Olrox wasn't surprised this time when he looked down on a balcony of the Poenari fortress. The human Vlad stood, leaning his elbows on the railing and looking out over Wallchia. It was an hour or so before dawn, judging by the sky, and Vlad had a weariness of posture that suggested he hadn't slept at all. After a minute or so, Simu's head poked out through the door, and the man stepped outside, timidly, as though loathe to disturb his prince.
"You sent for me, my lord?"
Vlad glanced backward and beckoned with his hand; Simu walked out to stand beside him. Looking back out over the foothills, Vlad said, "I saw a horse leaving. There has been a message?"
Simu nodded. "Da, domnule; from your wife."
Vlad's voice was soft. "It is not good news." He sighed.
Simu sighed as well. "No, domnule, it is not. One can always tell by the messenger's manner."
Vlad continued looking out. "You have the scroll?"
Olrox saw Simu knit his brows and fidget with the scroll he held. "Yes, but perhaps..."
"What, Simu?"
Simu looked at the stones beneath his feet. "Perhaps it would be wise to wait until tomorrow to read it, when you are rested."
Vlad gazed at his captain. He was clearly fatigued, and for a moment he seemed years older than he was. "It is already tomorrow, and we never rest until we rest in our graves. Give me the scroll, Simu."
Mumbling an apology, Simu handed over the paper.
Vlad broke the wax seal and read. After a minute or so, his face fell. Rolling the paper again, his closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and looked out into space again. Simu watched his prince silently, not daring to comment. If Vlad saw fit to say anything, he would.
Several minutes passed. When Vlad spoke, Simu jumped slightly. "Ana had pneumonia." His voice was rough, and so quiet it was nearly a whisper. Ana was Vlad youngest, his only daughter. She had been weak and sickly from birth, and Simu knew without asking that the child had not survived.
"I'm sorry, Vlad," Simu said quietly, squeezing Vlad's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. If Vlad even heard him, he didn't respond.
After a minute or so, Simu realized that Vlad had fallen asleep standing up. Gently shaking his prince, he waited for Vlad's eyes to open, letting the man gather his wits before speaking.
"Perhaps it's time you tried to get some rest, domnule," Simu said softly. Vlad nodded blearily, and Olrox found himself following along as the two men, leaning on one another, moved back through the doors and through the fortress. At one point, they had to cross the main hall, where a few early risers were already eating breakfast. Before reaching the place, little by little, Vlad's posture and expression changed, and by the time the two had reached the entrance to the hall, Vlad was standing up straight, on his own, head held high, all traces of fatigue and grief pushed aside. He crossed the room with a regal air, and Olrox noticed the admiring looks and murmurs of the soldiers and servants, as well as the younger soldiers' open stares of hero worship.
Gaining once again the narrow hallways and stairways, Vlad quickened his pace, and when Simu caught up, he saw unfamiliar tear tracks on his prince's face; Olrox gathered that Vlad wanted to reach his own quarters as quickly as possible, before anyone else saw his loss of composure. For whatever reason, most people didn't expect or want human weaknesses in their leaders, and a glimpse of a Prince Dracula who was coming apart at the seams would be disastrous for his troops' morale.
Upon entering Vlad's chambers, Simu quietly shut the door and waited to see if any specific tasks were to be carried out while his prince slept. He and Olrox both were unprepared when Vlad suddenly asked, "Are you an informant, Simu?"
Simu's eyes widened. "I...What? I don't understand, domnule."
Faster than Simu could dodge, Vlad leapt forward and skillfully pinned his captain. Twisting Simu's arm behind his back, Vlad drew a dagger from a sheath in his boot and pressed it to the unlucky man's throat. "What I mean, you two-faced scoundrel, is that it has come to my attention that only a fortnight ago my brother," he very nearly spat the word, "held a private conference here with you." Olrox could see a tiny sliver of red where throat and dagger met, and saw Simu try to pull his head up a little higher. In answer, Vlad twisted Simu's arm a little higher as well. "What went on, what did you do?" His voice was pained, and his face was wet. Nonetheless, a small yelp from Simu indicated that the arm had been wrenched yet higher.
Simu spoke quickly, aware that hesitation on his part would be very unhealthy. "He...he asked me to defect. He said...agh...he said you were mad, that it was best if Wallachia were taken out of your hands. Au! Please! He...he proposed that I be a...a general for the sultan, and govern Wallachia after it was conquered." He gritted his teeth, fighting to keep still while sweat stung his eyes. Moving any farther back would break his arm, but letting himself fall forward would slit his throat. His free arm was starting to tremble under his and Vlad's combined weight.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the chattering of Simu's teeth. Vlad shifted a bit, and Simu gasped as the dagger bit into his skin again.
"And?"
Trembling all over now, Simu stammered, "I...I t-turned him d-down. H-h-he was...was angry and...and...and insulted m-me. I...t-told him to l-l-leave and...and...and...he d-did." He sobbed as Vlad feinted moving the dagger. "Nothing more happened! That's all, I swear! I would never betray you and my family. I would never betray you. I swear. Please, domnule..."
Vlad paused for a moment. Taking the dagger away from Simu's throat, he let go of the captain's arm and they both stood up. They stared at each other for a long moment, both tearful, Simu nursing his sore arm, a light red smear across his throat.
Finally, through another choked sob, Simu said, "May I be of any further assistance, domnule?"
Vlad looked down, unable to meet his captain's eyes. "No. No, you are dismissed, Olrox." His eyes remained downcast as Simu nearly ran out the door, slamming it closed after him.
Shaking his head, Vlad cleaned and sheathed the dagger. Then, silently, he changed and sank into bed.
**
More than that, Olrox didn't see, because he was becoming more and more aware of a deep pain throbbing in his chest and skull, and spreading through his veins. He awoke to find himself in much worse shape than the night before. Wincing and gasping with the effort of movement, he stood, and was so overcome with dizziness that he had to grip the bedpost to steady himself.
In the next room was, once again, a vessel of blood, but this was cold and thick. It tasted foul, but it was better than nothing. Olrox gulped it quickly, and when it was gone he could hardly believe it. 'That was a tease; now I feel worse than before...'
It hurt to move, so Olrox sat still for a time. It made him ache to sit still, so he got up and began pacing as he had the night before. He tried to do some work to take his mind off the pain, but it was impossible to concentrate, and his hands were shaking; he could barely put quill to paper without the ink splotching. When he finally ruined the nib of the pen entirely, he threw the spotting paper on the fire and watched it listlessly. Aside from the agony sparking and throbbing throughout his being was an exhausting tension; he felt like a violin string stretched too tightly.
When he bit himself this time, the only relief came in the form of the pain the wound itself caused, distracting him for a moment from his hunger pangs. The blood, however, only made his hunger keener. 'I don't think I can stand much more of this...'
It was two hours before sunrise when Vlad entered the room. Olrox didn't know when exactly he'd come in, hadn't noticed, but there he was, sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, watching the vampire huddled on the floor with mild pity.
"Copil, what am I going to do with you?" Vlad suddenly asked, wearily, as he pulled a key ring out of his pocket and tossed it onto the floor at Olrox's feet. A few keys were missing, but Olrox recognized it as his. His strained heart jumped a bit at that.
"For whatever reason, you seem hell-bent on being troublesome, and I honestly don't know how to deal with you except for this." Olrox kept his eyes fixed on the keyring, silent. "Olrox," Vlad continued, "why did you release those women, after I entrusted them exclusively to you?"
Olrox paused before answering; then, never lifting his eyes from the floor, muttered, "I don't know." And he didn't anymore, thanks to the pain; he couldn't focus enough to remember his earlier thoughts, or even to completely understand the question he'd been asked.
Fingers lifted his chin, and Olrox found himself facing Vlad, who was now kneeling on the floor, clearly displeased. "Copil," he said quietly, "this is the second time in only a year that you have broken my trust. Consider this an ultimatum; either learn your place, or I will teach it to you. I am deadly earnest in this, Olrox." He made no threat other than that, leaving that work to Olrox's imagination. Olrox only stared at his elder blearily, not quite comprehending what was being said, but shuddering nonetheless.
Vlad sighed. "You're not paying attention, are you? I wonder about your blood, Olrox, if this is all the longer you can last..." He moved to push Olrox's hair out of his face, but pulled his hand back when Olrox made a snap at it.
Olrox couldn't understand why Vlad had stood up and left so suddenly. After a moment, though, his mind settled back into its dull track of trying to ignore his hunger.
He was unaware of the time that passed, but a noise startled him into looking upward. The poor woman had been locked in the room for scarcely ten seconds before Olrox noticed her. A brief scream and one minute later, Olrox gazed bemusedly down at the corpse, still hungry but feeling infinitely better.
When he felt lucid enough, Olrox stood and surveyed the room, aside from the ruined pen on his desk, all was in order. 'More so, in fact.' A second glance at the desk revealed a note, written in a disturbingly regular hand.
'Copil,
An important matter requires my immediate attention; perhaps we may attempt a lucid conversation tomorrow evening. You will, of course, forgive me your prolonged isolation, but my anger, I realize, needs a bit more time to cool.
I remain, as ever,
Faithfully Yours,
V.T.D.'
Olrox read if over once more, then crumpled the letter and threw it on the fire with a snort of disgust. 'Faithfully yours, indeed. He doesn't bother with me at all unless I've done something wrong...'
The former pain having been dulled to a slight irritation, Olrox decided to try to pass the time by sleeping. Stalking into his bedroom, he glanced by chance into the mirror.
He stopped, transfixed.
His skin was a chalky gray color, his hair lank and lusterless, dark circles ringed his eyes, the whites of which had turned sickly yellow. Looking at his hands more closely, he could see the bones and sinews standing out. Running his hands over himself, he could feel ribs and hipbones through the fabric of his clothing. If he looked like this now, after he'd fed, what must he have looked like when Vlad had seen him? 'No wonder that poor woman screamed. I look like a corpse, and it must be an improvement...' Studying himself once more, Olrox sighed, and turned away. Collapsing on the bed, he stared at the ceiling for an hour or so before dozing off.
**
Evening came too soon. Olrox watched the locked door apprehensively, not remembering what had transpired during Vlad's last visit but hoping he hadn't done or said anything he'd come to regret.
Olrox heard a key turn in the lock, and Vlad let himself in without a word. By way of greeting, he gave the human he'd brought with him a gentle nudge in Olrox's direction. Olrox caught the frightened man's eyes easily, silently beckoning. The human complied as though drawn by strings. Looping an arm around the human's shoulders and murmuring soothingly, Olrox brought his other hand up to pull the man's head to one side, sighing as he bit. He closed his eyes, blissful at the warmth and sweetness of another meal. He felt the chill in his body and the aches in his joints fading, even as the human's struggles faded. He was interrupted by an impatient cough from Vlad, and he felt himself blush as he pulled the blood a little faster. He'd decided months ago that he hated, hated, hated being watched while he fed. He felt very self-conscious, and Vlad's insensitivity toward Olrox's victims annoyed him. Finally feeling the body in his arms grow colder, Olrox laid the dead human on the floor and looked up at his elder.
Vlad scrutinized him. "Much better. Now you merely look like a consumption survivor."
Olrox tried not to sulk. "Thanks to you," he said.
Vlad came closer. "I have every right to maintain order on my own lands." He stopped two paces from Olrox. "I don't suppose you remember why I had you confined here in the first place?" It was more a statement than a question.
Olrox shook his head, embarrassed.
Vlad pointed to the floor, where Olrox's key ring still lay. Olrox went a bit paler.
"I...I must have forgotten them..." he stammered.
"Yes, how convenient. I trust that this juvenile stunt of yours was an isolated incident?" Vlad kept himself under control, but Olrox didn't miss the poorly veiled threat behind the calm words.
Olrox nodded. He realized he'd been braver when he'd dropped the keys for the human to find. He also realized that there were times to be brave, and there were times when it was far more prudent to keep quiet and do as you were told. 'The past half-year has taught me that much, at least...' For good measure, he added, "I'm sorry, domule."
Vlad sighed, and tucked a strand of lank hair behind Olrox's ear. "Somehow I doubt the sincerity of that, but there's no point in keeping you here any longer." Olrox's face brightened. "Make yourself presentable, and then you can be back about your business."
"Are you still angry?" It was a stupid question, in retrospect.
"Oh, very." Vlad caught hold of Olrox's throat. "In fact, the temptation to wring your treacherous little neck is nearly too great to bear." Then, as abruptly as he'd nearly strangled Olrox, he pulled the younger vampire into an embrace. "I won't. You're outrageous sometimes, but I love you, copil."
He let go and headed for the door. As he left, he said over his shoulder, "Enough rebellion. You have no idea how much that hurt me, copil."
After he was gone, Olrox rubbed his throat and grumbled under his breath. "You got your remuneration, though, didn't you..." His teeth were chattering uncontrollably. He couldn't quite decide what frightened him more, the fact that Vlad had admitted to a strong urge to kill him, or the complete about-face in the elder's sentiments only seconds later. 'Perhaps I'm better off ignored.'
**
Seeing himself in the mirror had been a shock, but it couldn't compare to bathing. As Olrox tried to work the knots out of his hair (apparently he'd fidgeted with it) he wrinkled his nose in disgust at his gray, emaciated frame. 'Most of the zombies I've seen look healthier than this...' Still, the warm water was soothing, provided he looked at the walls and not himself, and after he'd finished and was dressed again in clean garments, he had to admit that he did look a little better. Still awful, but better. What he really needed was a good, long meal. 'It will mean changing my clothes again.'
"Damn."
**
"Well, hello, Olrox!" Torio chirped, meeting the vampire in the corridor. His expression changed to one of concern. "You're looking a little under the weather; are you ill?"
Olrox chuckled. "This is nothing, you should have seen me two hours ago. No, I just angered the powers that be." He felt so much better after his feed that he couldn't help but be in high spirits.
"Ah," Torio nodded in understanding, and wisely changed the subject. "Now, that's an unusual dye pattern for this region. I must say the red and yellow is very fetching." He tipped his head to one side. "New style?"
"Actually," Olrox replied, with a playful grin, "the waistcoat is yellow. I've just eaten, you see." This improved his mood greatly, and, for some reason, Torio's grimace of revulsion improved it even more so.
The tengu gulped. "Ah. Yes, I...see. Um...yes. You've got a dribble of something just there." He rubbed the corner of his mouth.
Olrox flicked out his tongue to clean up the offending blood. "Thank you." He paused for a moment. "Up for a game of chess? I'd like to shirk my duties a little longer."
"Only if you change your coat first, friend."
"Sounds fair."
**
Olrox studied the board, caught between two possible moves for the rook he held. Torio wasn't a great help, trying to throw his companion's concentration by keeping up a stream of endless chatter. The vampire made no attempt to curb his friend's tongue, however. He'd missed the bird-man.
"Did you hear about the human, Olrox-kun?" Torio had finally dropped the 'sama' suffix if favor of a more familiar term.
"What now?" Olrox murmured absently, finally placing his piece down at random.
Torio took a moment to study the board. "Apparently he'd managed to free four women." He grinned, then suppressed it as his eyes raked over the board again. "No one knows how he got the keys to their cells; they were supposed to have been given to a rather high-ranking person." He moved his bishop and captured Olrox's luckless rook.
Olrox frowned and furrowed his brow, wondering how he'd missed the move. "He moves in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform," he muttered, contemplating his next move.
Torio looked a little disappointed. "I thought you'd be a bit more interested than that."
"Why?" Olrox captured one of Torio's pawns. Hopefully the tengu would change the subject.
Torio looked puzzled. "I...I don't know. It seemed important."
Olrox glanced up, apologetic. "I'm sorry, Torio-kun. I've been a bit preoccupied lately."
Nodding sagely, Torio said, "Is it about the-"
"I'd rather not discuss it, Torio," Olrox snapped, and immediately apologized again. "I'm just not myself quite yet."
**
Torio had gone shortly after they'd finished their game, happy enough over his first win, but showing some friendly concern over Olrox's condition. Olrox sat staring at the chessboard, looking through the pieces without really seeing them. His own odd mood swing had upset him. 'I wonder if all vampires are like this. I'm becoming as mad as Vlad is.'
He worked for a few hours, and read listlessly, trying to steady his nerves. The chiming of the clock told him eventually that it was five o'clock, nearly sunrise. Olrox took the excuse to go to bed early, and had one of the skeletons straighten the room.
**
Sitting in a large, richly furnished room, a man Olrox hadn't seen before held a small bundle. Two young boys stood hovering over it, curious. Olrox looked over their small shoulders to see an infant. They were conversing softly; Olrox caught the tail end of a sentence before paying attention.
"His name is Radu," the man said quietly. The smaller boy (he looked to be around three or four) reached his hand out over the bundle. A tiny hand reached up and curled around one of the boy's fingers.
The older boy, probably seven, grinned. "He's so little," he breathed, greatly amused.
"You don't remember Vlad being that small, Mircea?" the man asked, amused crow's feet gathering around his eyes as he smiled.
The older boy shook his head, while the younger looked up in wonder. "I wasn't this small, was I, Tata?"
The man ran his free hand through the child's hair. "Of course you were. Mircea was, and your mother and I were too, when we were born."
The child narrowed his eyes as he contemplated this new revelation. At his age, he'd probably assumed, as most small children do, that his parents had always just...existed.
"Where's Mama?" Mircea asked.
"She's very tired," their father explained. "She's sleeping. You may speak to her tomorrow."
The image went out of focus, making Olrox a little queasy. The world quickly reorganized itself, and Olrox looked down at older boys walking through a torchlit hallway.
"I still don't understand, Mircea," said the smallest one. The hair and eyes looked vaguely familiar. "Why do we have to go?"
Mircea, who looked to be around seventeen this time, glanced down with pity on his youngest brother. "The sultan simply wants to make sure Father is still loyal to him, Radu. You won't be there long, I promise. And I hear the sultan has a son about Vlad's age. Think of it like a sort of...vacation. Maybe you can even write to us back here about how you're getting on."
The third boy raised one eyebrow, but didn't speak.
Radu continued, confused. "I thought we were Emperor Sigismund's allies. Aren't the emperor and the sultan enemies?"
The third boy spoke. "The sultan helped Father take the throne back from Basarab last year. Do you disremember why we moved back to the palace?"
"Oh." Radu looked at the floor, embarrassed.
Mircea soothed his wounded pride. "It was a very short battle; perhaps you were still too young to quite understand what happened."
"No," the smallest boy said, "I forgot."
The three were silent for a moment. All looked decidedly uncomfortable.
The silence was broken by Radu's soft sniffle. "I don't want to go."
"Neither do I," the third boy said calmly, "but Mircea promised we wouldn't be with the sultan for very long, so we won't." He spoke with the finality of one with every confidence in his older brother. "Besides, Father wouldn't have agreed to this if he thought we'd be in danger."
This seemed to mollify the young one. After a few more minutes of walking, the trio stepped out into a courtyard. Olrox was dazzled by the bright sunlight for a minute or two; when he adjusted to the light, he saw the father of the boys talking with a man who must have been a Turk. A group of more Turks were busy checking their horses' tack, preparing to leave.
Radu and Vlad eyed the other man apprehensively. His clothes were strange, flowing silk, and looked very expensive and fine. A pristine white turban perched on top of his head. He looked down his nose at them momentarily, then, as if deciding it wasn't worth the trouble, he shifted his gaze back to their father, and they continued their discussion.
Mircea and his brothers exchanged sympathetic looks.
After a few more tense minutes, their father turned to them. He looked sad, and a little nervous. "They've finished packing. Are you ready?"
Vlad nodded, and Radu mimicked his brother, though his eyes glistened. Their father leaned down and gathered them into a brief hug.
"Voivode Dracul."
Sighing, the man let go, and Mircea took his turn to say goodbye.
"We must leave now," the man insisted, and Radu shot him a small glare.
The voivode nodded wearily and watched as a few Turks helped his younger sons onto a horse whose halter was tied to the pommel of the general's saddle. "I have no cause to worry for their safety." His tone almost begged for reassurance.
The man looked grave. "The hand of the excellent sultan will shield them from all harm." With a curt bow, he mounted his own horse. "Allah smiles upon your loyalty, voivode. Word of your sons will be sent when we reach Adrianople."
They started off, the boys looking back until their father and brother, and then the palace, disappeared from view. Olrox couldn't help but notice that there was no mother seeing them off.
"You're crying," Vlad noticed.
Radu rubbed his eyes with his sleeve. "I'm sorry. I won't cry when we get there."
"Good," Vlad replied with approval. He saw that some of the other riders were staring. He straightened his back and returned their gaze with a haughty glare of his own. Eventually, the men turned their eyes away and began talking in low voices in a language Vlad didn't know well.
"Why did you do that?" Radu asked, alarmed.
"We're princes; they've no right to gawk at us like beasts in a cage."
"What are they saying?"
"Something about barbarians. I care not. Neither should you. They are only soldiers, they can think what they like."
Radu sighed. "I wish I was brave like you and Mircea and Father."
The general glanced back for a second, his face somewhat softened.
"You will be," Vlad murmured.
The world shifted again. Vlad and Radu were now dressed in much the same manner as the Turks, and they sat on cushions in a small but richly furnished room of what Olrox assumed to be the Ottoman palace. One more boy sat with them, the same age and size as Vlad. He had an olivine complexion and black eyes. His hair was black, also, and curled in ringlets. His dress and posture bespoke high lineage.
"I am told you were taught our language?" said the boy.
"Yes, though our teacher went rather quickly," Vlad answered.
The boy smirked. "You speak it very badly." Olrox decided that he didn't like this new boy.
Vlad snarled, but Radu laid a hand on his arm. "We are still learn...learning. We need more practice yet," Radu managed painfully.
The boy smiled warmly and patted Radu's hand. Vlad jerked his brother's hand away. "You can talk to me whenever you'd like, Prince Radu. Unless, of course, I need your brother's permission?" He smirked at Vlad again, but there was a trace of a challenge in his eyes.
Vlad coughed, rolling his eyes and trying to look nonchalant. "It makes no difference to me."
The boy went on as though he hadn't heard. "Your brother has very pale skin, Vlad. Is he ill?"
"No," Vlad said, trying to remain civil. "He takes after our mother."
"Oh, so you know your mother?" the boy asked, eyes sparkling. "I'd always thought that barbarians mated like animals."
Vlad spoke through clenched teeth. "Our mother was a noblewoman."
Radu interceded, quelling his brother's anger. "Our parents were married, Mehmed," he said meekly.
"Really?" the boy said. "Fascinating. I have several wives myself, of course," he went on, "It's really rather boring. I think wives are very overrated. Good for having children, I suppose, but not much else." He didn't notice, or pretended not to notice, Vlad grinding his teeth. "What is your mother like? Is she empty-headed, like mine is?"
"She's dead." Vlad's voice quivered with rage; red tinted his cheeks.
"She caught childbed fever," Radu added.
Mehmed's manner abruptly changed to one of sincere sympathy. "Oh, I am truly sorry, Radu, I had no idea. Why do you always wait for your brother to speak first? If you'd told me in the first place, I wouldn't have spoken so foolishly."
Radu blushed and looked down.
"You are married?" Radu asked politely after a minute or so in an effort to break the growing tension in the air.
"Of course," Mehmed replied glibly. "I get another wife every few months lately." He smiled condescendingly and tilted his head to one side. "Do you need me to explain how wives work? All you need do is ask; no reason to be embarrassed."
Both Vlad and Radu turned pink. "We understand perfectly well, thank you," Vlad said curtly. Radu mumbled an excuse and stood to leave.
"Perhaps I could show you the gardens later this afternoon, Radu?" Mehmed inquired sweetly. "I'd like to talk with you some more."
Radu nodded shyly and slipped out the door.
"Don't forget!" Mehmed called after him. He focused back on Vlad and smirked lazily. "He's made a rather good start here," he began, conversationally. "In fact, I think he'll do very well." His expression became more serious. "You, I'm not so sure of. And I'd hoped we would be such good friends."
"I can't imagine why." Vlad didn't hide his glare now that Radu was out of the room, and he let more than a note of disdain creep into his voice.
Mehmed leaned forward slightly. "Watch yourself, barbarian brat. I am not a pleasant enemy to have."
"Nor am I."
"You think you're someone important, don't you?" Mehmed glared as well, his humor gone. "Ha! The voivode is just another of my father's governors. Your father doesn't even own the land, really. If the sultan wanted him out of Wallachia he could do it within a day."
Vlad growled. "Believe what you wish." He stood to leave. "Oh, and before it slips my mind," he said. "If you do or say anything to upset my brother, I will personally show you just how wrong you are to think my family weak."
"Your brother is old enough to care for himself." The sultan's son rose as well.
"No. No, he isn't," Vlad said, gravely. "Remember that."
Mehmed turned and left. "Oh, I will."
The two exited through different doors, each one an adolescent storm cloud.
Suddenly, the room changed again, now becoming a bedroom with a single tall, narrow window. Sitting on a cushion before the window, staring glumly out at the night sky, was Vlad.
The door across the room inched open, and a small figure slipped inside. Casting a worried glace at his brother, Radu tried to creep unnoticed to his bed on the far wall.
"You enjoyed yourself, I hope?"
Radu jumped. "Oh! Um...yes. I am sorry, frate," he continued more softly, "I forgot. How long did you wait?"
Olrox had missed something, apparently, but he kept listening. It wasn't as though he had much choice in the matter.
Vlad looked at the ceiling as he counted hours in his head. "Well, you were supposed to meet me in the lower kitchens after supper, but after staying there for two hours, I decided that perhaps you'd gone to your rooms, so I came here. That was...three hours ago."
"I am sorry."
Vlad waved off the apology. "It was an accident. Come here." When Radu hesitated, he barked, "Come here, damnit; I will not bite you! And speak our language. No one is here to be offended by it."
Radu sat down beside his brother. "I speak it so seldom now that it has become habit to speak Arabic," he said guiltily in his mother tongue.
Vlad calmed down as he went through his pockets for something. "Break the habit, then. I don't expect we will be here much longer." Frowning, he searched his pockets more thoroughly.
Radu fidgeted with his clothing. "You said that last year as well."
"What?" Vlad looked up for a moment. "I did not hear you."
"Nothing."
"Oh." The elder brother turned his attention back to his search. "Ah, here it is." He pulled a small wooden object from a sleeve pocket and handed it to his brother. "Happy birthday."
"Thank you, frate." When Radu moved his hands out of the way, Olrox could see that it was a little carved horse. It looked like it had been very time consuming, with tiny etched lines to indicate eyes, hair, and muscles. It had been sanded smooth, and fit neatly in Radu's palm.
Vlad looked on Radu's admiration of the little thing with approval. "It was supposed to be a bit larger," he said, "But I kept making mistakes."
Radu smiled reassuringly. "Well, it is perfect now." He transferred the horse to the other hand, and the moonlight glinted off of something on his left hand. Vlad spotted it, and, catching hold of Radu's wrist, held it in front of the window, letting the light fall full on it. The glint had been made by a silver ring. Meant for an adult hand, Radu had to wear it on his thumb; the ring was so large that it spanned the length between the boy's knuckles. Vlad turned his brother's hand from side to side, examining the pattern of the ring's many woven bands of silver. It wasn't a petty trinket-mounted on the interlocking bands were thirteen maroon garnets.
"Who gave this to you?" Vlad asked quietly.
"Mehmed...It was a birthday present," Radu answered just as softly, knowing what was coming.
Instead of exploding, however, Vlad remained silent. He grasped the ring to remove it.
But Radu jerked his hand away. "Don't!"
Vlad glared. "Why not?" he snapped peevishly.
Covering the ring with his other hand, Radu said, "If I take it off, it will fall apart. See?" He held up his hand so that Vlad could see the underside of the ring. Sure enough, the ring was composed of eight separate bands that interlocked like a puzzle. "I don't know how to put it back together, and he would be offended if he saw me without it."
Vlad crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "Are you truly fond of him, or do you simply put up with him because he does you favors?" Since Radu ignored this, Vlad went on nonchalantly, "And Mehmed expects you to take that thing to the grave?"
"No, of course not." Radu glanced at the floor. "But I have only had it for an hour, so-"
Vlad pounced. "Oh, so that's where you were?" He would have gone on had Radu not interrupted his tirade before it got started.
"Frate, stop. I don't want to hear you complain about Mehmed today. I cannot understand why the two of you will not tolerate one another."
"He won't leave you alone, and he is the reason I have spent the last three months cleaning ovens. That is reason enough to dislike him."
Radu sighed. "I know he can be rather...thoughtless."
"That does not begin to describe him."
Radu jumped back in before Vlad could describe Mehmed himself. "But you have more in common than either of you think. If you would make an effort to-"
"No."
"You haven't even given him a chance!"
"Nor will I!"
Vlad brought his knees up to his chin and looked out the window. Radu took a deep breath and spoke calmly, though his brother was now ignoring him.
"I know you hate living here," Radu began. Vlad didn't move. "And I know you are not treated very well." Here Olrox noticed for the first time that Vlad's clothes were too big and rather worn, servants' hand-me-downs. "But I think you're making everything harder than it needs to be."
At that last remark, Vlad peered sidelong at Radu for a second, raising one eyebrow.
"Well," Radu said, "you are. I mean, you are unfriendly, and you must be pressed to cooperate with anyone." His voice softened as his brother's glare intensified. "You can make yourself very disagreeable, actually."
"Disagreeable?"
"Yes."
Vlad turned to face his brother. "So you think I'd be happier if I stop being who I am? If I sat quietly and listened to the old men and the sultan lie about their soldiering, if I abandoned Catholicism and went to the mosque as you do, if I become utterly spineless and let the sultan's family control every aspect of my life as though I was some pet animal, my life would be easier? No. I am a prince of Wallachia, and once we are home you will remember that you are one as well."
Radu sighed and shook his head. "Vlad, we have been here for two years now, and always you say that we will be sent home soon. Don't you think that perhaps..."
"Perhaps what?"
"That perhaps we won't be going back to Wallachia?" Radu blurted quickly, fearful of his brother's reaction.
"Why wouldn't we go home?"
"Well," answered the younger boy, "Mircea is the crown prince. And Wallachia is at war. Maybe Tata thought it best if we were...out of the way."
"Who told you that?"
Radu glared back at his brother. "Why must anyone have told me anything? I am capable of thinking for myself, you know."
"Really? I hadn't noticed."
The younger brother had been growing steadily more agitated; now it seemed he had had enough. "You don't notice anything! You do nothing but pity yourself and cling to a promise that has already been broken." Radu trailed off as he listened to his own outburst.
Vlad stared at his brother a long while. When he stood, Radu cringed back momentarily. "I'm going to leave," Vlad hissed, "before I do something I'll regret."
"That's an excellent idea."
At that moment, Olrox felt a sharp tug at his heart. He awoke with a cry, looking around himself in confused panic. But, as quickly as it had come, the pain was gone, and Olrox allowed himself to be dragged back down into sleep.
There was Vlad again, nearly grown and a carbon copy of his father. He was grooming a gray horse; from the soft crooning noises he made to calm the skittish animal, Olrox assumed that it must have been Vlad's own mount. Vlad continued on serenely for a few minutes, gently untangling hair and plucking burrs from the horse's coat.
Olrox did not at first recognize Vlad's brother when he entered the stables. Radu had been transformed over the years from a timid child into a stately young man. As he strode toward the stall where Vlad was working the elder brother glanced up, glowered, and lowered his eyes.
"What do you want?"
Radu sighed and entered the stall to stand on the horse's opposite side, being careful not to dirty his brightly-colored robes. Resting his hands lightly on the animal's back, he peered over at his brother with a look of mixed pity and contempt.
"You are difficult to find, you know," he said, his voice now smoother, deeper with age.
Vlad snorted, not looking up. "There is a very good reason for that."
"Will you not ask why I am here?"
With a heavy sigh, Vlad answered, "Why do you come to annoy me, Radu?"
"The sultan sent me to tell you a bit of...bad news. He thought it best that you hear it from me rather than a messenger."
Vlad never so much as glanced up from his work. "Bad news is nothing new to me. Tell me what it is and leave."
Radu paused briefly, then spoke. "There has been word of Father and Mircea."
Instantly Vlad's manner changed. The curry brush was dropped, forgotten, as Vlad stared wide-eyed at his brother. When Radu said no more, Vlad reached over and snatched up one of Radu's slim hands in his own, imploringly. The horse balked slightly at the sudden movement.
"Frate! Frate, I apologize. Please, what news? What has happened?" Radu hesitated. Vlad squeezed his brother's hand harder. "...There has been no word for so long..."
Radu dropped his gaze, unable to look his hopeful brother in the eye. "Father is dead," he said simply.
Shocked, Vlad slowly, slowly released Radu's hand. "No," he breathed. After a few deep breaths, he asked, "How?" He sounded choked.
Speaking quietly, Radu continued to look at the horse's back rather than at his brother. "The letter said that he was assassinated, but did not say how."
Vlad stood very still for a long moment. Suddenly, he came to. "We must go back to Wallachia."
Radu shook his head. "No, Vlad, we-"
"Stop! We do not have time for your foolishness, Radu!" Calming himself, Vlad went on. "If Father has been slain, then Mircea may be in danger. He may have been driven from the country; what if he is pursued?"
"He is not pursued!" Radu shouted back. He, too, checked his frustration and spoke softly. "And he will not leave Wallachia."
They held one another's stares as the meaning of Radu's words sank in. Vlad's eyes widened; he sank back against the stall partition, shaking his head slightly.
"It cannot be..." he whispered.
"Frate..."
"God...Frate, please," Vlad pleaded, tears beginning to roll down his face. "Please, not Mircea as well..." He trailed off when Radu didn't answer.
For several long minutes, the brothers remained silent, separated by the horse. One silently wept into his hands, with the other staring into the middle distance. Finally, Radu said, almost whispering, "Rumor from Wallachia has it that the boyars had him buried alive."
A low, pained moan escaped Vlad's lips. Then, after a few seconds of deep breathing, he raised eyes red with crying. "Who? Who among them?"
Radu shrugged. "That is not known. They may have acted in concert, for all our messenger knew." He met his brother's gaze for the first time in a quarter of an hour. "You understand of course that you are now heir of Wallachia."
"Yes," Vlad said tonelessly. "But it will be a difficult claim to make."
"Sultan Mehmed is prepared to send as many soldiers as you may require when you return."
Vlad blinked. "And you?" he asked.
Radu looked away. "The sultan believes that I will be of more use here. His intention was that I would replace the late grand vizier."
"Yes, I am sure," Vlad spat, "And did you poison the old man yourself or convince Mehmed to do it for you?"
"I am afraid I do not understand you," Radu returned haughtily, crossing his arms.
"You understand perfectly," Vlad insisted, glaring as he watched Radu nervously fidget with that same garnet ring, which now fit perfectly on the man's ring finger.
"The old die. They need no help, usually." Radu waved his hand, irritated. "This is no time to discuss it, at any rate. You should concentrate on your campaign." He went on, assuming a business-like tone. "If I were you, I'd circle around Wallachia to the north and enter through Transylvania. Perhaps you could convince-"
"Oh, do you never stop?" Vlad snapped. "Is it never enough? Our entire family lies murdered, and you reduce it all to tactics and counsel already!"
"It must be done, Vlad. Quickly."
Vlad shook his head, fists clenching. "You monster." Radu rolled his eyes. "It is all a game for you, is it not? And you hold nothing sacred, not life, not God, not your own family. Not your own body," he added venomously.
Radu took a step back, as far as the stall and the horse would allow. "Vlad, do you think that this is the time to be condemning your own brother when-"
"I have no brother," Vlad spat. Radu stood quiet, angry but too shocked to retort. "This traitor, this craven, scheming, sodomite, this parasite is not my brother. I hate this man to the very center of my bones. My brother lies rotting in some Godforsaken hole in the ground in Wallachia. I will go to him and avenge him. But you!" he jabbed a finger in Radu's direction. "You will not set one worthless foot on that land again."
For a tense minute, the two youths glared at one another, neither moving. Finally, Radu spoke, barely controlling the rage in his voice. "And so," he said softly, "you say what has been in your heart for years at last." He crossed his arms and settled his face into an easy smirk. "Consumed by bitter jealousy. A good thing it is that none of our family lives to see what you have become."
Vlad truly looked as though he'd spring upon his brother and kill him then and there. "What I have become! What I have become, when you drag the Dracula name through mud and pig shit with your sins and your ways! A willing prostitute, an abomination disguised as a man! Father would slit his own throat to know what you have become, to know that there is no depth to which you will not sink for any small gain!"
With that, Vlad clumsily threw the door of the stall open, spooking the horse, and stormed out. He barely caught his brother's mellow voice.
"I will kill you one day," Radu sighed, not bothering to turn around.
"Good. You try that," Vlad snorted. "Try every wicked, backward trick you know. I refuse to fall to such as you."
**
"Master Olrox! Master, please wake up!"
Olrox groaned. Someone was shaking him and calling out insistently. His eyes fluttered open to behold a skeleton. She jumped back a step respectfully and shifted back and forth in anxiety.
"What?" Olrox blearily looked at the clock. Two thirty-five, the height of the afternoon. He was dazed and disoriented. "What is it?"
The skeleton wrung her hand bones; the scraping sound was irritating. "It's Master Dracula. You must come at once, the human...oh! Please come!"
Jolted out of his stupor by the servant's words, Olrox leapt up and motioned for her to lead. The skeleton clattered off, with Olrox struggling to keep pace in his daytime weakness. Skeletons were easily startled, but Olrox felt a growing knot of worry and fear in the pit of his stomach. He'd never been woken at this hour, and by a mere skeleton, no less... 'What's gone wrong now, I wonder?'
After what felt like an eternity of running through a labyrinth of corridors, galleries, and stairways, the skeleton stopped at a familiar set of large double doors. The priest, Shaft, Olrox noticed with a snarl, stood off to the side, pacing in agitation.
"What?" Olrox barked harshly, as the skeleton cowered in the shadows. Shaft's eyes snapped up, bulging slightly, though certainly not through any fear of Olrox. "That human," he stammered. "I don't know how he managed it, but he caught Master Dracula while he was sleeping, and-"
Olrox didn't hear the rest, for he had already burst through the doors of the audience chamber and laboriously ran across to where the body lay. He stopped short, petrified with horror.
Blood. The puddle was already seeping into the mortared cracks in the floor, and it soaked Vlad's clothing and hair. Without his coat and vest, the blood had dyed the older vampire's white shirt a dirty red. The body hadn't been touched, still sprawled out on the ground as it had fallen, the head twisted to one side, disheveled hair half covering the face.
Drawing closer, Olrox could make out partially-healed cuts. Myriad small lacerations formed a strange map over Vlad's flesh, and sliced ribbons out of his shirt and trousers. 'God, his eyes are still open.'
Kneeling in the bloody mess, Olrox felt his throat tighten as he gently turned Vlad's face upwards and closed the corpse's eyes with his fingers. A gaping wound in Vlad's limp neck oozed sluggish, clotting fluid. Mortified, and yet in some way awed, Olrox touched his fingertips to the gash. Lukewarm tears were already stinging his eyes. 'It can't be. It can't be, he's immortal.' "It can't be," he whispered.
Footsteps interrupted him. He turned to see Shaft walking solemnly across the floor. "I truly don't know how it happened. Apparently there was a struggle. It was daylight, and-"
"STOP!" Olrox shouted, surprising even himself at the booming echoes this produced in the high-ceilinged chamber. "This doesn't concern you. Leave me."
Remarkably, Shaft stopped his advance. He stared at the vampire, not quite believing the audacity that had been shown to him. Then, he nodded slowly in apparent understanding and retreated, shutting the huge doors behind him.
Olrox returned his attention to Vlad's remains, sick with helplessness and anguish. He could no more comprehend how a creature as powerful as Vlad could be felled by a mere human than he could fathom his own sorrow at Vlad's passing. "Vlad?" he whispered, as though the elder vampire were only sleeping, could somehow awaken. He did not. Nothing changed but the slow seeping of the blood into the dry mortar, taking on a sour odor as it congealed.
But Olrox was so weary already, and the savage violence of the scene was overwhelming. He slumped weakly downward until his head and shoulders rested on Vlad's inert chest. "God," Olrox moaned softly. "Why..." 'He rescued them; he had what he came for. Why didn't he just leave? Why didn't he just leave us alone...'
Suddenly, over his quiet weeping, Olrox heard the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat. "Ah!" He pressed his ear to his master's chest and strained to hear. Minutes dragged on, but just as Olrox was about to give up and consign the noise to wishful thinking, he heard it again. Very irregular and so very, very weak, but a pulse was there. There was no breath, no movement or sign of life but pitiful, tenacious pulse. "Oh, thank you...thank you," Olrox cried, laughing briefly in relief. "God or Satan, thank you."
**
Tata- Well, duh. What do you think?
Boyar- An aritocrat.
Good gravy, what a busy year I'm having! You wouldn't believe how many months this has taken! Well, I guess you can, considering I dropped off the edge of the world after...August, was it? But with school almost over, hopefully I can make some headway with this. We're past the halfway mark, I think. How about that super-long dream sequence, huh? I had to get more of the backstory out of the way, though. Oh well. It's not like I have any sort of plan for this story... Dialogue between Vlad and Radu was ridiculously hard because a) I've been working on this on and off since last summer, and 2) contractions weren't apparently used much in the middle ages. Damn their hides. Oh well.
Radu: Loser!
Vlad: Ho!
Ah, there's nothing quite like family...
"You sent for me, my lord?"
Vlad glanced backward and beckoned with his hand; Simu walked out to stand beside him. Looking back out over the foothills, Vlad said, "I saw a horse leaving. There has been a message?"
Simu nodded. "Da, domnule; from your wife."
Vlad's voice was soft. "It is not good news." He sighed.
Simu sighed as well. "No, domnule, it is not. One can always tell by the messenger's manner."
Vlad continued looking out. "You have the scroll?"
Olrox saw Simu knit his brows and fidget with the scroll he held. "Yes, but perhaps..."
"What, Simu?"
Simu looked at the stones beneath his feet. "Perhaps it would be wise to wait until tomorrow to read it, when you are rested."
Vlad gazed at his captain. He was clearly fatigued, and for a moment he seemed years older than he was. "It is already tomorrow, and we never rest until we rest in our graves. Give me the scroll, Simu."
Mumbling an apology, Simu handed over the paper.
Vlad broke the wax seal and read. After a minute or so, his face fell. Rolling the paper again, his closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and looked out into space again. Simu watched his prince silently, not daring to comment. If Vlad saw fit to say anything, he would.
Several minutes passed. When Vlad spoke, Simu jumped slightly. "Ana had pneumonia." His voice was rough, and so quiet it was nearly a whisper. Ana was Vlad youngest, his only daughter. She had been weak and sickly from birth, and Simu knew without asking that the child had not survived.
"I'm sorry, Vlad," Simu said quietly, squeezing Vlad's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. If Vlad even heard him, he didn't respond.
After a minute or so, Simu realized that Vlad had fallen asleep standing up. Gently shaking his prince, he waited for Vlad's eyes to open, letting the man gather his wits before speaking.
"Perhaps it's time you tried to get some rest, domnule," Simu said softly. Vlad nodded blearily, and Olrox found himself following along as the two men, leaning on one another, moved back through the doors and through the fortress. At one point, they had to cross the main hall, where a few early risers were already eating breakfast. Before reaching the place, little by little, Vlad's posture and expression changed, and by the time the two had reached the entrance to the hall, Vlad was standing up straight, on his own, head held high, all traces of fatigue and grief pushed aside. He crossed the room with a regal air, and Olrox noticed the admiring looks and murmurs of the soldiers and servants, as well as the younger soldiers' open stares of hero worship.
Gaining once again the narrow hallways and stairways, Vlad quickened his pace, and when Simu caught up, he saw unfamiliar tear tracks on his prince's face; Olrox gathered that Vlad wanted to reach his own quarters as quickly as possible, before anyone else saw his loss of composure. For whatever reason, most people didn't expect or want human weaknesses in their leaders, and a glimpse of a Prince Dracula who was coming apart at the seams would be disastrous for his troops' morale.
Upon entering Vlad's chambers, Simu quietly shut the door and waited to see if any specific tasks were to be carried out while his prince slept. He and Olrox both were unprepared when Vlad suddenly asked, "Are you an informant, Simu?"
Simu's eyes widened. "I...What? I don't understand, domnule."
Faster than Simu could dodge, Vlad leapt forward and skillfully pinned his captain. Twisting Simu's arm behind his back, Vlad drew a dagger from a sheath in his boot and pressed it to the unlucky man's throat. "What I mean, you two-faced scoundrel, is that it has come to my attention that only a fortnight ago my brother," he very nearly spat the word, "held a private conference here with you." Olrox could see a tiny sliver of red where throat and dagger met, and saw Simu try to pull his head up a little higher. In answer, Vlad twisted Simu's arm a little higher as well. "What went on, what did you do?" His voice was pained, and his face was wet. Nonetheless, a small yelp from Simu indicated that the arm had been wrenched yet higher.
Simu spoke quickly, aware that hesitation on his part would be very unhealthy. "He...he asked me to defect. He said...agh...he said you were mad, that it was best if Wallachia were taken out of your hands. Au! Please! He...he proposed that I be a...a general for the sultan, and govern Wallachia after it was conquered." He gritted his teeth, fighting to keep still while sweat stung his eyes. Moving any farther back would break his arm, but letting himself fall forward would slit his throat. His free arm was starting to tremble under his and Vlad's combined weight.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the chattering of Simu's teeth. Vlad shifted a bit, and Simu gasped as the dagger bit into his skin again.
"And?"
Trembling all over now, Simu stammered, "I...I t-turned him d-down. H-h-he was...was angry and...and...and insulted m-me. I...t-told him to l-l-leave and...and...and...he d-did." He sobbed as Vlad feinted moving the dagger. "Nothing more happened! That's all, I swear! I would never betray you and my family. I would never betray you. I swear. Please, domnule..."
Vlad paused for a moment. Taking the dagger away from Simu's throat, he let go of the captain's arm and they both stood up. They stared at each other for a long moment, both tearful, Simu nursing his sore arm, a light red smear across his throat.
Finally, through another choked sob, Simu said, "May I be of any further assistance, domnule?"
Vlad looked down, unable to meet his captain's eyes. "No. No, you are dismissed, Olrox." His eyes remained downcast as Simu nearly ran out the door, slamming it closed after him.
Shaking his head, Vlad cleaned and sheathed the dagger. Then, silently, he changed and sank into bed.
**
More than that, Olrox didn't see, because he was becoming more and more aware of a deep pain throbbing in his chest and skull, and spreading through his veins. He awoke to find himself in much worse shape than the night before. Wincing and gasping with the effort of movement, he stood, and was so overcome with dizziness that he had to grip the bedpost to steady himself.
In the next room was, once again, a vessel of blood, but this was cold and thick. It tasted foul, but it was better than nothing. Olrox gulped it quickly, and when it was gone he could hardly believe it. 'That was a tease; now I feel worse than before...'
It hurt to move, so Olrox sat still for a time. It made him ache to sit still, so he got up and began pacing as he had the night before. He tried to do some work to take his mind off the pain, but it was impossible to concentrate, and his hands were shaking; he could barely put quill to paper without the ink splotching. When he finally ruined the nib of the pen entirely, he threw the spotting paper on the fire and watched it listlessly. Aside from the agony sparking and throbbing throughout his being was an exhausting tension; he felt like a violin string stretched too tightly.
When he bit himself this time, the only relief came in the form of the pain the wound itself caused, distracting him for a moment from his hunger pangs. The blood, however, only made his hunger keener. 'I don't think I can stand much more of this...'
It was two hours before sunrise when Vlad entered the room. Olrox didn't know when exactly he'd come in, hadn't noticed, but there he was, sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, watching the vampire huddled on the floor with mild pity.
"Copil, what am I going to do with you?" Vlad suddenly asked, wearily, as he pulled a key ring out of his pocket and tossed it onto the floor at Olrox's feet. A few keys were missing, but Olrox recognized it as his. His strained heart jumped a bit at that.
"For whatever reason, you seem hell-bent on being troublesome, and I honestly don't know how to deal with you except for this." Olrox kept his eyes fixed on the keyring, silent. "Olrox," Vlad continued, "why did you release those women, after I entrusted them exclusively to you?"
Olrox paused before answering; then, never lifting his eyes from the floor, muttered, "I don't know." And he didn't anymore, thanks to the pain; he couldn't focus enough to remember his earlier thoughts, or even to completely understand the question he'd been asked.
Fingers lifted his chin, and Olrox found himself facing Vlad, who was now kneeling on the floor, clearly displeased. "Copil," he said quietly, "this is the second time in only a year that you have broken my trust. Consider this an ultimatum; either learn your place, or I will teach it to you. I am deadly earnest in this, Olrox." He made no threat other than that, leaving that work to Olrox's imagination. Olrox only stared at his elder blearily, not quite comprehending what was being said, but shuddering nonetheless.
Vlad sighed. "You're not paying attention, are you? I wonder about your blood, Olrox, if this is all the longer you can last..." He moved to push Olrox's hair out of his face, but pulled his hand back when Olrox made a snap at it.
Olrox couldn't understand why Vlad had stood up and left so suddenly. After a moment, though, his mind settled back into its dull track of trying to ignore his hunger.
He was unaware of the time that passed, but a noise startled him into looking upward. The poor woman had been locked in the room for scarcely ten seconds before Olrox noticed her. A brief scream and one minute later, Olrox gazed bemusedly down at the corpse, still hungry but feeling infinitely better.
When he felt lucid enough, Olrox stood and surveyed the room, aside from the ruined pen on his desk, all was in order. 'More so, in fact.' A second glance at the desk revealed a note, written in a disturbingly regular hand.
'Copil,
An important matter requires my immediate attention; perhaps we may attempt a lucid conversation tomorrow evening. You will, of course, forgive me your prolonged isolation, but my anger, I realize, needs a bit more time to cool.
I remain, as ever,
Faithfully Yours,
V.T.D.'
Olrox read if over once more, then crumpled the letter and threw it on the fire with a snort of disgust. 'Faithfully yours, indeed. He doesn't bother with me at all unless I've done something wrong...'
The former pain having been dulled to a slight irritation, Olrox decided to try to pass the time by sleeping. Stalking into his bedroom, he glanced by chance into the mirror.
He stopped, transfixed.
His skin was a chalky gray color, his hair lank and lusterless, dark circles ringed his eyes, the whites of which had turned sickly yellow. Looking at his hands more closely, he could see the bones and sinews standing out. Running his hands over himself, he could feel ribs and hipbones through the fabric of his clothing. If he looked like this now, after he'd fed, what must he have looked like when Vlad had seen him? 'No wonder that poor woman screamed. I look like a corpse, and it must be an improvement...' Studying himself once more, Olrox sighed, and turned away. Collapsing on the bed, he stared at the ceiling for an hour or so before dozing off.
**
Evening came too soon. Olrox watched the locked door apprehensively, not remembering what had transpired during Vlad's last visit but hoping he hadn't done or said anything he'd come to regret.
Olrox heard a key turn in the lock, and Vlad let himself in without a word. By way of greeting, he gave the human he'd brought with him a gentle nudge in Olrox's direction. Olrox caught the frightened man's eyes easily, silently beckoning. The human complied as though drawn by strings. Looping an arm around the human's shoulders and murmuring soothingly, Olrox brought his other hand up to pull the man's head to one side, sighing as he bit. He closed his eyes, blissful at the warmth and sweetness of another meal. He felt the chill in his body and the aches in his joints fading, even as the human's struggles faded. He was interrupted by an impatient cough from Vlad, and he felt himself blush as he pulled the blood a little faster. He'd decided months ago that he hated, hated, hated being watched while he fed. He felt very self-conscious, and Vlad's insensitivity toward Olrox's victims annoyed him. Finally feeling the body in his arms grow colder, Olrox laid the dead human on the floor and looked up at his elder.
Vlad scrutinized him. "Much better. Now you merely look like a consumption survivor."
Olrox tried not to sulk. "Thanks to you," he said.
Vlad came closer. "I have every right to maintain order on my own lands." He stopped two paces from Olrox. "I don't suppose you remember why I had you confined here in the first place?" It was more a statement than a question.
Olrox shook his head, embarrassed.
Vlad pointed to the floor, where Olrox's key ring still lay. Olrox went a bit paler.
"I...I must have forgotten them..." he stammered.
"Yes, how convenient. I trust that this juvenile stunt of yours was an isolated incident?" Vlad kept himself under control, but Olrox didn't miss the poorly veiled threat behind the calm words.
Olrox nodded. He realized he'd been braver when he'd dropped the keys for the human to find. He also realized that there were times to be brave, and there were times when it was far more prudent to keep quiet and do as you were told. 'The past half-year has taught me that much, at least...' For good measure, he added, "I'm sorry, domule."
Vlad sighed, and tucked a strand of lank hair behind Olrox's ear. "Somehow I doubt the sincerity of that, but there's no point in keeping you here any longer." Olrox's face brightened. "Make yourself presentable, and then you can be back about your business."
"Are you still angry?" It was a stupid question, in retrospect.
"Oh, very." Vlad caught hold of Olrox's throat. "In fact, the temptation to wring your treacherous little neck is nearly too great to bear." Then, as abruptly as he'd nearly strangled Olrox, he pulled the younger vampire into an embrace. "I won't. You're outrageous sometimes, but I love you, copil."
He let go and headed for the door. As he left, he said over his shoulder, "Enough rebellion. You have no idea how much that hurt me, copil."
After he was gone, Olrox rubbed his throat and grumbled under his breath. "You got your remuneration, though, didn't you..." His teeth were chattering uncontrollably. He couldn't quite decide what frightened him more, the fact that Vlad had admitted to a strong urge to kill him, or the complete about-face in the elder's sentiments only seconds later. 'Perhaps I'm better off ignored.'
**
Seeing himself in the mirror had been a shock, but it couldn't compare to bathing. As Olrox tried to work the knots out of his hair (apparently he'd fidgeted with it) he wrinkled his nose in disgust at his gray, emaciated frame. 'Most of the zombies I've seen look healthier than this...' Still, the warm water was soothing, provided he looked at the walls and not himself, and after he'd finished and was dressed again in clean garments, he had to admit that he did look a little better. Still awful, but better. What he really needed was a good, long meal. 'It will mean changing my clothes again.'
"Damn."
**
"Well, hello, Olrox!" Torio chirped, meeting the vampire in the corridor. His expression changed to one of concern. "You're looking a little under the weather; are you ill?"
Olrox chuckled. "This is nothing, you should have seen me two hours ago. No, I just angered the powers that be." He felt so much better after his feed that he couldn't help but be in high spirits.
"Ah," Torio nodded in understanding, and wisely changed the subject. "Now, that's an unusual dye pattern for this region. I must say the red and yellow is very fetching." He tipped his head to one side. "New style?"
"Actually," Olrox replied, with a playful grin, "the waistcoat is yellow. I've just eaten, you see." This improved his mood greatly, and, for some reason, Torio's grimace of revulsion improved it even more so.
The tengu gulped. "Ah. Yes, I...see. Um...yes. You've got a dribble of something just there." He rubbed the corner of his mouth.
Olrox flicked out his tongue to clean up the offending blood. "Thank you." He paused for a moment. "Up for a game of chess? I'd like to shirk my duties a little longer."
"Only if you change your coat first, friend."
"Sounds fair."
**
Olrox studied the board, caught between two possible moves for the rook he held. Torio wasn't a great help, trying to throw his companion's concentration by keeping up a stream of endless chatter. The vampire made no attempt to curb his friend's tongue, however. He'd missed the bird-man.
"Did you hear about the human, Olrox-kun?" Torio had finally dropped the 'sama' suffix if favor of a more familiar term.
"What now?" Olrox murmured absently, finally placing his piece down at random.
Torio took a moment to study the board. "Apparently he'd managed to free four women." He grinned, then suppressed it as his eyes raked over the board again. "No one knows how he got the keys to their cells; they were supposed to have been given to a rather high-ranking person." He moved his bishop and captured Olrox's luckless rook.
Olrox frowned and furrowed his brow, wondering how he'd missed the move. "He moves in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform," he muttered, contemplating his next move.
Torio looked a little disappointed. "I thought you'd be a bit more interested than that."
"Why?" Olrox captured one of Torio's pawns. Hopefully the tengu would change the subject.
Torio looked puzzled. "I...I don't know. It seemed important."
Olrox glanced up, apologetic. "I'm sorry, Torio-kun. I've been a bit preoccupied lately."
Nodding sagely, Torio said, "Is it about the-"
"I'd rather not discuss it, Torio," Olrox snapped, and immediately apologized again. "I'm just not myself quite yet."
**
Torio had gone shortly after they'd finished their game, happy enough over his first win, but showing some friendly concern over Olrox's condition. Olrox sat staring at the chessboard, looking through the pieces without really seeing them. His own odd mood swing had upset him. 'I wonder if all vampires are like this. I'm becoming as mad as Vlad is.'
He worked for a few hours, and read listlessly, trying to steady his nerves. The chiming of the clock told him eventually that it was five o'clock, nearly sunrise. Olrox took the excuse to go to bed early, and had one of the skeletons straighten the room.
**
Sitting in a large, richly furnished room, a man Olrox hadn't seen before held a small bundle. Two young boys stood hovering over it, curious. Olrox looked over their small shoulders to see an infant. They were conversing softly; Olrox caught the tail end of a sentence before paying attention.
"His name is Radu," the man said quietly. The smaller boy (he looked to be around three or four) reached his hand out over the bundle. A tiny hand reached up and curled around one of the boy's fingers.
The older boy, probably seven, grinned. "He's so little," he breathed, greatly amused.
"You don't remember Vlad being that small, Mircea?" the man asked, amused crow's feet gathering around his eyes as he smiled.
The older boy shook his head, while the younger looked up in wonder. "I wasn't this small, was I, Tata?"
The man ran his free hand through the child's hair. "Of course you were. Mircea was, and your mother and I were too, when we were born."
The child narrowed his eyes as he contemplated this new revelation. At his age, he'd probably assumed, as most small children do, that his parents had always just...existed.
"Where's Mama?" Mircea asked.
"She's very tired," their father explained. "She's sleeping. You may speak to her tomorrow."
The image went out of focus, making Olrox a little queasy. The world quickly reorganized itself, and Olrox looked down at older boys walking through a torchlit hallway.
"I still don't understand, Mircea," said the smallest one. The hair and eyes looked vaguely familiar. "Why do we have to go?"
Mircea, who looked to be around seventeen this time, glanced down with pity on his youngest brother. "The sultan simply wants to make sure Father is still loyal to him, Radu. You won't be there long, I promise. And I hear the sultan has a son about Vlad's age. Think of it like a sort of...vacation. Maybe you can even write to us back here about how you're getting on."
The third boy raised one eyebrow, but didn't speak.
Radu continued, confused. "I thought we were Emperor Sigismund's allies. Aren't the emperor and the sultan enemies?"
The third boy spoke. "The sultan helped Father take the throne back from Basarab last year. Do you disremember why we moved back to the palace?"
"Oh." Radu looked at the floor, embarrassed.
Mircea soothed his wounded pride. "It was a very short battle; perhaps you were still too young to quite understand what happened."
"No," the smallest boy said, "I forgot."
The three were silent for a moment. All looked decidedly uncomfortable.
The silence was broken by Radu's soft sniffle. "I don't want to go."
"Neither do I," the third boy said calmly, "but Mircea promised we wouldn't be with the sultan for very long, so we won't." He spoke with the finality of one with every confidence in his older brother. "Besides, Father wouldn't have agreed to this if he thought we'd be in danger."
This seemed to mollify the young one. After a few more minutes of walking, the trio stepped out into a courtyard. Olrox was dazzled by the bright sunlight for a minute or two; when he adjusted to the light, he saw the father of the boys talking with a man who must have been a Turk. A group of more Turks were busy checking their horses' tack, preparing to leave.
Radu and Vlad eyed the other man apprehensively. His clothes were strange, flowing silk, and looked very expensive and fine. A pristine white turban perched on top of his head. He looked down his nose at them momentarily, then, as if deciding it wasn't worth the trouble, he shifted his gaze back to their father, and they continued their discussion.
Mircea and his brothers exchanged sympathetic looks.
After a few more tense minutes, their father turned to them. He looked sad, and a little nervous. "They've finished packing. Are you ready?"
Vlad nodded, and Radu mimicked his brother, though his eyes glistened. Their father leaned down and gathered them into a brief hug.
"Voivode Dracul."
Sighing, the man let go, and Mircea took his turn to say goodbye.
"We must leave now," the man insisted, and Radu shot him a small glare.
The voivode nodded wearily and watched as a few Turks helped his younger sons onto a horse whose halter was tied to the pommel of the general's saddle. "I have no cause to worry for their safety." His tone almost begged for reassurance.
The man looked grave. "The hand of the excellent sultan will shield them from all harm." With a curt bow, he mounted his own horse. "Allah smiles upon your loyalty, voivode. Word of your sons will be sent when we reach Adrianople."
They started off, the boys looking back until their father and brother, and then the palace, disappeared from view. Olrox couldn't help but notice that there was no mother seeing them off.
"You're crying," Vlad noticed.
Radu rubbed his eyes with his sleeve. "I'm sorry. I won't cry when we get there."
"Good," Vlad replied with approval. He saw that some of the other riders were staring. He straightened his back and returned their gaze with a haughty glare of his own. Eventually, the men turned their eyes away and began talking in low voices in a language Vlad didn't know well.
"Why did you do that?" Radu asked, alarmed.
"We're princes; they've no right to gawk at us like beasts in a cage."
"What are they saying?"
"Something about barbarians. I care not. Neither should you. They are only soldiers, they can think what they like."
Radu sighed. "I wish I was brave like you and Mircea and Father."
The general glanced back for a second, his face somewhat softened.
"You will be," Vlad murmured.
The world shifted again. Vlad and Radu were now dressed in much the same manner as the Turks, and they sat on cushions in a small but richly furnished room of what Olrox assumed to be the Ottoman palace. One more boy sat with them, the same age and size as Vlad. He had an olivine complexion and black eyes. His hair was black, also, and curled in ringlets. His dress and posture bespoke high lineage.
"I am told you were taught our language?" said the boy.
"Yes, though our teacher went rather quickly," Vlad answered.
The boy smirked. "You speak it very badly." Olrox decided that he didn't like this new boy.
Vlad snarled, but Radu laid a hand on his arm. "We are still learn...learning. We need more practice yet," Radu managed painfully.
The boy smiled warmly and patted Radu's hand. Vlad jerked his brother's hand away. "You can talk to me whenever you'd like, Prince Radu. Unless, of course, I need your brother's permission?" He smirked at Vlad again, but there was a trace of a challenge in his eyes.
Vlad coughed, rolling his eyes and trying to look nonchalant. "It makes no difference to me."
The boy went on as though he hadn't heard. "Your brother has very pale skin, Vlad. Is he ill?"
"No," Vlad said, trying to remain civil. "He takes after our mother."
"Oh, so you know your mother?" the boy asked, eyes sparkling. "I'd always thought that barbarians mated like animals."
Vlad spoke through clenched teeth. "Our mother was a noblewoman."
Radu interceded, quelling his brother's anger. "Our parents were married, Mehmed," he said meekly.
"Really?" the boy said. "Fascinating. I have several wives myself, of course," he went on, "It's really rather boring. I think wives are very overrated. Good for having children, I suppose, but not much else." He didn't notice, or pretended not to notice, Vlad grinding his teeth. "What is your mother like? Is she empty-headed, like mine is?"
"She's dead." Vlad's voice quivered with rage; red tinted his cheeks.
"She caught childbed fever," Radu added.
Mehmed's manner abruptly changed to one of sincere sympathy. "Oh, I am truly sorry, Radu, I had no idea. Why do you always wait for your brother to speak first? If you'd told me in the first place, I wouldn't have spoken so foolishly."
Radu blushed and looked down.
"You are married?" Radu asked politely after a minute or so in an effort to break the growing tension in the air.
"Of course," Mehmed replied glibly. "I get another wife every few months lately." He smiled condescendingly and tilted his head to one side. "Do you need me to explain how wives work? All you need do is ask; no reason to be embarrassed."
Both Vlad and Radu turned pink. "We understand perfectly well, thank you," Vlad said curtly. Radu mumbled an excuse and stood to leave.
"Perhaps I could show you the gardens later this afternoon, Radu?" Mehmed inquired sweetly. "I'd like to talk with you some more."
Radu nodded shyly and slipped out the door.
"Don't forget!" Mehmed called after him. He focused back on Vlad and smirked lazily. "He's made a rather good start here," he began, conversationally. "In fact, I think he'll do very well." His expression became more serious. "You, I'm not so sure of. And I'd hoped we would be such good friends."
"I can't imagine why." Vlad didn't hide his glare now that Radu was out of the room, and he let more than a note of disdain creep into his voice.
Mehmed leaned forward slightly. "Watch yourself, barbarian brat. I am not a pleasant enemy to have."
"Nor am I."
"You think you're someone important, don't you?" Mehmed glared as well, his humor gone. "Ha! The voivode is just another of my father's governors. Your father doesn't even own the land, really. If the sultan wanted him out of Wallachia he could do it within a day."
Vlad growled. "Believe what you wish." He stood to leave. "Oh, and before it slips my mind," he said. "If you do or say anything to upset my brother, I will personally show you just how wrong you are to think my family weak."
"Your brother is old enough to care for himself." The sultan's son rose as well.
"No. No, he isn't," Vlad said, gravely. "Remember that."
Mehmed turned and left. "Oh, I will."
The two exited through different doors, each one an adolescent storm cloud.
Suddenly, the room changed again, now becoming a bedroom with a single tall, narrow window. Sitting on a cushion before the window, staring glumly out at the night sky, was Vlad.
The door across the room inched open, and a small figure slipped inside. Casting a worried glace at his brother, Radu tried to creep unnoticed to his bed on the far wall.
"You enjoyed yourself, I hope?"
Radu jumped. "Oh! Um...yes. I am sorry, frate," he continued more softly, "I forgot. How long did you wait?"
Olrox had missed something, apparently, but he kept listening. It wasn't as though he had much choice in the matter.
Vlad looked at the ceiling as he counted hours in his head. "Well, you were supposed to meet me in the lower kitchens after supper, but after staying there for two hours, I decided that perhaps you'd gone to your rooms, so I came here. That was...three hours ago."
"I am sorry."
Vlad waved off the apology. "It was an accident. Come here." When Radu hesitated, he barked, "Come here, damnit; I will not bite you! And speak our language. No one is here to be offended by it."
Radu sat down beside his brother. "I speak it so seldom now that it has become habit to speak Arabic," he said guiltily in his mother tongue.
Vlad calmed down as he went through his pockets for something. "Break the habit, then. I don't expect we will be here much longer." Frowning, he searched his pockets more thoroughly.
Radu fidgeted with his clothing. "You said that last year as well."
"What?" Vlad looked up for a moment. "I did not hear you."
"Nothing."
"Oh." The elder brother turned his attention back to his search. "Ah, here it is." He pulled a small wooden object from a sleeve pocket and handed it to his brother. "Happy birthday."
"Thank you, frate." When Radu moved his hands out of the way, Olrox could see that it was a little carved horse. It looked like it had been very time consuming, with tiny etched lines to indicate eyes, hair, and muscles. It had been sanded smooth, and fit neatly in Radu's palm.
Vlad looked on Radu's admiration of the little thing with approval. "It was supposed to be a bit larger," he said, "But I kept making mistakes."
Radu smiled reassuringly. "Well, it is perfect now." He transferred the horse to the other hand, and the moonlight glinted off of something on his left hand. Vlad spotted it, and, catching hold of Radu's wrist, held it in front of the window, letting the light fall full on it. The glint had been made by a silver ring. Meant for an adult hand, Radu had to wear it on his thumb; the ring was so large that it spanned the length between the boy's knuckles. Vlad turned his brother's hand from side to side, examining the pattern of the ring's many woven bands of silver. It wasn't a petty trinket-mounted on the interlocking bands were thirteen maroon garnets.
"Who gave this to you?" Vlad asked quietly.
"Mehmed...It was a birthday present," Radu answered just as softly, knowing what was coming.
Instead of exploding, however, Vlad remained silent. He grasped the ring to remove it.
But Radu jerked his hand away. "Don't!"
Vlad glared. "Why not?" he snapped peevishly.
Covering the ring with his other hand, Radu said, "If I take it off, it will fall apart. See?" He held up his hand so that Vlad could see the underside of the ring. Sure enough, the ring was composed of eight separate bands that interlocked like a puzzle. "I don't know how to put it back together, and he would be offended if he saw me without it."
Vlad crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "Are you truly fond of him, or do you simply put up with him because he does you favors?" Since Radu ignored this, Vlad went on nonchalantly, "And Mehmed expects you to take that thing to the grave?"
"No, of course not." Radu glanced at the floor. "But I have only had it for an hour, so-"
Vlad pounced. "Oh, so that's where you were?" He would have gone on had Radu not interrupted his tirade before it got started.
"Frate, stop. I don't want to hear you complain about Mehmed today. I cannot understand why the two of you will not tolerate one another."
"He won't leave you alone, and he is the reason I have spent the last three months cleaning ovens. That is reason enough to dislike him."
Radu sighed. "I know he can be rather...thoughtless."
"That does not begin to describe him."
Radu jumped back in before Vlad could describe Mehmed himself. "But you have more in common than either of you think. If you would make an effort to-"
"No."
"You haven't even given him a chance!"
"Nor will I!"
Vlad brought his knees up to his chin and looked out the window. Radu took a deep breath and spoke calmly, though his brother was now ignoring him.
"I know you hate living here," Radu began. Vlad didn't move. "And I know you are not treated very well." Here Olrox noticed for the first time that Vlad's clothes were too big and rather worn, servants' hand-me-downs. "But I think you're making everything harder than it needs to be."
At that last remark, Vlad peered sidelong at Radu for a second, raising one eyebrow.
"Well," Radu said, "you are. I mean, you are unfriendly, and you must be pressed to cooperate with anyone." His voice softened as his brother's glare intensified. "You can make yourself very disagreeable, actually."
"Disagreeable?"
"Yes."
Vlad turned to face his brother. "So you think I'd be happier if I stop being who I am? If I sat quietly and listened to the old men and the sultan lie about their soldiering, if I abandoned Catholicism and went to the mosque as you do, if I become utterly spineless and let the sultan's family control every aspect of my life as though I was some pet animal, my life would be easier? No. I am a prince of Wallachia, and once we are home you will remember that you are one as well."
Radu sighed and shook his head. "Vlad, we have been here for two years now, and always you say that we will be sent home soon. Don't you think that perhaps..."
"Perhaps what?"
"That perhaps we won't be going back to Wallachia?" Radu blurted quickly, fearful of his brother's reaction.
"Why wouldn't we go home?"
"Well," answered the younger boy, "Mircea is the crown prince. And Wallachia is at war. Maybe Tata thought it best if we were...out of the way."
"Who told you that?"
Radu glared back at his brother. "Why must anyone have told me anything? I am capable of thinking for myself, you know."
"Really? I hadn't noticed."
The younger brother had been growing steadily more agitated; now it seemed he had had enough. "You don't notice anything! You do nothing but pity yourself and cling to a promise that has already been broken." Radu trailed off as he listened to his own outburst.
Vlad stared at his brother a long while. When he stood, Radu cringed back momentarily. "I'm going to leave," Vlad hissed, "before I do something I'll regret."
"That's an excellent idea."
At that moment, Olrox felt a sharp tug at his heart. He awoke with a cry, looking around himself in confused panic. But, as quickly as it had come, the pain was gone, and Olrox allowed himself to be dragged back down into sleep.
There was Vlad again, nearly grown and a carbon copy of his father. He was grooming a gray horse; from the soft crooning noises he made to calm the skittish animal, Olrox assumed that it must have been Vlad's own mount. Vlad continued on serenely for a few minutes, gently untangling hair and plucking burrs from the horse's coat.
Olrox did not at first recognize Vlad's brother when he entered the stables. Radu had been transformed over the years from a timid child into a stately young man. As he strode toward the stall where Vlad was working the elder brother glanced up, glowered, and lowered his eyes.
"What do you want?"
Radu sighed and entered the stall to stand on the horse's opposite side, being careful not to dirty his brightly-colored robes. Resting his hands lightly on the animal's back, he peered over at his brother with a look of mixed pity and contempt.
"You are difficult to find, you know," he said, his voice now smoother, deeper with age.
Vlad snorted, not looking up. "There is a very good reason for that."
"Will you not ask why I am here?"
With a heavy sigh, Vlad answered, "Why do you come to annoy me, Radu?"
"The sultan sent me to tell you a bit of...bad news. He thought it best that you hear it from me rather than a messenger."
Vlad never so much as glanced up from his work. "Bad news is nothing new to me. Tell me what it is and leave."
Radu paused briefly, then spoke. "There has been word of Father and Mircea."
Instantly Vlad's manner changed. The curry brush was dropped, forgotten, as Vlad stared wide-eyed at his brother. When Radu said no more, Vlad reached over and snatched up one of Radu's slim hands in his own, imploringly. The horse balked slightly at the sudden movement.
"Frate! Frate, I apologize. Please, what news? What has happened?" Radu hesitated. Vlad squeezed his brother's hand harder. "...There has been no word for so long..."
Radu dropped his gaze, unable to look his hopeful brother in the eye. "Father is dead," he said simply.
Shocked, Vlad slowly, slowly released Radu's hand. "No," he breathed. After a few deep breaths, he asked, "How?" He sounded choked.
Speaking quietly, Radu continued to look at the horse's back rather than at his brother. "The letter said that he was assassinated, but did not say how."
Vlad stood very still for a long moment. Suddenly, he came to. "We must go back to Wallachia."
Radu shook his head. "No, Vlad, we-"
"Stop! We do not have time for your foolishness, Radu!" Calming himself, Vlad went on. "If Father has been slain, then Mircea may be in danger. He may have been driven from the country; what if he is pursued?"
"He is not pursued!" Radu shouted back. He, too, checked his frustration and spoke softly. "And he will not leave Wallachia."
They held one another's stares as the meaning of Radu's words sank in. Vlad's eyes widened; he sank back against the stall partition, shaking his head slightly.
"It cannot be..." he whispered.
"Frate..."
"God...Frate, please," Vlad pleaded, tears beginning to roll down his face. "Please, not Mircea as well..." He trailed off when Radu didn't answer.
For several long minutes, the brothers remained silent, separated by the horse. One silently wept into his hands, with the other staring into the middle distance. Finally, Radu said, almost whispering, "Rumor from Wallachia has it that the boyars had him buried alive."
A low, pained moan escaped Vlad's lips. Then, after a few seconds of deep breathing, he raised eyes red with crying. "Who? Who among them?"
Radu shrugged. "That is not known. They may have acted in concert, for all our messenger knew." He met his brother's gaze for the first time in a quarter of an hour. "You understand of course that you are now heir of Wallachia."
"Yes," Vlad said tonelessly. "But it will be a difficult claim to make."
"Sultan Mehmed is prepared to send as many soldiers as you may require when you return."
Vlad blinked. "And you?" he asked.
Radu looked away. "The sultan believes that I will be of more use here. His intention was that I would replace the late grand vizier."
"Yes, I am sure," Vlad spat, "And did you poison the old man yourself or convince Mehmed to do it for you?"
"I am afraid I do not understand you," Radu returned haughtily, crossing his arms.
"You understand perfectly," Vlad insisted, glaring as he watched Radu nervously fidget with that same garnet ring, which now fit perfectly on the man's ring finger.
"The old die. They need no help, usually." Radu waved his hand, irritated. "This is no time to discuss it, at any rate. You should concentrate on your campaign." He went on, assuming a business-like tone. "If I were you, I'd circle around Wallachia to the north and enter through Transylvania. Perhaps you could convince-"
"Oh, do you never stop?" Vlad snapped. "Is it never enough? Our entire family lies murdered, and you reduce it all to tactics and counsel already!"
"It must be done, Vlad. Quickly."
Vlad shook his head, fists clenching. "You monster." Radu rolled his eyes. "It is all a game for you, is it not? And you hold nothing sacred, not life, not God, not your own family. Not your own body," he added venomously.
Radu took a step back, as far as the stall and the horse would allow. "Vlad, do you think that this is the time to be condemning your own brother when-"
"I have no brother," Vlad spat. Radu stood quiet, angry but too shocked to retort. "This traitor, this craven, scheming, sodomite, this parasite is not my brother. I hate this man to the very center of my bones. My brother lies rotting in some Godforsaken hole in the ground in Wallachia. I will go to him and avenge him. But you!" he jabbed a finger in Radu's direction. "You will not set one worthless foot on that land again."
For a tense minute, the two youths glared at one another, neither moving. Finally, Radu spoke, barely controlling the rage in his voice. "And so," he said softly, "you say what has been in your heart for years at last." He crossed his arms and settled his face into an easy smirk. "Consumed by bitter jealousy. A good thing it is that none of our family lives to see what you have become."
Vlad truly looked as though he'd spring upon his brother and kill him then and there. "What I have become! What I have become, when you drag the Dracula name through mud and pig shit with your sins and your ways! A willing prostitute, an abomination disguised as a man! Father would slit his own throat to know what you have become, to know that there is no depth to which you will not sink for any small gain!"
With that, Vlad clumsily threw the door of the stall open, spooking the horse, and stormed out. He barely caught his brother's mellow voice.
"I will kill you one day," Radu sighed, not bothering to turn around.
"Good. You try that," Vlad snorted. "Try every wicked, backward trick you know. I refuse to fall to such as you."
**
"Master Olrox! Master, please wake up!"
Olrox groaned. Someone was shaking him and calling out insistently. His eyes fluttered open to behold a skeleton. She jumped back a step respectfully and shifted back and forth in anxiety.
"What?" Olrox blearily looked at the clock. Two thirty-five, the height of the afternoon. He was dazed and disoriented. "What is it?"
The skeleton wrung her hand bones; the scraping sound was irritating. "It's Master Dracula. You must come at once, the human...oh! Please come!"
Jolted out of his stupor by the servant's words, Olrox leapt up and motioned for her to lead. The skeleton clattered off, with Olrox struggling to keep pace in his daytime weakness. Skeletons were easily startled, but Olrox felt a growing knot of worry and fear in the pit of his stomach. He'd never been woken at this hour, and by a mere skeleton, no less... 'What's gone wrong now, I wonder?'
After what felt like an eternity of running through a labyrinth of corridors, galleries, and stairways, the skeleton stopped at a familiar set of large double doors. The priest, Shaft, Olrox noticed with a snarl, stood off to the side, pacing in agitation.
"What?" Olrox barked harshly, as the skeleton cowered in the shadows. Shaft's eyes snapped up, bulging slightly, though certainly not through any fear of Olrox. "That human," he stammered. "I don't know how he managed it, but he caught Master Dracula while he was sleeping, and-"
Olrox didn't hear the rest, for he had already burst through the doors of the audience chamber and laboriously ran across to where the body lay. He stopped short, petrified with horror.
Blood. The puddle was already seeping into the mortared cracks in the floor, and it soaked Vlad's clothing and hair. Without his coat and vest, the blood had dyed the older vampire's white shirt a dirty red. The body hadn't been touched, still sprawled out on the ground as it had fallen, the head twisted to one side, disheveled hair half covering the face.
Drawing closer, Olrox could make out partially-healed cuts. Myriad small lacerations formed a strange map over Vlad's flesh, and sliced ribbons out of his shirt and trousers. 'God, his eyes are still open.'
Kneeling in the bloody mess, Olrox felt his throat tighten as he gently turned Vlad's face upwards and closed the corpse's eyes with his fingers. A gaping wound in Vlad's limp neck oozed sluggish, clotting fluid. Mortified, and yet in some way awed, Olrox touched his fingertips to the gash. Lukewarm tears were already stinging his eyes. 'It can't be. It can't be, he's immortal.' "It can't be," he whispered.
Footsteps interrupted him. He turned to see Shaft walking solemnly across the floor. "I truly don't know how it happened. Apparently there was a struggle. It was daylight, and-"
"STOP!" Olrox shouted, surprising even himself at the booming echoes this produced in the high-ceilinged chamber. "This doesn't concern you. Leave me."
Remarkably, Shaft stopped his advance. He stared at the vampire, not quite believing the audacity that had been shown to him. Then, he nodded slowly in apparent understanding and retreated, shutting the huge doors behind him.
Olrox returned his attention to Vlad's remains, sick with helplessness and anguish. He could no more comprehend how a creature as powerful as Vlad could be felled by a mere human than he could fathom his own sorrow at Vlad's passing. "Vlad?" he whispered, as though the elder vampire were only sleeping, could somehow awaken. He did not. Nothing changed but the slow seeping of the blood into the dry mortar, taking on a sour odor as it congealed.
But Olrox was so weary already, and the savage violence of the scene was overwhelming. He slumped weakly downward until his head and shoulders rested on Vlad's inert chest. "God," Olrox moaned softly. "Why..." 'He rescued them; he had what he came for. Why didn't he just leave? Why didn't he just leave us alone...'
Suddenly, over his quiet weeping, Olrox heard the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat. "Ah!" He pressed his ear to his master's chest and strained to hear. Minutes dragged on, but just as Olrox was about to give up and consign the noise to wishful thinking, he heard it again. Very irregular and so very, very weak, but a pulse was there. There was no breath, no movement or sign of life but pitiful, tenacious pulse. "Oh, thank you...thank you," Olrox cried, laughing briefly in relief. "God or Satan, thank you."
**
Tata- Well, duh. What do you think?
Boyar- An aritocrat.
Good gravy, what a busy year I'm having! You wouldn't believe how many months this has taken! Well, I guess you can, considering I dropped off the edge of the world after...August, was it? But with school almost over, hopefully I can make some headway with this. We're past the halfway mark, I think. How about that super-long dream sequence, huh? I had to get more of the backstory out of the way, though. Oh well. It's not like I have any sort of plan for this story... Dialogue between Vlad and Radu was ridiculously hard because a) I've been working on this on and off since last summer, and 2) contractions weren't apparently used much in the middle ages. Damn their hides. Oh well.
Radu: Loser!
Vlad: Ho!
Ah, there's nothing quite like family...