The Immortal Knight Chronicles Box Set 2

by Dan Davis

  “You knew what I was? How?”

  “Even without my sight, I could see it in you. In your bearing, in your manner, I could feel your age. You reminded me of my brothers. Even so, I was not certain but young Serban confirmed he had seen your power. You were young and yet somehow you were vampir. I must ask, who is your father, Richard? Can it be that one of my father’s brothers survived after all and you are his son?”

  “No, I have a different lineage. My father did not know what he was and he died in ignorance. And so I did not know either. Neither did my brother William. We had to be killed before we discovered the truth about our nature.”

  Theodore smiled. “The truth? To be raised in ignorance must have been terrible. And even now, you have discovered so little, I pity you. And you have sworn to kill your brother, and his strigoi? That is not our way.”

  “It is my way. Besides, you said not moments ago that you killed your own.”

  He made a growling sound as he cleared his throat. “Only when the rogue strigoi’s actions threatened to bring down us all.”

  I leaned toward him. “And William’s actions threaten to bring down Christendom. Even if they did not, he has committed murders that must be revenged.”

  Theodore’s thin lips drew even thinner. “Revenge, is it? Ah, I see.”

  “It is justice.”

  “Because he broke the laws of man?”

  “Because he sinned. He killed innocent women and children. Many times.”

  “Ah, children.” Theodore tilted his head back and breathed deeply. “It has been so very long since I drank a child. I remember the sweet taste upon my lips. Such power in a child’s blood.”

  I swallowed my revulsion. “So I have heard. But why is it so?”

  “God is mysterious. But the child is like a sprouting seed, is it not? Within the acorn is the strength of the oak.”

  “Whatever the benefit, it is wrong, surely you see that? You profess to be a man of God, do you not believe the murder of children to be a sin?”

  “It is a sin, for men. But are we men, you and I?”

  “I do not know. Once, I knew I was a man but as the centuries have gone by, I have begun to wonder. Am I to understand that you do not believe the laws of man, the morality of God, applies to us? To vampir? You are convinced, then, that we are not men?”

  “For centuries, I have asked this question.”

  I waited for him to continue but he did not. “And you have an answer?”

  “I have many answers. But which is the truth? I do not know. Perhaps I was incapable or perhaps I needed more time. But my time is up, and so I must die without knowing. I am ready to die and you will kill me.”

  “You want me to kill you?” I said. “Why?”

  “I cannot kill myself. That is certainly a sin, for men and for vampir. And yet I cannot go on in this broken body. Can you do this thing?”

  “Killing men, or immortals, has never troubled me. And yet I have so many more questions before you die.”

  “I am so tired, Richard. After my eyes failed, I wished to die and yet my brothers begged for me to stay with them. I have given them decades against my will. If you wish for another hour of my life then when our time has run through you must give me what I want in turn.”

  “And what is that?” I asked, though I could guess.

  “I will answer your questions and then you will end my life swiftly, striking my head from my body and burying my remains in the manner I wish. Do you agree to grant me this mercy in exchange?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then go on with your questions, Richard.”

  “How many of us are there in the world?”

  “Vampir? Only me, you, and your brother. There were many but they all died. Their offspring are yet walking the earth.”

  I knew of at least two sons of the Ancient One still serving Priskos but I said nothing about that. “And their offspring? The strigoi that they made? How many of them are there?”

  “I know of a mere few wild ones still out there but they have learned to be wary of me and my brothers. They cannot be very many.”

  “What about Serban? Did you place him in my service? I was deceived by him and because of my foolishness, he murdered my friend.”

  “Serban came here, dying and Ioánnis asked me to save him. I believed he would stay and become one of us but he fled and stayed away, fearing I would have him killed for his betrayal. When you brought him here, he told us what you were, hoping to find favour with us. He wished to know whether he should side with you or with your brother in this war that you are waging. I told Serban to embrace peace, to join his brothers in contemplation of God, and to devote his life to prayer. He cursed me for a fool and said that he would have power and wealth instead.”

  “You could have warned me,” I said. “Because you did not, my friend is dead.”

  “It is no fault of mine. I can tell you are naïve and trusting and entirely without cunning. In truth, I am surprised you have survived this long. I doubt you will live much longer. Why not come to an understanding with your brother? Make peace and live.”

  “As you have chosen peace, Theodore? It is peace that has withered your body. Peace has withered your mind and your soul. Man was not meant to live in peace. Only through struggle and conflict and war can we find our fulfilment and live as we are meant to.”

  Theodore smiled as I spoke. “My father and my brothers spoke as you do. They all died.”

  “I see now it is your fear of death that has made you this way. Death is not failure. To give up is failure. All of you here, this brotherhood, it is failure. It is contemptible. While you sit here in contemplation, Constantinople fell to the barbarians. If you had fought, if your monks were soldiers, perhaps it would yet stand. You are nothing but a coward.”

  “The difference between you and I is that I once thought as you do.” Theodore sneered. “My time is almost up, oh great soldier. Ask your questions.”

  I sighed and looked out of the window, thinking on what might help me to know. “I have met immortals in my life, strigoi, who themselves turned mortals by their blood. These men so turned became like savages, filled always with a madness for blood. Their skin would blister and burn in the sun. We named them revenants, for they resembled creatures from stories told in England that went by such a name. Do you know about these creatures?”

  Theodore scowled. “These are moroi. They are abominations. They bring nothing but destruction and chaos and so we do not allow such creatures to live.”

  “Oh? When have you seen them made?”

  “Ah, many strigoi grow lonely in their isolation. They make a companion out of lust or love. Sometimes the moroi turns on their creator and kills them. A moroi is always mad. My brothers and my strigoi have always done their duty and killed all moroi that are made. We hear of their madness and murders and track down and kill the abomination. This you must do always.”

  “So just as I kill strigoi, you kill moroi but you believe only I am at fault.”

  Theodore’s brow knitted over his sightless eyes. “Your ignorance is vile, cousin. A strigoi keeps his soul. He may lose it through his actions, just as any man, but a moroi is nothing but a man made into a beast. A beast in the likeness of a man. Like a wild beast, it acts without thought. And like a wild beast, it must be slain to protect the people. It is our duty, vampir and strigoi alike, to do so. My brothers have cleansed them from the world for centuries and they will continue to do so after I am gone, until they themselves dwindle into nothing.”

  “There was an old woman up near Poenari who told me her village was almost destroyed by two strigoi. She sent me to Snagov. She said her husband went away for a long time and returned to her as a strigoi, for a while. Do you know about this?”

  Theodore frowned. “Petru, yes. It was not long ago. Forty years, perhaps. Two of my brothers fled and it took Ioánnis and the others days to find them. Weeks, perhaps, weeks of murder and violence against the peasants. W
hen they found them, they were bleeding Petru. Once, in his youth, Ioánnis was a desperately violent man and he unleashed that violence on our rogue brothers. Petru was almost dead when they brought him to me. He took his oaths. But he did not stay more than a few years.”

  “You let him go? Why?”

  “He was quiet. He lived with his wife, for a time, supping on her blood. Then he went away and found some way to feed without causing trouble. Or he was killed, or he murdered himself. I should never have made him, and I should never have made Serban. Saving a man’s life is not reason enough to make him strigoi. But my sentimentality and my weakness in the face of my brothers’ compassion is the least of my sins. They take pity on others far more than I ever could but I find myself indulging their compassion, as a father indulges a son who brings home a wounded animal.”

  I nodded at the graveyard outside. “Your monks took Serban, Radu and Vlad from the battlefield and buried them here?”

  “They buried Serban here, yes.”

  I was confused. “Where did the abbot take Dracula’s body?”

  Thedore smirked. “His body?”

  I sighed. “The Turks took Dracula’s head but the monks were seen removing his body from the battlefield. So where is his grave? His tomb?”

  “Ah,” Theodore smiled. “Our poor former ward Radu was killed in your little skirmish, yes. His body was swiftly exchanged for Vlad Dracula and the men guarding their fallen lord were killed.”

  I could barely believe it. “By the monks?”

  “They sought to rescue one of their own. They left the body of Radu in Vlad Dracula’s armour so that the people would believe their prince was dead. My brothers returned here with him and he was submerged in the font.”

  “The font?”

  “The blood font. It required a number of sacrifices to fill it but then Lord Dracula was close to death. He rose stronger than ever and left with my brothers.”

  He rose.

  “Vlad is alive? Where did they go?”

  Theodore smiled. “You will not find them.”

  “They can have no more than half a day on me. I will track them.”

  I stood and he thrust his hand out to grasp my wrist. His grip was iron. “Why do you wish to slay your family?”

  “I wish only to slay my brother and the evil that he spawns with his blood.”

  “Vlad Dracula is strigoi. Made by your brother. You will kill him?”

  “He has been my ally. My friend, even. I wish for him to help me in slaying William but if he will not then perhaps he must die also.”

  “But why?”

  “He has done evil. Great evil.”

  Theodore tilted his head. “What evil has he done?”

  “Killed innocent women and children.”

  “Those of his enemies. It is the work of kings. A kingdom cannot be maintained without sacrifice. Indeed, my young cousin, nothing of value can be maintained without it.”

  “You speak of peace and yet you have no sympathy for the innocent. Are you a man of God or not?”

  “What is a kingdom, Richard? What is a nation? A people?” He paused, expecting an answer.

  “It is… a family.”

  Theodore made an approving growl in his throat. “Yes, good. And what is a family?”

  I sighed. “I do not know.”

  “A man, a woman, their sons and daughters, this family is a stone. One stone amongst others just like it forming the foundation of a clan, a tribe, a people, a nation. The family and the nation both are the foundation of order. Outside it is chaos and destruction that will shatter any family or nation that is not united, and which does not protect itself against the chaos. It must be strong and maintain itself at all costs. At all costs. Maintenance of family and nation takes sacrifice. It costs blood. But it must be done or all comes crumbling to dust and ash.”

  “Dracula sacrificed a little too much, do you not think? Spent so much blood and yet his people are not safe now, no safer than they were. What did he achieve with his bloodletting?”

  “It is not something one ever achieves. It is something one does. It never ends. Blood sacrifice every day until the end of days. How old are you to not know this? Did you never have a family of your own, Richard?”

  “You want me to let Dracula live because he did his best?”

  “You must let them all live because they are your family. They are your people.”

  “The English are my people.”

  “The English would kill you if they knew what you were.”

  “Perhaps. But they are my family all the same and I will maintain them through my sacrifice. The strigoi who do not protect Christendom are my enemies.”

  “You would kill my sons, though they do that very thing for their own people? They serve the Vlach, the Serbs, Albanians, Bulgars. We bring them wisdom and guidance.”

  I could barely believe how wrong he was. “Your people are being overwhelmed by the Turks as we speak. They will be no more if Dracula and your sons do not fight. Perhaps I will not kill them but they must be brought into the fight so that the Turks can be defeated and your people can have peace.”

  “This is the crux of it, Richard,” Theodore said. “The fight will never be won. I pray it will never be lost also but it will never end. In my youth, fighting for the Emperor, I thought as you do. But I learned there is no end to these things.”

  “You were a Greek. You fought for Rome and lived in Constantinople but because you stopped fighting your great city has fallen to the Turks. So your homeland is conquered by an enemy who wants nothing but the eradication of you and your people and everything you ever achieved and you decide only that it is time now for you to die? You may have once been a warrior but you hid yourself away for so long that you have grown weak not only in body but in your soul. And now you abandon your monks to their fate. You even admit that without you to make more of them as they die off over time, they will dwindle into nothing. You are nothing but a broken old man who has given up.”

  “My body is dying. I did not understand until it was too late that I needed to drink the blood of warriors or infants to maintain my strength. Whether I wish to abandon them or not, that is what has happened. They will endure for centuries yet, I hope. And perhaps you might one day help them. If they need more strigoi, you might grant them your blood.”

  “No.”

  Theodore smiled, sadly. “We shall see. If not you, perhaps your brother would grant his.”

  “He has no interest in maintaining this world, Theodore. William is the chaos swirling outside.”

  “Perhaps. What will be, will be. It is in God’s hands. But my time is long past. Now, I have answered your questions at length and it is time that you do as you agreed.”

  I was sick of him and his weakness. But still, he was family, of sorts. “You are certain you wish to die?”

  “It pleases me that you do not wish to kill me, cousin. I pray that you one day feel the same way about all of your family. Now, help me to stand.”

  “Would you not rather kneel?” I asked.

  “Help me to the lectern.” I held his bony elbow and supported him as he shuffled across the room. Once beside the lectern he felt for the book that lay upon it. A liturgical gospel book, closed, with a cover of wood and leather inlaid with rubies and shining with gold leaf. Theodore sighed as his fingers brushed the cover. “Make the blow clean, brother. Take my body and bury it well with my head between my feet and with a rod of iron driven through my heart so that I will not rise before God raises me by His hand.” He closed his eyes. “I am ready.”

  I felt as though I should say something, offer him something in his last moments. But he wanted only one thing from me and I could see no good reason to deny him it.

  His fingers brushed the cover of the book and he smiled, with a prayer on his lips, as my sword cut through his neck. Theodore’s blood sprayed across the gold cover and his body fell while his head rolled and came to a stop by his chair. The smile sti
ll on his lips.

  ***

  As the sun went down on a cold, clear day, we buried him as he wished in the graveyard, overlooking the lake.

  There, also, we buried poor Rob. As good a friend and as good a man as any who ever lived. My heart ached to know he was dead and to have died in such ignominy instead of in glory. But then he had lived a long life filled with glory on the battlefield and nothing, not even an inglorious death, could take that away from him. Sir Robert Hawthorn had saved my life more times than I could count and he had given his hand when he killed the lunatic immortal Joan of Arc, saving an innocent young woman and captive children by his actions. Off the battlefield, he had been my constant friend and I could barely believe he would be at my side no longer. In his mortal life, he had fathered and raised children and been a faithful husband to his wife, leaving them prosperous, secure, and respected, which is the most honourable duty a man can fulfil. The world was a worse place now that he was dead but he left it a better one because he had lived.

  “It is a good place,” I said over his grave.

  “He should be buried in English soil,” Walt said. “Ain’t right that he is here. Ain’t right that he died here, amongst these people. They are mad. They are hopeless. He should have been fighting for England.”

  “You are right, Walt,” I said. “You are right.”

  “Still some food in the kitchens,” Eva said. “Sleep here and go after William at first light?”

  I nodded, looking at the wooden crosses we had pushed into the earth.

  “Why not go after Dracula first?” Stephen suggested.