The Vorbing

by Stewart Stafford

  “Very well, your highness,” Pierre said, gesturing the way for Vlad to walk.

  Vlad went first, and both he and Pierre bowed before King Stargard and his daughter on their thrones. Bishop Hopkins stood sternly in his purple robes, watching proceedings beside his king.

  “I congratulate you on your victory,” King Stargard said.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Vlad said. “I am not worthy.”

  “See, Pierre?” the king said. “There is a lesson you can learn from this boy.”

  “And what lesson is that, Sire?” the knight asked.

  “Humility,” the king said, bursting into a booming laugh. Pierre also laughed out of courtesy, but his eyes said he did not enjoy being the butt of humour.

  “I see you are not the hunchbacked tyrant I have heard about,” Vlad said, his faux pas hanging in the air with foreboding.

  The crowd gasped at the imagined slight to their king. Had Vlad blurted out that rash comment at any other time, he would have found himself without a head for it. Luckily, King Stargard was a savvy politician who knew the allure of champions to the public. Monarchs stole the thunder of champions by giving them further titles and honours to bind their public images together. King Stargard would not risk provoking the wrath of a mob by turning on their darling in front of them. Stargard roared with laughter, defusing the situation.

  “Is that what my subjects say about me?” the king said.

  “Aye, some do, Your Majesty,” Vlad said. “I am pleased to see they are wrong.”

  “The arrogance of youth, God bless it,” the king replied. “God has not seen fit to blight me for my sins…yet. There is still time for both of us.”

  ‘Aye,’ Vlad said ‘I mean, yes, Your Majesty.’

  “Vlad Ingisbohr, you are the new champion archer of Mortis. Step forward and receive your prize,” King Stargard said.

  “With the greatest respect, Sire, there is a greater prize I seek,” Vlad said, but did not believe the words he heard himself saying.

  “Forget what I said about humility,” the king said in an irritated tone. “What prize is that?”

  “I need you to send knights to lift the siege my village is under, Your Majesty,” Vlad continued.

  The king frowned at the surprising news. “Under siege from whom?” the king asked.

  “Vampires, Sire,” Vlad said.

  “WHAT?!” the king bellowed, thinking it a joke at his expense in front of his people.

  That was when Sir Pierre de la Costa did something unexpected. He leapt to Vlad’s defence. “Majesty, I have seen the beasts the boy speaks of with my own eyes; they are very real,” Pierre said.

  The endorsement cooled the king’s temper. “You vouch for this boy?” the king asked, surprised at the knight’s sudden coalition with the youth who had defeated him.

  “Aye,” Pierre said. “I also know that the slaughter of the men of Nocturne happened ten years ago because we did nothing.”

  “One of those men who died was my father,” Vlad said.

  The crowd murmured with uncertainty.

  “You must help him, Father,” Princess Annalise implored.

  “Why should I care about a peasant village on the outskirts of my domain?” the king said haughtily.

  Bishop Hopkins leaned forward and spoke into the king’s ear. “Need I remind Your Majesty that it is your Christian duty to rid this land of evil, be it witches, heathens, or the Devil himself?” Bishop Hopkins purred.

  “Nay, holy man,” the king said. “You remind me of that ad nauseam.”

  “It would also make military sense, Sire, to post a garrison of knights on the border,” Pierre said. “This would block a Bellochian invasion and facilitate an invasion by us into their lands.”

  The king drank in this information and stroked his chin.

  “Very well, Sir Knight,” the king said. “I grant you leave to investigate the boy’s claims. If you find them to be true, you have my permission to post a garrison of my knights at Nocturne.”

  “As you wish, Sire,” Pierre said somewhat grudgingly.

  “I trust you will join us at the banquet in your honour tonight,” the king said excitedly to Vlad.

  “I am flattered, Your Majesty,” Vlad said, “but I cannot feast and celebrate while my people are dying. With your permission, I will forego the banquet so we may make an early start in the morning.”

  The king stroked his chin and shrugged with disappointment. “Your commitment to your people is admirable,” King Stargard said. “Of course, you have my permission, but I shall miss not having both of you there tonight. Though it may have some benefits.”

  “What are those, Your Majesty?” Vlad asked.

  “It is a kindness visited upon you by the Lord that you shall not be in Pierre’s presence when he has consumed ale,” the king said as the crowd laughed. “His mind babbles as a brook, and he speaks in tongues like a mad ass. He is lewd and looks to strike any man within punching distance. Wind escapes from all parts of him, and then he must lie down to vomit like a dog. Then he awakes in mournful regret and stinging pain with empty promises of abstinence on his lips.”

  “Abstinence makes the innards grow fonder,” Vlad joked.

  The crowd roared with laughter, as did the king. Pierre smiled awkwardly, but again, his eyes told another story as he glared at Vlad.

  “Indeed, Your Majesty, the Lord is merciful, as I myself do not partake of ale,” Vlad added.

  “You are not yet a man,” Pierre said.

  “I am as manly as you,” Vlad said.

  Pierre laughed. “Your head is a hollow eggshell, boy,” he scoffed.

  “As yours was at my age,” Vlad countered, “but I yearn for the yolk of experience.”

  “You earn the yolk of experience,” Pierre countered back. “I yearn to know how you fire blind and score a bullseye through sheer force of will.” The knight scrutinised Vlad for any clues.

  “I know not the explanation for this,” Vlad said. “It happens.”

  “The Lord is merciful,” Pierre said, “for it is a God-given gift.”

  “Aye,” Vlad agreed.

  “De la Costa, escort our champion to the castle, and find him the best available chamber,” the king commanded.

  “As you wish, Sire,” Pierre said, bowing respectfully. Vlad mirrored his gesture, and they both retreated to cheers from the crowd. They left the common and headed uphill towards the castle together.

  “Defeat in the tournament and then mockery from my king and my public,” Pierre said quietly through gritted teeth. “I am a laughing stock because of you, boy.”

  “All the more reason to make sure you restore your reputation by returning in triumph from Nocturne,” Vlad said.

  Pierre grunted at the impertinent advice.

  “We are no longer competitors,” Vlad said to soothe Pierre’s frustration. “We are brothers in arms now.”

  Pierre was enraged and took no notice of what Vlad said. “I must miss the big celebration of the year to accompany you to this accursed, bog village of yours,” Pierre said with exasperation.

  “We all have our crosses to bear,” Vlad said unsympathetically.

  “Aye,” Pierre said. “We do.”

  Vlad woke up to see Sir Pierre de la Costa smiling down at him.

  “Awake at last, boy!” he boomed. “You’ve slept these last three days. They said you were dead, but I said I’d put any man to the sword who tried to put this champion in his grave. Hungry?”

  Vlad mumbled an answer.

  “Of course you are,” Pierre said. “You shall have sustenance as you have had rest. Had Mortis been a hundred miles further, I fear you would have died from your exertions.”

  “Where am I?” Vlad asked groggily as he sat up.

  “You are in the Azorian Palace,” Pierre said. “You impressed many with your fine display on Saint George’s Common, including myself, and I am not given to flattery easily.”

  “So,” a female
voice said, “our champion awakes.”

  Vlad focussed his bleary eyes on the lovely visage of Princess Annalise. “Hello, your highness,” Vlad croaked as he tried to sit up.

  “Be still, Vlad,” she said softly, putting her hand on his chest. It struck Vlad that he’d had no female care since he had left his village.

  “Will you accept your prize now?” she asked.

  “What prize?” Vlad asked from his drowsy mental fog.

  “Why, your archery prize, of course!” the princess said.

  “Oh yes, how foolish of me,” Vlad said. “I would be delighted.”

  Princess Annalise clapped her hands, and a servant appeared proffering a purple cushion with a golden arrow on it. “Vlad Ingisbohr,” the princess said in a regal tone she had used many times in the past, “you are the archery champion of the city of Mortis. I present you with this golden arrow for your unerring accuracy and boldness.”

  “Thank you, your highness,” Vlad said. “I shall treasure this.”

  “You must give it back when your time as champion expires in a year,” the princess said. “Gold is scarce, and we cannot fashion new golden arrows at will.”

  “Oh,” Vlad said, audibly disappointed. “Very well.”

  The princess sat on the side of the bed. “So, our champion, tell me,” she enquired, a girlish smile playing across her face, “is there a girl that warms your heart?”

  “Yes, your highness,” Vlad said. “She waits for me at home in my village.”

  “A truly lucky girl,” the princess said in a disappointed tone.

  “Thank you, your highness,” Vlad said.

  “Goodbye, Vlad,” the princess said. “Have a safe journey home. I know Pierre here will guard you and your village well.”

  “Your highness,” Pierre said, bowing his head.

  The princess left them alone.

  “Let us get you fed and get our journey underway,” Pierre said.

  “We should go now,” Vlad insisted. “I have wasted three days in slumber.”

  “You must eat something,” Pierre said. “You will need your strength for the road, believe me.”

  “Very well,” Vlad said.

  They departed to the palace kitchen to eat.

  Chapter Twelve

  Vlad and Pierre walked to the gates of the city of Mortis with full bellies. The mighty gates had stood for millennia, and with good fortune, would stand for aeons to come. Vlad had more time to admire the workmanship leaving Mortis than he had entering the city. He hoped to see them again in happier times and knocked on the wood for luck. Pierre untied a large white stallion and a donkey. Vlad knew which animal he would get. Pierre mounted the white stallion, and Vlad attempted to mount the donkey. Vlad was not a great horseman and the knight remained unimpressed.

  “Come along, boy,” Pierre said impatiently. “Mount up and let us be on our way.”

  Eventually, Vlad appeared to be in the saddle and tottered along behind Pierre. Vlad told himself he would dismount when they reached Nocturne, lest the villagers mocked him and his awkwardness on the donkey. Vlad took a last look at Mortis. He had arrived as a peasant boy with nothing, and left a champion with one of the king’s knights as his protector. It was some sort of miracle. Vlad turned his attention to the harsh road back to Nocturne. His donkey plodded on silently while he watched the road and trees ahead for any unusual activity. Pierre stopped a moment and waited for Vlad to catch up. The two animals and their riders disappeared from view into the forest. Mortis had been an expectation for Vlad. As he left, it was mostly a good memory receding from his mind. There were more pressing matters to deal with

  There were oak, chestnut, and beech trees in the wood, and the wind made them bow as if in deference to the knight and his companion. A tapestry of crows, magpies, and seagulls foraged for food on the forest floor. Their colours blended as the birds passed one another, scanning the ground for food, protected by their strength in numbers. Vlad had never seen such a variety of birds in one place. There were even a few pigeons on the periphery that joined them. If there was just one bird there, it would be easy prey for a hawk. Being together in a group increased each bird’s chances of survival greatly. It made Vlad see the need to unite Nocturne with even greater clarity.

  “Look at that crow marching like a soldier to war,” Pierre said laughing. “I knew someone like that once.”

  The birds scattered into the trees and into the air as Pierre and Vlad rode through them. Then, as suddenly as they had parted like the Red Sea for Moses, they merged again to scan the ground for morsels of food. Their ability to adapt to their surroundings and even coexist with enemies proved they could survive together. Although impressed, Vlad had an uneasy feeling in his stomach. They had left their sanctuary, entered hostile territory, and were vulnerable. The return journey was not a solitary one on foot for Vlad. He had a travelling companion and transport, and for that he was grateful. Unlike the birds they saw, though, two did not constitute safety in numbers. They were mortal men. Anything could happen out there and nobody would hear their cries for help. Everything conspired against a traveller: the natural wildlife, the elements, the flora and fauna, the unnatural criminals, and the supernatural creatures. Then there were hunger, thirst, disease, injury, and even something as simple as getting lost or having no shelter, and just one could be the end of them.

  Vlad felt he had matured rapidly, it was a growth spurt forced on him. His survival, and the survival of his mother, Ula, and his village depended on his return with deliverance for them all. How he wished to see them all again and free them from the oppression of the vampires. Vlad’s brief tenure in Mortis was the first time in his life he had stopped thinking about vampires. It had been a welcome if temporary release from his obsession. Vlad’s determination to enjoy that peace permanently had increased. He wanted a new life for himself. In Nocturne, the vampires haunted every waking moment and plagued the dreams of everyone when they slept, if they did. There was no escape. Even in daylight, the malignant aura of vampirism clung to everyone and everything. It was a psychic shock before the real shocks returned after dark. No wonder so many went mad there under the strain. Vlad and his people richly deserved the long overdue life of peace and normality that others took for granted.

  Vlad saw a life of love with Ula and their children, his mother’s grandchildren. Hana Ingisbohr would gain a new lease of life with the babies. He imagined her playing with them at the family farm. She loved children and enjoyed taking care of people. Hana was a great mother and would be an even better grandmother from all the experience she had gained. Ula could learn much from her and no doubt she would. Ula got on well with Vlad’s mother and Hana told Vlad he had found a lovely girl in Ula. Hana had indirectly given them her blessing by telling Vlad that, and he had sensed it. Vlad smiled at the thought of it. The smile soon left his countenance. To get to that life, they had to fight harder than they ever had against the vampires and endure more battles and deaths. War-weariness weighed heavily on part of Vlad’s psyche. Another part was impatient for the final conflict to begin. Whoever lost that battle would not survive. It would be victory or death for Vlad and his people or the vampires. He knew it, and so did Deadulus.

  Even though he slept in daylight, Deadulus already knew of the knight by Vlad’s side. It surprised the vampire as much as it surprised Vlad. Deadulus had reached out with his mind and felt their presence on the road. The boy was becoming a man, a powerful man, and a potent threat with it, even stronger than his father before him. Deadulus felt a flicker of fear he had not experienced in a long time. He savoured it and used it to spur him on to the total victory he believed was his right. Deadulus returned to his slumber in the cave high on Vampire Mountain.

  The vampires would try even harder to kill Vlad on the road back to Nocturne. It made Vlad’s stomach tighten even more. The only relief for Vlad was that it was early morning and darkness was many hours away. He did not want to think what would happen once nigh
t fell. The blood crusade he and Pierre were on could end with the spilling of their blood in the middle of nowhere. That would be the end of everything Vlad worked to achieve. He brought his mind back to the present and the road ahead. Allowing the mind to wander by losing concentration could also be the end of someone out there.

  A strange, vinegary smell assailed Vlad’s nostrils and his donkey seemed startled and brayed and bucked. Pierre stopped and sniffed the air. Whatever caused the donkey’s nervousness spread to Pierre’s horse. Even though he was an experienced horseman, he struggled to control his mount. It galloped off into a nearby river. Pierre almost had him under control when the beast threw him and he fell into the water with a great splash. A hawk screeched out as it flew out of a tree overlooking the knight and vanished into the distance. The horse seemed to calm down after that.

  “Get a fire going, Vlad,” the knight said. “I need to dry off.”

  Pierre sat shivering and almost naked by the campfire as he tried to warm himself. Vlad stared in horror at the painful-looking scars that covered the knight’s body.

  “So many wounds,” Vlad said, wincing as if he felt empathetic pain.

  “Aye, boy, that’s the price of victory. It’s not all about glory, it’s about the effort and pain you’re willing to endure to achieve it. These marks are symbols of valour, and I fought hard to earn them. I watched many friends and comrades die while getting them. I remember where, when, and how I got every scar, every moment of every battle. They give me pain when I sleep.”

  “Such damage,” Vlad said.

  “Damage?” Pierre asked. “They’re all that’s holding me together!”

  They both laughed, Vlad more cautiously than Pierre, as he feared the knight’s temper.

  “They are symbols of maturity,” Pierre continued, “and a commitment to a greater good: family, community, king and country, and God. Keep your pity, I don’t seek it. There were times I had to show none to the enemies of the church. I will go anywhere, fight anywhere to defeat evil. Virtus Basis Vitae - the basis of life is virtue. That is the motto of the Knights of Mortis. Wherever evil is, you will find me with the Lord at my side. It is my life’s mission to do the Lord’s work and spread his teachings to the ignorant.”