Vampire Khan

by Dan Davis

  “I kill no slaves,” I said. “And drink blood only when I need to.”

  Mongke found that amusing. “And when do you need to, Richard?”

  I was never good at battles of wits. Many men would have found a way to appear to speak openly but in fact to tell the Khan nothing. Other men might have extracted information from the Khan with clever trading of information.

  But I had no patience for that, and no head for it either.

  “Drinking blood helps to heal me,” I admitted. “When wounded.”

  Mongke Khan nodded again as Abdullah translated my words as if the Khan knew already. Or was pretending to know.

  He waved at my companions. “And have you made all these men into blood drinkers like you?”

  I was surprised. Friar William and Stephen, and Thomas and Bertrand were thoroughly confused but also outraged at the suggestion.

  “None of them,” I said. “They have no idea what I am.”

  The Khan did not seem to believe me. “And what are you?” he asked.

  “In truth,” I said. “I do not know. Only that my brother and I are the only ones in all the world.”

  He became angry as he listened to my words. “The only what, in all the world? What are you?”

  “I am a man,” I said. “With some gift given by God. Or a curse, perhaps. Just like my brother. You know why I came to you? All I wish is to be granted the chance to duel with my brother and so I beg that you summon him to your court from wherever it is that he is hiding. He is a criminal. Through a trial by combat, to the death, God will grant justice.”

  The Khan had his cup of wine refilled, and he drank it down in a few gulps before cuffing his mouth with a silk sleeve.

  “I already sent for your brother. Months ago.” Mongke’s ugly face screwed up as if he had detected a foul smell. “Your brother now serves my own brother, who is called Hulegu. They are camped outside the city. Both of our brothers will be in Karakorum tomorrow. And then your brother will kill you.”

  “Thank you, Great Khan,” I said. “But my God will surely grant me victory in our duel.”

  The Khan laughed aloud. “There will be no duel, Richard. You will be executed.”

  ***

  They were angry with me. Inside our ger, Friar William ranted and raved at my deceit and manipulation of him. Bartholomew, of course, railed at me with what little strength he had.

  I ignored them while I gathered my weapons, armour, and equipment. Eva did the same. We would put on our armour and throw the rest of our gear and supplies over at least two horses that we would steal.

  Neither of us needed to speak of it to the other. We knew that, whatever happened, no matter how unlikely it was we would ever get away, we needed to prepare to run.

  Before we made a break for wild flight, however, I had other plans to enact.

  “Your underhanded plotting has quite ruined our hopes for converting the pagans,” Friar William said, quivering with rage. “You are a liar, and a traitor, and entirely unchivalrous, sir. Entirely!”

  “The Khan has given you leave to stay and preach the Gospel and spread the teachings of the true Church,” I pointed out, speaking over my shoulder. “I am astonished at his generosity and you should be, too. I am the only one who will be killed.”

  Even the fact of my imminent death did little to mollify the monks. But that was monks for you.

  After we were dismissed from the palace, we had been escorted back to our ger with just as much respect as we had been given on the way there. It is likely that the Mongols were not concerned about letting me loose within the city because they had no fear at all of me or what I might do. Such was their unparalleled arrogance, they no doubt believed I could not escape across the plains without being ridden down and rounded up. Nor would they have believed me capable of harming them, when every subject of the khan was a warrior. So little did they regard me as a threat, they did not disarm me or any of my companions nor take away our armour. As far as they were concerned, their city was a prison and each citizen a guard. Perhaps I was wrong but, as far as I could tell, we had been left to our own devices.

  And devices were what I intended.

  Unlike the others, Thomas seethed in silence. He felt that I had been most dishonourable, I am sure. Yet he looked at me with an odd glint in his eye and he did not rave at me.

  “You endangered us all,” Bertrand said, pacing back and forth behind me across the ger. “I should kill you myself for this affront.”

  “You are welcome to try,” I said, without turning around.

  Eva said nothing, merely packed our equipment with practiced efficiency.

  “What will you do, Richard?” Thomas said when their anger had begun to subside. “Will you appeal for mercy?”

  I snorted. “From the Tartars?”

  “From your brother,” Thomas said. “This William, who is arriving tomorrow.”

  I grinned and looked to Eva. She did not return my smile.

  “The last time I saw William,” I said, “I destroyed his home, killed all of his men, and one of my knights ran him through the chest with a lance. He will not grant me clemency.”

  Bertrand scoffed. “No man could survive such a wound.”

  The young monk, Stephen, had been silent since we had been led away from the palace and back to our tent. “Back there,” Stephen said. “You claimed to be eighty-four years old. And the Khan said you drank blood. And you agreed that you did. I do not understand.”

  Bertrand jabbed a finger at me. “He claimed it because he is a deceiver and a liar. Do not trouble yourself what he claimed, brother.”

  “I heard stories,” Stephen said, undeterred. “Of men who drink blood. Men returned from the dead.”

  “Stephen,” Friar William said, full of rapprochement. “Do not speak of such nonsense.”

  Thomas was interested. “Where did you hear stories like that?”

  “At the monastery,” Stephen said.

  “Nonsense,” Friar Bartholomew said. “You are always gossiping with servants, like the jumped-up little villein that you are. Their tales are utter fancy.”

  “I heard a tale once,” Thomas said, staring at me. “Of an English knight who fought with old King John. I heard it from a man who was there. Fifty years ago now, this would have been. Swore upon all that was holy that this English knight was caught drinking the blood of his enemies. That he had magic that healed his wounds when he drank blood. He was in league with the devil, they said.”

  I stood and turned around, my sheathed sword in my hand. “The Bloody Knight, they called me.” I shrugged. “For a while, at least.”

  “Absurd!” Friar William shouted.

  “I would hear your tale,” Thomas said, “even if it is nonsense.”

  “As would I,” Stephen said. “Please. I beg you, explain what is happening, sir. We must know it all.”

  Eva shook her head but I am a prideful man and I wanted to tell them.

  Most settled onto the benches, while Bertrand, Hughues, and Friars William and Bartholomew paced and scoffed and poured scorn on my words, huffing and sighing as I spoke, shaking their heads and rolling their eyes at each other.

  I ignored them, other than to raise my voice over their objections, while I told them all my tale. A rapid summary of my life, from the death of my half-brother and his family to the murder of my first wife. I told them of my searches for William, in Outremer and elsewhere, only to find him many years later in the dark woodland of Sherwood Forest.

  I explained, as best as I was able, how William had given some of his strength to his followers by giving them his blood to drink. That it passed on a modicum of his speed, and his ability to heal, but only for round seven days or so, until they needed to drink.

  In spite of their incredulity, I told them how he had discovered a method to imbue his followers with a permanent change. How he would drain a man of his blood, and then at the very point of death, have them drink the immortal blood.

&
nbsp; “I knew it!” Stephen muttered a couple of times. The others tutted at him but he simply shrugged. “I mean, I knew it was something.”

  I did not tell them that William had done that very thing to Eva. That he had used my blood to turn her into an ageless immortal. And I did not tell them that she had to drink blood every few days or else she would grow sick and become raving mad.

  “If this were true,” Friar William said, scoffing. “and it is not true, of course. But if it was true, then it would certainly be the work of the devil himself. And so would you be, sir!”

  “Hear him!” Bertrand said, inviting Hughues to share the monk’s outrage.

  “But how did it come to be?” Stephen asked. “How did you come to be as you are, sir? You and your brother? What did you do to become so powerful?”

  “Do?” I said. “I did nothing. At first, I believed that it came from our father, my true father, the old Earl de Ferrers. When William poisoned him, he was said to have woken up before burial, only for my brother to murder him again with a blade. It sounded similar to how William and I both died and were reborn. And as both William and I grew from his seed, I believed it was that which made us as we were. As far as William was concerned, he always appeared convinced that his power was a gift from God. That he was a new incarnation of Christ or even of Adam.”

  This drew hisses from the monks. “Blasphemy,” Rubruck growled.

  “Indeed,” I said, continuing. “The Archbishop of Jerusalem many years ago suggested that William was created by the Devil and thought it possible that God made me as I am so that I may stop him. What the truth of it is, I honestly do not know. All I know is that I am as I am. And William is the same. Many times, we have survived wounds that would have ended the life of a mortal man. And we go on, ageless.”

  Bartholomew sneered. “At least you are to be executed tomorrow,” he said, with relish. His skeletal face pulled into a wicked grin.

  “Not if I can help it,” I said. Darkness was falling and it was time to act. Eva helped me into my mail hauberk while my companions objected, in anger and fear.

  “What do you mean to do?” Friar William said, repeatedly. “Why would you need that armour? You cannot fight your way through an entire city, you raving lunatic. What are you planning? Your actions will have consequence for the rest of us so you must—”

  “I mean to find my brother.” My words stopped them all. I looked at my wife. “Before he finds me.”

  “Richard, no,” she said, voice low and meant only for me. “We must flee. Now.”

  “Perhaps. Yet how far would we get on a pair of stolen horses? We are months away from any hint of safety.”

  “So that is it?” She was appalled. Angry. “We kill William, and are caught and killed? Or we are killed in the attempt?”

  “We kill William,” I said. “And capture Hulegu. I will hold a knife at his throat for a thousand miles and none will dare to attack us.”

  She simply stared at me.

  “You have lost your mind,” Bertrand said. “You will bring punishment down upon all of us. It is time to end your lunacy.” He turned to his squire, then gestured at Eva. “Hughues, take her.”

  Before Bertrand had taken two steps, I rushed the huge knight and smashed my mailed fist into his nose, hooked my foot behind his knee and tripped him to the floor, falling heavily. I was armoured and he was not. He screamed and struggled beneath me but I hit him again and drove a knee into his guts. Still, he was strong and tough and I had to near-enough crack open his skull with my elbow before he was knocked senseless and groaning.

  I rolled off, drawing my dagger as I did so as I expected Thomas and his squire to be following up behind. The squire had indeed moved to intervene but Thomas held him back, though both Templars glared at me with anger.

  Eva had bested Hughues easily, ending up mounted on his chest, hammering punches into his face. Blood spattered over her fists.

  “Eva,” I called.

  She climbed off of him, leaving the young man spitting blood and whimpering, tears streaming from his swelling eyes.

  The monks were clustered together on the far side of the ger, with Abdullah and Nikolas, like a gaggle of hens.

  Stephen Gosset alone was smiling, like the madman that he was. Grinning at Eva, his eyes shining with passion.

  “Do not do this,” Thomas said. “You have made a mistake by coming here, you know that now. Trusting these pagan monsters to help you do justice. Do not make your failure worse by giving them reason to take revenge on all of us, when you are caught. What is your strategy, anyway? How can you possibly think you could find and kill your brother when he is out there, beyond the city in that wasteland?”

  “If they will be here in the city tomorrow then they must be close by,” I said. “Camped just outside the city, perhaps only a short ride away. All their camps are the same. The lord’s ger is in the centre of every ordus. I will go there, kill his guards and take this Hulegu Khan, brother of Mongke. He will tell me where William is. I will kill William and flee with Hulegu as hostage.”

  Thomas shook his head in disbelief. “You say you have strength and speed. And though you are quite mad, I believe in your abilities as I have seen them with my own eyes. But such a thing could never be done by one man alone.”

  “Not alone,” I said, looking at my wife.

  Stephen spoke up, the words spilling from his lips almost faster than he could form them. “But she is one of you, also, is she not? She must be. Surely, by God, she must be as he says. Do you not see, brothers? Eva is one of the immortals, such as Richard has described. You have seen her strength, seen it again just now, you see? It is the only way she could have defeated—”

  Friar William strode forward and smacked Stephen on the back of the head with such force than the young monk fell to his knees, silently clutching his skull.

  “It is true,” I said, placing a hand on my wife’s shoulder. “She is over sixty years old but she can kill better than any knight I ever knew. Together, we will do this. Come on, the sun will be setting soon. And Bertrand is coming to his senses. I would prefer not to kill him but I will do so to protect myself.”

  “Wait!” Stephen said from his knees, rubbing his head and climbing to his feet. “Wait, please, wait. What about the Assassins?”

  ***

  I glanced through the door of the ger, the freezing air stinging my skin. The sun was low in the sky and the temperature was plummeting.

  Thanks to God, there were still no guards outside our ger. I suspected that the Mongols of the city continued to keep watch on us wherever we went, trusting that I would never be able to get away. And I had no doubt that if we were seen fleeing for one of the four gates in the twilight, we would be arrested.

  “It will be dark soon,” I said as I closed the door and turned back into the ger. “Only then can we leave.”

  “I will take them a blessing,” Stephen said, earnestly. “That is what we shall say to the guards outside the Assassins’ quarters. You others shall be escorting me through the city.”

  “You cannot use God’s name for deceit,” Friar Bartholomew said, his voice tight and rising in pitch. “I will not allow it.”

  “We must remain on the side of truth, Stephen,” Friar William said, with condescension. “If we are to do any good here, if we are to win any souls for Christ, we cannot jeopardise the trust the Great Khan has generously placed in us.”

  Stephen laughed in their faces. “Do you truly not see? Are you both so blind?” He waved an arm around to indicate the breadth of the city beyond the felt walls. “These barbarians hold every faith to be equal, and it is for each man and woman to choose which of these to follow. A man here may be a Mohammedan, with a Buddhist wife, and a Nestorian son. And none of them, nor any other soul they know, would find anything remarkable about it. Any of them can already choose Christ but in the manner of the Nestorians. When you tell them there is a better way of worshipping, the true way, that of the Pope in Rome,
not a soul here cares one jot. They will tolerate your presence only because they love all priests and wish for blessings from any man who will give them. You are wasting your time. You came here for nothing. They have no space in their hearts for the true Christ.”

  The monks stared at him, open-mouthed. Friar William began to speak but Stephen cut him off.

  “And even if they did, neither you, William nor you, Bartholomew, would be the men to turn them into Christians of the Roman Church. I have watched you, listened to you, these many months. More than a year, now, have I listened to you droning on about minuscule points of doctrine that none of these people could ever hope to understand, and both of you are too stupid to see it for yourselves. You have no hope here, none. You should return to civilised lands and do what good work with whatever years God will grant you with people who will listen to you. In truth, Bartholomew, I doubt that you will survive the journey home. But you must try rather than remain here, useless and pitiable, in failure.”

  Bartholomew gripped William’s sleeve and his face turned grey. Neither monk spoke a word in objection.

  “Now, leave me alone,” Stephen continued. “I have no interest in following your orders, nor in my oath to obey the doctrine of Saint Francis. And so, I will use deceit to help Richard. And, in return, he will give me what I want.”

  “I will?” I said, amazed by his recklessness in disavowing his order. “And what is it you want?”

  “You know what I want,” he said, glancing at Eva.

  “Eva is already married,” I said, deliberately misunderstanding him.

  He swallowed, glancing at her again as his cheeks flushed. “Not that. I want—”

  “You will help me,” I said, stalking over to him. “You will gain entry to the quarters of the Assassins, on pretence of your blessing.” He backed away, until he bumped into one of the roof posts, eyes darting left and right. “And in return, I will refrain from tearing out your throat and drinking all of the blood from your scrawny little body. Is that acceptable?”