Chapter 7
To: Marek, Ghidaj of Castel Strigoi
From: Karl Josef, Markgraf von Blitzensturm, Sectiuna of Vienna:
Greetings to you, my Dear Foster Son.
I am stunned by the news of your father’s murder and grieve with you at his loss, as well as for the deaths of your stepmother and brother. Be advised, as you inquired of me, no stranger such as you describe this Mircea Ravagiu has arrived in Vienna. The only one of your countrymen here at present is one Stjpan Trecator who maintains a residence and visits often. Since he has with him his mate and offspring, I would not believe him to be the one you seek. Further he does not go about furtively as one would expect of a fugitive, but quite openly and has been heard to lament the fact that others from his homeland have not seen fit to travel to Austria.
Be advised I will keep my soldatien on alert should this vile creature dare come to my reguine. What he has done is truly heinous, for it is not only a crime against your noble family but also an insult to the Domnitor whom your father represented.
Yours in mourning for your parent and my dear friend.
This was the fifth letter Marek had received, each from a sectiuna, each confirming Ravagiu had not sought refuge in his country.
Again and again his men traveled the length and breadth of the Carpathians, searching for information concerning the killer.
Marek had sent couriers to Austria, Italy and Spain, and into Georgia and the Caucasus but all trips ended in futility. He was beginning to believe his search for his family’s murderer was a useless act. If Ravagiu wasn’t in Hungary, Austria, Italy, or Spain, or beyond the borders into Asia, where could he be? France, England, and Germany were too far away for the killer to have fled in this short time.
Dan said he might hide himself, but if in a castel ruin or some isolated spot outside the Carpathians, it was a dangerous thing to do, for there was always the chance he might be discovered during the day and dispatched before he could recover.
Marek sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case. He wanted to be present when Ravagiu died, whether he was the actual slayer or not. If he couldn’t do the deed himself, he wanted to witness the death of his father’s killer and place a drop of the murderer’s blood on his wrist so that wound would heal.
Dropping the letter onto the desk, he ignored the three others lying open beside it. They only held more disappointment.
...No one matching your description of Mircea Ravagiu has come to Italia in recent years. The last person from your country to visit ours was over a decade ago...
...I regret I must tell you none of your compadres have visited España in nearly two centuries now...
The last one angered him the most.
To: Marek, Ghidaj of Castel Strigoi
From: Prince Ciprian Beniamen Corneliu, by the Oracle’s Choosing Domnitor of Carpathius
With this missive, we give notice we are recalling our soldati from their search for Mircea Ravagiu. The fugitive appears to be beyond our borders, and we believe he no longer poses a threat to the inhabitants of Castel Strigoi. To this effect, we declare Mircea Ravagiu a renegade under the Law and exiled from Carpathius forever. We believe this punishment to be satisfactory and further searches will now cease.
A stinging in his forefinger brought him out of his hate-filled reverie. Looking down at his hand, he was surprised to see he’d ripped the parchment to pieces and crumpled it into a wrinkled mass, cutting his fingertip on one of the torn edges. Finger in his mouth, he rose and tossed the missive into the fire.
With bad news, kill the messenger. In this case, burn the letter.
Sucking the nick in his finger, he watched the parchment blacken.
So it’s done. The Prince had grown weary of the disruption brought by Marek’s searching guards. His Majesty prefers peace more than justice, so there’ll be none for my family.
Hearing a step behind him, Marek turned.
“Marek, ghidaj of Castel Strigoi?”
A man in unrelieved black livery stood there. In one hand he held a golden walking staff with a large round knob. Incised on the knob were a sword crossed with a staff, on a field of stars, the insigne of the Domnitor.
“I am.” Marek swallowed. He didn’t need to be told this was His Majesty’s Ingrijitor, his Oracle-appointed representative.
“I’ve been sent to bring you to the domnitor.” He held out the stick, knob foremost.
Gods, what have I done to be summoned before His Majesty? Whatever the reason, he couldn’t refuse. Marek reached out and seized the knob, and he and the Ingrijitor disappeared in a swirl of glittering darkness…
When he could see again, he was standing in a black void offering no hint as to where he was or whether anyone was with him. Shaken that he’d experienced the effects of schimbaţi, a skill known only to the elite among aventurieri, he felt the knob of the walking stick being pulled from his fingers.
“Marek Strigoi?” Someone spoke out of the darkness.
“I am he, my lord.” Marek managed not to show how that startled him, bowing in the direction of the voice, a voice he recognized.
“Heir to János Strigoi?”
“Yes, my prince.”
“You wonder why you are here, of course.” The words were stilted and formal. “And prudently do not ask. That shows wisdom on your part. Your father acted thus the first time he came before us.”
Marek wasn’t certain what to say, so he simply bowed again. He could almost hear János, during one of the many lectures he’d given his son: When in doubt, don’t speak, Marek. Wait and listen, and generally the answer will be given without your asking, and you’ll be considered wise for knowing it.
“There are two reasons you were summoned today.”
“Yes, sire?”
“First, there is the matter of your father’s murder, the killing of his second wife, and the death of your half-brother, Károly.”
“Please, Maiestate, let us not…” He blinked to prevent the tears he could feel forming from thoroughly shaming him before his sovereign.
“We must mention it. We are aware of your diligence in attempting to find your family’s murderer, of the many missives sent to our sectiuni in other countries, and the long flights your soldati have made. We applaud your attempts to avenge your blood, but it must stop.”
“You want me to let my family’s killer escape?”
“Some day, somewhere, Mircea Ravagiu will come to justice, but presently you have other duties. Your search interferes with those.”
“What other duties do I have, sire?”
“Your duty to us, my Taietor.” The prince was affronted. “Have you forgotten so quickly to which clan you belong?”
Surely he doesn’t mean… A slow, sick feeling formed in Marek’s belly as he waited for the words he dreaded.
“We have an assignment for you, Taietor.”
A hand holding a scroll Phrust itself out of the darkness. Marek accepted it. Untying the riband and unrolling the parchment, he read the name inscribed upon it.
“Iancu Rodica?” He attempted to control the quaver in his voice and failed.
“He has taken a human as his iubita.”
“Is that a crime, lord?” Marek was well aware his own kinsmen occasionally bedded human females, but as far as he knew they still lived.
Is there some fine point of the Law here? Gods, must I memorize the entire Canon?
“Not in itself, no.”
Marek relaxed. Thank the gods for that.
“Rodica wishes to marry this female, and procreate with her.” He paused to let Marek consider this. “You are aware it is forbidden.”
Marek didn’t answer. Because of his son’s faraway enscouncement at the university where no deomi were allowed, János had neglected his paternal duty in explaining the Principiu to him. Therefore, he had only a vague idea of the law the Prince mentioned.
“A being thus created is an abomination to both species, for it belongs to neither.” The
prince explained. “You will deliver our command to Iancu Rodica: Give up the female or accept the consequences.”
Marek took a deep breath.
I’m no longer a scholar. I’m the ghidaj of Casa Strigoi. He was a hereditary killer, as his father had been and his grandfather and all the other ghidaji of his family reaching backwards into the darkness of Time, even those never becoming a taietor. He would be such as long as he existed. In the years before he left for the Scholomance, hadn’t his father seen to his training for this exact purpose?
And didn’t I choose to ignore that? He felt ill, as if his belly wanted to heave up everything inside it. He wondered if János had experienced that same turmoil when he first realized what the future held for him.
“If Iancu Rodica refuses to obey, you will dispatch both him and the female to keep our species pure.”
Feeling as if a knife were being thrust into his own vitals, Marek clutched the scroll to his chest and bowed. “When must this command be carried out, Maiestate?”
“Immediately.”
“As you wish, Maiestate.” He had no choice. Refusal wasn’t an option.
The knobbed staff appeared before him. Marek reached for it, and the engulfing darkness swirled once more.
He wasn’t certain who was more startled, himself or the gardi stationed in the entrance antechamber as he appeared before them holding his orders and staggering as the whirl of stars cleared. Regaining his balance, he stalked to the stairs, calling out, “Sandor, fetch my sword. Zoltan, choose five soldati to accompany me. I’ve a mission from the Domnitor.”
Chapter 8
Once they saw his five-man retinue and the Domnitor’s signe that appeared on the sleeve of his traveling coat, Iancu Rodica’s men had no choice but to allow him entrance to their master’s castel. Hiding his own reluctance, Marek called out to Rodica and read the armate ordering him to give up the woman he loved.
As expected, it was vehemently rejected.
Behind him in the doorway, the female appeared. Even Marek had to admit she was beautiful, the moonlight reflecting over glossy hair, brown eyes dark as night-wells, her figure…
Oh, gods. She was with child, her belly a rounded bulge swelling the front of her gown.
For an instant he felt physically ill. Even if Rodica recanted, she was doomed, but... How can I carry out the armate against a pregnant female?
Seeing his hesitation, Rodica decided to appeal to it.
“Don’t do this, my brother. Don’t punish us because we dared cross the boundary between deomi and aventurieri.”
Marek shook his head, silently cursing Ravagiu anew.
If it weren’t for you, bastard, I wouldn’t be in this spot. My father’d be carrying out the Domnitor’s armate. He was horrified by his thoughts. Am I that much of a coward?
Regretfully, he shook his head. “I can’t, my friend. Though I understand and sympathize, my own family will be endangered if I rebel against the armate.”
It appeared Rodica expected that answer, for he nodded.
“You wear no armor.”
It was a sign of the Taietor’s expectation of being obeyed that he never wore body protection.
“Neither will I.” Without looking atound, he ordered, “Bring my sword.”
At that, the female began to sob and Rodica took her in his arms, speaking softly to her. They argued. Marek guessed she was offering to give herself up to the prince’s mercy, and Rodica forbade it.
The lovesick fool. Is any female and her unborn crossbreed worth dying for?
The moon chose that moment to hide its face behind the veil of a dark cloud as if it had no wish to witness what was about to take place.
When the soldat appeared with his sword, Rodica kissed her on the mouth and pushed her away. Then he turned to Marek, raising the blade in a salute.
“When you’re ready, Taietor.”
He allowed Marek the first attack, then calmly and with great skill fended him off.
It was a good fight and a long one. Rodica was accomplished and had a reputation as a swordsman. Marek was acutely aware of that. He also realized that, other than his battle to rescue the children, he’d never fought at all.
Rushing him, Rodica brought down his blade. Marek raised his own sword, catching the slashing steel against it. Behind them, he heard the female gasp.
Neither Marek’s men nor Rodica’s moved. They knew better than to interfere. In fascination, they watched the two fighting figures. Driving Rodica away from the steps and to the center of the courtyard, Marek dodged his opponent’s sword as it cut the air.
The moon came from behind the cloud.
A ray of light struck Rodica’s sword, reflecting into Marek’s eyes. Momentarily blinded, he took a step backward and tripped over something in his path, falling onto his back on the flagstones. Before he could recover, Rodica was on him, sword point pressed against his chest.
There was a collective inhalation from the watching men. Never in the history of the prince’s assassins had the Domnitor’s man been bested.
All waited desperately.
More angry than afraid, Marek didn’t move, looking up at Rodica. He’d failed in his first mission, now would shame his family by dying.
Rodica leaned on his sword and Marek lunged to the side so the blade missed his heart and bit into his shoulder. Sparks leaped from the stones as it struck beneath him. Pulling the sword from Marek’s shoulder, Rodica stepped back.
I’ve bested the Taietor, his expression said. He believed himself and his woman safe.
Biting his lip, Marek staggered to his feet, lifting his sword again. Rodica looked surprised, then raised his own weapon once more. Marek’s blade flashed in the moonlight. Moving quickly for such a heavy weapon, it whirled, encircling Rodica’s. The motion lifted the sword out of his opponent’s hand, sending it flying through the air to clatter against the stones. Rodica lunged for the fallen sword. Marek threw himself in front of it.
The female screamed as Marek’s sword bit into Rodica’s chest just below the collarbone. All heard the muffled crack and Rodica’s agonized cry as his shoulder blade split under the impact, the sword’s point breaking through his back. Marek pulled the blade free, slinging blood onto the stones.
Rodica wavered and fell to his knees. Surprisingly, there was a slight smile on his lips as he looked up at the Taietor.
“You fight well. I acknowledge you’ve won.”
“You repent?” Marek gasped. “You’ll give up the female?”
Rodica looked past him to where she stood, her hands clutched together as if she were praying to her own God for her lover’s salvation. He shook his head.
“She’s with child. You’ll kill her anyway. Let me die with her.”
“Fool, you’ve a chance to live.”
Rodica met his gaze squarely. “I love this woman more than I love my life.”
Lifting his injured arm in a surrendering gesture, he bowed his head. Marek raised his sword and swung.
Rodica’s body toppled to the stones as the female shrieked.
“Ianni! No, no! Oh, God!” She ran to the headless corpse, throwing herself onto it, blood from the bleeding neck spewing over her.
“Woman.” Marek’s voice was reedy and hoarse. “I’ve been ordered to kill both you and Iancu Rodica. Leave now and I’ll let you live.”
…and kill my own family in your place.
She raised her head. One cheek and the side of her neck were splashed with her lover’s blood, as well as part of her dress where it covered the swollen belly. Clambering to her feet, she glared at him.
“You aventuriera bastard!”
Before he realized what she intended, she lumbered toward him, raising the dagger she’d pulled from Rodica’s belt. Instinctively, he lifted his weapon. Seeing the upraised blade, she tried to stop her furious flight, stepped on the hem of her gown, and fell…directly onto the point of Marek’s blade.
For a moment she hung there, those dar
k, bottomless eyes staring directly into his. Without a sound, she slid from the blade to the ground, the sword jerked from his hand as she fell beside her lover’s body. One hand reached out to grasp his dead one, then she lay still, the beautiful eyes staring upward.
To Marek they seemed to be accusing him of murder—of Iancu, of herself, of the unborn child, who’d been guilty of nothing but having the wrong parents. Retrieving the sword, he drove the point between the stones, leaning upon it, as he tried to catch his breath. What he wished to do was sob his despair and shame.
There was silence in the courtyard, Rodica’s men waiting to see if they were also to suffer their master’s punishment.
When he could speak again, Marek said, “My orders concerned only Iancu Rodica and his iubita. The rest of you are excluded from his crime. Prepare your ghidaj’s body and the female’s for immediate burial. Dormit in Pace.”
Bending, he wrapped his hand in Rodica’s dead hair and disappeared, propelled by that unknown force back to the Domnitor.
Chapter 9
Once more, Marek stood in the darkness of the prince’s audience chamber.
“Your report, Taietor?”
“Your armate has been carried out, Maiestate. Rodica and his female are punished.”
He held out the head. A hand emerged from the shadows and pulled it from his grasp.
The following silence told him he was dismissed.
* * *
The twins, with Dan and Dr. Lavelle, were waiting for him when he materialized in the castel’s entrance. Seeing his men arrive without him and hearing Zoltan’s explanation of what had happened, they were anxious for his return.
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