Count Rothchild
~ Dracula has a Brother ~
By
Michael W. Huard
© Michael W. Huard 2019
First Edition
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organisations, events or locales, or any other entity, is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Denise Worisch
Cover and interior images by www.gograph.com
Edited by Redwing Productions
Authors Note
There are many stories connected to this novel. For instance, Vampir of Shadows, Belle of the Ball and Diva of the Mist all feature Claudiva, one of the main characters in this book. Drakko Del Rothchild, our star, is also out and about in various other tales. You can read them separately or in the Gothic Fairy Tales Treasury, which contains eight such fantasy tellings.
I hope you enjoy Count Rothchild; for those that are gamers, he is a very special individual in our d&d world. Let us carry on now!
Dedication
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley was an English novelist who wrote the Gothic novel Frankenstein, which was published January 1, 1818.
I have to say she must have been quite the woman to have such poetic madness in her head. I respect that and would like to dedicate this book to her.
Here’s a quote of hers that is fitting for our own Count Rothchild:
“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”
Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
Prologue
Something had made its way into the realm, his realm. It didn’t take much for such a dreaded creature to find his castle. The entity was made of all black, having a cloak-like covering, one that was tattered and worn. If you were able to see under such, its body was bony and hollow, his face but a small ugly skull with black eyes.
It was a wraith, yet a king of his kind; one that many in the world referred to as death himself. The thing was not of the living; not even close.
He had come to deliver such notoriety, he was worthy of owning this world and he was now inside the Gothic keep where he would prove to all that this realm should be his, and that the ancient one had finally lost his edge.
They said that the masters of the night need not sleep, yet this was untrue. He who ruled this world presently was at rest and would make an easy target to destroy.
Upon this lazy evening, the sun was gone and, within his study, his pipe still slightly warm on a table beside him, the lord of such a domain was indeed at rest. He sat dozing in a crimson and black, high-back, leather chair.
Hundreds upon hundreds of dusty old books lined the shelves to his left, while on the right cabinets of sweet red wine stood in tall bottles waiting unmoving to be consumed.
The wraith king floated slowly, entering the castle lord’s private room. He had the power to consume life and, as he made way before a pale-skinned, middle-aged man, his black maw began to open wide in preparation to draw the life force of the one sitting so quietly, unknowing of his fate to come.
On this plane of existence, if one was to defeat the master of such, one would then oneself become the new messiah. The wraith king knew his time had come.
The black-clad assassin floated to the chair ever closer; he threw open his arms and draped the man in the folds of his grasping attire. He cracked wide his gaping mouth even more, one coated with the longest of jagged brown teeth, dripping spittle all about. He began to breathe in, for such a sucking would draw the life from he who now faced his final purge; the king of death was now upon him.
It was then that his target opened his eyes, those a violent red hue. He had felt the coming of the monster all along, and his teeth grew long and sharp in seconds.
The wraith king backed away, hissing, knowing that his carefully laid plans had gone afoul. He would have to seep back into the shadows and seek out perhaps another domain to take as his.
Yet the man in the chair jumped up spread-eagled, leaping on the death weaver. He was much stronger than anticipated. The wraith’s bones hidden by the very cloth of his cloak cracked and broke fiercely.
The black phantom attempted to fight the man off, but it was to no avail. He was suddenly tossed about like a rag doll. He was bashed into the wall and then slammed into suddenly shattering wine bottles. Glass erupted all over the study, yet the battle was not finished.
The would-be world-taker flew headfirst into the bookshelf, hitting such over and over, and then the man drove the wraith’s head into a small opening, where a single book might fit into such a narrow ending space.
The monster’s clothing shriveled to the floor; his broken bones followed. There was nothing left to him now but a single tiny skull. The same skull soon acted as a bookend right where it had been stuffed.
The realm taker, the wraith-king assassin, had failed.
PART ONE
Chapter 1
From the Journal of Jonathan Hartsell
My life is good these days. The cattle ranch has been chosen as the Kingdom’s supply, and the business is most welcoming. Everything is moving in a proper direction.
Gaylen, my fiancé, is the spark that has put the final touch of life’s grandness into me. She’s a lively and talented young woman. I think I have her under control. The aspect of her family and their tradition as bards has been, shall I say, a handful indeed. She has stolen my heart, certainly. The girl is innocence personified. We shall wait to marriage before any lovemaking is established. I will be her one and only, her first consummation.
Now if I can aid her through her always self-driven, amazing work ethic. This woman has a song, poem, or tale to discover, tell, or perform constantly; she’s unending! We have, however, decided to soon start a family and in time I am certain matters will calm down. Once we establish a home and children, I suspect she will become more of a settled version of her rambunctious self. Our marriage is so close now!
Yet, earlier this evening, her adventurous soul told me of a voyage she wishes to partake in; one far to the west. Good Lord, this is something that eats at me; a sojourn she plans to undertake alone and with strange circumstances added in. I would prefer she does not go. My voice, I am sure, would only spur her to continue on, thus I hold back on this odd feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.
I will be blissful once we establish better grounds as to live our lives and begin a family. She is a wild spirit and, let me say for this journal record, I would not have it any other way. She has my heart, my mind, and my soul. I would do anything for her! I think I might be repeating myself now as I write.
The new contract with the King of Englewood will keep me busy days on out. Edmund, the Hammer of the Highlands, expects nothing but the best. I must get to work on contacts and all other necessities and leave my writing for those spare moments in between. I am certain the ranch is on the brink of great success.
My life is moving in a most goodly direction.
From the Diary of Gaylen Van Warden
I will begin this entry formal and profound. My name is Gaylen Van Warden. I am a scribe to the king in the Far East realm of Englewood. I have decided to start a new writing book today; my life now seems to be going full tilt in a most interes
ting direction. However, as many have stated, a boisterous ocean is never without a great wave. Thus I shall keep record of my thoughts here as I progress onward.
My most important research is now at hand.
There are legends and folklore that speak of one Vlad the Impaler; he who was once a Knight of the Dragon and yet became a greedy tyrant bent on rulership in the far Northwest. It was this man who was said to have a son who would become better known as the infamous Count Dracula, a dark soul who followed very much in his father’s footsteps, sinister and corrupt.
This is what brings me to a rather odd invitation; through my seeking’s I am learning about this legendary family more and more, for I am a bard, a writer, and a digger of tales, and lo and behold, out of nowhere, today, I have received such a notice from a member of these oddities; more on this document soon. And, yes, I am a bit taken aback by such a letter. The coincidence is, shall I say, creepy. I have delved deep into the history of these men, father and son, and now an unknown factor has surfaced; it appears that Vlad Tepes fathered a second son, he who has entered into my equation from the writing of his name on the parchment before me.
I have searched the libraries far and wide across this mighty realm and find it fascinating that little, if any, information is listed about such a second son. But, I am good at what I do, even at such a young age. After all, my family has been reporting through story and song for ages, and my father has taught me the tricks of the trade.
I have to write this down as I now have come across a piece of knowledge that is most peculiar indeed.
It takes a bit of skill to enter places for such literary articles; for me it is probably a combination of such talent and perhaps also the fact that I have fair hair and blue eyes. Court officers tend to take a liking to such appearances, and I employ them when need be. A bard is not only a visual performer; she, too, can use tricks of the mind and, if needed, provide a little lustful hope to those most vulnerable to such.
Of course my heart is with Jonathan, my fiancé, and it always will be. Yet, a girl has to do what she has to do to obtain the best story possible. Why is it that I want only the best? Also, allow me to add, a young woman in her early twenties poses little threat as well; at least that is what I have them thinking when about my research.
My latest venture was in High Keep to the north. There many documents were kept as to the history of the Tepes family, by a guild of magicians. A fellow named Cyrus Mastermind, a fairly well-known practitioner, built a library that stands above most in all the realms, and I was there most recently.
He called it a meeting guild for those skilled in the art. I call it a trove of useful writings. Let me pause on that aspect and return to my original thought, as I now have returned home from this so-named guild.
My findings were little, but I did uncover that this other son, as I had read, was also a Knight of the Dragon on the isle of Questor. I, however, picked up a few useful tidbits. He was in past history, that which no date was listed for, so-named Krons Tepes. As to this sliver of him per my High Keep trip, not much was said. He was honorable as written, a good man.
I find myself shaking my head at such few details. It seems a man whom takes a stance as compassionate, and shuns vileness, is a man to have little said about him. His father and brother full of notoriety, he himself lost in years gone by.
I must take sleep now. I will read the strange letter he himself has sent me next I write. I need to record it in my journal as written. I hope to sleep well tonight; the hour is late.
Gaylen Van Warden’s Diary
Entry #2
I have finally found time to write. Jonathan is away on business and I am up early and at it again in travel. I have arrived at my intended locale. Allow me to procure a glass of water; my throat feels a mite parched from the constant warm sun shining through my coach earlier.
I am back. I sit in the King’s massive library now, searching for more on this mysterious man. Maybe I am a bit obsessed with him; I feel such a story has much more to tell than meets the eye. In truth, I have been in this library before, but hope such a new name as Krons might trigger a fresh find in all these documents. I find little else, yet do discover that Krons took up the last name of Rothchild so as to leave his brother and father’s legacy far behind him. This is new and truly interesting. I am thankful for the prior northern guild trip now that I am progressing.
It was no wonder I could find but scarce details; he changed his name and simply disappeared. I have been looking in all the wrong entries. I am now wishing for more details, so that I may tell a story and perhaps dictate and even sing a curious song to place better memory into this man’s existence. This will be the easy route, but now this mysterious invite, this letter that has me thinking in a million directions.
It is sealed with a stamp showing a flowing letter R and, at the end, the words written in stylish cursive read ‘From the desk of Count Rothchild’.
I look about the big quiet library to see if anyone is watching me. Here in Englewood, the library is public, therefore one must be cautious at all times. One man three desks to my right suddenly looks at me with an odd stare. He then puts his head back in the book he is reading. I sense no trouble with him. I think my paranoia is settling in. This feels mysterious; I know I have used that word too many times as of late. I see another man staring at me. He is a dishonest type. Stop it, Gaylen; he is simply looking at a pretty blonde deeply into reading stuff. He is probably impressed.
Wait, now there is another walking over to me. He pauses, looking into my eyes. “Good day,” he says, tipping his hat. I watch as he goes behind a tall bookshelf and disappears.
People are watching me. I will not unfold the letter here.
Let me return home and write what it says in far more private accommodations.
Gaylen’s Journal continued
I am in my nightgown sipping tea. I am on edge and feeling goose pimples as I open this fascinating letter for the second time. There are no watching eyes now; I feel better in that regard.
How could he have known about my searching’s and so quickly; he had this parchment in my hands within a twenty-four hour span. It was impossible!
I am nervous suddenly, a little perturbed still. The details of his father I have blatantly left out of this journal. He was a murderer, and a cruel devil. I have you thinking, right? I swallow now with a gulp of apprehension.
The ink is red and the writing rather neat. Here we go!
Dearest Gaylen,
I feel that it is only worthy that I allow you, good sir, to hear the story of my life in person. I have sent you this invitation to travel beyond The Kingdom of Quester and deep into the sea where there is an island known as Teevas. I invite you to come to where I will have a carriage waiting for you, and thus bring you to my estate. Please wear light green for my driver to know you have arrived. It truly is time someone learns the authentic story of my family.
Yours, Count Rothchild
As I finish his note, the first factor I think of is that he regards me a man. I begin wondering whether I am not as well-known a young woman as I believe to be. I have performed as a man and as a woman on stage, yet when I reveal my longish blonde locks all find it hard to see me as a man. Yet he does not know.
How silly, I think, reaching for a comb now to remind myself of who I really am. I am being foolish! I am a scribe first, yet a bard also, and fully woman in all ways. I find myself thinking; maybe I will play a game with him. My hair is silky and long as I comb it some sitting here. Wait, I have my senses back. How in the world did he know I was researching him in the first instance, or better yet, find me to send such a letter? Again, I feel uneasy.
I take my thoughts elsewhere, to Jonathan, my beloved fiancé. He is a strong-willed man, be it enough to handle me, a good man, and one who is ready to settle down, make a family of us, and of course have children. His family’s cattle ranch is doing well out here on the highland plains, and we are destined to be t
ogether and my life is forming into a beautiful love story to be.
Perhaps I should throw this letter away.
I have a sigh now about children. I want some, yes; yet, I must tame my wild heart, and I know I will. I think this one last story will be it. Yes, I need to do this. Jonathan will be surprised if I go through with it, but I need this, I truly do. I now realize one final trip is in order; a trip of a lifetime.
Am I brave enough to go alone, me, the sparkling and talented 5’3, 110 lbs., full of life girl?
I take a long deep breath. I am going to do this.
Yes, I am!
Chapter 2
Gaylen packed well her luggage and took to the road by wagon three days later; eventually reaching the ocean. A ship steered its way to Questor upon the Sea of such a Kingdom. Once there, a second vessel headed out into open water. The islands scattered about the Kingdom were far and in between, yet her destination known by those on board. The weather to her appreciation was quite well for sea voyaging this particular time of year.
She was a Van Warden, proud and courageous. She stood on deck letting the wind blow back her hair and was ready for the adventure that awaited her. She had, of course, also looked into this Teevas Isle more before departing.
Rumor had it, a young man, Ivan Polanski, better referred to as The Burgomaster, had found such a locale and built a community out here on his own. It was also stated it was a region much in love with culture and the performing arts.
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