“Actually, I will be out of materials by the day’s end,” Teller said. “It would be more productive if you keep me supplied with raw metal, wood and the like.”
Darius moved to survey his sorely diminished stockpiles. “My metal supplier will not be coming through town for another couple of weeks.”
“Then go to him,” Teller suggested.
“I suppose I could take the cart to his mine outside of town. I’ve never had to do that before. With three of us working it does change things.” Darius already appeared lighter. His back was less bent under his burden and fewer creases lined his face.
By the time Darius returned with a cartload of iron ore it was dusk.
They were out of raw metal and Sergiu and Teller had dozed off in a couple of wooden chairs.
Sergiu woke Teller with a swift kick. Then to Darius he said, “The lord was pleased beyond measure. He bought all sixty swords and placed an order for one hundred more. It appears he is more than confident in our work.” Sergiu tossed a large bag of gold coins to Darius.
Darius opened the leather bag and blinked at the shining coins inside. “This is ... wonderful. I did not expect to get this money for months. I will be able to pay my debts. The miner did not want to let me leave with the ore today. I will be able to pay him tomorrow. He will be relieved. I am grateful to you both.”
“You will be able to pay me, as well,” Teller added. It was not a question.
“Yes, indeed. It appears that you are well worth it. I have never seen anyone work with metal the way you can. It is ... uncanny.”
Teller melted down the next round of iron. Over the next three days he finished the last of the back orders and started on the lord’s new order of swords. Customers were thrilled to get their metalworks so quickly. As word spread about what they could do, the orders poured in. With Darius keeping Teller supplied with materials and Sergiu taking and delivering orders, Teller could usually keep up with the work during the daylight hours and nights were spent flying. Being so busy did not allow him time to think about Vallachia; not to mention his unquenchable thirst for blood.
At the end of the first week Darius handed his two new helpers a sack of coins, much more than he had agreed to pay Teller in the beginning. Sergiu hadn’t expected any pay, of course.
“You both deserve this and more,” Darius said. “For the first time I am not simply scraping by. My debts are paid and my family is well taken care of. I will be able to pay you more next week, if you keep working at this pace.”
That night in Sergiu’s cave, Teller stretched out on a bedroll. He gazed at the cave ceiling with contentment.
“Did I not say that the money would come?” Sergiu said.
Teller rolled over onto one elbow and handed Sergiu his bag of coins. “Do me a favor and take this to Petru. It will more than pay for my debt. I would do it myself but I should not be seen around there.”
Sergiu smiled and took the bag. “See there, it feels much better to do good when we can. We greatly helped Darius this week and to pay Petru is the proper thing to do.”
For the first time in a long time Teller felt satisfied with himself and his life. He was also tired after a long week of hard work. He drifted off into a deep sleep.
Chapter 17 Wallachia 1262 A.D
The next month went along much the same. The money was rolling in for all of them. Teller was relieved to wake with a clear head. He almost believed that he was normal again. Then came the reminder that he was not — the need to feed stirred inside. It came abruptly when Darius brought his family to meet his new help.
Darius had four daughters — no sons — hence not having any help in the shop. Two of his daughters were married and two remained at home. The two younger daughters and Darius’s wife filed into the tiny shop. Their delicious scent was too much for Teller.
“This is Vladislav and Sergiu,” Darius said. “They are the ones I have been telling you about. Their help is ...”
But Teller ran out of the shop covering his mouth and nose to try to hide the dangerously long eyeteeth that formed in his aching jaw. This also helped him to not breathe in their sweet scent.
In a flash, he was across town. He had not paused to grab his cloak so he had to stay in the shadows. He spotted a man walking down the street ... alone.
“Pardon me,” Teller said, from the shade of a large cathedral. “Would you be so kind as to come over here? I’m in need of assistance.” He tried to sound desperate, which was easy — he was desperate, mad with the pain of hunger.
“Of course, how may I help?” The stranger approached.
Teller doubled over and waited.
“Are you alright?” the man asked.
As soon as he stepped into the shade, Teller grabbed him by the shoulders and sank his teeth into the stranger’s neck. It was like slowly waking up, coming back to consciousness, as the man’s blood calmed the raging monster inside. Teller laid the man down on the street and ran, careful to remain in the shadows. Once far out of town under the shade of a large tree, he paced, trying to gather his thoughts.
Who was I fooling? I am nothing more than a killer — a taker of innocent lives. This is all I will ever be — a cannibal.
His thoughts strayed to home. His mother used to say, “This is our life and we must learn to make the best of it.” She would often say this after a particularly-bad night with his father. Sometimes she could not come out of the house until the bruises healed. As a child, Teller thought she was only making excuses for Ivan and his cruelty. She was simply justifying her helplessness in a terrible situation. Teller had resented her for it. As a simple-minded child, he had wished she would leave her husband and get them out of that terrible home.
Of course, where would she have gone and how would she have fed us? I can see that now, she did not have any good choices. Yet she still found happiness even with my father. In actuality, her attitude was remarkable.
Now her words had a new meaning for Teller. “Things are the way they are, so make the best of it. If I must be a killer, I could at least make the deaths count. I can eliminate anyone who stands in my way.” He said this out loud, even though he was utterly alone. He could feel his ambitions growing deep within. This was the start of a new Teller. In fact, Teller was all but gone. He was now Vlad.
Chapter 18 France 1431 A.D
The High Court of Elders had many years of peace after suppressing Tarantism and the plagues across Europe. Balance had been restored to the world since vampire numbers had been greatly reduced. Humans repopulated and thrived once again. The Court continued to maintain their current allies and search for new comrades. Once again Vallachia’s job became more diplomatic in nature, which was greatly rewarding for her.
It was not long — well, for vampires, as it had been about twenty years — before the Court heard rumors of Ramdasha regrouping. They often traveled south on missions searching for him or someone who could tell them where he was. However, he remained well hidden.
By the fifteenth century they were sure that Ramdasha was trying a different tactic. Instead of creating numerous new untrained vampires who randomly caused trouble, he was building a large well-trained army in order to fight the Court in a battle for domination of the vampire world.
The Court had eyes and ears throughout Europe and beyond. They were continually looking for Ramdasha. Lord Chastellain had to pay his scouts well, as it was a dangerous job. Not to mention, the money helped to ensure that they remained loyal to the Court. Sometimes the scouts would not return. The lord assumed they had found Ramdasha and been killed or had defected. Either way they were dead to the lord.
Late one night the Court’s top emissaries, Riddick, Mary, Elijah and Vallachia, traveled to visit a new coven of vampires in France. Their mission was to gain the coven’s support before Lord Belleaire could. Belleaire remained loyal to Ramdasha and was very influential over the vampires of France.
As they flew over a large human army camp, Elijah beckoned for his entourage t
o land. Once outside the camp he whispered, “Do you smell that?”
They walked through the camp, following their noses. A man appeared in the distance. He was clearly not human. He moved too gracefully and smelled as only a vampire does. As they approached the figure, it became apparent that it was not a “he” but rather a “she”, dressed as a man, as Mary and Vallachia were. The woman had a pleasant face and appeared to be quite young.
She clasped Elijah’s forearm and gave it a firm shake, “I’m Joan of Arc,” the vampire said. “And you are?”
They had heard of her. She was the woman who was leading the French army against the British.
“My name is Lord Chastellain.”
“My Lord.” She gave a bow. “Of course, I know of you. It is an honor.” She gazed at him for a moment, “I thought you would ... appear older.”
“That would be my father you are thinking of. Please, call me Elijah.”
“I see. It is an honor to finally meet you.” Joan turned to Vallachia, “And you must be the fair and gracious lady of the Court.”
“I don’t know about all that. My name is Vallachia.” Val reached for her hand. “It is nice to meet you.”
“No. The pleasure is all mine.” Joan held onto Val’s hand. “I have idolized you my entire life. Even as a child I was told stories of the beautiful Queen in the North who never ages. She who rules with love and compassion.”
Val looked at Elijah for clarification. He chuckled and shrugged to indicate that he had no idea what Joan was talking about.
“I am no queen,” Val said.
“Of course you are. Once I was turned and I learned of Lord Chastellain and The Court, it all made sense — the stories were indeed true. I knew then that you were an immortal vampire. You are our queen, whether you know it or not.”
Val opened her mouth to protest but Joan continued, “We follow you. You are our leader.”
Val shook her head. This was madness. Was this truly how she was viewed by their kind? Could it be that humans told tales of her as well? This simply could not be. “Well, I sincerely doubt all that nonsense,” Val said.
“I also heard you were incredibly modest. This I can see is true as well.”
Val proceeded to introduce Mary and Riddick. This helped her to change the subject.
“Please join me in my tent.” It was only at this point that Joan released Val’s hand as she beckoned them to follow.
Once inside a large tent, Joan went to a thick book on her nightstand and held it up. It was the Bible. “You, as well as this, are my motivation and inspiration. My father was a very spiritual man. Thankfully, he taught me to read.”
“My father was a deacon. I too am immensely grateful for how he raised me.” The two women smiled at each other for a moment. They seemed to have a connection and an understanding between them that Val could not fully explain. The fact that Joan managed to keep her faith after being turned into a vampire caused Val to feel guilty. Val had all but given up on God after being turned. Is that wrong of me? She wished she could be like Joan — still devoted to God. In fact, a feeling of inferiority came over Val. Joan appeared to be steadfast in her beliefs and purpose in life. How wonderful that must be, Val thought.
“Well, I am sure you did not come here to learn about my childhood or to tell me about yours,” Joan said.
“We are on a diplomatic mission and happened to stumble upon your camp,” Elijah explained.
“Ah, so you did not come here seeking me out.” Joan looked relieved.
“Not exactly, though I am glad we found you. Tell me, do you support Lord Belleaire?” Elijah asked.
“Certainly not. He is a tyrant. I am loyal only to France,” Joan declared.
“I do have one more question for you, Joan. Do any of your men suspect that you are a vampire?”
“No. They see me as being rather strong for a woman, that is all.”
This answer seemed to pacify Elijah as he relaxed, leaning back into his chair. His “interrogation” was over. Joan was free to carry on about her business as long as she did not let humans discover her true nature and she did not support the enemies of the Court.
“When you are done here, perhaps you will consider joining us in the north?” Val asked.
“I would like that very much, as soon as I get the bloody British out of my country.” Joan smiled with confidence.
Vallachia half considered herself to be British. London was one of her homes but she did not like what King Henry was doing to France. They spoke about politics and religion for quite some time. Riddick was about to fall asleep when Elijah decided it was time for them to go.
“I hope we will meet again soon. Take care of yourself,” Vallachia gave Joan a hug and Joan appeared not to want to let go.
Once back in the air Elijah said, “She reminds me of you, in some ways.”
“You know, for just having met Joan of Arc, I am quite fond of her,” Mary said.
“I bet you are,” Riddick added with a jesting smirk and a playful elbow to Mary’s ribs.
“Not like that, you pervert.” Mary tackled Riddick. They tumbled end over end, falling through the night’s sky. With a hardy shove Mary pushed him away. They gracefully spread their wings to stop from plummeting to the earth.
Their meeting with the young vampires of France was a wash. They were reluctant to cross the cruel Belleaire but Vallachia convinced a couple of them to come to Denmark. These were two new vampires who desperately wanted to learn to feed without killing; thus the mission was not a complete loss. Plus they had met Joan.
Chapter 19 Copenhagen 1431 A.D
Six months after they first met Joan of Arc, Mary landed on Val’s balcony in Copenhagen. Mary did not knock. She barged into Val’s chambers, pulling her from the settee where she had been reading. “We must go! Joan is in trouble. She needs our help.”
Val had never seen Mary so full of panic. Val turned to Mari, who had been reading on the other end of the settee. “Tell Elijah I am on my way to London.” Val grabbed her favorite sword from its stand by her bed and she and Mary were off.
In just under an hour the two women landed on the outskirts of London. They could smell the putrid stench of burning flesh. Val and Mary looked at each other with wide eyes. They ran.
“No! Surely they have not killed her!” Mary said.
They followed the smoke plumes through the city. In no time they arrived in a public square. Three human-like figures tied to stakes were the central attraction. The blackened bodies still smoldered.
Val appeared behind an old woman — one of the last remaining onlookers. “Pardon me.”
The woman jumped at Val’s sudden appearance.
“Who were these people?” Val asked.
“A witch. Called herself Joan of Arc, and two of her guards.” She gestured to the figures with a crooked finger.
Val shook her head. “No.” She put her arm around Mary who had tears streaming down her cheeks.
“It can’t be. We are too late,” Mary moaned.
“Now young ladies don’t go cryin’ for the likes of that woman. She was a witch and a traitor to England, no less.”
Vallachia slowly lifted her head to glare at the woman. In one swift step Val was towering over her. “You are a fool for an old woman. Joan of Arc was no witch, she was a saint!”
Val felt a twinge of guilt because the woman was now trembling. She backed away from Val and lumbered off as quickly as her old legs would carry her. Val felt a swoosh of air and turned to find Elijah and Riddick. Mary was on her knees, her face still wet with tears.
“What happened?” Elijah eyed the charred figures with dread.
“It is Joan — they killed her,” Val managed, as the tears finally came. She bent down and hugged Mary.
“Oh no,” Elijah breathed. He knelt down, wrapping his arms around both of the grieving women. They stayed like that for some time.
“We have to take her ashes to France,” Val murmured. “I
t is undoubtedly what she would want.”
Mary nodded in agreement.
“I’ll fetch something to carry the ashes,” Riddick said. He was relieved to have something to do. The emotional scene was not his greatest strength.
It was not long before he returned with three relatively small barrels. They had most of the charred remains in the barrels when men rode up on horseback. They wore the royal armor of King Henry’s guards.
“Halt there! What do you think you are you doing?” one of them demanded. He was obviously in charge.
“We are to dispose of the ashes at King Henry’s behest,” Elijah lied. He spoke with an almost flawless English accent.
The men looked at one another with confusion.
“That was to be our job,” the leader declared.
“That is odd. You had better take it up with the king.” Elijah went back to work.
“That I will. What is your name, boy?”
“John of Dale.” Elijah was quick with his lies.
The leader of the guards appeared skeptical but slowly turned his horse back toward the king’s castle.
“Hurry,” Val whispered. “They won’t be gone for long.”
“It would be a shame to have to kill them,” Mari spat. “Ignorant murderers that they are.”
They quickly sealed the barrels and disappeared even quicker.
They stopped briefly at Alexandru’s to send word to Elijah’s father that they were heading to France on a brief order of business.
At least Joan of Arc was given a proper burial in France. The uncrowned King Charles was in attendance at her service to honor her sacrifice for the country that was rightfully his.
“I don’t understand. How were they able to capture her?” Mary asked.
“I don’t know,” Val said.
“She was a lone vampire, with only a human army around her. If she were injured they could easily have captured her,” Elijah offered.
“They put her to death so quickly,” Mary said. “I heard of her capture and two hours later she was dead.”
Of Princes and Dragons: Book 2 (Lords and Commoners) Page 7