The Countess' Dream

Sighisohara, Walachia, 1442

Vladimira dashed around the corner, her new armor tinkling loudly. It was heavy and despite her strong muscles she was still an eleven-year-old girl and her brother had not much trouble keeping up. She dodged his hands and made a run for the door.

There were steps and the voice of her father, discussing some politic affairs. Vladimira stopped dead and retreated from the door. Mircea brushed his hands over her hair. "Don't be so stubborn, little sister. It's not for long."

She scowled, but allowed him to pick her up. Mircea groaned. "Are you that heavy or is it the armor? When you come back, I won't be able to do that anymore." He laughed.

"But you said it won't be for long."

"You're growing too fast, that's all. In the end you might be taller than me."

She looked at him with big eyes. "Really?"

Mircea laughed. "Maybe. We'll see." He saw her get sad again and brushed her dark hair away. It was always hanging in her face, he thought, like she didn't want anyone to see it. And that while being pretty as a picture. Vladimira pressed her face against his neck. "Do I really have to go?", she asked miserably.

"I promise it will not be for long. Father is doing everything to help you. Besides, if not you, who will look after Radu?"

"He can look after himself," she grumbled. Tears stung in her eyes. Father was sending them to the Ottoman Sultan as a dead pledge. To show he would not attack the Turks. He was not just breaking the Dragon's oath, he was sending away his children.

"Oh, Mira," her older brother sighed. Then he lowered his voice, even though they were alone. "Don't do anything endangering you or your brother. Just obey until we get you back. And never, never give up," he whispered. "Never, you understand?"

"Da," she answered, her throat tight.

She felt Mircea smile. "Good. Don't forget to pray, even among the heathens, da? I love you, little sister. When we meet again, we'll celebrate."

Castle Egrigötz, Ottoman Empire, 1448

"The Sultan has summoned you." Vladimira got up. She wished she could just refuse. This dirty heathen bastard. But she had no choice. They would drag her there anyway and she could do without another whipping. Six years she had been in the hands of the Turks now. At least she was not in a cell anymore, forced to do whatever the warden wanted. He would get the best stake of them all when his time came. And someday it would come. She prayed to God every night. Giving up was out of the question, of course. But she wished she could have concealed being a woman longer. Unwillingly, she entered the throne room, almost tripping over her long skirt. She hated this thing. Trousers were so much better.

The Sultan sat on his throne. Radu was at his side, the beautiful Radu, who listened to every word and obeyed the heathens. Who had become a heathen himself. The traitor.

Vladimira stopped in front of the throne and implied a bow. "Yes?"

A fist hit her neck. She gasped, pain shooting through her body, and fell to her knees. But she didn't scream. She would never scream because of them. They would never break her.

The Sultan watched her with a smile. She straightened up. "You wanted to see me, padischah?" After so long she spoke fluent Turkish.

The sultan nodded, satisfied by her abasement. "Indeed, my dear. It concerns your family." He grinned even more. Pain was the only thing he always saw fit for her, no matter what reason.

Radu looked pale. Vladimira felt her insides turning cold, but her face stayed unmoved. In the course of the last six years she had learned to conceal her feelings well. Showing emotions only led to more pain.

"Unfortunately we only got this news now. At the end of the last year in your calculation, your brother has been captured by the Hungarians. The report says he was blinded with hot iron rods." Mira said nothing. "Also, they hacked his limbs off in little pieces, just so he didn't die. I can imagine it to be horrible, the screams and the blood, right?" She didn't move. "And when they were finished, limbless, eyeless, then they sewed his mouth shut with a thick thread and buried him alive." He watched her, waiting for a movement, a sign of pain or sorrow. Vladimira didn't move. She thought at the last time they had seen each other, four years ago, when father sent him to the sultan for business and to check on her. He had repeated his words from two years before. Never give up. No matter what happens.

Disappointed, the sultan went on. "I would have spared you this horrible news as long as possible, but now that your father has been killed as well, you need to claim the throne for yourself. Hm? Ah, of course. Nobody knows what exactly happened to him. I was told he was captured in the swamps of your country. They tortured him to death, smashing his limbs before they left him to die and dumped him in the swamps."

Pain screamed inside of her. Vladimira felt dizzy. Never give up. No matter what happens.

The sultan frowned. "It is unheard of to give a position of power to a woman, but the population will be more satisfied with a known ruler."

Vladimira nodded, her face blank. The sultan was obviously not satisfied, but had no reason to let her stay longer. "You can go now." She got up, bowed deeply, maybe for the first time without internally throwing insults at him, and left.

The gurgling of the river was peaceful. It made her angry. She picked up a stone and threw it on the shining surface. It sank with a little blub. This didn't do. Why was this country so beautiful? It had no right to look like that. The sky should fall down and crush those sons and daughters of dogs. And not just these, the Hungarians, too. They didn't deserve a minute of life more. Not while her father was rotting in the swamps and her brother had died slowly and in agony. Radu had told her the Sultan had exaggerated. But Mircea had really been blinded and buried alive.

Vladimira had her legs drawn to her chest and her face burrowed in her arms. Her sleeves were soaked by now. And still sobs shook her slender body. "It's not right! Just not right! They will pay for this! Every last one of them!" Shakily she drew in air. "Oh Mircea... Father..." Angrily she wiped her face, which only made it worse. She burrowed in the thick fabric again. She felt like she was ripped apart inside, rage and sorrow fighting for the lead. Her mind was a chaos of memories, helplessness and swears of revenge. Vladimira wished she could scream her pain into the sky, but she could not afford anyone to hear her.

"Are you alright?" She froze. The boy spoke Turkish, so he probably hadn't understood a word of what she had said.

"Go away," she said without raising her head. Her voice was rough.

She heard him sitting down beside her. "Bad news?", he asked. She nodded.

In the end Vladimira couldn't tell how long they had sat there in silence, but eventually she said. "My family was killed."

"I'm sorry," he said, uncomfortable. "You're not from here, are you? Where do you come from?"

"Far away. I'll return there soon." More silence. "What's your name?"

"Ahmed. Yours?"

"Vladimira." Now she raised her head after all and wiped her face. The boy was Turkish and about her age, with a round face. He wore the dress of the common man around here. Why was he still here anyway? She could do without all those dogs trying to break her. Had the sultan sent him to control her?

Ahmed automatically put a little distance between them. "You- You're a girl?", he asked.

"Is that so shocking?", she snapped. Really, he looked as if she had just admitted to being an evil spirit wanting to take his soul. Maybe he was really just a passer-by.

The sun was already setting. If she missed her archery lessons, she would get whipped again or thrown into that cell. She stood up. "I have to go. Goodbye, Ahmed."

"G-Goodbye...", he stuttered. "Vladimira." It was funny, hearing her name pronounced like that. She couldn't remember the sultan or any of his men call her by name, even after six years. She could even manage a smile for him. Maybe not all Turks were evil bastards after all.

Two weeks later

"You will depart for Walachia soon, my dear." The Sultan smiled a disgusting smile, probably trying to be charming. Vladimira nodded. She would finally be at least a bit away from them. The only thing she regretted was leaving Ahmed behind. They had met at the river now and then, talking and becoming something similar to friends.

"What about Radu?" He was younger than her, but in fact he was the next male heir.

"Ah, no, Radu will stay here, I'm afraid." She nodded. Radu had been corrupted anyway. She didn't want him around her any more than necessary. Should he stay here and rot in this heathen hole.

The sultan laid a hand on her shoulder. Vladimira was disciplined enough not to tense. That might give him a reason for a punishment even now. "We still have a little time, so I want to give you something else on your way. Maybe you might want to use it to rule your country? If you plan to do so, you should know how impaling is done correctly, don't you think?"

She nodded. Why not? She would need to experiment, but she had already a few good ideas for those who had killed her brother and father. The sultan walked her out of the castle personally.

"We captured a traitor and thought he might be the perfect example."

They stepped out of the huge gate. The enforcers already had a stake at hand and the traitor held down. It was a boy of Vladimira's age, desperately pleading for his life and praying to Allah aloud. His panicked eyes met hers and Vladimira felt all color leave her face.

Ahmed.

Of course. She was not allowed to have any friends. Because that would ease her pain. The oiled stake was readied. Ahmed was stripped naked. His pleads turned into screams soon. The sultan's hand lay on Vladimira's shoulder. She didn't make an attempt at moving. Her body was frozen.

Distantly, she heard herself ask: "What did he do?"

"He betrayed us to the Hungarians. Explained our structures to them. Like this it should take him about two days to die. Do you think this is fitting?"

Vladimira slowly shook her head. The sultan played surprised. "Really? Well then I leave the choice to you. I think it is, but you will rule, so you will inflict the punishments. End his suffering here and now." Her hand felt the hilt of her sword. Ahmed screamed again. Blood was running down his legs and his body was twisted in agony. The noise rang in her ears, drowning out anything else. She drew her sword and slowly stepped forward.

Her friend was beyond help, she knew this. She was doing him a favor. One swing of her sword ended his pain. The head fell to the grass, the face still twisted, but a bit more peaceful now. At least she hoped so. Hot blood had splattered on her face. Vladimira sheathed her sword and turned away, walking briskly to the horse that would bring her home.

Castle Poienari, 1462

Vladimira didn't bother to even take off her armor. All she wanted was to see her family again. But when she entered the room with the fireplace, it was empty. Except for the usual resident, the whole castle seemed deserted. She looked around and heard a quiet giggle.

"Weird," she said aloud. "I wonder where everybody is? And that after I came home with presents."

There was a brief silence. Then small feet running over the stone. "Mother!" Vladimira knelt down and the children rushed into her arms. Minhea still tripped over his feet sometimes, being only three. Iulia, his nine year old sister, pulled him along. Their faces were bright with joy.

"Uh, Mama, that's scratchy!", Minhea said. She laughed and kissed them on their hair. Minhea's was wild and dark like hers. Iulia had the soft blond strands of her husband. In turn the girl looked just like her mother. But while Vladimira was slender, but strong, Iulia had an almost porcelain-like statuesque, like a doll about to break. She was always pale and a bit slower on reacting than others. But now this was almost gone. She was beaming.

"Did you kill a lot of enemies, Mama?", she asked excitedly. Minhea burrowed his face in the red cape. He was the wild one of them, always ready to cause mischief.

"Yes, I did. And I even got something for you." She grabbed the two items hidden under the cloak. "Right or left? And don't fight."

The children looked at each other, then Iulia pointed to her mother's left hand. Vladimira changed the items and held them out to them.

"Oh, great!", the girl exclaimed. It was a slender sword, more of a knife to an adult, but perfect for her. Minhea got an even smaller one. He needed to start his training soon. Minhea would be a great warrior once. As to her daughter... she didn't really want to risk it. But that didn't matter. She loved them anyway.

Iulia pointed her sword at her mother. "I challenge you!"

"Well, did you train hard? What does your father say?"

"She better shows you herself." Vladimira looked up and met her husband's green eyes. Once again she thought how handsome he was, tall and broad-shouldered, with the unusual blond hair and the scar on his cheek. She could fall in love every time she saw him anew. He smiled at her, leaned on his crutch. A battle wound that had left him crippled four years ago. He had been a good warrior. But now he was content with staying home and watching the children, while Vladimira was defending their country. She could never thank him enough for that.

Vladimira grabbed the wooden sword always stored here for these purposes. Iulia's blows were still a bit weak to injure anyone even without an armor, but her technique had gotten considerably better. Her mother blocked a few of the blows and let some through, while Iulia tried to use everything she knew, a look of intense concentration on her face.

"Minhea, help your sister, would you?", their father said. Minhea looked at him, unsure what to do, then rushed to his sister's aid, just to trip. Vladimira had to change her position so as not to injure him and lost her balance. She landed on her bottom, the armor rattling loudly. She dropped the sword. "I yield!", she exclaimed, laughing. "I yield. You win." Iulia beamed.

"Now, you two, you can still play a bit in the yard. I'll tell you about the battle this evening."

"Promise?", Iulia asked, her green eyes shining.

"Promise." They started running for the door.

"Now, how about me? Am I not interesting anymore now that your mother is home?", their father called them back. Iulia and Minhea giggled and returned to hug him. They seemed tiny in comparison. Vladimira looked at them and felt herself grow calmer. Warmth spread through her body as a tender smile appeared on her face. Her family, her love, everything she held dear.

Iulia and Minhea hugged their father and received a kiss on the head before running out, making as much noise as possible. Vladimira looked until they had disappeared around a corner. A still strong arm wrapped around her waist and almost picked her up. She leaned back her head and felt the comforting warmth of his embrace, smelled the pleasant scent of leather and wood. "Welcome home, my princess," her husband said softly.

Vladimira turned her head and kissed him deeply. "I don't know what I would do without you, dragostea."

He rested his chin on her shoulder. "You sound concerned."

"You know me too well, Alexandru. The Turks are not beaten yet. But maybe I'm just paranoid."

He caressed her cheek. "If you say there is something to come, then I trust your intuition. You should do that, too. Has it ever failed you?"

She sighed and turned around completely, putting her arms around his neck. "No. And that's the problem."

Three weeks later

"Princess!" Vladimira was awake in less than five seconds. Stanislav was out of breath and very pale. He was in his 50s, after all, not made for any kind of trouble anymore. "Radu is coming," he panted.

She was already out of bed and putting on her armor, not caring who might look. "Where are Iulia and Minhea?"

"Sleeping. I didn't dare to involve anyone else."

"Get the horses ready, I'll bring them. We leave at once."

"Yes, princess." Stanislav bowed and rushed down the hallway.

Movement behind her. Alexandru pushed his stiff leg out of the bed. Vladimira put on the red cloak and gave him a brief smile. "I'll be right back."

He laughed, a terrible, loving sadness in his eyes. "No, my dear, I will stay. I can't ride with this leg."

"Nonsense!", she snapped. "I'll bring the children to Stanislav and then get you. We can ride together."

"The horse will not be able to carry us both far."

"We'll see."

"I'll only slow you down."

She put on her sword and went over to him. Despite the chaos gnawing at her thoughts she sat down and laid a hand in his neck, her forehead against his. "I will not leave you behind." She pronounced every word.

Alexandru stroked her hair and closed his eyes. They kissed. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She caressed his face. "Wait her, dragostea." She stood up. Alexandru held her hand for a moment longer. "Te iubesc."

Vladimira hurried down the hallway to the bedchamber of her children. They were still sleeping peacefully. Vladimira gently shook them. "Iulia, Mihnea, wake up." Mihnea was awake first, like always. "What's happening, mother?" She picked him up and helped the little boy in his clothes. "We have to leave."

Iulia hadn't stirred yet. Vladimira pushed away the blond strands from her face. The girl's skin was icy and pale. Vladimira felt the familiar cold forming inside her body. Her mind was sharp, devoid of emotions. Just like in a battle.

"Minhea, what did you do yesterday? Did she eat something you didn't?" How probable was it that a three-year-old remembered such things?

"A nice man gave us some mushrooms. I didn't like them. They tasted weird." Iulia's lips were almost black in the twilight. She had always been so beautiful and fragile. Vladimira bent down and kissed her icy forehead, closing her eyes for a moment and taking in the familiar smell one last time.

"What's wrong with her?" Mihnea stared at his sister in anxious confusion.

"Iulia will stay here." Vladimira picked up her son and carried him out of the castle. Stanislav had the horses ready.

"Where's the little princess?" A look into her pained eyes made him stop asking.

"Take Minhea as far as you can. We'll go to Transylvania. Matthias Corvinus will give us shelter. I'll get Alexandru and we meet later."

Stanislav nodded and mounted his horse. Vladimira sat Minhea in front of him. Minhea wanted to hold on, his eyes full of fear. "Don't worry, my dear, it will be alright." Stanislav spurred the horse and they quickly disappeared. Vladimira turned around and ran back the way she had come. The armor was loud, but she had no choice. How long did they have until her treacherous brother arrived? If Radu had agents in the castle she would fight her way out. But the hallways were empty.

She didn't dare looking into her children's chamber again.

She rounded the next corner. "Alex!" She stopped dead in the door of their bedroom. Again, that blankness in her mind.

Alexandru's legs weren't equally long, not even now, hanging free. They gently swung from one side to the other. It was a miracle this had worked, tall as he was.

"You idiot," Vladimira whispered. She drew her sword. One blow severed the thick rope. He fell into her arms, his weight almost making her fall. She could almost feel his life leaving just now. If only she had been faster.

Sheathing her sword, she carried him to the bed and placed him there. She cut the noose from his neck and threw it away, her hand shaking with anger. "Why didn't you wait? I told you to, my love, didn't I?"

She rested her head on his chest, searching for the familiar heartbeat. Nothing.

Radu would be here soon. Vladimira didn't move, her hands caressing her husband's still warm skin. She wished she could cry, like she had as a young woman. Would it ease the pain tearing at her insides?

She kissed him, feeling the warmth of his soft lips, smelling his familiar scent. "Farewell, my love. Adio." She kissed him again, brushing through his soft hair. Then she stood up.

He looked peaceful and kind, like he had always been, despite being a warrior.

Vladimira ran down the hallway. Radu could very well be knocking on the front door. She would love to stay back and fight, but Mihnea still needed her. She had to go on.

She jumped on her horse. It broke into gallop immediately, leaving the castle behind. She didn't look back. It had to be the wind that made her eyes water.