bewildered. “An opportunity like this might not come again—”

  “That’s precisely why you’ll keep your mouth shut.” She let him stew in confusion for a few moments before she said, “This is a secret that lets you play the kingmaker, and that’s worth more than anything Hunyadi can give you.”

  Alba felt a stab of fear, and his bowels churned. It was one thing to sell information to Hunyadi and let him take his chances against Dracul; it was quite another to commit treason that would have him killed if the conspiracy failed.

  Helena backed away from Alba, releasing him from the captivity of her breasts. She pointed at his chair and hissed, full of venom, “Sit, before you shit yourself.”

  Alba obeyed.

  “Starting tomorrow, you’ll make a fuss over Dracul’s wisdom of providing the regent with such an extensive military training,” Helena said. “You’ll point out to everyone that having an experienced heir assures Wallachia of a smooth succession, when the Good Lord decides to call Dracul to His Kingdom.”

  “But what if others find out about Dracul’s secret trip, and they sell the information to Hunyadi?” Alba said.

  “Well... it’s the first sensible thing to come out of your mouth in a long time.” Helena filled her goblet with wine and offered it to Alba. “Yes, rumors about Dracul’s true whereabouts are bound to surface. It’ll be your job to squash them on the spot. And kill the rumormongers, if need be.”

  Her strength and confidence began to rub off on him. “What was that about my acting as a kingmaker?”

  “Your pawn is Nestor. Give him a thousand ducats, and ask him to hire a few hundred mercenaries in Transylvania. He must occupy Roter Turm Pass within three weeks of his leaving Targoviste. Promise him if he can do that, he’ll be declared king of Wallachia by Midsummer’s Day and be crowned on the Feast of Saint John the Baptist.”

  “But that’s less than six weeks a
way,” Alba cried. The proximity to danger sent him back into panic. “How are we going to accomplish that in such a short time?”

  “It’s best you don’t know the details at this point,” Helena said. “When the moment comes, I’ll tell you more.”

  “Nestor’s going to ask what I want in exchange for making him king, won’t he?” Alba said.

  She laughed. “The poor man won’t believe his luck when he learns that all he’s got to do is make Esmeralda his queen.”

  “But Nestor’s got a woman and two children already, in Eisenmarkt,” Alba said.

  Helena waved her hand, dismissive. “If he wants to be king, he’s got to forget about them.” She turned her back on him and stomped out of the room. Her perfume swirled behind her like a noxious vapor. He covered his nose with his hand, and Florica’s intimate scent imprinted on it hit him, unexpected but welcome.

  CHAPTER 22: On the Trail of the Raiders

  “I thought you understood your involvement with me was over,” Vlad shouted at László when the Hungarian caught up with him. “You were supposed to stay behind in Targoviste.” He could barely contain his anger. He’d ridden hard for an hour, without looking back, certain that Gruya and Lash would be right behind him. Instead, László had overtaken them, and now here he was, riding alongside as if he belonged.

  “You’ve agreed in front of Nestor to take me along,” László said. “Now you want to go back on your word?”

  Vlad grabbed him by the hair and dragged him off his horse. He’d intended to pull him over onto Timur’s withers, but the boy slipped out of his hand and fell to the ground. Before László stopped rolling in the dirt, Vlad had wheeled Timur around and had thrown himself on top of him. “You arrogant shit,” he hissed into László’s face, “you think this is a game. Don’t you understand some of us might be killed? Maybe all of us?”

  “If you aren’t afraid to go after the Akincis with just your two men, I’m not afraid either,” László said with unconvincing bravado. “And I promise to stay out of your way when the fight starts.”

  “That’s reassuring,” Vlad said, still seething. He let go of the boy and rose to his feet. László remained flat on his back, as if reproaching Vlad for the bad treatment.

  Lash and Gruya arrived at that moment and dismounted, giving Vlad sheepish looks.

  “We tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen to us,” Gruya said. “He claimed you needed him.”

  “Do you want me to take him back to town, Master?” Lash said.

  “You should’ve thought of that when you let him ride past you,” Vlad snarled.

  Gruya put a foot on László’s chest and brandished his dagger. “Why don’t I cut his throat and bury him in the swamp?”

  “If I’m to serve as a witness to your fight with the Turks,” László said, struggling to free himself from under Gruya’s boot, “I demand you all speak Hungarian when I’m around. Otherwise I’ll have the feeling you’re talking about me.”

  They all looked at him, stupefied by his gall.

  Vlad was the first to recover. The Hungarian was a damn good rider, he must admit. At least he wouldn’t slow them down. “Very well,” he said, feeling his anger abate. “Since it’s too late to take you back to town, you may come along. Just know this: Gruya and Lash have my permission to kill you if you disobey my orders.”

  They rode at a moderate trot for another half hour, when it became too dark for them to see the road. Then Vlad slowed Timur to a walk, relying on the horse’s night vision to avoid stepping into ruts or tripping on boulders. They stopped only when they reached the edge of the forest, a little after midnight.

  “There will be no fire tonight,” Vlad said when László began to gather dry branches. “If Father’s been alerted to our departure, he’ll have the guards scouring the open land around Targoviste. I don’t want to make it easy for them to find us.”

  László mumbled something under his breath about being hungry, and unbuckled the flaps of his saddlebags.

  “Horses come first,” Vlad said, unsaddling Timur, and started to rub him dry with a rag. “We can travel for days on empty stomachs, but won’t get anywhere if the horses aren’t in good health.”

  “My horse’s needs don’t come before mine,” László grumbled, but re-cinched his bags and unsaddled his horse.

  “Check the hooves for embedded pebbles and loose nails,” Vlad ordered. “If your horse gets crippled we’ll have to leave you behind.”

  Without a fire to keep the wild animals away, Vlad slept fitfully that night. Every creaking in the forest, every bird’s screech, and every snort from the horses grazing nearby made him sit up, alert. During the short intervals when he managed to doze off, he was tormented by dreams of Akincis hunting him. Morning found him tired and irritable. As he stood looking back over the road they traveled the evening before, he realized he was hoping to see his father’s guards coming. He’d wanted to do something like this for as long as he could remember. But now that he was doing it, he wanted out of it. He touched Oma’s medallion under his shirt, hoping for an infusion of courage. But the black stone felt cold and hard.

  “I also wish I were in my own bed,” he heard László say from behind him.

  Startled, Vlad spun around to see the Hungarian smiling at him. All the ill feelings he’d harbored against László in the past returned. “It’s a straight road from here back to Targoviste,” he snapped, and headed to saddle Timur. “If you’re going to give up, do it now. Once we enter the forest, you’ll never find the way back by yourself.”

  László was still smiling, impudent, when he mounted his horse and followed Vlad into the forest.

  They rode all day in single file, along narrow trails littered with dry sheep dung. Every few miles, the trail would branch off in several directions, and only Lash was able to choose the fork leading to Bucur’s Crossing. Vlad drove them, relentless, not slowing the pace even when the terrain became hilly, forcing his companions to eat their meals in the saddle. He himself felt neither hunger nor thirst, only a crushing sense of foreboding. The more this feeling weighed on him, the more he pushed himself forward. Now and then Vlad would glance behind at Gruya, and be reassured his squire was unaware of his inner turmoil. Still he didn’t trust himself to conceal his fear. So, when László pulled next to Vlad, he avoided eye contact with him.

  “What if we don’t find the Akincis?” László said.

  That was a question Vlad hadn’t considered until now. Yes. An honorable way out of this mess. They’d search for a few days, and if they didn’t find them, they could return home without shame. But Vlad wouldn’t share this thought with anyone. He gave László a sidelong look and said, resolute, “If Nestor’s source didn’t lie, we’ll find the Turks and kill them.”

  As the sun dipped below the crest of the hills, they reached a valley drained by a placid brook. The ground along the bank was soggy, so they rode upstream for about a mile, looking for a suitable campsite. They found a rocky shelf that gave them a good perspective over the valley and would be easy to defend against predators at night.

  The company was about to settle down, when Lash raised a hand to call for silence.

  “Smoke,” he said, wiggling his beaked nose.

  “I don’t smell it,” László said.

  “It’s not far from here,” Lash said and dismounted.

  “Let’s get the horses into the woods,” Vlad said, leaping out of the saddle. “If Lash smells smoke, there’s smoke.”

  “You think it’s the Turks?” László said.

  Vlad ignored the question and motioned him to hurry. “You stay here with the horses,” Vlad said when they were back among the trees. “Don’t hobble them, in case we have to get away in a hurry.” He noticed László’s pallor and felt the need to calm him. “The Turks are traveling with a wagon full of kids. There aren’t any wheel tracks around here.”

  “It’s probably only a robbers’ den,” Gruya said, and snickered when László w
inced.

  “If it isn’t the Turks,” László said, “shouldn’t we just walk away? What’s the use of meddling into—?”

  “When you grow up,” Gruya said, still seeming to relish László’s fear, “you’ll understand it isn’t smart to leave unchecked anything that smokes in the forest.”

  Holding their swords at the ready, Vlad and Gruya followed Lash, who kept sniffing the air while he moved from the cover of one tree to that of another. Soon Vlad could smell smoke as well, and his palms started to sweat. Two hundred yards farther, the outline of a hut came into view. They crept closer, casting glances in all directions. Perhaps walking away from something like this would be smarter, Vlad mused, but it was too late to call off the investigation.

  From twenty yards away, they could see smoke seeping through the hut’s thatched roof. Two goats and a clutch of chickens watched them from inside a small courtyard enclosed by a picket fence.

  A woman’s shout broke the silence. “You eat that, princess, if you don’t want to sleep hungry tonight, hear me?”

  The men began to laugh. All tension drained away, they sheathed their swords and came out into the open. The woman heard the commotion outside and poked her head through the doorway. At the sight of the three men she gasped and froze, openmouthed.

  Vlad raised his empty hands in a sign of peace, which the woman seemed to understand and accept. “No need to fear anything from us, Nana,” he said, using the term of courtesy customary among peasants. “We are neither bandits nor Turks.”

  The woman stepped out and shut the door behind her, then examined each one of the men in turn and appeared satisfied they posed no threat. Vlad thought she couldn’t be more than eighteen. She had large brown eyes and the glowing skin of someone who spent much time outdoors. Her black hair was braided and coiled up in a bun she’d studded with yellow flowers.

  “What do you want?” she asked, well composed now. “My husband and my brothers will be home any moment, and they are big men, not kids like you.”