VLAD
Winter 1450
Bogdan's castle, Moldavia
"To my sister, Crina, and cousin Vlad." Prince Bogdan of Moldavia hoisted a goblet of spiced wine.
The betrothal between Vlad and Crina heralded a new beginning, one strengthening an important ally.
"To family, new and old." Lifting his chalice with one hand, the nineteen-year-old Vlad touched the medallion on his chest with the other, and silently renewed his promise to avenge his family's deaths.
Crina stared at the floor and mumbled her cheers.
Vlad had regained his Wallachian crown.
He succeeded in sending the murdering usurper Vladislav Dăneşti into hiding.
But Vlad's victory against the man who murdered his family was cut short. Vlad's reign lasted only two months. In that time he learned a bitter lesson. The sweet taste of sovereignty was impossible to maintain without local alliances and military support.
The Wallachian boyars insisted Vlad defend his claim to the throne. The Transylvanian vice-governor, Nicolae of Ocna, demanded Vlad disclose the whereabouts of John Hunyadi.
The son of Dracul should not have to justify his sovereignty to anyone! Yet the boyars would not be appeased until Vlad hunted down and killed Dăneşti.
Vlad did his best, but eight weeks was not enough time to track Dăneşti. It was, however, time enough to earn Vlad the title, Dracula, Son of the Dragon.
While Vlad wasted time forming alliances, Dăneşti regrouped with fresh forces from Hungary and rallied loyal boyars. They decimated Vlad's paltry military by Christmas.
"Noroc." Vlad Bogdan's son, Stephen, a pious seventeen-year-old with a long nose and several unruly chin hairs, hoisted his glass with the others.
Vlad drank heartily, his gaze lingering on the angelic-faced Crina.
"Stay with us," said Stephen. "Continue your education. Our Polish scribes just returned from Venice and Rome. Our monks will teach you our people's history."
"I would be honored. It's time to replace the Islamic adhanwith Christian church bells."
#
Vlad lifted his hand from Crina's linen-covered breast. "Why are you crying?"
Crina squeezed her eyes shut, her body stiff. "Just put it in and be done with it."
"Am I hurting you? Love making is pleasant not painful." Vlad propped his head on his hand, drew circles over her shoulder and wondered if the Turkish courtesan who had showed him how to turn an icy virgin into a heated lover had neglected an important detail.
"Just do it," Crina whimpered.
Vlad lifted Crina's nightgown to her waist and pushed in. It was tight and dry, and he exploded with release.
Crina burst into tears, drew up the covers, and curled into a tight ball.
Massages, caresses, sweet talk, gifts; nothing melted the frigid Crina. Vlad stopped trying and took his pleasures with the blacksmith's daughter, a fifteen-year-old jezebel with breasts as ripe as pears and a tongue as juicy as a summer plum.
Vlad needed a legitimate male heir so he bedded Crina every morning except for Sundays and holy days when she crossed her legs and laid the Bible on her curly mound. Vlad found their daily conjoining helpful. It took the edge off his urges just enough that he was able to revel for hours in the arms of the lascivious blacksmith's daughter.
After one such lusty night, Vlad returned to find Stephen waiting by the hearth.
"You're up late, cousin." Vlad tossed his snow-dusted mantle to a servant, poured himself wine, and flopped into a chair.
"Yes, but for different reasons than you." spoke without a hint of disappointment. He knew men like Vlad needed more than just one woman. "I have been thinking about how alike we are."
"Alike?" Vlad banged down the goblet. "I was the sultan's hostage. My family murdered by Dăneşti. I know the joys of victory and the pain of defeat. Your father and mother live. You wear no battle scars. You have not yet lay with a woman."
Stephen reeled back.
"We are practically twins." Vlad howled with laughter.
Stephen chuckled and shook his finger at him. "Identical twins with the same royal destiny."
"To thrones and crowns." Vlad hoisted his goblet.
"Better yet, we will make a pledge." Stephen thumped his chest. "We will promise to help one another resist the tyranny of Hungarian and Polish kings bent on stealing our lands."
Vlad studied his cousin's face for signs of a hidden agenda but found only honest naiveté. "We must also vow to fight the Turkish invasion."
Stephen pumped his fist. "Your threat is mine."
Vlad's smile was grim; he wished every king realized that Wallachia was a door, which once breached by the ambitious Sultan Mehmed, would be the beginning of the end for all of Christendom. "Bring us a Bible," Vlad said to a servant. "Wake my wife, the prince, and princess. We need witnesses."
Half a goblet later they plodded in with sleep thick eyes and yawns.
"This is an untimely oath." Crina clutched the wool shawl tight to her neck.
"Nonsense, sister," said Prince Bogdan. "Important vows of alliance do not wait on daylight."
Vlad placed his hand on the Bible. "I, Prince Vlad, son of Vlad Dracul the Great, sovereign and ruler of Ungro-Wallachia and of the duchies of Făgăras and Amlaş, do pledge friendship and loyalty to my cousin Stephen cel Mare, of the House of Musat and heir to Moldavia as we seek to secure our respective thrones, the rightful legacy of our fathers. Not gifts, nor promises, nor affection, nor hate, shall deter us from assisting one another nor will we refuse to come to the aid of the other in times of trouble."
Vlad kissed the book, passed it to Stephen, who swore the same.
#
The Polish king invaded Moldavia in June.
Prince Bogdan sent Stephen and Vlad to lead the battle.
They returned victorious, the combat sharpening their military skills and solidifying their friendship.
Once again, Vlad's days were busy with history lessons, parties, and lusty hours with the blacksmith's daughter. Those carefree days ended forever one chilly and bloody October day.
"Prince Vlad! Prince Vlad!" A servant pounded on Vlad's chamber door. "They are murdered! Dead!"
Vlad leapt from the bed, leaving the blacksmith's daughter with her legs in the air, and flung open the door. "Who's murdered?"
"Prince Bogdan and Princess Oltea." The servant was wild-eyed, his face pale with fear.
Vlad seized the boy by his shirt. "That's impossible. They are at a friend's wedding. You lie."
The boy shook his head. "I swear, my lord, on my life. Prince Stephen just returned from Suceava. He begs your presence in his chambers."
Vlad released the boy, closed the door, and turned to the blacksmith's daughter. "You must leave. Say nothing about what you heard. Your life depends on it." He donned a robe, strode from the chambers, and headed for Stephen's room.
Vlad found Stephen shoving clothes into a satchel.
"We were ambushed by Petru Aaron and his men." Stephen kicked at a table. "He's my uncle—my father's bastard brother, and he conspired with the groom."
Vlad narrowed his eyes. "Why are you still alive?"
Stephen spun on his heels. "I would be dead too except I was in the guest chambers when it happened. I heard screaming and ran to the great hall thinking something was amiss. But..." He shook his head, blinked back tears. "God in his infinite mercy whispered a warning. Instead of racing in, I hid in a shadowed nook and watched Petru Aaron force Father to his knees and run a spear through his neck."
Vlad's eyes bulged. "Why didn't you stop him?"
"Fight fifty armed men? I'm no fool. A dead heir does not benefit Father. Or Moldavia." Stephen opened a cabinet door, took a small worn Bible from the shelf, kissed it, and placed it on top of his clothes. "I barely escaped. We must leave. They're searching for me."
Vlad rubbed his chin, his mind's eye seeing all the possible routes of escape. "We will take the Bârgău Pass to Braşov. We can stay with boyars loyal to my father."
"Braşov?" Stephen grimaced. "That's John Hunyadi's domain. His mercenaries roam the countryside. We would be offering ourselves like a stuffed sow on a silver tray. Hunyadi wants your head, Vlad."
"Precisely." Vlad folded his arms. "Which is why it's the last place Petru Aaron's men will look for us."
Vlad returned to his chamber, arranged for Crina to be taken to her cousin's home, and packed his cantle and pack saddlebag.
Vlad and Stephen slipped from the castle, saddled their horses, and raced toward Bârgău Pass. When the mountain peaks glowed orange in the twilight they slowed their pace. Moonlight guided them a bit farther, but only until the forest's thick canopy swallowed their path in darkness.
They took turns sleeping while the other stood watch. They were lucky. Neither beast nor mercenary made an appearance. They moved on before dawn, stopping once to purchase the day's provisions.
They traveled through narrow gorges where mountain goats grazed on rocky slopes, eagles soared, and lynxes prowled. They shared their ambitions, debated religion, and plotted revenge. The second night they stayed at a small inn, ate heartily, and mapped a southerly route.
"We will avoid Bistriţa." Vlad crossed his arms. "I have no desire to run into Hunyadi's mercenaries." Vlad looked past Stephen to the rosy-cheeked whore leaning against the wall.
She hooked her finger over the dress's neckline and tugged down to expose her large brown nipple. Vlad's loins ached but bedding a whore was foolish. A few coins turned a peddler of flesh into a supplier of information.
Stephen followed Vlad's gaze. "You have time for a tumble. Our clothes are homespun and the horse's tack without a crest. We are rather forgettable."
Vlad dragged his eyes away from the luscious breast. "Too risky. Nothing gets past a sharp-eyed whore." He rubbed his stubbled chin. "Hunyadi fell out of favor with the Hungarian king. Had his Viceroy of Hungary and Governor of Transylvania titles revoked. The once formidable John Hunyadi now lords only over his wife Erzsébet, two sons, and few provinces."
"Capturing you would be a triumph," said Stephen.
"Exactly, which is why we'll go the long way around."
The next day they crossed into Hunyadi's lands. They skirted the villages, passing only a few weary shepherds tending their flocks.
Night fell early. Thick gray clouds pressed down and forced Vlad and Stephen to abandon the footpath for the protection of the forest. They made camp in a small clearing near a stream and ate their porridge while listening to a nocturnal symphony of hooting owls, howling wolves, and yowling lynxes.
A twig snapped.'
Vlad clenched the hilt of his sword. "Identify yourself."
"I am unarmed." The voice came from the darkness. "A harmless pilgrim." A tall red-haired man stepped into the clearing, his empty hands outstretched.
"What are those?" Vlad aimed the sword at the odd trinkets hanging from his waist.
"Tools of my trade, good sir." He patted his belt.
"What trade is that?" Vlad tossed a leaf into the air and sliced it in half with his sword.
The stranger blinked, unimpressed by the sharpness of Vlad's blade. "Knowledge."
Stephen jumped up and drew his sword. "You're a spy."
The stranger tugged at the white fur around his neck. "Spies carry falsehoods. I carry mysteries of the world."
"Ah, I know who you are." Stephen re-sheathed his sword and sat back down. "Your appearance gives you away. You are a Şolomonar. A practitioner of alchemy."
"I am." He dipped his head. "A hungry Şolomonar."
"Help yourself." Vlad gestured to the pot on the fire.
Stephen tossed the Şolomonar a wineskin. "What brings you from your mountain cave to practice the art of wizardry?"
"A strigoiterrorizes a village not far from here." The Şolomonar scooped a bowlful of porridge. "It steals the life force of their women. Several robust maidens grow pale from blood loss."
Vlad rolled his eyes. "You are in the presence of learned men, sir. We do not believe in fairy stories. Strigoiare no more real than dragons andjinn."
"Learned men, you say?" The Şolomonar scratched his red beard, his brow creased with confusion. "Then perhaps you can explain why scholars of art, mathematics, and philosophy continue to debate the world's great mysteries?"
"There are no mysteries." Vlad wiped out his empty bowl. "Only spheres of understanding. The unschooled know little. The scholar some. The expert more. A mystery, therefore, is something not yet understood. Eventually, man will awaken, and then they will solve all the world's mysteries."
"You are a philosopher." The Şolomonar smiled approvingly. "Do you think one of these woke men will discover why strigoirise from the grave? Will they tell us how a body neither alive nor dead—existing in some hellish realm—is able to steal the livings' life force? Do you believe these woke men will explain why a moroi takes demonic possession of an innocent?"
"Yes."
"You have much faith in mankind."
"I have no faith in mankind." Vlad tasted the injustices of his youth at the back of his throat. "I do have faith in man's fondness for evil. And evil pushes men to cross moral boundaries that good men fear to look upon."
"I have no quarrel there." The Şolomonar turned to Stephen. "You are silent."
Stephen shrugged. "My companion is the better philosopher."
"Perhaps, but you have a noble energy that foretells a great destiny." The Şolomonar rubbed his chin, his gaze fixed on . "The fruits of your labors will not be harvested for several years."
Vlad bit back his laughter.
Stephen jabbed his thumb toward Vlad. "What predictions do you have for my companion?"
The Şolomonar's face darkened as his eyes bore into Vlad's. "Two reside within. One shall perish. The other will live for eternity."
"You get a prophecy, I get a riddle." Vlad nudged Stephen with his boot.
The Şolomonar rose and rinsed his bowl in the stream. "Thank you for your hospitality, my lords." He set the bowl by the fire. "I wish you both prosperity and many children."
"May God speed you on your journey," said Stephen.
"And you." The Şolomonar walked beyond the firelight's glow.
"Şolomonar!" Vlad called. "Is it true your people possess a book containing the secrets of the natural world?"
"The unnatural as well." His words faded into the forest with him.
Vlad turned to Stephen. "I..."
Stephen yawned. "What?"
"I'll keep first watch." It was best he kept his curiosity about the book to himself.
#
A loyal boyar near Braşov offered Vlad and Stephen accommodation. It was a short stay.
Days later, a breathless, ashen-faced priest arrived at the home. "Hunyadi d-d-discovered y-y-your w-w-whereabouts." He looked over his shoulder into the forest, his fingers gripping a wooden crucifix. "M-m-mercenaries are headed this w-w-way."
Vlad and Stephan fled without saying goodbye to the boyar. They arrived in the village of Gioagiu—their satchels yet unpacked—when the innkeeper told them an assassin for Hunyadi was tethering his horse in the stable. Vlad and Stephen climbed out the window and raced into the forest. The assassin missed them by the shake of a dog's tail.
A year passed. Vlad and Stephen moved from house to house. They made midnight journeys to attend secret meetings in hopes of finding allies and raising support.
But some trips Vlad made alone, and they had nothing to do with diplomacy.
For two days, Vlad squatted unseen in a dense thicket. No one went in or out of the narrow mountain crevice.
This was the entrance to the Şolomonari lair. It had to be. Every barely visible footstep, every half bent twig led here.
Satisfied the Şolomonari were far away, possibly on some godly mission, Vlad approached the cave. He swept aside a tangle of branches at its entrance. Odd characters were carved into the rock.
Vlad ran his hand over it. A subtle force seeped into his fingertips and slide serpent-like up his arm. The sensation—part itch, part warmth—blossomed outward into his body, before it gathered and curled at the nape of his neck.
Vlad swallowed, touched his neck as though expecting to feel something, a scratch, a lump...something. There was nothing. As though it, whatever itwas, already became part of him.
Energy coursing through his limbs, Vlad pushed his way between the narrow rocky crevice. Inside, he held his breath and listened for signs of life.
The cave was silent, expectant, as though it waited for him. The same odd script covered the walls from floor to ceiling. Warnings? Incantations? Wisdom? Vlad circled the cave in awe, then stood in the center, hands on his hips.
Maybe all this writing was the book? Vlad circled the cave again and again, held the lantern at different levels. On the fourth circuit, with the light above his head, he noticed a fissure near the ceiling. Beneath, footholds were carved into the stone. How had he missed them?
His heart pounding, Vlad scaled the wall, and thrust his hand inside the cleft. Something was wedged inside. He coaxed it out, unwound the wool around it.
TheBook of the Şolomonari.
Vlad's breath caught in his throat. The world hummed in his ear. Vlad jumped down, sat on the ground, and opened the book. More of the same writing. Heady with exhilaration, muscles coiled for action, Vlad emerged from the cave and squinted into the sun.
The forest was preternaturally quiet, as though it held its collective breath. Vlad clutched the book to his chest and inhaled its ancient scent, the fragrance of Solomon; king, necromancer, scholar, and beloved of God. With this book he could not fail to save his country and people. With this book he could fight Sultan Mehmed. With this book he would become someone the world would never forget.
#
The January snow fell fast, wet, and thick when the messenger arrived with a letter for Vlad.
Vlad turned it over in his hand, rubbed his thumb over Hunyadi's waxed signet, and fought back the dread in his gut. "He must have a spy under every rug and stone."
"Better a letter than an assassin." Stephen paced the room.
Vlad broke the seal and read. Twice. He dropped the letter in his lap, clasped his hands together, and tapped his steepled index fingers on his lips. He stared at nothing, but his mind went everywhere. To every possible motive.
His face blanched with worry, Stephen's eyes darted the room. "Are we surrounded?"
Vlad blinked, his mind made up. "Hunyadi seeks my counsel. He believes Mehmed wants to invade Hungary."
Stephen's shoulders slumped with relief. "You know Mehmed better than anyone. Is that his intent?"
Vlad exhaled a grunt. "Mehmed wants—has always wanted—to conquer the entire world."
"What will you do?" Stephen gestured to the letter.
Vlad closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "The only thing I can do."
________________________________________
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