The Dracula Chronicles: Bound By Blood - Volume 2

by Shane KP O'Neill

  He walked his horse to the other side of the village. It was there he saw the blacksmith’s. He found his way inside the workshop. All was quiet here too. The owner had long since retired to bed. He tethered the horse and entered the house.

  Inside he heard the gentle sound of breathing. It told him that all were asleep. He made his way to the master bedroom. There he found the blacksmith snoring peacefully beside his wife.

  Dracula dragged him from his bed. He held a hand over his mouth in case the man cried out. The man awoke startled and afraid. In the dark he could see nothing. He did try to cry out, but could not.

  “Stay quiet,” Dracula warned him. “And I will let you go. Do you understand?”

  The blacksmith nodded his head.

  “If you make as much as a sound I will kill your family.”

  The man nodded again. He muffled something beneath Dracula’s hand.

  “I want you to be sure of my intent,” Dracula advised. “Do as I ask and I will leave again very soon.”

  He let go of him. By now the man’s eyes had adjusted better to the dark. He saw the outline of Dracula standing there. “Who are you?”

  “Someone in need of your service.”

  “Then why not come back during the day?”

  “I need it done right away.”

  “Why did you threaten my family?”

  “Because I need your help and I have little time.”

  “You only had to ask for it.”

  “Then let us make haste.”

  “Come. I do not want my wife woken.”

  Dracula followed him to the workshop. There the man lit a lamp.

  “What is it you want me to do?” he asked.

  “I want a breastplate and a black helmet before dawn.”

  “I cannot manage that by dawn.”

  “You better had.”

  “I do not work miracles.”

  “You will do it. Or I will have to make good my threat.”

  The man offered him a hateful glance. These nobles are all the same. “I had a belly full of wine before I retired to my bed.”

  “Then you best hope it does not affect your ability to work.”

  The blacksmith set about his task. Dracula paced around the area inside the workshop. He noticed some strong leather padding which he thought would suit his horse. “I will take these too,” he said.

  “Those have been set aside for a local nobleman.”

  “Then get him another set.”

  “But he expects them on the morrow.”

  Dracula shrugged. “Do I care? Have no fear. I will pay you well.”

  “That will not appease him.”

  The hours passed. Dracula was of the opinion that the man could do more than he was. “Come on,” he implored him. “Time is short.”

  “I am doing the best I can.”

  “Then do more!” he warned.

  The man muttered under his breath. He began to work with more urgency. The sweat dripped from him, as he toiled.

  Dracula began to grow anxious. Soon the first light of dawn would be upon him. He sensed it drawing near. The blacksmith saw his agitation and worked as hard as he could to get the job done.

  “Do you love your wife?”

  It was the first time Dracula had spoken in hours. The man looked up at him. “Need I even answer that?”

  “Well I hope for her sake that you do,” Dracula snarled. “If you are not finished soon you will not see her again.”

  “You are not helping me with your threats.”

  “Then help yourself. And her.”

  “I promise you I want nothing more than to finish here. I want you gone.”

  “Then finish it!”

  Dracula stepped away. The man was right. His horse snorted when he stood near to it. The items he found inside the workshop he now draped over the animal.

  He left his mount and opened the door a touch. The smell of the night had changed already. The earliest birds chirped in the trees. His heart skipped a beat when he heard a loud hiss from behind him. It was the sound of hot metal against water. He turned to see his armour was ready for cooling.

  The work was completed and it was time to go. He had not yet fed and his thirst was strong. The thought crossed his mind to take the blacksmith, but dawn was too close. He had to find a safe place to rest.

  Dracula reached inside a pocket for a black pouch and threw it to him. Because of its weight it fell through his fingers. It dropped to the ground with a hard clang of coins. “Open the doors wide.”

  He looked up to see the vampire astride his horse. It reared its front legs and kicked out its hooves. Dracula struggled to control the beast. The man ran past him and pulled open the large doors.

  Dracula looked down at him. “Thank you for your trouble.”

  The man bowed. He wanted only to get back to his bed. For that his visitor had to leave. He hoped he would never see him again.

  Dracula prodded the horse sharply in the ribs with his heels. It shot forward and he had to duck quickly as the beast bolted through the open doors. The man gave him one last glance and then returned inside.

  The air did not smell good and sent a panic right through him. He guided the stallion south and out of the village. On his way here he had seen a deserted farmhouse. It stood in a quiet spot about three miles to the east.

  The blacksmith opened his pouch. He delved inside it and pulled out a host of gold coins. Excited, he emptied the entire contents of it onto a table. In all he counted fifty gold ducats. He looked up and thanked God for his good fortune.

  Dracula’s fears grew, as he rode on. He beat his horse across the side of the neck with his fist. It took the prompt and galloped at full pace. He knew the extra weight of his and the beast’s armour was a handicap.

  In the distance he saw a pale light on the horizon. It stung his eyes. The sun was beginning to rise and it caused his skin to grow hot. Sweat oozed from under his clothes and formed a thick coat over the entirety of his body. He ducked behind the stallion’s head to shield his face.

  He knew in his heart the stallion was never going to make it. Driven by fear he rose into the air. He lifted the stallion with him by the reins. It put a drain on his strength, but still he flew at speed for his sanctuary. The stallion whinnied the whole time, fearing it would fall. In protest it kicked out at the air with all four legs. The weight of the animal caused Dracula to tire quickly. Still he ploughed on.

  The fact he had not fed did not help him either. Where his limbs ached he knew a good supply of blood would have kept up his strength. He caught sight of the farmhouses below and it spurred him on. The sun was on the rise, causing his temperature to soar.

  His clothes began to smoke. The heat glued them to his skin. He knew it would not be long before his flesh began to char and burn. In his panic he almost lost his grip on the animal.

  Finally he touched down at the front of the house. The horse whinnied again at the jolt to its legs and it dug its hooves into the earth. Dracula dragged it with him, as he walked though it continued to resist. In the end he turned to punch it hard to the jaw.

  Its legs buckled beneath it. He dragged it to the front of the house. With no time to lose he kicked hard at the door. It split down the middle and crashed to the floor.

  The horse gave up the fight and Dracula dragged it inside. He secured it to a rail in what had once been the kitchen. With that done he looked around for the entrance to the cellar. There had to be one. Those who had lived here would have stored their food there to keep it cool.

  The sun shot like arrows through the holes in the walls. It hit him on the hand and stomach. He cried out as both his vest and glove caught fire. His eye fell on the door he was looking for. He smashed it down in his need to escape the sun. When it tumbled down the stairs he went with it.

  He hit the hard earthen floor at the bottom. His head crashed against it with a loud thud. He groaned, as he doused the flames on his clothing. The pain of his scorched
flesh made him wince.

  For a time he lay on his back. The darkness made him feel at ease again. He had always loved it. Only under its cloak did he ever feel truly safe and relaxed.

  His eyes pierced the gloom. He caught sight of two rats. They scurried away to a far corner of the cellar. He hunted them down one at a time. Their shrill screams echoed in his ears. He ignored it. Their blood tasted sour but it would do for now.

  Only in times of real need did he drink blood that was not human. This was one such time. When he could find nothing more to drink he lay down and fell asleep.

  Lombardy. A deserted farmhouse twenty miles north of Pavia.

  Sunset on February 24, 1525.

  Dracula awoke some time later when he felt something kick against his foot. In a flash he was on his feet. He scanned the dark cellar to see what had woken him.

  “It is good of you to join us,” he heard a familiar voice say.

  He knew it at once. The sarcasm in the tone never changed. He looked to his right. Crouched in a corner he saw his two sons.

  Varkal’s stealth did impress him. “You are growing more wily,” he said. “What brings you here to me?”

  “I have tired of the German states,” Varkal moaned. He recalled some image that his father could not pick up on. “All they do there is argue over religion.”

  “Then my ploy has worked. Soon it will descend into real anarchy.”

  Varkal did not care to discuss the split in the Church. “There is more,” he said. “My brother has brought someone for you to meet.”

  He followed the direction of Varkal’s gaze. It led him to the broken door of the cellar. He detected the presence of two others there.

  “You are not looking too well, father,” Mihnea commented.

  Dracula looked a little unsteady on his feet. He held out an arm to help his father properly gather his bearings.

  “No. I have had a bad time of it.”

  The three of them flew to the top of the ruined stairs. They entered the main living area through the open doorway. The stallion whinnied out loud in the other room and stamped its hooves against the floor. The presence of the vampires made it desperate to break free. It longed to be back with the other horses from where its new owner had snatched it.

  “That is a fine horse,” Varkal observed.

  “Yes. That is why I chose it from the rest.”

  Dracula saw Anya standing nearby. A second woman stood at her side, obscured by her from his line of sight. He sensed she had his blood in her veins. When he looked at Mihnea his son nodded that she did. He could see his father was not happy about it.

  “How can this be?” he asked his son angrily.

  “She was dying, father,” he said with calm.

  “You know my rule.”

  “She was my last surviving child. I could not allow her to die. In truth, I gave her the same choice you gave me. None.”

  He did not answer. Instead he spoke to Ruxandra. “Come here, my child.”

  She turned to face him. The extent of her beauty caused him to catch his breath. “Hello, grandfather,” she smiled, accepting his embrace.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Welcome to our merry band,” he said, a little sarcastically.

  Varkal had already tired of the family reunion. “Where is Ilona?” he asked.

  “I left her in Castile,” his father said. “She is with our young Emperor. While I am away she will watch over him for me.”

  His sons showed their obvious surprise.

  “It is on his business that I am here.”

  “But why would you do his bidding?” Mihnea asked.

  Varkal looked just as confused. “He is the defender of the Catholic faith.”

  “Is there a better way to bring down the Church?”

  “Than to be in bed with the one who defends it,” Mihnea grinned.

  “You are in time to join me.”

  “For what?” Varkal asked.

  “Tonight I am going to lead his armies into battle.”

  Varkal grabbed his brother’s arm. “I knew there was something afoot.”

  Mihnea did not share in his excitement. “Why would you get involved with that? It can serve no good purpose.”

  “Do you not follow events, my son?”

  “I know France and Spain are at war. We all know that much.”

  “Who is on the side of France?”

  “Venice and Florence,” Mihnea said.

  “And the Pope,” Varkal grinned.

  “A crushing victory for the Emperor will hurt the Vatican beyond measure,” his father said. “That is why I am here.”

  Varkal could not hide his delight. “I expect you will want us to join you, father?”

  “It is a thought,” Dracula smiled. “Imagine the three of us on the battlefield. It would give me the greatest pleasure.”

  “Nothing could match us,” Varkal said, his grin widening.

  “You do not look well, father,” Mihnea said. “Perhaps this is not the time to take to the field.”

  They all saw the burns and other lesions on his skin. It was flaky and cracked in places. He could still feel it, but until that moment he had not realised the extent of the damage.

  “I need a good feed,” he said. “A foetus will heal my skin. But I will ensure nobody on the field will see my face.”

  Mihnea saw his father’s armour spread across the floor. He had dropped it there in his urgency to escape the sun. His son retrieved it and piled it together at his feet. “You will need these then. If you wish to go into battle.”

  “We have fed aplenty on our way here,” Varkal said.

  “Yes,” Mihnea agreed. “So we need not waste time indulging our own needs.”

  “I know,” his father said. “I can smell the fresh blood running through your veins. It makes my thirst even stronger.”

  “Then you should go and feed.”

  “I want you and your brother to come with me. There is a village near here where I can satisfy my needs. We can hunt together.”

  “What about the girls?”

  “I want them to ride my horse to Pavia.”

  “How will we find Pavia, grandfather?”

  “Let your ears guide you.”

  “Follow the sound of the cannon,” Mihnea said. “Surely you can hear it?”

  “Yes, father. I can hear it.”

  “We will no doubt catch up with you before you reach there,” Dracula said. Take my armour with you. We shall see you soon.”

  Dracula rose up into the air and left the old farmhouse through a hole in the roof. His sons followed close behind. It did not take the three of them long to arrive at the village.

  The blacksmith’s was the first house to catch Varkal’s eye. He touched down on the roof and looked for a way inside.

  “Not that one,” his father said. “Leave those people in peace.”

  The trio moved from house to house. The first half a dozen offered only elderly couples. Dracula took one of them to appease his thirst a little. He noticed a grin extend across Varkal’s face when they came to the last house but one.

  “I smell a young family inside,” he said.

  It faded when he saw the look on his father’s face. He turned and disappeared inside. Dracula never liked to take anyone who had not yet come of age. If ever he did it was purely because he had to. The healing powers of virginal blood exceeded any other. It also had a very sweet taste, but still he did not like to touch it.

  At the moment he did not feel too ill. He knew his condition was only a cosmetic one. It could keep for now. He had no desire to take a child tonight.

  Leave them be. He directed the thought to Varkal. Do not harm them in any way. It prompted his son to return from the depths of the house.

  “Since when have you adopted such moral ground?” he asked his father.

  Dracula saw his anger, but did not answer.

  “The woman is pregnant. You can smell it as well as I.”

&nbs
p; “I do not want her.”

  “What do you mean? Then why are we even here? You need what she can give you. So take her.”

  Dracula listened to his argument. Through his thoughts Mihnea urged him to leave them alone.

  Varkal was not ready to give up. “So let me have the younger ones. To kill the mother and leave them would bestow upon them a life of misery.”

  “Since when have you cared about such things?” Mihnea asked him.

  Varkal ignored him. “Taking them too is the merciful thing to do.”

  Dracula agreed with Mihnea. He would not sway. “Let us go,” he said. “I will look elsewhere.”

  This irritated Varkal and he grabbed his brother’s arm. The two of them fell against a wall inside the house. “What is wrong with you?”

  They heard someone stir in a nearby room.

  Varkal pushed his face close to Mihnea’s. “You are meant to be one of us. It is time you acted as such.”

  Mihnea pulled his arm away and gave Varkal an icy stare. “I am nothing like you. Nor will I ever be.”

  The three vampires returned to the night skies. They soon caught up with the others. The women had made steady progress towards Pavia.

  Dracula hovered in the air near to them. “The field is no place for you,” he said. “I do not want you there. Do as you wish, but steer clear of it.”

  He turned his attention to his sons. “Leave your quarrels aside for the now. If you join me on the field you will need horses. Let us at least look like soldiers.”

  The four of them left him there with his horse and vanished in the direction of Pavia. Dracula put on his armour. He knew the importance of protecting his body in battle. Even as a vampire he could not replace a lost limb.

  He placed his father’s medallion around his neck. It was the very same one given to him by Emperor Sigismund in 1431. He also donned his father’s black cape. It bore the red insignia of the Dragon on the back. His helmet he held in his left hand.

  Dracula rode on at a brisk pace towards Pavia. The sounds of the opposing armies rang in his ears. Even the insults they hurled at each other filtered through to him. His pulse raced. The excitement of taking to the field again grew with every moment. He longed for the thrill of combat once more. Even though he intimated otherwise to Charles, it was a chance he could not pass over.