The Dracula Chronicles: For Whom The Bell Tolls

by Shane KP O'Neill

  They arrived at a crossroads and stopped. The road crossing their path from right to left came from the Dimbovita. This was the road to take them to Balteni and sure to be the route used by the Vlach.

  One of Dracul’s scouts caught their attention when he appeared racing down the road from the east.

  “I wonder what news he brings,” Rodrigul said.

  “We shall soon see.”

  The scout found Dracul at once, eager to deliver his report.

  “You have seen Mihail’s army?”

  “Yes, my Lord. It is about ten miles from here.”

  “In which direction?”

  “It is directly south of Balteni.”

  Dracul felt a rush inside. They were getting closer to each other. “Good work,” he praised him.

  They marched at an easy pace for another two hours. Dracul wanted to keep his men warmed up, without tiring them. It was little more than an hour until dawn when they stopped again near to where they had agreed to meet with the Vlach.

  Rodrigul looked down the slope towards Balteni. It was a village about five miles to the north of Bucharest. They still saw no sign of the enemy though updates from the scouts advised them they were close. But with the tree cover at the roadside, he knew they would see Mihail long before he saw them.

  “I think we should wait here, my Lord,” he said. “If Mihail is to the south of Balteni then he should be down there behind the village. The slope is the easiest route up to this road, so I anticipate he shall come this way. And being that we have an inferior number, I feel the slope might assist us.”

  “Yes, you are right. Tell the men to prepare. We shall let Mihail come to us.”

  Rodrigul prepared the men for a surprise attack. “Remember Tirgoviste,” he said to them to gee them up. “Remember what they did to our capital when we smear the field with their blood.”

  Mihail’s scouts had worked equally as hard and as well. Late in the afternoon, one of them came upon Dracul’s camp, undetected. Dracul’s lookouts were not the best and had their minds on other things. He scrutinised the camp with care, making note of the numbers. When Vlad departed, he followed at a safe distance.

  Vlad had continued to march east and in the scout’s mind, out of harm’s way. He headed back to Mihail to inform him of the news.

  Mihail decided to strike against the camp. His scout advised him that Dracul’s men had enjoyed a heavy feast. It would be the perfect time to attack, especially as they did not appear to be expecting one. As soon as darkness fell upon the region, he marched his army north and stopped by Balteni. He intended then to march again before dawn, aided by the full moon, and arrive at Dracul’s camp soon after first light. Dracul would not expect an attack that early in the day. With his superior numbers, he was sure victory should be swift and easy. The reign of Dracul would come to an end once and for all.

  He had endured little or no sleep at all the previous night. The message of the Vlach war drums rang loud and clear in his ears. It was the only reason he had rested his army one more night. They had to be fresh for this battle. But his scouts had seen no sign of the Vlach, and a dozen had combed the countryside long and hard. Now Dracul’s Turkish allies had marched away. With them heading east, he hoped they were returning home.

  Now was the best time to attack. He intended to make full use of his advantage.

  Soon Dracul caught sight of Mihail’s army coming over the crest opposite. His heart raced while he watched it descend into the valley below. The timing of his attack was going to prove of vital importance.

  His men were eager to charge. They did not care that they faced far superior numbers. Whispers passed along the line telling them to hold and remain quiet.

  The enemy began the ascent up the slope towards them. Rodrigul felt the tension now, too, more than ever. There was no rush to equal a fight to the death. That was what this was going to be.

  The two hundred infantry huddled in a tight line three rows deep.

  “It is kill or be killed,” he said to them. There was no other tactic. One army faced elimination. That was all there was to it. “Remember Tirgoviste when you strike your first blow. And for every one after it.”

  Mihail’s army was half way up the slope. Now was the moment.

  “Forward,” Dracul gave the order, barely above a whisper. “Leave no one alive.”

  His men walked with great stealth through the trees. Then they crouched down and began to descend the slope to meet the oncoming army. The bushes littered about them, allowed their progress to go undetected. Dracul and his cavalry waited near the trees. The moment he heard his men charge, he would follow.

  Soon, only forty yards separated the two armies. Rodrigul sounded the battle cry his men had been waiting for. “Charge! For Tirgoviste!”

  “For Tirgoviste!” two hundred voices cried out.

  They broke from their cover and sprinted down the slope, taking their enemy by surprise. Many of them stood frozen to the spot. They watched in disbelief as the two hundred men charged at them. Some were so scared, they instantly turned and ran.

  Dracul watched his men crash into Mihail’s army, a force comprised mostly of new recruits. The fact the majority of them hailed from Transylvania gave the fight an added edge. They had always thought themselves superior and his brave Wallachian soldiers would want to prove otherwise.

  He heard an almighty crunch when the two sides came together. Cries filled the night air as cold steel pierced armour and then flesh.

  His cavalry, in two units, moved to support his men on either flank. They ploughed into the enemy, the sound of horses crying out as they entered the fray.

  Mihail tried to quickly assess the situation. He had a clear view of the battle in the moonlight. His positioning was poor and he found himself stranded on the right flank of his army. He could not guide his mount into the areas that mattered.

  He turned and rode along the back of his ranks. Where some of his men were fleeing the battle, he harried them and rallied them together to fight.

  “Where is the courage in you!” he screamed. “If you run, you condemn your comrades to die. Get and fight like men! If I wanted boys in my army I would have recruited boys!”

  His words were enough to bring them to order. They shouted a war cry and ran into the fray in support of their comrades. Mihail rode on until he found an opening big enough to ease into. The men there moved when they sensed his mount in their midst. His cavalry followed close behind and poured into the gap he created.

  Their presence spurred his men on. Despite their initial losses, they slowly began to stem the tide that had threatened to engulf them. They knew there was nowhere to turn and began to fight like men staring death in the face. They held the charge in check amid a fierce exchange. And slowly, but surely, they began to drive their enemy back up the slope.

  Dracul’s cavalry fought with great courage and equal gusto. In quick time, they depleted the numbers of enemy horsemen on the slope. It left Mihail with only the cluster of cavalry that surrounded him.

  In the heat of battle, Dracul’s mount took a fatal blow and crashed down to the ground. Dracul jumped clear of the beast as it fell and was on his feet again in moments. The horse lay with legs trembling as blood gushed from a deep wound in its chest.

  The enemy soldiers bayed for his blood. Three of them came at him. But with the Fier Negru in hand, he fought like a savage to remain alive.

  Rodrigul saw his voivode fall from his horse. They had separated without realising in the thick of the fighting. He fought as best he could, still in the saddle, to get close to him again. His efforts saw him and some of his men clear a path towards Dracul.

  They surrounded their leader to give him a chance to catch his breath.

  “Are you well, my Lord?” Rodrigul called over the din.

  “Yes, Alin. I am not yet dead.”

  He looked exhausted. At fifty-two years of age, he did not possess the same energy levels, as in days gone by, to fight
with such fervour.

  The Vlach crossed the Dimbovita on the bridge near Bucharest. They followed the road that bypassed the city to the north in the direction of Balteni. Long before they arrived at the scene of the battle, they could hear it. It spurred them to ride faster and they soon arrived at the roadside where Dracul and his men had waited before launching the attack.

  Litovoi looked down on the battle with his lieutenant, Marc Samiu, at his side. He was not impressed. “There is no discipline,” he said, noticing the raggedness of Dracul’s men. “No strategy that I can see.”

  “They are outnumbered and fighting for their lives, my Lord.”

  “Yes indeed.”

  “It is sheer bloodlust.”

  “Yes,” the great warrior nodded. “It is admirable, but such a waste. My friend has precious few men to lose. Yet he is throwing them away.”

  “Shall we go and join him?”

  “Yes, let us save our friend from himself. Bows!” he shouted out to his men.

  His three hundred men drew their bows from their backs. When they looked ready he gave the order. “Forward!”

  The Vlach charged through the trees and down the hill. The roar of three hundred sets of hooves echoed around the valley like thunder. Mihail’s less experienced men looked up to see what the sound was. Fear raced through their hearts when they saw the Vlach charging their way.

  Many of them received a sword through the gut. The Wallachian veterans knew better than to look away in the heat of battle and seized on the opportunity presented to them.

  Dracul and Rodrigul both sighed with relief. They thought it the most wonderful sound they had ever heard. The symphony of three hundred charging horses was music to their ears. Until that moment, the battle was slipping away.

  “Fire!” Litovoi screamed, releasing the arrow from his bow.

  Even riding at such speed, his men had the ability to fire an arrow with accuracy. A hail of wood and metal flew over the front lines engaged in battle. Screams rang out all over the slope as the missiles found many of their intended targets at the back of the melee. A second wave followed it. Then they strapped their bows over their shoulders once more.

  The second volley they aimed at Mihail’s cavalry. It tried desperately to regroup and meet the new threat coming towards them. The arrows ripped through their ranks, bringing down many a horse and rider.

  “Swords!” the Vlach leader cried out.

  Litovoi drew his own and waving it over his head, he charged into the remnants of the enemy cavalry. The Red Hand warriors followed him in and wreaked death and destruction on all in their wake.

  At that point in the battle, Mihail’s army had halted the onslaught from Dracul’s force and turned it so that it had the advantage of the slope. Now with the arrival of the Vlach, his men found themselves pinned between the two separate forces. The Vlach hit them hard at their rear. Mihail’s officers tried, but in vain, to turn their rear ranks around to face Litovoi and his men.

  They lost any hope of escape. The remainder of Mihail’s cavalry was shattered. The Vlach crushed both man and horse into the earth. Their blood soaked the ground and Death expelled the odour of a flurry of new victims into the air.

  Rodrigul now felt it safe to leave Dracul’s side, and attacked the enemy infantry with renewed vigour. Dracul ran back into the fray himself, his aching limbs finding a new burst of energy.

  Trumpets sounded on the distant horizon. The thunder of hooves against the ground rose up over the din once more. Mihail retreated with the half dozen riders he had left to see what force now approached.

  In moments, a huge black line appeared over the crest to the south, silhouettes against the brightening horizon. Mihail saw more than four hundred horsemen. His brother had arrived at last. Dracul turned his head and saw them too. It meant his son had failed in his primary objective.

  The Vlach were tempted to charge at them. But to a man, they knew to ride up the opposite hill would give the advantage to the enemy. They turned, and rode back up the slope on their side of the valley. It would give them the leverage they needed to mount a fresh assault.

  The battlefield had grown sparse in places. Mihail searched through those still standing for a glimpse of Dracul. He spotted his great opponent fighting bravely against his men. One by one, they fell dead under the might of the famed Fier Negru.

  He gritted his teeth and prodded his mount forward. “It is time to fight against me, Dracul. Let us see how long it is before the Fier Negru tastes defeat.”

  Only thirty of Dracul’s original number remained standing. The rest lay dead, or dying, on the frozen ground. Half of that thirty were cavalry. His very own three hundred was almost gone. The battle had been a bloody one.

  Mihail saw the Vlach horsemen withdrawing back up the slope, which allowed him plenty of gaps to ride into. He picked up a lone spear that stood in the ground. With it tight in his grasp, he rode hard in a straight line for Dracul.

  Dracul had just cut his twentieth victim in half when he caught sight of him. He braced himself as Mihail raised the spear to throw it.

  Mihail launched the spear his way, which the wily voivode only just managed to elude. He stooped down and hacked off the lower front leg of Mihail’s mount as it passed him.

  The horse came crashing down. Fortunate not to be crushed, Mihail hit the ground also, only inches away. He groaned at the pain in his back and battled to clear his head. The cries of his dying horse echoed in his ears.

  Dracul charged at him with the Fier Negru held high above his head. A horseman ran across his path to block Mihail’s certain death. It allowed his enemy the time he needed to get to his feet. A Vlach arrow crashed through the chest of the rider. Dracul negotiated a path around the dead man as he fell from his mount and sought Mihail once more.

  The arrows rained down on the advancing cavalry. When the long line of riders slowed and raised their shields to meet the hail of missiles, the Vlach charged at them. Dracul and Mihail found themselves left alone as they squared up to each other for the very first time.

  Dracul swung the Fier Negru. Mihail blocked the blow with his own sword in a deafening crunching of steel. The clash of blades knocked him back and the strength of the much older man surprised him. Still, he managed to keep his footing on the frosty ground.

  He countered quickly and struck back. For five whole minutes, the two men traded blows. After blocking the last strike from his enemy, Mihail could see him gasp for breath. Now that Dracul was beginning to tire, he launched a more fervent attack against him.

  The two men came together as their swords crossed once more. They stood face to face and, for a moment, glared into each other’s eyes. Each man could smell the sweat on the other.

  “This night is the last your blood shall rule,” Mihail vowed, as he turned his back into Dracul. “The bell tolls loud for you.”

  He drew a knife with his right hand and drove it hard into Dracul’s right thigh. Dracul screamed in pain and before he could move away, Mihail dragged the knife further up his leg. He tore a wound more than eight inches long.

  Mihail stepped forward, allowing him to drop to his knees. Dracul cried out as his injured limb crashed against the hard ground. He pushed himself up on his good leg just as Mihail brought his sword down on his head.

  Dracul tried to duck, but failed. The steel crashed into the side of his skull just above the ear. He staggered sideways and dropped the Fier Negru to the ground. A wound opened along the side of his head, spewing blood. The strength was all but gone from him.

  Suddenly the din of the battle was no more. No longer did he hear the cries of man and beast. A brilliant white light stung his eyes. All around him he could see nothing but white.

  “Maia!” he cried out, as he staggered forward.

  Mihail watched him drop to his knees, his arms outstretched. He watched him at close quarters, his sword poised to finish the job.

  “Maia!” Dracul called out again, tears filling his eyes.
>
  Then he saw her.

  Dracul reached out with both arms as she emerged from the light. He returned her smile and took both her hands in his. His soul stepped forward from his body and walked with her from the field.

  Mihail lurched forward to deliver a final and decisive blow. There was no need. The lifeless body of his foe slumped to the ground. The great Dracul was dead.

  Shane KP O’Neill is the writer of The Dracula Chronicles, a new and exciting series adding a new dimension to the Dracula myth. He has begun the series with a later Chronicle to give his readers the vampire first. The series then continues on with Chronicle #1, For Whom The Bell Tolls, to take you back to the beginning.

  The author developed a fascination with Dracula from an early age. Like many others he was enthralled by Christopher Lee’s portrayal of him on the big screen. It was in his late teens that he discovered Dracula the man and the love affair began from there. An avid lover of history, he studied the period in which the real historical Vlad Dracula lived, 15th Century Balkan, for many years. It followed from there then that with his love of writing he would always choose Dracula as his subject. He built a concept and premise where he could accommodate both Dracula the vampire and Dracula the man.

  Away from writing, the author has a wide range of interests. He reads a lot of books from a wide variety of authors though his main interest lies in the horror genre. His love of books is matched only by his love of the countryside and of course, his family. As an added note, he has lived and travelled all over the world. He has a love for all things historical, with a particular fascination for medieval Europe. Anywhere he travels, he likes to search out locations with an historical interest and will always hunt for the ruins of an old castle before heading to the beach.

  www.draculachronicles.co.uk

  www.draculachronicles.co.uk/blog

  www.facebook.com/ShaneONeillsDraculaChronicles

  www.twitter.com/ShaneKPONeill

  www.goodreads.com/user/show/12341417-shane-o-neill