Strigoi

by Tony-Paul de Vissage

  He gestured at the surrounding emptiness.

  “Does obscuring the council chamber and hiding in the shadows seem the work of a sane man?”

  Marek looked around. The darkness closed in. There was no movement anywhere indicating

  the Prince was nearby. Nevertheless, he was cautious, injecting a warning into his answer.

  “How long have you been His Majesty’s steward?”

  “Since before his investiture,” the man answered, giving that cold smile as if he knew what Marek was implying. “He brought me with him when he became domnitor.”

  “That means you’ve been here four hundred years, also. Might your faculties also slip? Be cautious, sir, lest your words be mistaken for treason.”

  Looking as he’d expected that answer, the Ingrijitor bowed and held out his staff. With a sigh Marek touched the golden ball on its end.

  Chapter 21

  Castel Strigoi

  1808

  In shirt sleeves and waistcoat Marek raised his glass, sipping the last of the wine it held. Under Lily’s guidance, he was now more careful in how he dressed, especially since the castel had become a more social place, with dinner parties and small gatherings for devotats and close friends like Radu and Dănuț. Tonight, however, it was very warm and he’d chosen to dress informally for dinner—in defiance of the social custom of a man never appearing witiout his coat except in the privacy of his bedchamber—thinking it might assist him in relaxing.

  For some reason he was on edge.

  Even informal wear didn’t seem to help however, and neither did his brothers’ banter.

  “You’re quiet tonight, Lily. Is anything wrong?” Vlad lowered his glass so the wine steward could refill it.

  “I went riding earlier and I’m a little tired.”

  “For the gods’ sake, why? As much riding as you and my brother do, I should think you’d be well saddle-broke by now.”

  Marek’s fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet.

  How dare he say that?

  Recently the twins had been on their best behavior, asking permission to travel, stating several times they wanted to get away from the castel. To escape, was how Andrei put it. Tired of being useless secondary sons, only of value when called upon to fight or make a marriage-alliance, they both reminded Marek of his orders concerning their finding brides. They wanted to see what lay beyond the mountains before settling down and becoming encumbered by wives, offspring and vanjosi of their own.

  Marek refused. He hadn’t a good reason to deny them, since both were now considered adults, though very young adults as far as aventurieri were concerned. Nevertheless, whenever he thought of the twins wandering Europe alone, he had a tremendous sense of potential disaster.

  They reacted accordingly. Falling back on childish behavior negating their so-called maturity, they got their revenge by being as sullen and crude as possible. This time, however, Vlad had definitely overstepped the boundary.

  He’d never spoken that way to Lily before and Marek wouldn’t have it.

  “That remark was brazen and unforgivable. I think, my dear brothers…” He glowered at each one in turn. “…it’s time I hired someone to teach you two how to converse with a female without making her think you’re about to drag her into some dark corner and mount her.”

  “But that’s exactly what we want to do with females,” Andrei interrupted, lazily lowering his glass. “Good evening, my dear. My, that’s a lovely gown you’re wearing. May I raise your skirt and spear you?”

  His laugh had a thickened sound, some of his words slurred.

  “Andrei!” Marek turned a furious stare on his brother.

  Lily laughed. He aimed the glare at her.

  “You think he’s amusing? He sounds like a peasant. Where are your manners, boy?”

  “I think I left them by the wayside somewhere.” Andrei appeared unashamed. He raised his glass and gulped the remainder of his wine, signaling with a wavering hand to the steward.

  “You’ve had enough.” Marek motioned the servant back to his place, his voice cold. “What ails you, Andri? You’ve been most circumspect in your behavior of late, but tonight…? Truly, you sound as if you’re in your cups, and completely without concern for the sensibilities of the females around you. I’ll have no more talk like that from either of you.”

  All that earned him was a rebellious look from Vlad as Andrei hiccoughed, the sound a near-belch.

  Both drunk, and daring to come to table that way. Will I have to lock the wine cellar now? Gods, they’re grown men, not children. He was beginning to think sending them away might be an excellent idea.

  “You’re speaking much too crudely. Your present tone would be more at home at Madame Lubos’.”

  The twins exchanged glances. Andrei’ shrug was insolent.

  “I’ll bet you sound worse when you’re alone.” Vlad had to have the last word, though it was a mumbled one.

  Dan chuckled.

  “You’ve something to say?” Marek turned a baleful eye on his cousin.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Dab laughed in reply. “You rant as loudly while you’re awake as you do when sleep. Except they call it snoring then, don’t they? How can Lily bear to lie beside you?”

  “I don’t snore.”

  “How do you know?” Dan retorted. “You’re asleep.”

  “How do you know? You’re in another room.”

  “That’s right, and I can hear you through the wall, just as I can feel the bedstead striking above my head every time you two go for a little gallop. Gods, Marek, I haven’t settled easily into sleep since Lily came here.”

  He looked at the girl and smiled.

  “No insult intended, dearest.”

  “None taken, my sweet. I’ll tell you a little secret.” She leaned forward, cupping a hand to her mouth as she pretended to whisper. “I stuff wool into my ears as soon as Marek falls asleep.”

  “Lily…you don’t.” Marek was too aghast to see they were trying to lighten the angry atmosphere settling on the room.

  She shrugged.

  “You’re saying I snore?”

  “Of course not.” She laughed at his worried expression. “But you were becoming so serious I had to say something, didn’t I? Honestly, the air in here is practically leaden.”

  Now it was Marek’s turn not to answer.

  “Don’t be so harsh on your brothers, my love,” Lily chided. “You should know by now I can hold my own with these two.”

  “You can,” Marek retorted, “but not their sister.” He looked at the twins again. “Have you forgotten Ruxanda’s at table?”

  The shocked glances the twins turned toward the child sitting nnext to Dan told them they had, in truth, forgotten she was there. In sudden embarrassment both gazes riveted on their plates. Andrei shook his head as if trying to clear his vision.

  “My pardon, brother. It’s the wine, I swear. It seems particularly strong tonight.”

  With a wavering nod, Vlad agreed.

  “That’s not a very good excuse,” Marek grumbled, turning to their little sister.

  It was Ruxanda’s first night dining with adults. Much to her older brother’s dismay, the girl had matured in the past two years, blossoming with a promise of great beauty. She was dressed in a gown of soft, clinging fabric, its low-cut neckline and high waist accentuating the slight swell of her small bosom.

  Marek’s scowl deepened.

  The moment he saw the dress, he disapproved. Now he decided he was still discomfited with her wearing such a revealing garment. Though Lily assured him and the seamstress guaranteed it was entirely proper and of the latest style, he didn’t like it for his little sister. He did enjoy seeing a similar one on Lily, however.

  “Please, brother, don’t worry.” Ruxanda chose that moment to speak up. “It’s no worse than some of the things I’ve heard the gardi say.”

  That was definitely the wrong thing to tell him.

  “Who’s da
red speak so in front of you?” Marek was incensed. “Tell me his name. I’ll kill him. I’ll stake him for the sunrise.”

  “They didn’t say it to me,” Ruxanda amended. “I doubt they knew I heard. They merely whisper among themselves as I walk by.”

  “Nevertheless, I’ll speak to Zoltan. His men should watch their language when you’re near.”

  Things were tense with Zoltan right now and a reprimand wouldn’t ease it any. His captain had argued they should continue keeping guards on the perimeter of the grounds. Marek felt regular soldati at the exterior walls of the castel and upon the parapets and towers would be enough to prevent a repeat of what happened at Radu’s. Eventually, they compromised by doubling the daytime deomi guards, and drumming it into them that should the castel be breached because of their laxity anyone surviving the attack would wish he hadn’t.

  Thinking of Andrei’s remark concerning the wine, he sipped from his own glass, holding the liquid in his mouth a moment before swallowing. It was a new shipment brought in that afternoon from the vintner in the valley, but he didn’t like it. It had a bitter aftertaste. It crossed his mind his brother’s comment might hold some truth. Perhaps it hadn’t been aged long enough or the grapes weren’t fully ripe.

  “Ferenc?” He looked at the wine steward. “Next time we get a shipment from the vineyards, be sure to tell the vintner this particular wine wasn’t satisfactory.”

  “Yes, sir, I quite agree,” Ferenc replied. “I checked those three bottles before they were opened and if I didn’t know better, I’d say they’d been recorked.” He shook his head. “He’d better not be selling us second-rate wine. I didn’t particularly like his new wagon-boss’ attitude, either. The man’s truly officious for a hireling.”

  The wagon-boss had been rude and lazy, refusing to get out of the wagon and demanding the soldati assist his helpers in unloading the hogsheads. He’d stayed on the wagonseat the entire time, watching them move the heavy barrels.

  When Zoltan appeared, protesting his men weren’t vanjosi to do such menial labor, the man turned servile, offering them a free cask of beer to salve any hurt feelings. The Soldati commander gave them permission to break open the cask after their meal, providing they didn’t imbibe enough to prevent their manning their posts as ordered.

  “Perhaps we should think of finding a new wine supplier, sir. I—” Ferenc stopped, pressing one hand to his temple.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing, sir. Just a momentary dizziness. I sampled the wine. Either it was stronger than it should be, or I’m getting old at last.”

  “You’ll never get old, Ferenc.” Marek laughed and downed the last of the wine. “I won’t let you.”

  The old man smiled, shaking his head to clear it. From the other end of the table, there was a crystalline tinkle as Andrei knocked over his goblet.

  “Damn.” Wine soaked into the snowy cloth, spreading across the table like a giant splotch of blood. He stared at it stupidly. “How’d that happen?”

  “Blast it, Andri.” Marek was on his feet in an instant.

  One of the servants ran to the table, hastily mopping at the wine with the napkin he carried over his arm. Marek gestured him back to his place.

  “Are you so drunk you can’t even hold your glass? Go to your room. Now.”

  “I’m not drunk.” Head wavering, Andrei looked at him, his eyes nearly crossing as he attempted to focus. “I haven’t had that much to drink, I swear.”

  His words were so mumbled Marek barely understood him.

  “Neither have I.” Vlad spoke up. “I think Ferenc’s right. The wine’s bad. It shouldn’t be that strong.”

  Dan set down his glass. “Perhaps we’d better not drink any more. I’ve only had one glass, and I confess I’m beginning to feel as if I’d had a tankard or two. Could the wine have been contam…”

  A burst of sound from below interrupted him, raised voices, though not understandable. Marek snapped fingers at Sandor.

  “Tell the servants to keep their arguments belowstairs.”

  The montat nodded and hurried out.

  Marek turned back to his cousin. “That’s a good question and one I’m going to follow up with the vintner. He won’t do well allowing his best customers to become ill from turned wine. Ferenc, we still have a bottle of the last shipment on the sideboard, don’t we?”

  “Exactly one bottle left, sir.” The wine steward hastened to retrieve the bottle and pour it.

  “Just a splash or two,” Marek cautioned, frowning as he turned his head and the movement made him startlingly dizzy. “Vlad, Andrei, if I’ve been wrong in my assessment of your behavior tonight, I apologize.”

  He decided he may as well make a half-commitment.

  “Perhaps after dinner we should discuss your travel plans…” He looked across the flowered centerpiece at Lily and winked. “…and get you two out of the way for a while.”

  “I propose a toast.” Tapping his knife against his goblet, Dan pushed back his chair and stood up. “To our darling Lily-Magda, and what she means to each of us.”

  He lifted his glass.

  “Hear, hear!” Andrei agreed, staggering to his feet and raising his goblet.

  Lily smiled as each saluted her. Her eyes met Dan’s before she looked at Marek. There was another gabble of sound from outside the dining room, a woman’s scream, men shouting.

  “What the hell?” Marek looked at the open doorway.

  Behind him there was a crash of breaking glass and a high-pitched whistle. The fletchings on the arrow brushed his shoulder as it sped past him and buried itself in Ferenc’s chest. Without a sound the wine steward fell to his knees, clutching at the shaft protruding from his sternum, the wine bottle striking the floor and spilling onto the carpet.

  The noise outside became louder and more violent, sounds of total confusion. Marek staggered from his chair and nearly fell. Behind him he heard Lily gasp.

  “Vlad!”

  He turned to see his brother fall across the table and slide to the floor, dragging the white cloth with him. Dishes and flowers went flying, the sound of breaking dinnerware adding to the sounds from outside.

  Running around the table to kneel by Vlad, Lily took his head in her lap. She patted his cheek, calling his name. One hand to his head, Andrei wavered, attempting to steady himself before falling into his chair. Eyes closed, he slumped to one side.

  “Marek, what’s going on?” Dan was still on his feet, but looking dazed.

  “Gods, Cousin, there was something in the wine.” His sight was hazy, full of little stars, the outer edges of his vision growing darker.

  “Master!” Sandor came running in, his arms full of swords. “Ravagiu’s men…”

  Marek lurched toward him, pulling a scabbard from the old man’s hand.

  Is this why I’ve felt so on edge? Did I unconsciously sense their nearness?

  He looked back, seeing Vlad still on the floor, but Andrei trying to stand. His brother got to his feet, took a step and went down, sprawling next to his twin. Dan leaned against the table, braced with both hands, head down.

  Slinging his sword out of its scabbard, Marek shook his head.

  Damn, where did these bright lights come from?

  There was a ringing in his ears…growing louder and louder…drowning out the screams from below. He had to get outside, stop the intruders from again murdering his people.

  Can’t let Ravagiu succeed this time.

  “Sandor, alert Zoltan. Rout the gardi and the soldati. Dan, stay here with Lily and Xandi.” Kicking his chair out of the way, Marek took a step toward the door. He stopped as he realized he couldn’t see...at all...before him there was nothing but blackness. “Vlad, Andrei...?”

  He thought he heard Ruxanda scream as he crashed to the floor.

  * * *

  Someone backhanded him across the face. He tasted blood and the bitterness of the wine. Marek was struck again and the pain brought him out of his stupor.


  “Get him up.”

  He was hauled to his feet and roughly set upright, hands grasping his arms. Blinking, Marek forced his eyes to focus. As his vision cleared, he saw a body sprawled on the stairs…

  Ilona, her bodice covered in blood, a gaping wound in her throat.

  Houseguards and servants lay in the entryway, their bodies ripped and bleeding. Several of Zoltan’s men had also been killed, while across the foyer both gardi and soldati stood with their arms and wings tightly bound. Several were wounded, wing membranes in tatters, evidence they’d met their enemies in the air. All faces held the same stunned look.

  Our wine and that beer were drugged. He didn’t see Zoltan anywhere. What he did see was Mircea Ravagiu’s soldati captain standing at the foot of the stairs.

  “Vasili.” Marek met his contemptuous stare. “Where’s your master?”

  “Far from here, Strigoi. Where none will ever find him. It’s why he’s given me the honor of killing you for him.”

  “He’s too much of a craven to do it himself, you mean,” Marek sneered.

  “Talk while you can. In a very short time your body’s going to be ash…but don’t worry, I’ll save your head to take with me.”

  In the shadows of the gallery Marek saw a faint movement as a figure crept forward. Zoltan crouched at the railing, several of his best men behind him.

  “Get them down here.” Vasili gestured at the twins.

  Andrei and Vlad were dragged to stand beside Marek.

  “Where’s the cripple and the women?”

  Dan was herded from the dining room. He had his good arm around Ruxanda, Lily clinging to his other. She stumbled and the guard pushed her.

  “Don’t touch her!” With a snarl Marek attempted to break away, only to have his arms twisted behind his back, sending pain to his recently-healed shoulder.

  His thoughts became clearer as whatever was in the wine dissipated from his system. His mind filled with self-accusations. Was I wrong not to follow Zoltan’s advice? I doubled the soldati. He agreed that should suffice. Did I become too complacent...and now my family’s again going to suffer for my choices? Gods, if it’s my fault—kill me, not them.