The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood - Volume 2

by Shane KP O'Neill

  He thought of days gone by. The many battles he had fought all came back to him. He never directly lost on the field. His prowess in combat and his generalship had always won through. He touched his hand on his trusted sword. The Fier Negru had seen much with him. It had been his father’s before it was his. Even then the mighty Toledo blade had enjoyed a legendary status.

  The sound of horses close by caught his ear. He drew his mount to a halt to listen. It came from somewhere to the right. He turned off the Pavia road. His horse crossed two vast fields in full gallop. He came to a second road that ran adjacent to the other.

  Up ahead he saw a wagon drawn by two horses. Downwind from it he caught a familiar scent. At least one of the two travellers was pregnant. Again he spurred his mount into a full gallop. Very soon he drew alongside the wagon.

  Dracula saw a man and a woman. He shot her a quick glance. Her swollen belly excited him. When the man saw him there he drew his team of horses to a halt.

  He could see the rider was a soldier. Judging by his clothing he thought him an officer. He had to have come from one of the two opposing armies camped close by. The man was suspicious of him and leant forward to obscure his wife from the rider’s line of sight. Already he had noticed his interest in her.

  “What can I do for you?” he half shouted. He hoped that by being bold he might deter the rider. It might see him on his way.

  “There is nothing you can do for me.” He moved his horse forward to get a better view of the woman. “But there is much that your wife could.”

  The man produced what looked like a spear. He held it out in a threatening pose. “You had best be gone,” he warned. “Lest I shall have to stick you with this.”

  He always carried it. In these lawless lands he had to protect the one he loved. In a flash Dracula sat at his side. The man cried out in fear when he set upon him.

  The vampire struck him with an elbow to the side of the head. He fell in a heap across his wife’s lap. Dracula then grabbed his limp body and tossed him out of the wagon. The man hurtled a good fifty feet through the air before he crashed down to the ground. He hit the ground hard, at least one major bone breaking from the impact.

  The woman climbed down from the wagon in a bid to get away. But she struggled too get too far with her heavy stomach and he caught her with ease. She cried out as he dragged her down to the ground. He held her there and slid his hand up her skirts. She trembled, as she felt him touch the back of her thigh and tears flowed freely down her cheeks. There was nothing she could do to stop him. Any moment now he would rape her. Maybe even kill her.

  He flipped her over onto her back. She looked up into his eyes as he lay between her legs. He rubbed a hand over her belly. She must be at least six months gone.

  Dracula then rose to his knees and ripped her skirts away. It left her naked from the waist down. She felt helpless and exposed.

  “Please do not hurt me,” she pleaded. “I will give you what you want.”

  Her scent aroused him, although not sexually. He rubbed both hands over her stomach. She trembled when he kissed it. His cold breath made her shiver all over. She closed her eyes and prayed it would all end soon.

  He ran his lips down along her navel, his fangs emerging from their sockets. She screamed when he pressed them against her skin and punctured the lips of her vagina. His tongue snaked its way inside her, extending fully. Soon it probed the entrance to her womb. While still trying to overcome the agony of his bite she felt the tip touch against her cervix.

  The sound of her heart beat like a gentle drum from within. He took a moment to listen to its sweet symphony. Then he opened his jaws wide and sucked hard.

  She cried out again. Her insides fought against the strain. She beat her fists against his head, but her efforts had no effect on him. He took a deep breath and sucked again, harder than before.

  The amniotic sac broke free from the lining of her womb. It snapped the placenta so suddenly that the woman screamed out loud. She clearly felt the foetus shift lower. Her body was not ready for the movement of her baby. He continued to suck it from her. As it moved it tore away many delicate tissues.

  His body tensed with the excitement. He could feel its head on the tip of his tongue. Coiling it around the neck he dragged it the rest of the way out and into his mouth.

  He pulled it free of its mother. She began to haemorrhage badly and her body went into deep shock. He stood up, oblivious to her plight. Her heart threatened to give out. The last image she saw before it did was the tiny feet of her baby disappearing inside the monster’s jaws.

  The soft flesh dissolved in his mouth, the taste far better than any blood he had ever consumed. It turned to jelly almost at once and eased down his throat. His head swooned and made him unsteady on his feet. He took one last look at the woman and then closed his eyes. His head fell back and his arms extended fully, a loud piercing cry escaping his lips. He felt his face burn. The jelly of the foetus had begun the healing process. The sound of his cry travelled far and wide. Even the armies camped at Pavia heard it. It added to the tension in both ranks.

  The husband of the dead woman came to. He looked over to see the body of his wife lying on the moonlit road. His whole arm throbbed. The heavy fall had dislocated it at the elbow. He tried to ignore the pain while he struggled to his feet. The sight of his wife, half naked and lifeless, made him like a crazed animal. His focus fell on Dracula, who was now on his knees.

  He screamed at the top of his lungs. Dracula looked up and saw the man charge towards him. Suddenly he was gone. Dracula cleared his head and looked up.

  The man had the wind knocked out of him. Something he did not see swooped down on him from the night sky. It hit him hard and lifted him high into the air.

  The force of the blow left him dazed. Still he cried out as it jolted his injured arm. The unseen force lifted him high and at speed. The strength of the wind against his face revived him. When he opened his eyes he realised he was in the arms of a man. The face of one who looked similar to the monster that had killed his wife stared into his.

  Varkal took him to a great height. Only then did he look the man square in the eye. A little blood trickled from his nose. Its scent aroused a further need for blood in the vampire. He could feel the man’s fear, the one element in the human psyche as arousing as the scent of blood. Yet the man was more afraid of their elevation than he was of him.

  He caught sight of the monster’s fangs. The image filled him with terror. Varkal licked the blood away from his nose. He scanned the man and grinned. “No. You are not dreaming,” he said. “But I am your worst nightmare made real.”

  Varkal bit into his neck. The man cried out in shock, his scream echoing through the night sky. He resisted with every ounce of strength he had. The more he did the harder Varkal gripped him and the harder he sucked.

  The man’s elbow snapped completely as the grip around him tightened. His ribs broke too. One at a time Varkal heard them crunch. Soon the man gave up the fight. A black cloud covered his eyes. His head lolled to one side as Varkal drank. He drained him of all his blood. When he was done he let go. The body fell to the ground far below.

  Varkal touched down moments after him and glanced at the broken body for a moment. Mihnea had joined their father. He looked up to see him standing there. Together they unhooked the two horses from the wagon. They fitted them with saddles they found in the back. The three of them then rode off for Pavia.

  The sound of the cannon grew louder. The armies of Francois and the emperor were close. They sensed the women nearby too, but it was hard to ascertain where exactly. The cannon echoed in their ears and dulled their senses a little.

  They saw the bodies of a few dead men along the route. These were French soldiers who had been hungry and looking for food. The women had fed on them on their way. From the bodies Varkal and Mihnea took the armour they needed for the battle to come.

  The vampires took less than an hour to reach Pavia by horse. The
ir ears told them on which side of the river the Imperials had camped. A thick fog cloaked the area. It even obscured the bright moon. The two combined to give off a glare that was hard on the eye. It was too dense even for the vampires to see through. A few fires burned here and there around the camp. The smoke from these mixed with the fog. It did little to aid visibility.

  The night was cold. Although late February there was no sign of a frost on the ground. The low-lying plains between the Po and Ticino rivers were very prone to heavy fog. They were often flooded because of the nearby estuaries. The Naviglio, the Olona and the Vernavola all flowed close by. These fed both the Po and the Ticino. The month had been dry. But recent rains left the area a wet marshland.

  Dracula knew the significance of this. He thought about it, as he rode into the Imperial camp. The ground would have a profound effect on the artillery. Only that already pointed at the enemy would be of any use. The lack of a frost on the ground meant it would be difficult to move the cannon, or even turn them around.

  He turned to Varkal. “Go back a ways. Find a safe place to keep your horse.”

  “Why, father? Am I not going with you?”

  “I need you to carry out another task.”

  He did not look best pleased. “What would you have me do?”

  “I want you to go inside the city walls.”

  “Of Pavia itself?”

  “Yes. I need you to make contact with Antonio de Leyva.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He is the commander of the Imperial army there.”

  Varkal nodded. “To what end?”

  “Inform him there will be an attack on the French positions.”

  “When?”

  “Tell him to wait until after he hears the cannon firing.”

  “But they are firing all the time.”

  “He will know the difference. Tell him he will hear three shots as a signal.”

  Varkal nodded again. “And what is he to do?”

  “He must wait until he hears them. Then he is to ride out of the city with his army. I want him to launch a sortie against the French from the opposing flank.”

  “Will I return to you then?”

  “No. Once you have convinced him to do as I ask, stay close to the city walls. Someone may try to advise the French of our plans. That must not happen.”

  Varkal parted company with his father and rode back along the road. Finding a quiet spot away from it he tethered his horse. Then he took to the air. No one saw him as he touched down on a rooftop in the city. He stopped to listen. His instincts served him well. This indeed was the building that housed de Leyva.

  Lombardy. The Imperial camp at Pavia.

  The night of February 24, 1525.

  Dracula and Mihnea rode on into the camp. They attracted the attention of those that could see them through the fog. Someone raised the alarm. From it the German Landsknecht moved in on all sides.

  “Who goes there?” one of them asked.

  “I am looking for General Pescara.”

  “And who might you be?”

  “The head of this army.”

  He ignored the sniggers from several of the Germans. “Lead me to him.”

  “You could be a French spy.”

  “I could be,” Dracula said, leaning forward in the saddle. “And then you would be dead.”

  The remark wiped the grin from his face. The soldier drew his sword and stepped forward.

  “Perhaps you should put your sword away,” Dracula said calmly.

  Another German stepped forward. “Put it away, Hans. Look at his uniform.”

  They took a closer look at him. It allowed them to see he was a Knight of the Order of the Dragon. It was a very rare sight for any of them. He bore the insignia on his cape. They could all see the red dragon with its tail coiled around its neck. The men also saw the gold medallion that hung from his neck.

  “Yes,” Mihnea said. “Take a good look. It would not be wise to assault such a knight. If he did not kill you himself, you would surely swing from a rope.”

  Hans stepped down. “Forgive me,” he bowed. “I was only doing my duty.”

  “I know,” Dracula said. “There is nothing to forgive. Please lead me to General Pescara’s tent.”

  “Would you kindly climb down then, my Lord? We will take your horses.”

  They led him there. One or two went on ahead to inform the general. Dracula noticed it well out of the range of the French cannon. Inside he saw a fine ensemble of the military hierarchy. Others in the tent included de Lannoy, de Bourbon and Frundsberg.

  The generals stood around a table. On it rested a model of Pavia and the surrounding areas. Dracula caught them in the middle of a heated debate. It ceased when he and Mihnea entered the tent. All eyes fell on the two strangers. Dracula read the same thought in each of them. Who are they?

  Pescara nodded when he saw him. He knew an envoy of the emperor had arrived. But he had not expected to see a Draconian Knight. Neither had any of the others. They all bowed when they saw he was an ally of high status.

  De Bourbon was not so welcoming. He walked around the table and stopped beside Pescara. “Identify yourself, sir,” he demanded.

  “I regret that I must decline,” Dracula said to him in French. Interpreters in the tent relayed his message in the languages of the other members of the group.

  The French noble stepped forward. Dracula’s reply had irritated him and his face turned a deep red. He touched on the hilt of his sword. Pescara raised a hand in front of his friend. “Rest easy, Charles,” he said coolly, but with authority.

  It needed more than a calm word to sway de Bourbon. “He cannot walk in here and not give us his name.”

  “You know well our honourable friend does not have to comply.”

  “Friend?” de Bourbon fumed.

  Pescara looked at his guest. “He is Societas Draconis. That means he can keep his identity hidden. If he so wishes.”

  “Those times are past. Such a status no longer exists.”

  “You can see the man right there before you. I would say that makes your argument a weak one.”

  De Bourbon mumbled something under his breath. Only Dracula and Mihnea heard what he said. It was not very complimentary.

  Pescara turned to Dracula. “May I request that you at least remove your helmet, sir? Out of courtesy for a very distinguished gathering.”

  “Of course, General,” he replied. “I thank you for receiving me.”

  “It is a pleasure to have you here.”

  Dracula could see why Pescara was in charge. He removed his helmet and passed it to his son. Pescara showed all the signs of a great leader. He appeared calm and assured. As well as that he showed that he had intelligence and good diplomacy skills. Such qualities he knew essential for a man to succeed in his position.

  He remembered back to 1458. The Sultan Mehmed sent two emissaries to talk to him. The men refused to remove their turbans when he told them to do so. For that he had them nailed to their heads. In light of that he felt Pescara and the others deserved the same courtesy.

  “I understand you are here at the Emperor’s bidding?”

  “Yes, General. That is correct. I have papers here with his seal.”

  Pescara took the document from him. Red and purple ribbon bound it tight. He untied it and then held it up for his colleagues to see the seal. Then no man could doubt its authenticity. “How is the Emperor?”

  “He is well. I am to convey his best wishes to you all.”

  “Good,” he nodded. “Let us hope we can give him what he wants.”

  He broke the seal. The others watched in silence. They were keen to know its content. Pescara read it slowly. When he was done he read it a second time. In it the Emperor made his concerns known to him.

  My dear Pescara.

  I am aware of the plight that faces our citizens at Pavia. So it is with a heavy heart that I write this. I know beyond doubt that Francois will not stop. He will uphol
d the siege until everyone inside the city is dead or until the city falls.

  Our citizens will be suffering greatly. We must force the hand of the French. The siege must be broken. Pavia is not to fall. I want supreme command to pass to the man bearing this letter. I feel under his guidance we will enjoy a swift victory. I still have every faith in you.

  Charles.

  “What does it say?” de Bourbon asked impatiently.

  “The Emperor, it seems, trusts our esteemed guest very much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He wants him to take command of our army.”

  “That is insane!”

  De Bourbon had long been an ambitious man. He did not even like it that Pescara had led the army up until now. That role he wanted for himself. It was for that reason he betrayed Francois, his king. He expected France to lose the war. Feeling that had prompted him to change sides. He hoped for great spoils in France once the war had come to an end.

  This news made him incensed. He believed the emperor wanted to do away with him. His paranoia would not let him see any other outcome. A red mist now clouded his eyes. He would not accept another new leader.

  “It is not,” Pescara said. “Not if the Emperor wills it.”

  “And what about us? It is we that have to go and fight.”

  “It matters not.”

  Dracula did not say a word. He stood there quietly with Mihnea, scanning de Bourbon’s mind. They could see what was coming. The French noble glared his way. They had only just met and yet de Bourbon hated him. He was not going to accept this decision in a hurry.

  De Bourbon then took everyone in the tent by surprise. He drew his sword and lunged at Dracula. Pescara looked on in horror. He knew de Bourbon was a fine swordsman. There was nothing he or anyone could do to stop him. He was about to murder the emperor’s envoy.