by Dan Davis
My horse fell under me, shot by a dozen Janissaries behind the line. The beast went down hard, as if his legs had been cut off, throwing me and I fell on my neck. It hurt like the devil and I was dazed but I rolled to my feet to find a company of Janissaries rushing me with their swords and axes.
I killed one as I fell back and then Eva and Stephen arrived on horseback, flattening some and driving the rest back. We rushed into them together and killed them.
But the rest were fleeing. Some mounted, others on foot.
“I need a horse!” I shouted and a squire rode over, leaping off and offering me his hands to boost me into the saddle. Once seated, I looked for the fleeing enemy. They were retreating through the woods, with companies of Janissaries covering the escape.
“Sluji! Form on me!”
We had been all but obliterated. Many of my men lay wounded and were calling for blood but there were dead squires all over the field and my immortals were bleeding to death in their dozens. Others were dead and limbs and heads littered the field.
Vlad Dracula lay on the field with two of his men at his side. His helm had been removed and his eyes stared up at the sky, blood soaking his hair.
“Is he dead?” Walt shouted. “Is he dead?”
His men seemed stunned. I could not spare time to deal with Dracula or his men.
“Sluji!” I cried to any that yet lived. “Our enemies flee. There. We stop for nothing. Every one of them will fall.”
Despite all they had been through, they found their horses and formed up on me. We were so few and they were exhausted and wounded but still they formed up and we chased the enemy into the woods.
The Turks had engaged the Wallachian army further along the track and the fighting there continued. Whatever the outcome, it did not matter to me. All that mattered was catching William. I prayed that he was already dead, killed by Dracula’s blade and his men carried nothing but William’s corpse back toward the Danube, but I doubted God would grant me such luck.
A half dozen immortal Janissaries rushed suddenly from hiding behind a stand of trees with their lances up and we had to pull up and cut them down before continuing. Two of my men were killed in the exchange. But then we were on again.
Every half a mile or so we crashed into another ambush in the woodland. Each time we killed them but I lost men in turn and so our numbers dwindled and our progress slowed.
“His men spend their lives to grant him a few yards more,” Walt shouted, wiping his blade off on a Janissary’s red robes.
“And mine spend theirs to gain it back,” I said, looking at the few men I had left. Our horses were hanging their heads and if they survived the day, not one of them would be fit for anything other than food for the hounds by the morrow.
“Be full dark soon,” Walt said, looking up. “How will we find him then?”
“When we reach the Danube, we will follow the bank in both directions. You will take half the men one way and I the other. If you find him, send a man back to me and I will do the same.”
Walt puffed his cheeks and shook his head but we rode on for the river and came out of the trees with the moon already up. It was cold and my men shook and there was not one of us who was not disheartened.
“By God,” Eva said, riding up to my side with her hand outstretched. “Is that them?”
“It is. A score of the bastards.”
“They see us,” Eva said.
I squinted, trying and failing to see what their eyes could. “Is he with them?”
“Can’t tell,” Walt said, drawing his sword and sighing. “Is that a boat drifting across the river?”
A dark shape moved slowly out there, not far from the bank.
“William may be within?” Stephen suggested.
“Another boat is drawn up on the bank,” Eva cried. “I see it in the grass.”
“And twenty Janissaries guarding it,” Walt growled. “Letting their master get away.”
“Dismount,” I ordered. “Form a line!”
We pushed our useless horses away and formed up with the Danube shining in the moonlight nearby. From the long grasses by the river, the remnants of the Blood Janissaries advanced. They outnumbered us two to one but I would not let them stop me. William was so close, I could almost taste him.
I led the charge, pulling ahead of my tired men.
The Janissaries were superb and fought with ferocity and skill. My men fell, fighting with every last breath.
I cut them down and killed the last of them, running my sword through his face.
All that remained of the sluji, who were once five hundred, were three badly wounded men who sat on ground soaked with the blood of their brothers and their enemies.
William’s dark boat was crossing the river, a single rower within, moving slowly.
Wading through the grass and into the freezing mud, I reached the boat which was pulled half up onto the muddy bank. It was big enough for thirty men, with four oars aside. Clutching my sword I pulled myself up and over the side, splashing into deep water within.
They had hacked holes through the bottom of it, rendering it unusable.
“William!” I shouted across the river, standing in the ruined boat. “You coward!”
Out in the gloom, he stopped rowing and stood. No more than a shadow upon shadows. “Damn you to hell, Richard!” His voice was loud, travelling across the water and the still night air.
“Find a hand-gun,” I muttered to my men. “Crossbow, anything.” They splashed away toward the corpses on the bank and I raised my voice again. “I will find you, William. No matter where you run, I will find you.”
“Ha!” he shouted. I saw him raise his hands to his mouth as he did so. “You leave me be, brother!”
“I defeated you, William,” I shouted. “Again and again, I defeated you. And now you flee. All your men, dead! Your Sultan despises you. You are finished!”
“I have barely begun!” he cried out.
Walt splashed over to me, hissed, and held out a hand-gun. “The only one still dry. Loaded. You aim, I will fire it.” He had the end of a burning match cupped in his hand.
I took it and squeezed the wooden end under my arm and looked down the iron barrel. It was practically full night and William was drifting further on the current with every moment. The river and the boat and the man had blended into one shadow.
“Radu is dead!” I called.
He said nothing in return. I scanned left and right while Walt blew on the match, ready.
“Did you hear me? I killed your only friend in all the world, William. He died in agony!”
Silence, and then. “And my men killed Vlad!” he shouted. “And he was your—”
“Now!” I hissed at Walt.
He touched the match on the firing pan and the gun banged in my hand. Across the river, William cried out and I was sure I heard him fall into the water.
We stood and listened. There was nothing but the wind in the trees behind me and the gentle sound of the great river in front.
19. The Vampir
1476
It was morning when we cautiously returned to the battlefield. Exhausted beyond measure, our horses dragging their feet with each step.
We were dejected and heartbroken.
I was not certain whether William had in fact been killed but I strongly doubted it. At least I had given him a parting gift. Whether Dracula was dead, I was not certain either but it seemed likely, considering the lifeless state I had last seen him in. Either way, I had to return to the field. Above all, Rob had to be buried. I would not leave him to be tossed into a mass grave or allow his body to be scavenged and lay unburied.
We crept through the dark trees to the edge of the meadow and found the usual sight after a battle. Figures crouched over the dead and dying, collecting bodies and weapons and armour. Hand carts trundling along, horses standing here and there. Locals mixed with soldiers and servants. Crows hopped and squawked and were chased away, only to land on s
ome other poor body.
“Where is the prince?” I asked a Wallachian captain who stood at the edge by his horse.
“My lord?”
“Where is Vlad Dracula?”
The captain was somewhat out of his wits and he stared for a moment, despair in his eyes. “We fell back. The Turks came up here to this field. We gathered the men and pushed the Turks off. They fled south, back to the river.”
“Where is he?”
The Wallachian frowned, looking at me. “They took his head.”
“The Turks took Dracula’s head?” I asked. “You are certain?”
He shook as he recalled it. “They had it raised on a spear. They celebrated as they fled.”
“You recognised him?”
“It was his helm, yes. The only one like it.”
I sighed, rubbing my eyes. “What about the rest of him?”
“My lord?”
“Where is your prince’s body, sir?”
“The monks took it.”
“What monks? They took it where?”
He stared. “Monks.”
I sighed. “Where are your friends, Captain? Where are your servants?”
“Dead.” He looked around. “Or fled. Or…”
Walt approached and patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, son. Let’s find your mates, shall we.” He led the man away across the meadow and passed him off to a group of soldiers.
We retraced our steps back along the track to find the place where Rob fell. He was right where we had left him. However, the others were not.
“Where is Radu’s body?” Eva said.
“Serban’s is gone also,” Stephen said. “Head and body both. Could Radu have been alive after all?”
“Not a chance,” I said. “His people must have taken him.”
“And Serban also?” Stephen asked. “Why would they do that?”
“Where shall we take dear Rob?” Eva asked, kneeling by him.
“What about the monastery at Snagov?” Stephen said. “He appeared to like it there.”
We all instinctively turned to Walt who nodded his assent. “The monks will bury him proper.”
The sun rose as high as it would on that winter day by the time we reached the monastery at Snagov. We rowed across the lake and moored up, leaving Rob’s body on the shore while we approached the buildings, calling out for any of the monks or servants who had stayed or, we hoped, had returned from the battlefield with the bodies of Vlad, Radu, and Serban.
It was deserted.
Walking through the empty buildings, I called for anyone. I called for Theodore, who had stayed, and headed for the library.
“They were not at the battlefield,” Stephen said beside me, his dagger in his fist. “And they are not here. So, where have they gone?”
“They must have come here,” Eva said. “Where else could they go?”
“There is nowhere else,” Walt said, his face a mask of anguish.
We stopped as one at a noise up ahead. The screeching of iron hinges and the shuffling of feet.
“You have returned, my dear brothers,” a raspy voice called out up ahead. It was Theodore. The ancient, blind monk stood filling the doorway to the library, like a bag of bones beneath his robes.
Walt scoffed behind me. “Silly old sod.”
I raised my voice as I continued toward him. “It is not your brothers who have returned, Father Theodore. We also are looking for them. It is I, Richard Ashbury, who fought with—”
“I know who it is returning,” Theodore said, his voice seeming suddenly stronger. “Come and speak with me a while, Richard Ashbury, the vampir.”
I followed him into the library in time to see him ease himself into his chair by the window, the place I had first seen him. It was open and the cold afternoon air smelled of pine and woodsmoke.
“You call me a vampir?” I asked him, crossing the library to stand over him. “Why do you say that?”
“Have a seat, brother,” he said, indicating the seat opposite.
I ignored him. “You called me a vampir. And you are right. But how did you know it?”
Theodore smiled. “I know it, Richard, because I am a vampir, also.”
A chill spread up my spine. I was shocked and at the same time, it seemed as if I already knew. With a sigh, I sat across from Theodore while he smiled through me. Cold air poured in through the window but the old man did not seem to feel it.
“You call yourself a vampir, Theodore?” I looked at his lined face and the broad yet bony shoulders under his robes. I wondered how he could be an immortal and also aged and infirm. “What did you do to the other monks? Did they return here after the battle?”
“They came with men to bury,” Theodore said, pointing toward the graveyard outside his window. “And then my brothers had to leave. You see, they were afraid of you and your brother and what you might do.”
“Afraid of me? But it is William who means to conquer your people.”
Theodore smiled. “And you, Richard, are the one who is hunting strigoi. You are both young and dangerous. Both of you are quite mad.”
“I am not young,” I said. “But I am dangerous. And yet William is the mad one.”
He raised a large, bony finger. “Both of you are tearing through the world like mad bulls, not knowing our ways. It is not your fault. But you are a danger to us and my brothers had to go into the wild once more.”
“The wild?”
Sighing, he turned his unseeing gaze to the world. “We were here for a good while. We dwelled here in peace, our lives safe from notice, from interference. They will go on, at least for a time, but I am tired of this life. It is time for mine to end.”
I shook my head, more confused than ever. “You call yourself vampir. How can that be so when you are so..?” I gestured at him, searching for the right word.
“Aged?” he said, smiling. “Decrepit? Frail?”
“How old are you?”
“I do not remember. Is it eight centuries? Or nine, now?” He shrugged. “Enough. Yes, enough, now.”
“Do you drink blood? You feed on your monks?”
“You misunderstand. Our lay brothers, the servants, provide our blood. When it is required, some few of those are chosen to join us and so we go on.”
I laughed at my own idiocy. “So you were all immortals? All the monks? The entire time I was searching for strigoi but I already found them all?”
“All of my brothers are strigoi but not all the strigoi were here. They are everywhere in these lands. The places they now call Albania, Serbia, Hungary. In all these places they have their own names for us. The Hungarians call us izcacus, the blood drinkers, and believe we are demons. Others that we are risen from the dead.”
“How did you come to be made?”
He opened his arms, presenting himself. “I am like you. We are born vampir, from our vampir fathers, though we must die in our lives to become all that we might be. We have greater power and the ability to make strigoi with our own blood. But we, you and I, are lesser than our fathers. We cannot mate with woman. As you will know.”
I rubbed my face and sat back. I did not know where to begin. “Who is your father?”
“A son of a creature that we call the Ancient One. The First Vampir. He has many names. My father was born of him and later my father made me. My father taught me many things. But he is long dead.”
“So we are… cousins, you and I. We share a grandfather. The Ancient One.” I hesitated. “Did you meet him, Theodore?”
“Alas, no. He has not been heard of in a thousand years. Lost and likely dead, though some say he will one day return and rule over all vampir, strigoi, and human alike. If he does, I shall not be here to see it.”
I almost told him that Priskos yet lived but I held my tongue. It seemed to be an even greater secret than I had imagined.
“So you made your brothers? The monks? I thought the abbot led them?”
“Ioánnis is young. Not yet four hund
red years. He has heart enough to go on. I have remained to guide my brothers, my sons, for many years beyond my desire to do so. But they have to go into the wilderness once more and to wander until they find a new home. I am old and broken and do not wish to travel. Only to die.”
“I do not understand. How it that you are an immortal and yet you have aged?”
He sighed. “Aged, yes. But slowly. Some vampir live for a thousand years and seem to hardly age a decade, as did my father. But for centuries now I have drunk only the blood of lowly servants, many of them old men. In my youth, I was a warrior and I drank the blood of the warriors that I defeated. If I had continued to drink the blood of the strong, I would have my sight and a straight back and the strength of my legs. Alas, I chose the path of peace.”
“You ceased to be a soldier in order to become a monk? Why? To hide from those who would harm you?”
“If I had continued to live as a warrior, I would have died many centuries ago. Even a warrior as strong as we cannot cheat fate forever. All those I made died. I came to a monastery in Constantinople and discovered the rules of Saint Basil. I was entranced. For a time, I was consumed by it. I raised my head and argued with matters of Church and the empire. I argued with emperors and wrote and wrote and wished to reform this rule or that. So many words. You will find my writings here and elsewhere.” He smiled, his wrinkled face creasing deeply as he turned his blind eyes to the scrolls lining the walls. “It seems so foolish now. Self-indulgent and naïve. And I angered one emperor too many and then I had to leave Constantinople and I took some of my brothers with me. We have lived in many monasteries in the centuries since. And we were here so briefly but this was a good place. A good place for our troubled souls to search for peace. And it is a good place to die.”
“You are the one who created all the strigoi in these lands? And they were all were monks?”
“No, they do not all come from me. Once, I had brothers. My father had brothers and so we had cousins. We vampir of Rome made many strigoi and with them we fought to keep the barbarians from Rome’s door. My father and his brothers were soldiers and strategoi for many emperors but we could do only so much as the empire slowly declined. It took us centuries to realise that it is not military power but moral supremacy that keeps a people strong. We did not do enough to stem the moral decline of our people and when we realised, it was too late. My father, his brothers, my brothers and cousins, they all died fighting the enemies of Rome. I believed the vampir were all dead, other than me, for it seemed I found only strigoi in my travels. Some I gave sanctuary. Others, wild and mad, had to be killed. But then you came to me and I knew.”