He himself was a rather dashing young fellow; he carried many of the features of his beautiful mother, Gaylen, and their family was known mostly in the kingdom as traveling bards, poets, musicians, and writers. He had worked the cattle ranches of his father, Jonathan Hartsell, during his younger years and was built up solidly from such good labor. He bowed and greeted his hosts. He could fit into any one of his mother’s stations quite easily. The young man had a good frame, long light brown hair, and a gift to gab as well as any. Yet he was no bard in truth; he fancied himself as a warrior.
The couple before him seemed nice enough, yet mysterious in nature as he went on to tell them about his parents and ranch, and the aspect of his performing family heritage.
Ever since the day he was born, he listened to the songs his family sung, taking in the stories day in and day out, but it was the battles and the toy soldiers that he would defer to whenever free time was available. His family descriptions held no names or fine details.
He sat now after such introductions, waiting to hear what this notice was all about.
Paublo then thought of his mother and father. Each was adamant that the world was much safer for those that would entertain people, not those who went out and fought wars with them. Yet here he was, setting out to make a name for himself. He desired great adventure, and treasure to boot.
The count before him began to tell of such. “My wife and I have called you here this evening to join with us in the hunt of an ancient man, he who is named Drakko Del Rothchild. We will provide you with all the equipment that is needed, as well as an advancement of one-hundred golden Lions to begin such a search; upon your return to the island you will see another five-hundred. You will be joined by my wife, and two of our henchman, Marco and Oliver; both have been trained in the art my wife is a master in.”
Paublo raised an eyebrow at the last comment; what exactly was this tall, menacing, attractive woman a master of? She was a mysterious soul, certainly. He then noticed what appeared to be a great curved scimitar mounted on the wall to his left. For some reason he had no doubt she was more than capable of using such rather fiercely.
The coin sounded good, though, and the ancient man’s name he spoke of familiar, yet not ringing a bell.
He simply asked, “May I ask what your wife’s talent is?”
Tatijana smiled at him, sipping a tall crystal glass of dark red wine. “I am a huntress of the undead. It would be best if you follow my lead. These is not much that frightens me, so be warned I walk in the shadows of darkness more often than not.”
Paublo swallowed a bit awkwardly at her claim.
The butler-like black servant Abdul then arrived; he served giant shrimp cocktails and some sort of fish on a stick. It was seasoned with lemon pepper and butter and topped with various almonds and pistachios.
No words were spoken as each at the table took their plates and commenced the meal.
After eating some, Paublo had to ask, “Is there a reason we’re seeking this man out and can you tell me more about him. I prefer to know the task at hand as to not be guessing along the way.”
Eric DeAbleau explained a bit more as all now paused from eating.
“He is a measure of both man and monster, he who roams the night. You will learn more as you travel seeking him out. I am sure that my wife, who is a legend in hunting such a beast, will tell you many truths as you move ahead. It would be best if for now you finish your meal and get some sleep. You will be leaving in the morning.”
Paublo Hartsell gritted his teeth. Leaving already, he thought. He had not even accepted the adventure as of yet.
Abdul Wen Allah poured him a glass of wine.
Paublo lifted such up to the hosts at the far end of the table, announcing with a smile, “Let us toast to great adventure!” All raised a glass. He then asked, “What exactly do you do here on this island?”
The count told him about the vineyard and how their wine was the most popular and best spirits in the entire kingdom. The brand was advancing to fellow nations as well.
Paublo found himself thinking, these two have lots of gold. He would take up their offer, yes, he would.
He later slept in an offered guest room, and he slept pretty darn well.
In the morning, four of them set out on the road traveling west to the free cities; their destination a shipyard where a great vessel would take them to the island kingdom of Questor.
Little did Paublo know this was the place where a young Tatijana had grown up. Ivan Von Drakenfell, her father there, was a wealthy cheese merchant.
His home was a lavish loft at the sea. As they drew near, Tatijana explained some useful information. As the young man listened to her talk, he studied more of the two men along with them. Her servants Marco and Oliver were nearly identical twins of a southern nature, Paublo surmised. Each was dark-skinned and pretty much the silent types, saying little so far as they traveled to see the warrior woman’s father.
Tatijana told them now, “Most people here believe that my father is a murderer. Some say he killed my mother Lilyana. I, too, believed such a tale, but as time has gone on, I have begun to wonder what is true and what is not. Today I shall hear his side as to listen to what he has to say after all these years. I am in hopes it will lead us in the right direction in finding the mysterious Count Rothchild.
Paublo was confused. What did this man have to do with anything regarding her mother and father?
They made way to the cheese merchant’s mansion, the well-tanned helping carry gear and always doing as Tatijana asked of them.
Ivan was overjoyed to see his daughter; it had been too long.
He ran to her, hugging her close. “I’m so happy you came, I really am.”
Tatijana had left home at a mere sixteen years of age. It had been a while.
Ivan Drakenfell was once a tall dark-haired man, though his hair was mostly gray now. He was at one time a fit and lean fellow, too, but through the years he gained weight and his belly was a tad robust.
The others were instructed to wait for her on an outside deck overlooking the king’s sea. The pair now moved to a more private living room area. The place was lavishly decorated with white marble columns and gold carvings along the windowsills. Two lion statues of the same gold were hoisted up on platforms overlooking the leather couches and soft beige stuffed chairs, two of which the pair now sat in face to face.
Her father wasted no time in telling her that he partially was to blame for her mother's demise. “I am no killer, though,” he said over and over. “My crime is and was in being too busy. I never gave her the time she deserved; business always came first. So when I learned of an affair she was partaking in, I swore I would stop my work and give her all my love; and she did give me a chance.”
His face was drawn; thinking back was getting the better of him. “Tatijana, I want you to know, as I feel you have probably never read all my letters, that she wanted to keep our marriage together, and not only that, I had soon learned that she was pregnant with our child; be it you.”
Tatijana listened closely.
“Well, I thought it was my child, and then I learned that he, the beast, was possibly the one that had impregnated her; infected her with an affliction that saw her very ill.” Ivan went from sad to mad in his tone.
Paublo Hartsell, in a nearby side room, could hear the conversation through an open window. He found his breath growing shallow and a tightness spreading in his cheeks at the mention of an affliction; he began to put the pieces together that his mother’s own story, that of Gaylen Van Warden, was a part of this quest. There was coincidence here. He wouldn’t say anything just yet, but his mind was racing fast.
His skills as an eavesdropper taught by his mother were coming in handy. The others, Oliver and Marco, were too far away from the window to hear much and both were taking in the view, saying little besides small talk about how the fishing here was said to be legendary.
Ivan explained more. “Upon the day y
ou were born we knew something was wrong; you, my cherished newborn daughter, was about to be taken from the womb of my beloved Lilyana, yet your mother was still ill, worse than before. It hit us like a wild storm; she was cursed with a horrible disease, growing pale and drawn out beyond measure.” Ivan cleared his throat loudly. “Something was drastically wrong with her, ever more so.”
Tatijana wondered if his words were true. She was not so sure of it even still.
Ivan kept talking. “We feared what she might become. It was as if she needed him or something. It was decided that afternoon that I had to take your mother’s life. It was then, with tears streaming from my face, I took up my sword preparing to strike the final blow.” He was breathing heavily now, upset with telling such a tale. “Let me say right now, I was not the one to choose this; your mother asked me to do such. She begged upon me to take her life before she turned into a monster.”
Tatijana asked, “She wanted to die?”
“Yes, but before that last strike, we sat and cried together, sharing memories of our lives and all we had experienced. As the deed was to be done, shockingly my sword would not even slay my own wife. In the end, I had to take a stake and a mallet to finish such. I will never forget that day. Not only did I lose my wife for what I did, I lost my daughter as well.”
It was difficult to hear her father tell all of this. For the first time she actually listened to everything he said. They talked more for over an hour. She had left him as soon as she grew old enough, on hearing this story, be it an abbreviated one as an adolescent. She was finally able to make a decision now, one lingering in doubt for years; he, in essence, was not fully responsible for the loss of her mother.
She would tell the others on the deck that the hunt would continue, and the man responsible for the death of her mother was this Count Rothchild. It was time for him to pay.
Paublo acted as if he was surprised to hear it.
Thereafter, Ivan showed Tatijana old portraits of Lilyana; the two of them as mother and daughter looked very much alike. He then took the time to play a song on his piano as the men now joined them in his ballroom.
“This was your mother’s favorite song,” he declared as he began.
It was a beautiful melody and he played such with grace almost as if he was playing for Lilyana herself.
Tatijana now wondered how she would find this Drakko; she had hoped her father would give them a better understanding of the man and where he might be as the day visit here turned into night.
This was not the case. He only offered one piece of advice.
“On the sea there is an island, one with a mad sorcerer, a wizard, an offbeat, crazy fellow by the name of Bladamere. Most people say he is the all-knowing, though I say prepare for his weirdness. It is well-known he likes to play games with his guests; strange games.”
Greetings were made thereafter; Ivan was hopeful one day Tatijana would return to see him.
That night they stayed at a local inn and in the morning chartered a small ship to sail to the mad wizard’s isle. If he knew all, this wizard hopefully could lead them in a proper direction.
Chapter 12
Paublo had already begun wondering if there was more to this tale, this adventure, than met the eye. He observed that Oliver and Marco were quiet, yet good at this traveling lifestyle. In fact, the more he saw of them the more he came to realize they were simple and loyal men. Nothing bothered them. He admired that. Oliver had a longer face, and he smiled more; this helped Paublo tell them apart.
Tatijana was hiding something; she barely allowed her face out from behind a long cloak and cowl; she wore the large scimitar from her home wall at her side as well. She hid a silver breastplate under her long coat, and above such a dark obsidian arrowhead necklace hung. The three of them also at times had private conversations.
But it was the life of an adventurer, he figured; you got paid for what you did, and sometimes the questions were left unanswered.
One thing he knew was this Tatijana was a bossy lady; she liked to be in charge, hated the sun, and was keen on leading them onward.
Upon the mad sorcerer’s island, they found a jungle-infested hideaway. An odd-looking older man dressed in a pinkish red robe stood outside as they walked up from the shoreline. He spun about while talking to his plants, motioning to them.
“Hello, hello, to you!” he called out.” I must say it is rare and far between that I have any such visitors. I saw you coming a mile away. I guess that’s why I let the Kraken stay sleeping at the bottom of the sea. He is always so hungry; he once ate a good friend of mine named Wormy Wu. Do you all know Wormy?”
The man talking to them had a full white beard and a tiny bit of the same white hair topped his head.
He kept blabbering. “I figured it’d be best that he didn't swallow you whole and you would be able to come and see me. So, welcome, hi, hello!”
Paublo looked to his companions, all which had weird grimaces on their faces. The kraken was a mythical creature heard about only in legends. This fellow had to have been joking.
Tatijana was about to ask Bladamere about Drakko, when he looked at her and said, “The one you seek is a direct descendant of the three kings. He is the loner of the group, those who are also of direct lineage. They call themselves the royals.”
The wizard picked at a rose bush, tearing one such white rose free, and then looked back at her. “They seek him as well, yet Rothchild wishes to be left alone.”
Tatijana blurted out, “He is responsible for my mother’s death, and he must pay for what he has done. Tell us where to find him, old man.”
The offbeat wizard laughed at her words, passing her the white rose. “Old man you say!” Turning about, he appeared as a young fellow suddenly. “Does this suit your fancy more, you rather tall and feisty woman in black?”
Tatijana blinked a few times.
He then switched back to his true form and looked at her and the rest of the new arrivals with a grin. “I can see you have your minds made up. Let me tell you a couple of things about him that may help.” He smiled again, walking to his cabin door. “Come in,” he then said, “follow me and come right in. Oh, and you may eat that rose, young lady. Go ahead, chew away!”
Tatijana thought of him as silly. She threw the rose to the ground. He muttered something about being an old man and guests always so rare here. They went into a small cabin, which suddenly seemed too large for its appearance outside. The hall was long and wide and filled with pillars of green and pink.
“Do you like?” he asked.
The four of them were taken aback. There was definitely some magic involved.
The sorcerer then said, “The devil you seek feeds off the blood of the living; you must cut his head off and fill such with holy wafers.” He started laughing after stating such, adding, “Not an easy deed, is it?”
Tatijana already knew such, finding his humor not all that amusing.
The jovial Bladamere took them into another room, a side chamber with magical sigils all about the gray stone floor within.
“The one you referred to as Drakko was a righteous man, a knight with virtue, yet death overwhelmed his soul. He has been dead for some time now; his faith long gone.”
Oliver and even Marco raised an eyebrow, and Paublo was beginning to paint a picture of this man; a portrait scarier than any he could ever dream up. At that moment he recalled more of his mother’s old story. He excused himself to go and throw up. It was he, yes, he knew it now.
His head was pounding; this coincidence was utterly insane. What was he to do? That story of his mother, he barely paid any attention to it. He was not old enough when he heard it to now recall much, but it was a known piece and people talked.
As he returned indoors he heard the crazy magician announce, “Let’s play a game! If all are able to win the game, I will award you with prizes to help you along the way.”
Paublo, on hearing this, asked, “And what if we’re not successful at y
our game?”
Again the mage giggled, this time almost in a mocking tone. “Well, my new guests, we’ll just have to see about that when it comes about. Answer my riddles correctly and you will not have to worry about such; let’s begin.”
Tatijana, not pleased, declared, “I’m not here to play your games. If you have any information about Drakko, we desire to know it now. We have plenty of coin for such.”
The sorcerer screamed at the top of the lungs, “You will play my game or leave right now!” He acted as a child, a big baby wanting to play. He then created multi-colored spinning tops, dreidels, from his hand. He passed them to all with a happy expression.
The four guests stepped back some, and it was Paublo who calmed them by putting his hand up. “It’s fine. Let him go on. We can play with him some; what can it hurt?”
Before he said more, the white-headed trickster asked his first riddle. “Why do you take a hammer to bed?” The mad mage grinned at asking such a question.
Oliver said, “So you want us to answer riddles; is that what you have in mind for a game?”
Bladamere shook his head yes. “I have four such questions; now what is your first answer?’
Marco spoke, “That’s an easy one; to hit the hay, get some sleep, rest up.”
The wizard smiled. “You’re smarter than you look, and he speaks, well, well, and you are correct; one point for the four of you.”
Everyone was glad Marco knew the answer.
Their host went on, “Why isn’t the moon rich?”
Tatijana rolled her eyes; this foolish nonsense was getting them nowhere.
Paublo knew the answer. “It spends its quarters getting full.”
Again Bladamere grinned. “It looks as though we have some real smarty pants in this group. I’m impressed. Here’s another. What type of bow can never be tied?”
“Oh, that’s an easy one,” all said almost at once. “A rainbow it is!”
“Bravo,” said the weird man, clapping his hands. “If you get my final two riddles correct, I will give you a great reward.”
Count Rothchild Page 10
