The town was desolate in the evening snowfall, save for muted lamplight that flickered ahead out of a frosted window. It happened to be the town’s ale house, the only establishment still open in the late hour. Danulf trudged towards it, gesturing for David to follow, his boots leaving generous footprints in the snow.
David could hear the audible bustle behind its walls as they approached, as well as the fleeting thoughts of the mortals inside. He raised an eyebrow as Danulf prepared to enter, surprised that he would expose them to humans so casually.
“Are you ready?” Danulf asked him, noticing his bewildered expression.
David bobbed his head in reply.
Danulf opened the front door to bring a visual to the noise, the modest room brimming with chattering men of all shapes and sizes, clustered around dozens of tables arranged in front of the bar. They grew still in silent unison as they entered, the barkeep eyeing them suspiciously before brightening. “Comrades!” he erupted in a thick Wallachian dialect. “Let me fetch you some ale.”
The tavern patrons suddenly retrieved their glasses, lifting them in salute as David walked awkwardly through, discomfited by the gesture. Their thoughts trickled into his mind like the slow drip of water, disclosing that many of them knew who he was and were convinced he was the one who would save them from Lucius’s terrible reign.
“They do not have time for ale,” Dragos appeared from behind the gathering of men, dressed in formal livery, his hair pushed flat underneath a fur cap. A sheathed saber lay at his waist. “They are needed in the cellars.”
The barkeep nodded. “Carry on, gentlemen,” he instructed the rest of the patrons, who resumed their boisterous chatter.
“It took you long enough,” Dragos remarked as they entered the back room where kegs of ale were stowed.
“Your sister is a formidable obstacle,” Danulf muttered. They both began to move around the heavy containers until they revealed yet another door that led underground.
As soon as Danulf lifted it open, David was accosted by the sour smell of offal. The room they entered was dim, save for a weak lantern on a table that revealed rows of fermenting ale in barrels, alternating evenly with vats of animal blood.
“This room serves as our butchery,” Dragos explained as David observed a long butcher’s block at the far end of the room, stained with crimson and cluttered by knives. Several wooden boxes of animal meat were stacked against the wall, chilled by layers of ice. “We drain the animals, preserving their meat for the rest of the town. The smell of wild game conceals the creature presence here.”
“Nemorti live in town?” David was surprised.
“Some of the men in the tavern are human and some are creatures, for we do not use the word nemorti like you. Our creatures are free. The humans have offered us an alliance, also of their own free will, for they understand what is at stake—that the Imposter Prince intends to wipe out humanity and force us all into servitude. They assist us in our daylight affairs. A few of the sick and dying even offer us their blood, helpful to satisfy the bloodlust that our newly created creatures suffer from in their first days.”
“You create blood drinkers?” David repeated incredulously.
“We do not create them ourselves, the Imposter has his Hunters for that. They are not only responsible for kidnapping innocent townspeople for food, but they have been turning new recruits at an alarming rate. Do you pay attention to anything that transpires in your own home?” he chided, shaking his head in disbelief. “We are the ones who steal them out of the castle, so that they might find freedom here. Many are quite young when we discover them.”
David ignored the denunciation. “Forgive me, but if Lucius is planning for war, then his army is vast,” he pointed out. “Dan may have killed half his court, but his knights range in the thousands. The men in the tavern are militia, half of them lacking the strength to take on one immortal, let alone dozens. Even starving nemorti can kill quite well.”
“That is why we brought you here,” Danulf interrupted their exchange. He led David away from the butchery down a corridor that opened into a meeting room. At its center was a substantial table, mimicking the high table preferred by royalty. A man was already seated behind it, his hand cradling the white marble orb that topped his staff. All around him, Turkish soldiers stood in full armor, their pointed iron helmets shining in the torchlight.
The man looked up to face him, causing David to startle with recognition. Radu cel Frumos was a near identical version of his imposter brother Lucius, with the same radiant black hair and striking eyes, but was far more delicate, his graceful mannerisms accentuated by the silk caftan draped around his slender frame. “The eldest son of Vlad Dracul, the true heir to the Wallachian throne,” David murmured aloud, before he could stop himself. “I thought Lucius had murdered you.”
“You are correct, I am the true heir to my father’s throne. I wish to take back what is mine and was told that you are the ones to aid me in achieving this.” Although he was visually charming, his voice was cold and clear, without a hint of pleasantry.
“Shall we sit?” Dragos motioned to Danulf and David. Once seated, he turned his attention towards Radu. “My people have been victims of senseless torture and death for as long as the Imposter Dracula has sat on the throne. He has created his own army of creatures, whom he calls nemorti, immortal creatures that he keeps starved and submissive. He intends to use them first to wipe our territory clean of humanity, then continue on to ravage the rest of Europe until no human is left standing. He will then force his newly minted creatures into servitude. The Wallachian people are no strangers to mythical creatures, but the delicate balance that we have painstakingly preserved over the centuries has been destroyed. Half of our town is now walking death. We propose that if we combine our forces in battle, the immortal Wallachians and the Ottoman Turks, we can usurp Dracula, and not only restore this precious balance, but restore the rightful heir on the Wallachian throne.”
Radu was quiet as he considered his request, pursing his lips together as he thought. “Can the fiend even be killed?” he asked. “And how do you propose my men fight these creatures of darkness, these nemorti, as you call them?”
Dragos gestured towards David. “We have recruited the second oldest one on this earth, the only one who matches the Imposter in power.”
Radu raised a delicate eyebrow. “He is covered in bandages,” he said flatly.
“My name is David, and I am the first true immortal blood drinker,” David found words tumbling from his mouth unrestrained. He wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion, Hekate’s revelations, or the tension that thickened the room, but he had grown past his point of patience. “I am over one thousand years old. I have lived to see the Roman Empire fall, Jesus Christ murdered, the Crusades launch and end. I have outlived some of the greatest minds and worst men on earth. The one you know as Dracula, I know as Lucius, a dark god incarnate, who proceeds my age by hundreds of years. It has been revealed to me that he is actually my brother and it has been confirmed by those that hold the magic in this world that it is only I that can kill him. And I intend to do so, with or without your help. I have no time for, nor do I care about, the power struggles between men. Yet if I have the opportunity to be helpful while I complete my task, then so be it.”
The room was silent, Dragos’s face drawn up into blatant mortification.
Yet, remarkably, Radu nodded. “I understand. Forgive me for not seeing the true warrior behind the mask. How many men does this Lucius have?”
“At least a thousand,” Dragos responded without hesitation.
Radu looked at Danulf. “You say you have a thousand men in your army, as well. How many are creatures?”
“Only half.”
“Are you planning to make the rest nemorti?”
Dragos interjected. “Our main purpose for this war is to establish the rule that creatures and mortals must coexist, neither one having dominion over the other,” he explained. “We will not be turning any humans, since that would go against our purpose.”
“But we do understand that they have their weaknesses,” Danulf spoke up. “Our plan to keep the human army behind the others, armed and waiting with silver tipped weaponry. We discovered that this metal can kill creatures as efficiently as the naked sun.”
David was aghast at the open revelation of their most precious secret, but was able to arrest any display of emotion.
Radu again presented a contemplative visage. He crossed a pair of bony hands before him, his fingers unusually barren of jewels for someone of royal stature, a stark divergence from Lucius. The longer David observed him, the more he understood his handle, Radu the Fair, for although he could easily pass as Lucius’s twin, his youth brought an undeniable softness to his features.
Finally, he spoke. “I was the one who led the attack on Wallachia for Sultan Mehmet, armed with troops in the hundreds, after the Imposter attempted to sneak into our camp to assassinate him. It was I who saw the dead Turkish soldiers he surrounded his castle with, the stench of decaying bodies in the summer sun unbearable. My men became so distraught by the sight of their people butchered in such a manner that they refused to fight, retreating back to our camp and withdrawing from the army. I will never forget the sight of it for as long as I shall live.
“It is the reason why I am alone now, with the Sultan’s blessing, but not his janissaries. He has not spoken it aloud, but he believes the Imposter is true evil and will not venture into his land again. I have a few Turkish soldiers with me now, but they are of moderate value to him. Many of my men I have recruited on my own, allies I made during my time spent in the Ottoman Empire as a youth. Some I have collected from across the Danubian plains. In total, I have two thousand trained soldiers, yet none of them are creatures. I will have to offer them the same positions that you intend on assigning your humans, relying on your immortal army to take the forefront.”
Danulf nodded. “We should strike on the offensive by raiding the castle as it sleeps—right at nightfall. Although it cannot fully kill them, a creature must steer far from fire, which we can use to our advantage. Your flesh and blood army can attack the castle using incendiary weapons to push them back, allowing our creatures to enter.”
“Yes, that would work,” the prince agreed. He sat back in his chair, contemplating the proposal in its entirety.
“We will align our causes,” he decided.
