The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood - Volume 2

by Shane KP O'Neill

  Andrei felt every cut and prod from the knife. He opened his eyes the moment his sternum left his body. The surgeon saw this and passed out on the floor. Paul walked over to his side. Andrei offered him the faintest smile. But it was a smile. Then he closed his eyes once more before his flesh dissolved to dust.

  The blue light appeared in his chest cavity. It shot past Paul and the others and filled the vault. The glow was so bright they had to close their eyes. In a moment the light disappeared for good.

  Paul smiled. “His soul has found peace at last.”

  He had the finest sculptor smooth the seven bones into pointed stakes. The sculptor removed the marrow from inside and hollowed them out. He left the minutest hole on the tip of each one. Then he made caps from the leftover pieces of bone. These he used to seal the open end of the stakes.

  Paul took them from him and wrapped them in Tania’s shawl. He placed them with the remaining six vials in a safe in the vault. Every day twelve bishops would come and bless them. These seven items were as sacred now as the Holy Grail.

  Dracula arrived in Rome a few days after Pelou. He felt embittered that he had failed to stop the bodies of Andrei’s sons from reaching safety. They would have the weapons now to kill him. He sat and eyed the Vatican from a position up high.

  A little later Paul retired to his room. He read Andrei’s letter one more time before he put it away safely. Night had fallen now. He stepped to the window and looked out into the darkness. Dracula leaned forward when he saw him there.

  “Well, Vlad Dracula,” he heard Paul whisper to the wind. “Let us see what you will do.”

  Transylvania. The streets of Sighisoara.

  December 11, 1431.

  Vlad Dracul rode swiftly through the streets where snow an inch thick already covered the road. His unit of sixty riders flanked him on either side and to the rear.

  “Yah!” he shouted, slapping his horse across the side of the neck.

  “Come on!” one of his men urged. “The weather is turning!”

  The hour was late. Few of the city dwellers remained on the streets. The earlier snow showed signs of frosting over with the cold. It made the group of horsemen eager to return home. For them that was the garrison in the centre of the city fortress. Looking up, many of them sensed more heavy snow to come.

  All sixty men wore their familiar black. Their capes flowed freely in a wind that was slowly gaining in strength. The light of the moon caused the odd flash of metal as it fell on the hilts of their swords.

  His captain eyed the garrison up ahead. “It is good to be back, my Lord.”

  He looked at his good friend, Rodrigul. “Yes it is.”

  “It will be good to take these boots off and relax.”

  “You are fortunate that you have that luxury.”

  Dracul, once known as Vladislav Basarab, dressed the same as his men. He differed only by the insignia of the Dragon on the back of his cape. A gold medallion hung around his neck and down over his vest. It felt heavy and icy from the cold. He looked forward to the moment he was home and he could take it off.

  They had just returned from an expedition along the border with Wallachia to the south. Dracul had heard rumours of a secret meeting there between several boyars and his half-brother. At that time Alexandru ruled in Wallachia. The whispers spoke of an alliance between him and the said boyars with the Turks.

  As commander of the frontier guard this was of much concern to him. If this rumour was substantiated it meant an invasion of Transylvania loomed on the horizon. Dracul loathed his half-brother. He envied him holding the throne that had been their father’s for thirty-two years.

  Approaching the gates his mind drifted back to the trip.

  “There is no sign of them in the village, my Lord,” Rodrigul advised.

  “The information we received was good. I know it.”

  Ion Dancu rode up to the two men. “I thought so too, my Lord.”

  “Then keep looking. I smell a rat, and I want it found.”

  “What would you have us do?”

  “Empty every house! Perhaps the cold will loosen a few tongues around here!”

  One by one his men emptied them all. They herded the people out into the small square in the centre of the village. Every man, woman and child stood there shivering from the cold.

  Dracul waited a short time. He wanted the icy air to bite into the exposed fingers and toes of those before him. It did not take long for some of the children to begin to grizzle and cry. This drew a few angry glances from the women. It made the men anxious to see them return inside to their warm beds.

  His own men surrounded the group. Their torches lit up the entire area and tall shadows covered the ground. They added to the eerie atmosphere in the village.

  “Why have you brought us out from our beds?” the village elder asked him.

  Dracul looked down on the man. He ignored the question and spoke to Dancu instead. “Are they all out?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Good.” He turned to the elder. “Until you speak and tell us what we want to know, you will all remain here. If that means the whole night, then so be it.”

  “Speak about what? What do you want from us?”

  Rodrigul raised his fist to the old man. He glared at him to show his intent. “You show respect when you address the great Dracul.”

  The elder met his gaze and cowered a little. “Forgive me, my Lord.”

  Dracul had not finished. His voice took on an even more serious edge. “If it means you all freeze then you will all freeze. The children too. I want you to be very clear on that point.”

  “My Lord, I beseech you. Pray tell me what you want to know.”

  “I want the names of the men who met here in this village in recent days.”

  The elder fell silent. It told Dracul and his officers much. They could see he had the answers they wanted.

  Rodrigul aimed a fist his way again. “You had better answer Lord Dracul. If you protect these men then you too become an enemy of this state.”

  “Their names!” Dancu shouted. “Their names and where we can find them!”

  The political climate in Wallachia had changed. Primo-geniture no longer determined succession to the throne. The eldest son did not just assume power as in the days of old. Now the boyars elected the new prince. This led to much fighting and strife. Dracul’s father, Mircea the Old, had brought peace and stability to the country in his reign. That existed no more.

  The throne had changed hands over a dozen times since his death in 1418. This owed to a split in the Basarab dynasty to which he belonged. The House had broken into two factions. They were the Danesti and the Draculesti.

  The Danestis were descended from Mircea’s brother, Prince Dan. They now had the support of mighty Hungary. Dracul’s own branch of the family was the Draculesti line and directly descended from Mircea. Hungary was the all-powerful nation in the Balkans. For that reason the balance of power lay with the other side of his family. Sponsored by John Hunyadi, who was the Protector of Hungary, Alexandru assumed the Wallachian throne.

  Dracul himself was not without friends or influence. He was the protege of Sigismund of Luxembourg. Sigismund was King of Hungary and since 1410 the Holy Roman Emperor. He had taken Dracul under his wing as a boy. From that time forward he oversaw Dracul’s education in Buda and in Germany. Here he received schooling in the best military traditions.

  The result saw the young Dracul grow into an intelligent and assured diplomat. He also earned acclaim as a fine soldier. This he showed while defending Hungary against Ottoman expansion into the Balkans. It was why Sigismund summoned him to Nurnberg in February.

  “String him up!” Dracul ordered. “If he will not speak then he can die.”

  His men grabbed the elder and dragged him to the nearest tree. Many of the women cried out in anguish. Their men looked on powerless to do anything. They knew if they interfered they might well endure the same.

  “
Tell them what they need to know!” one of the women screamed.

  Dracul prodded his mount towards her. “You know something?”

  The woman looked to her husband. He tried to tell her with a grimace to shut up.

  “Arrest this man as well,” he told Dancu. “Our enemies have more friends than we first realised.”

  “No! Please!” the woman cried. “My husband’s silence is borne from fear for me and our children!”

  “Why? What has he to fear?”

  “These men vowed to come back and kill us all if we ever spoke a word.”

  “I am the commander of this frontier. You all fall under my protection.”

  The man struggled against his captors. “You were not here to protect us any time before,” he argued.

  “Well I am here in the now. This is the one chance I will give you to speak.”

  “They were here today and for the last five before this,” the woman told them.

  “Who?” Dracul asked. “I need to know their names.”

  “There were several,” the man replied.

  “Who?”

  “Mihail Basarab was the one I saw the most.”

  Dracul looked to Dancu at the mention of his brother. He was one of four that had defected to the Danesti side.

  “What about his brothers?” Dancu asked.

  Another villager spoke up. “Yes they were here also. Two of them at least.”

  “Vladislav and Alexandru?”

  The same villager nodded his head.

  “Then it is true,” Rodrigul said. “They must have had good reason to meet here.”

  “An invasion perhaps?” Dancu suggested, clenching his fist.

  “Mihail Basarab has a strong power base in Brasov,” Mihail Dobrul added. “His being here would suggest that Ion is right.”

  Dracul had long respected the opinion of this man. But this time he was not so sure. “Mihail is barely a man. I do not feel threatened by him.”

  “He has a lot of power,” Dobrul argued. “It is not wise to ignore it.”

  “I have taken it on board,” Dracul assured him. He turned his attention once again to the villagers. “Who else was here with them?”

  They revealed a host of names. Boyars such as Georghe Silvu, Albu Taxaba and Adrian Pirvu all received a mention.

  “This is not good,” Dancu said. “That group of men could do a lot of damage. It is good that we acted on the information we had.”

  Dracul again addressed the husband of the first woman to speak. “Your wife said they were here today?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did they leave?”

  “It was not long before you arrived.”

  “Did you hear where they were going?”

  The man shook his head. “We were not privy to much that they discussed.”

  “They spent most of their time in the tavern outside the village,” the woman said.

  “Alin, send some men to check the tavern,” he told his captain.

  “But you knew their faces?” Dancu asked.

  “Yes,” the man nodded. “We have seen them before. They are familiar faces in this part of the world.”

  “Set the old man free,” Dracul ordered. “I know what I came here to find out.”

  In that moment a series of sickening noises filled the night air. Dracul felt the legs buckle beneath his horse. He crashed to the ground with his steed falling beside him. It landed on his trailing leg, causing him to cry out.

  Several of his men fell all around. For each man the crossbow bolts found their target. More bolts sought out the elder and the two men standing close to him.

  Dancu was quick to react. He jumped clear of his horse. “My Lord!” he cried out, seeing Dracul go down.

  Rodrigul acted fast too, but to the threat around them. “To the trees!” he shouted.

  Two dozen of the men followed the direction of his sword and headed for the trees. It was there the enemy soldiers had set up the ambush. The rest followed him as he rode off for the tavern.

  His speed of thought prevented a second wave of the deadly bolts. The enemy soldiers saw the advance of his men and ran for the dark interior of the woods. There they hoped to make good their escape.

  Dracul’s men chased them with great urgency. Once in the trees they dismounted and continued the pursuit on foot. These men had not come to fight. Theirs was a hit and run attack, the aim to take him down. One of them saw the great Dracul fall. He sloped off content that he had completed his task.

  One by one his men caught and slew them in the trees. Their cries filled the night air. Each man met a merciless end. Dracul’s men either ran them through or cut their throats. They left the bodies where they fell to rot.

  The villagers ran for the cover of their homes amid the confusion. One or two of them had stood in the path of the deadly bolts. A woman dropped to her knees screaming. In her arms she clutched the lifeless body of her child.

  Dancu ran to the aid of Dracul. His Lord had hit the ground hard, but remained conscious. “Are you hurt, my Lord?” he asked with real concern.

  “My leg,” he gasped. “It is trapped.”

  Dancu called to two of the others to help. They lifted the dead horse just enough to pry his leg free. He cried out when they moved him, but at last he was clear.

  His friend examined the injured the leg. “How does it feel?”

  “It is only bruised I think,” Dracul winced. He rubbed his shin and ankle. “I will be fine. What happened?”

  “An ambush was waiting for us. It looks as though they wanted to kill you.”

  Dracul looked up at him. “It is not my day to die.”

  “You!” the mother of the dead child screamed. “This is all your fault!”

  The two men turned to see the woman clutching her child to her breast. The arms of the child hung limp at its sides.

  Dancu looked at the woman’s husband. He stood over his wife and child, a hand to his face to try and shield his grief. “Take her inside. It is not safe out here.”

  When the man did not respond Dancu turned to two of his men close by. “Take them inside.”

  “Do not touch her!” the woman screamed at them.

  They ignored her grief-stricken cries and dragged her back to her home. She screamed abuse at the men and cursed Dracul all the way. The child they left on her back against the cold stone of the village square.

  “This is not good,” Dancu said.

  Dracul could not take his eyes away from the little girl. “I know.”

  “I do not want to appear alarmist, my Lord. But this reeks of a plot to launch an attack against us.”

  “I know,” he whispered again.

  “What should we do?”

  “I will think of something.”

  “Perhaps we should tell Hunyadi?”

  Dracul took his eyes from the dead child. “I want to leave him out of this.”

  “He is right, my Lord,” Dobrul said. “Hunyadi is the power in this country. He is much better equipped to deal with this threat.”

  “I will not involve him. This border is my domain.”

  “This is no time to be proud, my Lord. This is really serious.”

  Dracul glared at Dobrul. “Do you think I do not know that?”

  Dobrul shrugged. He could tell Dracul had ideas of his own.

  “I will deal with this,” Dracul said. He mounted a horse belonging to one of the dead men. “Let us return home. We have done enough harm here.”

  In Nurnberg he received the distinguished honour of Societas Draconis. This was the Order of the Dragon. Founded by Sigismund, it was a fraternity of knights. Their membership bound them to protect the Catholic faith. They had to halt Turkish expansion into Europe and the spread of Islam.

  The ceremony, witnessed by many, took place on February 8th. Dracul swore an oath to defend the Cross and the faith. He also promised to wear the dark costume of the Order as a sign of penance. Upon this the insignia of the Dragon was
emblazoned.

  Sigismund gave him a necklace made of two chains and a medallion. It bore the inscription “O quam is misericors est Deus...Pius et justus” – “Oh how merciful God is...pious and just.” He also made a gift of an awesome Toledo sword.

  The Order also charged Dracul with the protection of Transylvania. Only Wallachia to the south separated it from Turkish-controlled Bulgaria. The primary concern was this border between the two states. The Order required someone strong and reliable to marshal that area.

  It identified the Ottoman threat here. They worried about the growing ambitions of Murad II. Both men knew of Dracul’s designs for the Wallachian throne. They promised this position would be the first step to realising his dream.

  Dracul’s father, Mircea, fought the Turks hard during his reign. He managed two famous victories over Sultan Bayazid I. In time Bayazid’s son and successor, Mehmed I, defeated him. This resulted in him having to pay large tributes. One of the conditions imposed forced him to give Wallachian boys to serve as janissaries in the Turkish armies. Both measures had been necessary to keep his throne.

  He approached the gates of his stronghold. For now he tried to put the events of the previous night out of his mind. It was an exciting time for him. His wife was heavy with child. He only hoped he had not missed the birth of this their second.

  An old woman stepped from the shadows. She walked out in front of the horsemen. It forced Dracul to pull hard on the reins to avoid running her down.

  “Get out of the way!” Rodrigul shouted.

  She was not too imposing a figure, but stood firm. Hunched over she leant against a stick for support. She slowly pulled back her shawl to reveal her face.

  Dancu stifled a laugh. “It is Valeria the Gypsy.”

  “I wonder what the old hag wants,” one of the men murmured.

  “Move aside,” Dracul ordered.

  She pointed a twisted finger at him. “I have something to tell you, Dracul.”

  “Lord Dracul has no time for this,” Dancu growled. “Move on.”

  “Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “Let her speak.” He turned back to the old gypsy woman. “Say what you have to say.”