Chapter 3: The Unknown Factor

The horses were underfed.

Even from his seat on the driver's bench, Trevor could see the pairs' ribs jutting from their dull, grey coats like furrows, and when he'd inspected them both back in Gresit, he'd been disturbed to find their eyes glassy, their manes brittle to the touch, and when he came too close, one of the geldings had turned to snap at him. To the Speaker woman, he'd stated shortly, "We won't get very far with two, you know."

"They were the best I could find. Poor things."

At least the pair didn't look sick. No running noses or any sign of infection or coughing. All the same, he hated to put the half-starved beasts through the strenuous work of pulling a wagon all the way to bloody Argeș. Then again, with Dracula's Horde loosed on the countryside, Trevor had a feeling a couple dead horses would soon be the very least of their concerns. So with an apologetic pat on the more mild-tempered of the horses' shoulder, he had climbed into the wagon next to Sypha, Alucard took his place in the back, and they were off. God help them.

When he had stumbled into Gresit yesterday, going home had been the very last thing on his mind, and yet here he was, just over ten leagues from where he'd been born, in the company of a snarky witch girl and a pain in the ass, off to find some method of killing an enemy his family had been trying to kill for four centuries. On top of that he hadn't been this hungry since that time he boiled his own boots and ate them. Just when was his last meal? What was his last meal? A strip of dried goat meat, yes…and an apple? Fuck…

"What's wrong?" asked Sypha.

He hesitated, then reluctantly answered, "Do we have any food?"

"Oh!" Twisting in her seat, the Speaker reached under the bench and pulled out a small rucksack he'd seen her grandfather give her before they'd parted ways. "I was going to save it for tonight, but you can have your share now if you like."

"I…." Shit, he'd expcted her to say no. Taking the food given to her by her family was….and yet his stomach was in knots at the very sight of the proffered chunk of bread. God, it was even fresh too, not the week old, dry rolls churches handed to beggars and vagrants. Where in Gresit had the Speakers even found that. "…are you sure?"

Sypha snorted and all but threw the bread at him. "Just eat already."

Greedily, he tore into the soft crust with little more grace than he'd seen in starved wolves with a rabbit. The first bite was quickly followed by a second, which garnered a stern reprimand from the Speaker, who told him to slow down and that under no certain terms was she going to clean up after him if he made himself sick. Part of him wanted to ignore her out of spite, but he did see the sense in not spewing his first meal of the day all over the roadside, or choking on it for that matter, so he finished the first and second bites with maddening patience before tearing off a third piece. "Thank you."

"How long has it been since you've eaten?"

"Only yesterday."

She looked as though she wanted to say more, but then one of the horses faltered and she flicked the reins gently. "Come on, Vânt, you can do it! You're the best and bravest horses in all Wallachia! Just a little further."

"You named them?"

"Vânt and Foc," she said proudly, a sharp reminder of an optimism he could no longer afford. "Why? What were you going to call them?"

"Pissed Off and Hungry."

Sypha shot him an annoyed glare but said no more on the matter, and he could see her face reddening a little in embarrassment even though she'd turned away from him. At the young woman's encouragement, Vânt again began to pull against the harness with as much effort as Foc, and the wagon trundled onward down the narrow path. In the absence of conversation, Trevor sullenly took another bite of the bread. Upsetting the woman hadn't been his intent; he'd been making a joke. Morbid and dry as it was…and what did it even matter if the Speaker was irritated? She wasn't his friend and he wasn't trying to talk her into sharing his bed with him. In any event, they'd either be dead or parting ways in short order anyway, so…

He sighed. "Wind and fire. They're fine names."

Sypha said nothing, but her clenched fingers marginally slackened their grip on the reins and the indignant rigidity in her back relaxed a little. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but he wouldn't call it calming either. He hadn't had traveling companions since he'd found work guarding a merchant caravan four months ago, and even then, he couldn't think of any words he'd said outside of 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir' or whatever. He didn't have to. Only young and optimistic men shared their stories, even if no one asked, and he was not optimistic. Not especially young either.

"So…vampires…" Sypha broke the silence with an uneasy flick of the reins. "I didn't know they could have children."

Startled by her voice, he glanced back at Alucard to ensure he wasn't listening in, then said quietly. "Um…well, dhampires are a rare breed of night creature. They're only born from a human woman and a male vampire."

"A human and…" Sypha glanced back at their third companion herself and whispered. "So his mother was…"

"Most likely, if he's telling the truth about Dracula being his father. Female vampires are barren."

"What if he's lying? Don't vampires call their creators 'father' or 'mother?'"

He shook his head. "Not always. Fledglings can be children, strictly servants, or even a lover. Besides, our friend back there isn't a vampire."

Doubt crept into the Speaker's voice then, and she regarded him with a cynical eye. "You seemed to think so in the catacombs. How can you tell?"

In the catacombs, the light had been dim, there had been a stone coffin, blood, and the creature before him was unaturally pale and had fangs. Of course, he'd thought he was a vampire. In the daylight, however, after they'd picked and climbed their way out from underneath Gresit, it had been clear to him that Alucard was not undead. Pale as the bastard was, even Trevor had to admit he wasn't entirely bloodless like a true nosferatu nor did he possess their consistent sharp nails. His eyes were bright, sure, but so were a human's occasionally, and if his ears tapered to inhuman points, he kept them well hidden beneath his blond hair. Even so…

"Have you ever seen a vampire, Sypha?" The young woman beside him blinked and her fingers grew taut on the reigns again. Christ. Trevor winced. That was a damn fool thing to ask. Surviving a vampire attack usually meant someone else hadn't, and an unarmed, benign tribe of Speakers wouldn't stand a chance against a night creature of that caliber, even if there was a magician or two among them. "Look, I—"

"No, it's not like that," Sypha interrupted him. She flicked the reigns absently. "It was a little over a year ago when my caravan was in Moldavia. This…woman, I suppose, sought us out in the capital."

"A vampire?"

She nodded. "I don't know what else she could have been. She was deathly pale and I didn't even hear her when she approached me."

Trevor imagined the young woman engaged in some inane task—drawing water from a well or riverbank, unharnessing a horse, going about collecting firewood—and being startled by the abrupt appearance of a female vampire. Dropping the bucket, harness, or sticks in a splash or a clatter. Aunt Anne used to say if you shot an arrow at a vampire, he would have your head off before you'd even realized you'd missed. They moved that quickly. A heartbeat. A snap of the fingers. The blink of an eye. Nothing. And then a monster. "Go on."

"She wanted to talk to the elders in my clan. We were a larger train then."

"Why?"

Sypha shook her head. "I don't know. I only overheard parts of the conversation and Grandfather wouldn't tell me what she wanted."

So this mystery vampiress only wanted to talk. She wasn't hunting for food or sport. Trevor sighed again. In its own way, that was a different brand of unsettling. Information that could only be obtained through the wisdom and oral histories of Speakers rather than the vast libraries and ancient tomes possessed only by immortals was certainly ominous. "D'you have any guesses of what she was after?"

"Just that she was looking for something."

He nodded. "Did she give you her name?"

"No. She just asked to see the elders." Sypha's eyes narrowed in a thoughtful look. "Come to think of it, she was rather polite about the whole matter."

"What did she look like then?" If this vampire had visited and left Sypha's people intact, he could hazard a few guesses. Helena, the child vampiress who had lived quietly and frankly had been inactive for so long his family had begun to question whether or not she still lived at all. Lenore, the diplomat and peacekeeper, unlikely to resort to violent action unless provoked. However, Sypha's description quickly ruled out these two and he had a sinking feeling he knew exactly which vampire lady Sypha had encountered.

Short, fair hair.

A young woman who appeared to be twenty years old.

A dress as red as wine.

Eyes the color of bloodlust.

"I think you met Dracula's fledgling."

"Draculina?" Sypha looked at him in surprise. "What would she want from Speakers?"

"If that was the Red Death, are you sure she was looking for something?" He jerked his head in a nod toward Alucard behind them. "Not someone?" If she was on Dracula's side, Seras Victoria Draculina would certainly want to know the whereabouts of her brother and eliminate him if possible. Adversely, if she was against her sire, then she would be seeking allies.

"Definitely an object," Sypha said. "I could tell that much at least."

What in the world could Draculina be looking for? A weapon? An artifact intended for sorcery or alchemy? If so, who was it for? Her dreaded sire? Or was Draculina acting on her own? And if Sypha said this encounter happened a year ago…Trevor bit back a curse. He hated this. Uncertainty, unknown agendas, unknown whereabouts. If Grandmother Integra were alive to see this, she'd call their entire expedition foolhardy, and that would be the old woman putting it kindly.

"Are you sure it really was Draculina?" Sypha asked him. "Maybe it was another vampire who has nothing to do any of with this."

She had a point. For all he knew, Helena was still alive and had taken a harmless interest in scholarly pursuits. Maybe there were other vampires he'd forgotten. Or new ones who had appeared since the fall of the Belmonts. Maybe…. He cleared his throat. "Okay, the vampire who visited your family, was she…" He hesitated, knowing he was going to catch hell for this. "Was she really top heavy?"

The Speaker turned to him in outrage, mouth open as though to scold him but then she shifted in discomfort on the bench. "Well…she wasn't exactly titless."

"That's Draculina then."

Sypha rolled her eyes. "Of course that particular detail is what identifies her."

Trevor didn't bother answering. Up until the one time he'd seen the Lady Seras in person, he'd always assumed the sketches and illustrations his, presumably male, ancestors had made of her had been wild exaggerations. Of course, Draculina was often recognized by her short, fair hair and her crimson eyes and her penchant for red dresses, but fashion was variable, the lady had grown her hair out before, and red eyes among vampires was as common as left-handed humans. She had no scars to distinguish her and Sypha hadn't mentioned her trademark firearm. But few vampire women were as well-endowed as the Red Death, and coming from a secondhand description, that was the best identifier he had to work with.

"Best watch yourself, Belmont," Alucard's bemused voice called from the back of the wagon. "The last time someone paid an unseemly amount of attention to my sister's proportions, she slapped him so hard his jaw detached from his head."

Trevor grumbled. Vânt, or at least he thought it was Vânt, had begun to flag again and he knew they would need to stop soon. Maybe if there was any kind of grass or vegetation up ahead…. He raised his eyes as the wagon came to a fork in the road, one sign pointing left to Murdenu, which he would very much like to never see again, and the other directing them right toward Argeș.

And home.

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: Life expectancy of the medieval period was a crapshoot. If you survived infancy and early childhood, you could potentially live to your forties or sixties or even longer, but thanks to the absence of modern medicine, you were just as likely to die from an illness or accident at any age. So, yes…Trevor calling himself old is one part morbid pessimism, one part morbid reality of the crummy medieval world.

To the guest reviewer asking about the Hellsing familiars: Since this is Hellsing being put into the Castlevania universe, the Hellsing familiar rules, and the creation of vampires, are nonexistent. Seras' shadow abilities are her own. Pip is a human in his own right. Thank you for reading and hope this cleared things up.

I don't own either of these series.