Vampire Impaler (The Immortal Knight Chronicles Book 6)

by Dan Davis

  Instead, he dropped to his knees in the freezing water. The moon shone down on his wrinkled face.

  “My lord, I see that you are vampir,” he said, shaking. “I would serve you.”

  I walked forward, filled with a blood rage, and considered taking him also. But I had had my fill.

  “You may serve me. Your first act will be to remove the head of Vlad Dracul. I shall bring it to Janos Hunyadi. And then we shall go to war.”

  3. The Battle of Kosovo

  1448

  Hunyadi was so flushed with the quick success against Vlad Dracul, that he let it go to his head, somewhat. He announced that he was now the ruler of Wallachia.

  It did not go down well with the Wallachian boyars who had risen up to depose one lord only to find a far more powerful one was now above them. And Hunyadi’s own lords and friends urged him to reconsider, on account of him having more than enough to occupy his attention as Regent of Hungary.

  “Can’t help it, can they,” Walt observed one night in Târgoviște, when the arguments were still raging. “Never enough for these great lords. Give them a regency and they want a crown. Give them a kingdom and they want another, and then one more.”

  “Perhaps he should take them all,” Stephen said. “Is that not what our great problem is, sirs?” We looked at him, waiting for him to go on. He always did. “The Sultans, for a hundred years, have sought only conquest. They take us, piece by piece, year after year. No matter if they lose a battle, they keep coming. The sons and grandsons of Turks who were thrown back now live on those lands.”

  “Does he think he’s telling us what we do not know?” Walt asked Rob in a stage-whisper.

  “But why?” Stephen said, turning on Walt and Rob. “Why do they come on and on while we fight amongst ourselves?”

  “William is there, whispering in their ears,” I said. “He was probably there beside the first Mehmed, and perhaps even with Beyazid or earlier, with the first Murad. Seventy or eighty years, perhaps.”

  “You do not know that,” Eva said.

  Stephen replied. “But it makes sense, does it not? All that time, they have been pushing into Christendom, taking over or else forcing the Wallachians and Serbians and Moldavians into vassalage. Consistency, across generations.”

  Eva pursed her lips. “Yes, perhaps. What is your point?”

  “It was only possible with a strong leader, who could dictate policy at will. Or close to it. The Sultans have accumulated personal power through all that time until Murad and his son Mehmed can expect to rule almost as tyrants. How can our scattered Christian kingdoms possibly stand in opposition to that?”

  I nodded slowly. “So, you would have Hunyadi seek to hold the crown of Wallachia.”

  Stephen crossed his arms. “And Hungary, and Transylvania.”

  “And then Serbia,” Eva said. “And Moldavia.”

  “You are in this together, I see.”

  “We are of one mind about this, yes,” Eva said, holding up her hand with her fingers spread, before closing her hand tightly. “Only a strong king can hope to unite these kingdoms into one fist.” She punched her other hand.

  “And who better than Hunyadi?” Stephen said. “He has healthy sons who could rule after him.”

  “And when better than now?” Eva asked.

  I snorted. “Have you two prepared your words before time?”

  “Are we wrong?” Eva asked.

  “Of course not. But what can we do about it?”

  “He trusts you,” Stephen said. “You gave him Vlad Dracul’s head.”

  I scoffed. “He does not trust me, Stephen, I assure you.”

  Eva leaned forward. “He likes you, Richard. That is plain.”

  “He respects what I can do on the battlefield but he fears me. He knows we are different. And his men absolutely do not like me, nor do they trust me. Vlad Dracul’s head or not. Whatever position I take, if I take one, they will argue against it purely for that reason.” They sighed and I continued. “Listen, both of you. You have bent your attention to the southeast for so long that you have forgotten what lies north and west. The kingdoms of Poland, the Holy Roman Emperor, the bloody Pope, and who knows who else. If Hunyadi attempts to make himself king of so many kingdoms, he will have war on Hungary’s northern border as the Habsburgs and all the rest strive to bring him down. And how will that help us resist the Turk?”

  Walt snorted. “Without Hungary, all is lost. And that’s the truth, no mistake.”

  Stephen wheeled away and kicked a bedpost. “Why are our people so bloody-minded? Why can no lord follow another?”

  Rob answered. “Every free Christian man is the king of his own household, Stephen. Every wife is a queen and their children are princes and princesses.” He shrugged. “From Scotland to Italy, and Castile to bloody Wallachia, it’s the nature of our people. It just is. I ain’t learned much in all my years but I learned that. We do not good slaves make.”

  “He’s right,” Walt said, his arms crossed and nodding decisively. “It makes us strong.”

  Stephen pinched his nose. “No, it makes us divided. And divided, we are weak.”

  “Our greatest strength and our greatest weakness, then,” Eva said. “Be that as it may, Richard, I would have us be patient. Clearly, William has laid his plans for decades, perhaps a century or more. These mountains are not easily conquered, nor are these mountain kingdoms easily overthrown, especially by armies of horsemen. You must be patient. If not Hunyadi, then perhaps someone else. Perhaps his son, or the son of another. Or a man not yet born. But we have time.”

  “You speak as though I am one to rush in without thinking the matter over.” After I spoke, Walt burst out laughing and Rob covered his mouth and turned away. “What amuses you, men?” I said, which only caused them to laugh harder. “I shall be patient,” I said, “if you damned fools cease your bloody mirth-making.”

  “We must discuss also the new man you have taken into your service,” Eva said.

  “What is there to discuss?”

  “He saw you drinking blood. And then offered himself to you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Does that not disturb you?”

  I looked around at each of them. “Should it?”

  Walt shrugged. “The old boy must have been shitting himself. He thought he would be next. And he swore to save his own life.”

  “So what if he did?” I asked.

  “If he swore only in the moment to save his neck,” Rob said, “then how can he be trusted to hold his tongue about what he saw?”

  “He knew what I was. He called me vampir. It was a word that Hunyadi used before to describe stories of blood drinking demons. It is a Serbian word. In his own country, the word is strigoi. And now this man Serban saw me and calls me vampir. Am I wrong in thinking William has his own immortals in these lands?”

  “It seems likely,” Stephen said. “And if they are here, then we must be careful. We must watch our backs. Any of Hunyadi’s men could be one of William’s.”

  “Or Hunyadi himself,” Walt said.

  “Do not be absurd,” I said.

  “Right, yeah,” Walt said, covering his eyes with a hand. “Probably not.”

  “We must watch for enemies in our midst,” I said. “But why wait for them? We must seek them out and destroy them first, if we can.”

  “How do we do that?” Rob asked.

  “I will speak to Serban and find out what he knows. He has rooms in the city, I believe.”

  “Why not summon him here?” Stephen said. “It will be safer.”

  “He’s above that tavern off the square,” Walt said. “The one with the good German beer.”

  “We will go to him,” I said. “I will take only Walt, so that we do not overwhelm him.”

  Walt rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Lovely. I’m right parched, I am.”

  Serban came down from his quarters above the tavern’s ale room and the innkeeper directed us to a table and bench in
a quiet alcove, bringing beer, wine, bread, cheese, herb sausages, and pork in jelly.

  “I would have come to you, my lord,” Serban said as he sat opposite us, staring at the food.

  “Eat, please. You must eat and drink. We cannot finish all of this by ourselves.” Walt glared at me but I ignored him as Serban grabbed a piece of bread. I poured him a mug of beer and handed it over before doing the same for myself. “Serban, you swore to be my man.”

  “I did,” he said, not meeting my eye.

  “Tell me about yourself.”

  He looked up. “My lord?”

  “You were a soldier in your youth. You said you once had land but no longer. I like to know all of my men and I would have you tell me about the things you have done so that I will know how to best use you.”

  Serban bobbed his head slowly. “Yes, my lord. I was born in the west, near to the Iron Gates.”

  “The great gorge that the Danube flows through,” I explained to Walt. “Near Serbia.”

  “That is just so,” Serban said. “My father had good land. We grew almonds and figs. But there was not enough land for me. I was the youngest. So I go and fight.”

  “Where did you campaign?”

  “Many, many lands. Bulgaria, Albania. And across the sea to Italy.”

  “Is that so? We fought there, also. On occasion. Where did you fight?”

  “Oh, for this lord against that. A duke against another duke. Milan against Venice. Venice against Genoa. When I return home, a new lord ruled over my father’s land and had given my family land to another. My parents had died. My brothers and sisters fled, or died. I was lost. But there is always work in Wallachia for a man who fights. I come here. That is all.”

  Walt and I exchanged a look and Walt shrugged.

  “When you offered me your service,” I said, lowering my voice. “You called me something. You knew what I was.”

  Serban held my gaze. “Yes.”

  “How did you know?”

  He stuffed a large slice of sausage into his mouth and took his time chewing it, looking around the room, in every corner, rather than look directly at us. Walt’s eyes twinkled with amusement but I was impatient.

  “You have heard tales of these things?” I prompted.

  Slowly, he nodded, pointing to his ear. “I hear things.”

  “Have you ever met one before?”

  He scratched at the stubble on his chin before answering. “All people know these stories.”

  “All people of Wallachia?”

  “And other places. These hills have long hosted vampir and strigoi.”

  “So they are two different things?”

  He shrugged, as if he did not care to answer. The man seemed nervous but was trying not to show it. “Different, yes. One is more powerful. The vampir. But both…” he lowered his voice. “Drink the blood of man.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “More?”

  “Where are they found? Where do they live, Serban?”

  “Why do you want me to speak of such things?” he said. “Do you not know these things yourself? You are one of them. You must know. No?”

  “Humour me,” I said.

  He frowned.

  Walt cuffed his lips and spoke with his mouth full. “He means tell him what you know anyway.”

  Serban nodded. “I know very little. Stories all mothers tell their sons and daughters. Do not go out at night, or the strigoi will catch you. They will drink your blood. If you are lucky.”

  “What if you are unlucky?” Walt asked.

  With a small smile on his lips, Serban continued. “The strigoi take the little children back to their master, the vampir. And there you will be eaten. Or some other evil thing. It was not clear.”

  “So it is just tales to frighten children?” I said. “What do you know of real men who are strigoi?”

  “Forgive me, my lord, but are you afraid of them?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “I simply wish to make their acquaintance. Perhaps we might become friends.”

  “I do not know of any,” he said. “But there are old folk in the villages. They may know more.”

  “Older than you?” Walt said, grinning.

  Serban stared back. “Perhaps I can find one who knows more. They would need paying.”

  I nodded to Walt who stared at me for a moment in contempt at my gullibility but he pulled a few silver coins from his purse and, scowling, pushed them across the table to Serban.

  “And not a word of this to anyone,” I said before he took them. “One word from you to another lord and I will cut off your head and drink you myself, do you understand?”

  “Yes, lord.”

  ***

  He may not have been able to make himself into an emperor, even if he wished to do so, but Hunyadi’s dominance of the political and martial landscape was far from finished.

  After pushing for support from the Pope, he organised a new crusade to be launched against the Turks, this time to save Serbia.

  Serbia had capitulated to the Turks just a few years earlier, under their leader George Branković. The Turks had occupied his lands and, caught between two great powers, ultimately, Branković had simply been more afraid of the barbarous Turks than the Hungarians and so he had promised the usual great sums and the devshirme, the Blood Tax. What is more, Branković held a number of territories within the borders of southern Hungary and these he passed over to Sultan Murad II as part of his capitulation. Of course, this was never completed in practice, because physical possession is a fact that legal documents cannot themselves overcome and so Hunyadi had simply seized these lands for Hungary, considering them forfeited by the Serbian capitulation.

  And Branković had even refused passage of the crusader armies through Serbia before the battle at Varna. Now, in 1448, Hunyadi demanded that Serbia join the new crusade. Not only did Branković refuse but he denied passage of the Hungarian army through Serbia.

  Hunyadi swore that once he defeated the Turks, his very next act would be to destroy Branković and place a worthy prince on the Serbian throne.

  “Branković is finished,” Stephen declared, as we rode south with the new crusader army. “He cannot be allowed to defy us like this. Hunyadi will set all Serbia aflame for this continued defiance.”

  “One task at a time, Stephen,” I said, looking ahead at the thousands of men spread out over the march south.

  “It is worse than defiance,” Eva said, turning in her saddle to speak to Stephan. “After refusing to join us, refusing passage, what do you think Branković did? There is no doubt he sent word to his master, Murad II, and so there is no doubt that the Turk will be fully prepared to meet us. There is no doubt, also, that Serbians are watching our advance and taking stock of our composition and dispositions. The enemy will be able to intercept us at will and offer battle.”

  “You do not seem confident in our grand crusade,” I said. “What would you suggest we do?”

  She was silent for a time before she replied, looking out at the hills in the distance. “Hunyadi seeks to retake Southern Serbia and Macedonia, to drive on to the coast and so split Turkish Rumelia into two parts, with Bulgaria on one side and Greece on the other.”

  “A fine plan, is it not?”

  Eva turned to me. “If it works, certainly it is. If it fails, then all is lost.”

  Stephen laughed. “One can say the same with all plans!”

  “What I mean, Stephen,” she said, glaring at him, “is that it is both unspecific and dangerous.”

  “Describe to us a better plan,” Stephen said, “If you would be so kind to impart your wisdom.”

  She ignored his goading and spoke to me. “If the Serbians had joined us, it would be different. But not only has Branković refused to take up the crusade, he is opposing us. He sends word of our movements to Edirne, or to the Sultan’s army, if it is already in the field. Worse still, Branković has forbidden the lords of Serbia to join us. This means our army is smaller
than planned for and we have fewer men who well know these lands.”

  “Some Serbians have joined us,” Stephen pointed out.

  “A fraction of what we expected. What we need. And how does Hunyadi react? We are pillaging and burning through Serbia, treating it as an enemy land but without conquering it.”

  “What would you have him do?” Stephen asked. “We have been defied.”

  “Either make the Serbians our allies, or destroy them in battle, and make them a vassal.” Eva glared at me. “Hunyadi instead takes a middle path so that we march through and leave an enemy behind us.”

  Rob came cantering back along the line to where we rode and fell in beside us, his squire and servants trailing behind. He was sweating, though the air was cold.

  “Thank Christ you have returned,” I said. “It has been days. What news?”

  Before he even opened his mouth, I knew it was not good.

  “Skanderbeg and his Albanians cannot reach us,” Rob said, wiping his dry lips and calling for water. “The damned Serbians under Branković himself are blocking the passes and fords between Albania and Southern Serbia.”

  “God damn that man,” I said. “Still, surely there is time. Perhaps we can meet further south, in Macedonia. No?”

  He cleared his throat, took a long drink of water and frowned at the sky. “There is a hope that we can meet Skanderbeg’s forces on the plain of Kosovo, yes. And that is where we are now headed.”

  “And the Sultan has not returned?”

  “Hunyadi’s agents say again that the Sultan is campaigning in Anatolia,” Rob said. “I asked about local forces but every one of the bastards told me either to not concern myself with such matters or to flat out mind my own business. And then I was asked to return to my master.”

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Rob said. “Nothing at all. I simply seized the man who had told me to mind my own business and I pushed my bare stump into his face and explained to him that killing was my business. Other than that, I was entirely courteous.”