Count Rothchild

by Michael W. Huard

  The three took to faster traveling soon after.

  They were getting close. It was explained earlier that through this magical fog a secret land existed. The cemetery was within a day or less now.

  They rested periodically, slept another night under the stars and were off again.

  Tatijana, as she rode, started a conversation with Gaylen. “You were very brave to travel by yourself and come to him, if not a bit crazy.”

  Gaylen replied, “Ambitious is a better term for me in my youth.”

  Manfred now addressed the entire Crim organization.

  They had gathered neutrally at an old ruined church located in the heartlands to the west of the Black woods. Below it was the catacombs of such in which they all stood.

  He was an assuming middle-aged individual. He possessed a wide jawline, giant ears, the largest of hands, and the wickedest of teeth; his chest was strong, he was tall, bulging with muscles, those thick in his thighs and neck as well. It was obvious he fed well and quite often.

  Their gifted leader was one of the most blessed of all the kin present, and a new world was now before his sharp-tipped, overly sized finger tips. He pushed back his light brown hair from his eyes and gave all an expansive smile.

  “It is wise that you have come. It has been too long that we have hid in the shadows. The time has come that we unite as one.”

  He then held up a large black leather book, etched in gold upon its wide cover. His voice was raspy.

  “The Tome of Blood,” he announced, showcasing it before the hundreds of vampires present.

  He then pulled from his belt a dagger; its blade was made of chiseled black quartz, and wavy in shape, yet sharp at its end. The hilt was red copper, and a skull adorned such, yet not an average skull. The creature had pointed ears and horrid teeth.

  Placing the ancient tome upon a raised stone pedestal, he again brushed his long highlighted in crimson brown hair from his face.

  “With these tools now in our possession, together, my brethren, we shall bring back the first Nosferatu to ever be; he or she shall then take us into the new world.”

  Those about talked to one another; a commotion of what was coming made all excited, for the day of the Vampir was coming!

  “That is right,” Manfred said, “and with such a summoning, the world will never be the same. We will take control of everything, and the people of this realm shall be forever our slaves.” He paused to let his words sink in more. He then added, “Is it not about time? Humans are short-lived freaks; we are the Gods of this land!”

  The onlookers roared at these new words.

  Manfred then licked the black dagger’s blade and smiled once again. “All it will take is the blood of the highest level of our kin; the three most ancient. I, Manfred, descendant of Ismael, shall be the first to draw my own blood upon the dagger.” He pointed to his right. “And the elder Victor will do so as well.”

  Victor was a tall pale-skinned man, he with a scar rounded on his left eyebrow all the way down to his lips. It was his trademark, and a marking which strangely never healed.

  Everyone voiced their opinion and was ready to proceed.

  The square-jawed master of this ceremony then silenced the crowd. He was not too happy suddenly. It showed in his face as he hushed the noise about.

  “Yet there is one who still defies us. He is Drakko, and we need his blood; we need him to finish the summoning, and with such, ‘the foe of all mankind’ will soon join with us.”

  He raised the dagger up, pointing about the dirt chamber. He turned it to all looking at him. “Before we perform the final ritual; I send you out; bring Drakko here so that we may begin.”

  Every member of the undead organization gathered about, licking their lips. To hunt an ancient was always forbidden, but now open season had begun.

  Close by, among all here, Claudiva felt a lump in her throat. Then she began to relish the thought of mankind acting as slaves for her kin. Manfred, the Crim’s leader, was correct; it was time. Yet her creator Drakko was in danger.

  She felt he would remain defiant to the end; her one-time lover would never agree to give his blood of his own accord. She shook her head, thinking this was a mess.

  He would fight, he would avoid this circumstance as much as possible, and the odds were he would be put to a mortal death. This bothered her. She remained motionless down here in the shadows debating her next move.

  Why would he simply not give his blood willingly and let the summoning begin. He would still be among the kings of vampires in the entire world. Maybe then he would see her again; maybe they could be the king and queen of all. Yes, she thought, this could actually work in her favor.

  Manfred noticed her lost in thought; none hid easily from him, the most ancient of bloodsuckers. After all present roared their final approval and set out to the task at hand, he approached the redhead for a private conversation.

  She wanted to avoid him, yet she could not. He was before her in an instant.

  “You do not feel that he will be with us, do you, Claudiva?”

  She could not lie, Manfred would know.

  “I don’t know; he is stubborn, I’ll say that much.”

  The Crim leader spit on the dirt floor. “We will take him down at all cost, you do realize this, and his blood will be ours soon.”

  She nodded that she agreed. “It won’t be easy; he is one tough son of a bitch and as smart as they come.”

  Manfred was the one nodding now. “Oh, he certainly is, yet we all have our weaknesses, and I intend to set events in motion so that we may capitalize on his.” He then left her without saying another word.

  Claudiva was not too sure what he meant. What was Rothchild’s weakness?

  She turned and went over to her own minions, the ones known as Sebastian and Mavark. Each had been with her many years.

  They looked to their creator.

  Mavark then asked with a tad of an attitude, “What shall we do, Master?”

  The giant Sebastian added his thoughts, too, before his creator answered Mavark. “Will we go after him again, trying to convince him for the multitude of times to join us? What will be different this time?”

  The diva contemplated her answer; both her sidekicks were sarcastic in their tones and it made her more frustrated.

  She then boldly announced, “He has no choice but to join this time; or death will come to him. If he says no once again; we will have to take his blood from him ourselves. We need to move quickly before the others are able to locate him.”

  Both minions had no problem with the idea of sucking from Rothchild. They loved Claudiva, and he was all that stood in each of their ways, blocking situations that might allow her to love them as much as she cared for him.

  Chapter 18

  Count Rothchild found himself in his ballroom sipping a glass of dark red wine remembering the dance he shared with Gaylen many years ago. He needed time to plan.

  From the shadows in the corner of the hall his brother Dracula had appeared. He almost fell back from his high chair, shocked.

  “This cannot be,” he said in utter surprise. “You have been gone for centuries; who is this that plays foolery on my mind?”

  He closed his eyes several times, waiting for the apparition to disappear. Dracula was still there, tall and wearing a long black cape with red trim. He had the palest of faces, black cropped hair, and stone cold gray eyes.

  “You see, brother, not everything is as it appears. I have come to tell you that the curse you carry will never be broken, and I know deep within you that you think that love will come your way even still.”

  Drakko swallowed at his words.

  His brother went on. “What has happened every time love has entered your life, brother?” He waited for an answer, but none came. “That is correct; you have no answer because you know it is the demise of the woman that comes into your arms each and every time. Whatever you are planning, and I know it is about her in your arms again one
day, forget the notion.”

  Drakko tried to say something. “I want … I don’t know.”

  “That’s right, you do not know, for even your half-breed of a daughter you claim has no love for you. It is the curse of our family; you know as well as I do, everyone we touch ends up ruined.”

  Rothchild shook his head and stood up in a defiant pose, kicking a small table over and pointing at his suddenly alive brother.

  “I will not accept such a life; it is a curse that you made, not me, that you created for your own sins and gluttony, and I say if I am ever to love again and death comes for her, this time I will break the curse. I will face death straight on and defeat such a devil.”

  Dracula smiled at his brother’s defiance. “Oh, really, Krons, I didn’t know that death could be defeated.”

  The two men moved closer to one another now.

  Rothchild was enraged. “It is you, Dracula, responsible for all.” He then made a solid fist, holding such up. “You are the cause of the curse of our family.”

  His brother rolled his neck some. “Listen to me, brother; you have the chance now to do more and be more than dad or myself have ever been. Do what is right, uplift our kin to Gods, join the Crim and enslave mankind. The foe of all awaits you; do not turn a cheek for the sake of love that you can never have. And one last matter, dear brother; go out and enjoy the splendor of more women, will you? I have had thousands and you so many less. Live a little!”

  Rothchild disagreed with everything he was saying; he hated Dracula, and went to punch his brother in the nose. He called out, “You piece of shit!” as he cocked his fist in motion.

  But his brother simply vanished before there was any impact. Dracula was merely a vision, a tormentor sent to agitate him.

  The count stirred from his chair now, awakening from his godforsaken dream. He then kicked a small table over before him.

  He needed to do something and the time had come.

  The lord of the castle made his way to the high halls of his estate and soon enough he approached the long light-haired minion who had tried to seduce and had bitten his esteemed guest.

  The man had now fully healed and reformed and knew his master was not pleased.

  “I am sorry, Master. I did not know you had a flavor for her.”

  Rothchild gave him a not so pleasant look. “Do not lie to me; you could smell her virgin essence, and you defied me.”

  “No, master, I did not know,” he tried repeating again, but it was too late; Rothchild had already grabbed him by the arms, lifting him high in the air.

  “You touched her, you took some of her blood,” he hissed out at his slave creation. “I cannot live with that.” The count’s face changed to older and meaner, his fangs eased out and his eyes flared bright red.

  He pulled his minion closer and ripped into his neck. He drove his maw so deep in and twisted such about shredding and severing the man’s entire head before he was finished.

  Yet before he could turn fully vaporous, and float away to his pine box coffin, Rothchild reached into his chest with his long thick fingernails and ripped the minion’s still beating heart from his body; he was dead upon impact; no stake needed.

  Gaylen led her companions by the caretaker’s cabin and down a small hill near the old church. It was there the graveyard stood. “We have arrived,” she announced.

  They waited by such until night came in.

  Tatijana’s excellent long-range vision noticed something watching them from the woods. She stared over at the thing that was up in a tree.

  At first Tatijana thought perhaps it was a troll, yet it appeared to have some type of fur on its body. Maybe it was an animal.

  She told the others, and explained that she would circle around to get to its rear, asking Paublo to keep watch as she moved out. “Really keep watch this time,” she added.

  He smiled; giving her an I will not blow it this time look. He then drew his weapon, as did his mother, now pulling out her sharpened staff.

  “You fine, mom?”

  Gaylen nodded that she was and the two of them watched the huntress disappear into the forest.

  Tatijana moved through the now darkening of the night quite well. She made it close to the back of the tree this animal-like entity was perched on; it was then she saw that it had legs, human legs. The thing looked like a giant owl.

  Suddenly from above a pumpkin or melon dropped down and lit up the area with yellowish, magical light. It was carved out in the front with eyes and a mouth as to illuminate out.

  The owl person then spoke. Her voice sounded like that of young girl’s. “Mistress of the evening, it is nice to meet you. I offer you no fear. I was but observing you.”

  The leather-clad huntress looked up, scanning all about. “The thing is,” she replied, “I don’t like people watching me.”

  The owl girl laughed. “Point well taken, madam, but let me say I am not one to cause trouble. I am here perhaps to offer you a helping hand.”

  “And what may that be?” asked Tatijana, her hand on her great scimitar.

  The girl was strangely dressed in fur-like clothing with attached owl wings and a head piece that of which looked like ears.

  “Do you find me odd?” the girl asked.

  “I have seen many strange things in my time; you’re not one that frightens me.”

  The owl girl then shared a thought. “The mist that you wait for will not be in this evening; yet it will arrive tomorrow night for you. Now you must beware of the full moon and those that come to life at such.”

  Tatijana found herself touching her arrowhead necklace. Not only did it detect vampires, it was a beacon to others who could shape change as well.

  “It would be best to make your way to the shelter near the cliffs. The chances are, if you are inside, no such an encounter will occur and your friends will remain alive.” added the owl girl up in the trees. “I wish you well,” she said as she now began climbing to a different tree and then to another.

  Tatijana headed back once the girl was gone and took such advice, leading the others up and to the caretaker’s cabin.

  “What was it?” asked Paublo.

  Tatijana answered, “Nothing but a big bird.” Gaylen and Paublo were wondering why they so quickly were going and she simply told them, “It’s better this way, trust me.”

  They waited two more nights using the cabin, which was vacant and sustainable as shelter. On the third evening, the mist came. Gaylen led them near such and the three of them were about to be lost somewhere in the shadow world.

  She would hopefully recall the way to his castle. A decent journey was ahead of them.

  They slowly rode their horses through the magical blue mist; they reappeared on an open plain of tall grass and all about were mounds of dirt. Gaylen suggested they ride fast by such, but already skeletal bodies of soldiers erupted from the dirt as she called out such a plan.

  Her warning was enough to get the horses moving faster. Tatijana took the lead with her great scimitar out. The soldiers made of bone rose up, and she blasted by them, swiping and swinging and chopping them apart as they rode on. Head after head was lopped off as the vampire slayer led the way by.

  Paublo and his mother kicked some off, those reaching to pull at anything to get the horse down or rider to the dirt. They got through without injury, thus coming up to a far-off dirt road shaded by high pine trees.

  To the right was a side road, which led them into a dark forest five minutes later. Soon after they came to a fork and to the left was an apple orchard. Quite a while later they came to what appeared to be tombstones emerged in water. A stone bridge passed over this watery cemetery and slowly they made way across, watching for movement in the water. No one saw anything.

  A caravan of various colored wagons lumbered around the road as all cleared the bridge. Gaylen then told of the gypsies that often roamed this region; those seen ahead now being such. It did not stop their going onward and soon a moss-covered stone
angel of death statue, which would signal that they were on the right track, was spotted on a hill crest.

  Gaylen made note that the castle would be in reach come nightfall. She was nervous to see the man of such; it been a long time and she could barely trust him then. In truth, all she really wanted was to recover her ring; her missing finger was a constant reminder of that which happened before.

  He would not let just anyone reach his domain. His guardians were not out here and she could only assume he knew she was coming or at a least someone was on their way he was little concerned with. She then saw shadows of large wolves lurking to the far left, yet none advanced towards her.

  She also knew, on seeing him again, he would regard her differently now that she was older. Then again, she also felt his charming ways might work to convince her to change her mind in whatever she was feeling. It was terribly confusing in thought, let alone possible reality soon.

  She didn’t love him, she kept telling herself that; she thought of Jonathan, but every time she did, an image of Rothchild came to the forefront of her mind. She could feel him waiting for her arrival.

  Her son, on the other hand, relished the thought of this adventure. She was concerned not only with her own safety, but his as well.

  “I’m so proud of you, Paublo,” she said to him when their horses came to a slow canter. She rode close by and made sure to tell him such. “You have found your calling, not the safest of professions, yet I see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice. I love you, my son.”

  Paublo thought it amazing he and his well-known bard of a mother were together on such a wild trip.

  “I love you too, mom, thanks for coming, I know this is not easy, but I’m glad you’re with me.”

  The countess Tatijana heard their discussion and pointed as to riding faster. Gaylen felt that this woman could well take care of herself, and this made her feel a better overall.