- XI -

Amelia admired her reflection in the mirror. The folktale of vampires lacking a reflection was a myth. As was the gift of flight in a bat shape or the fear of the holy relics. She smiled at the thought.

Other things held true. Her skin was pale, the flesh at her wrists and the inside of her elbows even translucent. It was like ivory or a certain kind of shell from some Mediterranean beach. Where her eyes had been the green of new leaves in spring, they had turned to an emerald shade with the change.

Her hair was smoother, silkier than it had been, and she had lost weight, her ribs showing. She could also see the shapes of muscles she hadn't noticed before.

Amelia summoned a servant girl from the corridor to help her put on a dark red dress, a silver necklace, and a sable cloak. Now she was fit for the gathering tonight. For a while she considered the pots of blush and rouge before dismissing them. She wouldn't need make-up anymore. Her pallor aside, she was more beautiful than ever.

The prince had sent messengers to every town and village within a three day march of the keep, calling the Moldavian soldiers together. The last war had ended only recently. A winter campaign was riskier in the lives lost to cold and desertion, but it was a better alternative to a summer one when men had crops and flocks to tend to. They might refuse to fight if it meant a hungry season in the months to come.

Still, Viktor was their lord and master, so no-one dared to disobey the man's orders. To do so would not only put his own life on the line, but those of his wife and children as well. And so, the men arrived by the day, some on horseback, most by foot, and all armed with the weapons they had been granted after the last battle. Now, they waited until dusk for their prince to speak.

"Good God, not again!" Dimitri murmured. "I am only forty, but nearly as infirm as my father."

"So am I." Radu, the man next to him spoke just as softly despite the unlikelihood of being overheard.

They had grown up together, married their wives within the same span of a month, and watched their children grow up together. Radu was a close companion and friend.

"My son Andrei has only attained full age recently. Yet, I fear his life will be wasted in our lord's endless wars, just as ours were," Radu said.

The young man looked afraid and outraged at his father's words, both emotions quickly following each other across his face.

"Prince Viktor is an old man past his prime. Why would he need to conquer any more land?" Andrei asked aloud.

"Hold your tongue, boy!" Radu hissed. "If someone overhears you, they will remove your head."

"We must obey the prince's orders, or we will be tortured and executed. We don't need to commit a crime; he loves to make examples of the disobedient and unwary," Dimitri whispered.

Then the warlord appeared on his balcony, an indigo coloured cloak draped around his shoulders and a silver sword on his belt. A beautiful woman and a red-haired man, maybe his new mistress and guard, stood only a step or two behind him. Dimitri sucked in a breath, dismayed. Red haired men were cursed, it was said, and this particular one had a penchant for wandering at night. Prince Viktor's lover, as the rumors said, was beautiful, almost unearthly to look at. Like an angel sent from God Himself to reside among the mortals. And as equally unknown, few could guess at her birthplace before coming to this land.

"My knights, my soldiers!" Viktor's voice echoed across the courtyard. "A new war lies ahead, but it will not be war like you know it. This will be harder and more merciless than any conflict against mortal men. For this time, I will not lead you against men but beasts. Demons who take on the shapes of wolves and mindless creatures. They are a plague on the lands and must be eliminated before their taint spreads beyond the bounds of Hungary. They are not a God-fearing race but monsters who would slaughter your wives, your children, and your cattle without a thought."

He paused and inspected the men's intimidated faces. An anxious murmur could be heard from the crowd. Fear was as much a tool as love, and he had always found fear to be the more effective weapon. Viktor smiled and continued.

"I will not make this an absurd attempt at fighting werewolves with an army of mortal men. I intend to offer you this; fight with me and you will gain immortality, speed and strength beyond your knowledge, and weapons better than those you carry. You will march to Hungary and come back wealthy and glorious. If you decline, you will remain mere mortals, go back to your families, till the fields, and eke out an existence in poverty."

Now the murmur seemed to change from anxious to interested.

"That sounds like a fine idea, Father." Andrei said.

Radu stared at him, aghast. "Are you mad? The one time that our lord shows us mercy and lets us choose whether we want to fight or not, you would enter the battle without batting an eye? Put that thought out of your head and think of your mother. You are the only son of mine who lived to be a man grown."

"Your father is right," Dimitri said. "We must return to the village."

Andrei quieted, though his scowl hinted at defiance, he wouldn't admit to so openly.

Within the next hour about three-hundred soldiers came forward to join the newly forming army, while everyone else headed for the gate and left the castle.

Marcus watched them, noting one young man who likely had just seen his fifteenth summer. He lingered, falling back behind his father and another older man before turning his back on the departing crowd.

Not a bad result, Marcus thought. Maybe we have enough men now to get a hold of William and keep him at bay.

He turned around, wanting to speak to Viktor, but the warlord was gone.