Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (7 page)

“Well, that only proves my point,” Somenski said, munching on another chunk of roasted pheasant. “Women without husbands are a pile of brainless nerves.”

Petran focused on taking another sip of his blood-wine to prevent his eyes from rolling.

“Yes, I made up my mind,” his friend uttered as if he’d come to the end of a long debate with himself. “I will accept Kalaur’s request. I will give him her hand in marriage.”

The shock of the sudden statement took Petran by surprise, making him choke on the liquid in his mouth. “Excuse my manners, Somenski,” he said cleaning his chin with his napkin. “Do you care to share with me what has suddenly made you change your mind?”

“Natalia is a good daughter, she’s a great house manager. She’ll be a good wife to Kalaur.”

“But why him?” Petran asked, trying to feign a casualty he did not feel. “There are certainly other suitors in line, are there not?”

“Yes, there are but you saw her just now, her mind is already suffering from a lack of purpose. She used to be so kind, like a delicate flower and now, ever since she’s returned from London, she’s been having these sudden outbursts.” He shook his head in resolve. “No, she needs a male figure who will guide her back to the righteous path and help her become a good spouse. Today I’m feeling better, my friend, but only the Soartas know if tomorrow will be the same. I need to ensure my Talia is cared for if I cross the Rivers of Apa Sâmbetei.”

“But, what if—”

“I understand Kalaur can be a tad arresting at times, but that is a show of good leadership. Yes, he will be a good husband for my Talia.”

Petran opened his mouth to retort but decided against it. There was no point in arguing with a dying man, especially a dragon. He took a deep breath and drank his blood-infused wine, cursing the Soartas in silence.

By Apa Dobrý, he could not allow it to happen. Petran and Somenski had forged a good understanding between neighbors over the years—he gave the old sod permission to grow crops on his land, and Somenski protected Petran’s cargo in his ports. All for a very small price. However, that would all go down the proverbial drain if Kalaur married Natalia. If that happened, Petran would be completely surrounded from north, east and west, only having the Dead Sea as an escape. Furthermore, who was to say that Kalaur wouldn’t finish what his father had started, communing with the Desert Daemons and attacking Petran from all angles?

He had to bring forth his plan at once. There was no time to waste. And the first step was to find out what in Hiad was Lady Natalia up to.

Chapter Eight

Petran climbed up the long stairs and turned the corner leading to Lady Natalia’s sleeping quarters. Shortly after she left the great hall, Somenski started feeling nauseated, probably from the amount of food he’d wolfed down in record time, and decided to retire for the evening giving Petran the freedom to go find Natalia.

He paused by her door and knocked, but received no answer. He knocked again and this time he heard movement inside. After a moment, a woman opened the door just a fraction and poked her head out.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I wish to speak with Lady Natalia,” Petran commanded.

“She’s indisposed at the moment, your majesty. She’s already asleep, but I’ll tell her in the morn that you came by.”

Petran found the maiden’s lame excuse hard to believe but let it go. It was no use forcing his way in and causing a commotion. He’d find her the following evening.

He nodded to the servant in acknowledgement and left toward his sleeping quarters in the basement. As he walked down the dark corridors, his mind raced while reviving the strange events, which had taken place since he arrived. One day Somenski was raging with fever, and then the other he was fit enough to eat an entire lamb. His daughter was the example of subservience, and then out of nowhere she broke into an uncharacteristic outburst showing a side he’d never thought she had. He knew dracos were a strange bunch, but this was simply ridiculous.

Suddenly, movement outside one of the windows caught his attention. A single candle light seemed to have been forgotten in the middle of the garden.

How odd.

Petran walked to the window and opened the small glass portal. After a moment he saw it again, a flash of light, but this time around he noticed that the candle hadn’t been left abandoned on the field. It was moving as if carried deep into the woods which bordered the castle, beyond the protection of the moat. The light went a few yards further then stopped. The night was quite dark but as the stranger made his way between branches, Petran caught a glimpse of a colorful skirt and blouse. Not a man, but a woman instead, and she was walking quite fast. As if sensing someone watched her, she turned around and looked up. Petran stepped back hiding in the shadows. Before the woman resumed her path, her headscarf fell back, revealing the most vibrant shock of red hair.
Natalia.

“Already asleep, huh?” he murmured to himself.

He looked around to ensure no one watched him then without hesitation, teleported after her.

Careful not to make any noise, he materialized in the woods.

Lady Natalia stood by an oak tree as if waiting for something or someone. She wore a simple cotton shirt with traditional Moldavian embroidery of geometric motifs and bell sleeves, a wrap-around skirt made out of colorful woolen fabric made her lithe figure look fuller than it was. Her red braids were tucked away under a traditional headscarf.

What in Hiad was she doing here? And why was she dressed as a peasant? Petran noticed she was holding a large sack against her chest. He took a step farther and hid behind a thick bush of hornbeams.

Natalia turned, looking startled but before she spotted him, sounds of approaching footsteps echoed nearby. After a heartbeat, a tall woman came into view. She wore a long dress made of brown suede, bracelets and necklaces made of wood, and animal bones and silver adorned her chest and wrists. Her dark thick mane was tied into a long braid reaching past her hips. Petran had never seen the woman before but he’d heard of her kind. She was a water witch who lived in the depths of the tropical forests across the Atlantic Ocean. The question needed answering was, what was she doing in these parts of the world?

“You’re late,” Natalia reprimanded the woman.

“So are you,” the woman replied calmly.

“I had trouble leaving the castle unnoticed. We have guests.”

“So I heard,” the woman replied. “It puzzles me the longstanding friendship between your father and the Vampire King.”

Natalia nodded. “It puzzles me too, but right now, I cannot afford to worry about it. Did you bring it?”

“Yes, did you bring your end of the bargain?”

Natalia released a long sigh. “Yes.” She undid the lace of the satchel she was holding and pulled out a large book, but before she handed it to the woman, she paused. “This has been in my family for over five centuries.”

Petran couldn’t see the cover of the book, but it did look old.

“A book is nothing if it’s forgotten on dusty shelves, milady,” the witch replied then lifted her hand, waiting for the package. “Besides it’s a small price to pay for your father’s health, is it not?”

Natalia let out another sigh of resignation then handed the book to the woman. “Why would a water witch from Brazil need a compilation of old tales from the Draconian Golden Age?”

“I’m afraid that is not of your concern, milady.”

“Enlighten me,” Natalia replied, apparently not taking no for an answer.

The water witch put the book away in one of the many bags she carried. “There is a lot to be learnt from old tales, especially ones which carry great weight with the present.”

Carry great weight with the present?
Petran frowned. The witch was clearly talking about a prophecy. Natalia also seemed to have understood that because her countenance changed in response to the other woman’s words. But whatever question she had planned to ask next was interrupted by the sound of hooves crashing through dead leaves. Someone else was approaching, and fast.

Both women rushed to hide behind a bush not even a few feet away from Petran. He shrank further back, holding his breath. They were so close he could hear Natalia’s anxious breathing.

Two men on horses came into view. They galloped past in a rush but as they reached the oak tree, one of them slowed down as if searching for something.

“Wait, I think we found it,” one of the men said.

“Is it here?” The other one asked, leading his horse back to the same spot.

“Yes, but I don’t see them,” the first one replied, circling around the nearby bushes, just inches away from the water-witch.

Damn the Soartas.
Petran got ready to attack. If they searched a bit further they would not only find the women, but him as well.

“Lady Natalia, are you here?” the first man shouted pulling back his hood.

“Dimitri!” At once, Natalia stepped out of her hiding spot, followed by the other woman. “What are you doing here?”

“Apologies for intruding, milady, but we need your help,” Dimitri replied, already dismounting from his horse. “Your chambermaid told me you were meeting the witch here.”

Natalia seemed taken aback. “What is it of such urgency that would justify you breaking our code? You put us in extreme jeopardy by first coming here, and then shouting my name in the middle of the forest!”

“Apologies again, milady,” the other man intervened. “But Milek asked us to come find you at all costs.”

Milek?
Petran’s eye went wide in shock. As in Ivan Milek, the leader of the draconian rebel army?

“What happened? Is he hurt?” Natalia asked.

“Has he been found out?” the water witch added.

“No, milady, it’s his sister. Please come with me, I’ll explain on the way,” the man replied.

Natalia glanced at the other woman. “Mother Nepú, I know our bargain was just for the potion to help my father’s health, but I have a feeling we could use your help tonight. Please, join us as well.”

Mother Nepú stared at Natalia as if weighing her options, then nodded slightly. “I’ll come with you.”

Both women climbed on the backs of the horses behind the riders, and galloped away with the draco, Dimitri and his companion. Petran didn’t have a horse but he didn’t need one to follow in suit. Contrary to popular belief, each vampire had his or her own individual abilities, developing according to his personal capabilities. His great-great-grandfather, Vlad Dracul, for instance, could read minds; his son, Vlad Tepes, The Impaler, was a master of telekinesis, hence his inclination to shove his enemies up on a spike. Petran’s talent was teleportation. While most vampires were able to teleport without breaking a sweat, very few could control the pace and the way in which their cells transported. Petran could not only cover vast distances in the blink of an eye but he could slow it down, and travel like the wind. So he stepped out of the shadows and let the familiar feeling of free fall overtake his senses. It was risky to follow them around in an unknown territory but there was no way Petran would not get to the bottom of this mystery called Lady Natalia.

**********

The two horses galloped along the narrow streets of the draconian village, then stopped in front of a brothel. They helped Natalia and Mother Nepú down then climbed the stairs into the two-story house with red doors.

Petran was past the point of curious by now, we was dead on shocked. Beggars and drunks roamed these stinking streets either trying their luck at cards or spending themselves between the legs of prostitutes. What in Hiad was a lady of the ton like Natalia doing in a red light district like this one? More importantly, why was she associating herself with the leader of the rebel forces?

With his mind full of questions, he materialized across the street from the brothel intending to follow them inside but just before the door shut behind them, Nepú suddenly stopped in her tracks and turned around.

Petran jumped back into the shadows.

The witch was definitely more sensitive than he’d anticipated having clearly sensed his arrival in the air. He’d have to be more careful.

After narrowing her eyes in his direction, however, the witch turned back around and disappeared inside the building.

A bunch of kids strolled by and handed Petran a piece of paper. One of them stopped and asked, “Do you have a spare change, mister?”

“No.”

“Are you looking for some fun?” his friend, a bit taller than the first kid, enquired.

Petran found the offer slightly shocking. “No.”

“I can make you feel real good, mister.”

By Apa Dobrý, the kid must have been barely out of puberty. “Piss off, before I tear you apart,” he growled at the lad.

Maybe it was his red eyes and elongated fangs that did the job, but the kids took the hint and scurried off. Only then did Petran realize he was still holding the piece of paper they were distributing along with their improper offers. It was a pamphlet, which read in bold black letters—OUT WITH DESPOT LEADERS! JOIN THE FIGHT AND SAVE YOUR FAMILY FROM KALAUR’S TERROR. IT’S THE ONLY WAY.

Putting the pamphlet away in one of his pockets, he climbed the steps up to the red door. As soon as he went inside, an overwhelming stench of sex, sweat and stale beer greeted him like an overbearing lover. Almost immediately, naked arms and breasts surrounded him as well as a number of proposals from a hand full of prostitutes. This was a brothel all right.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Natalia with the others on the upper foyer walking into one of the private rooms. Petran quickly deflected the whores’ attempts to lure him into their claws, and walked back out. He would not be able to climb to the private quarters undetected, so he decided to change his tactic. He walked around the narrow building and tried to locate the chamber, which Natalia and her lot had gone into. It didn’t take him long. The male friend who had come to get her, Dimitri he believe was his name, stepped out onto one of the side balconies looking tense and alert, as if checking the area for any eavesdroppers, then rushed back in.

Petran did not waste any time and
clouded out
and floated in the draco’s direction, in the hope of getting a closer look at what was taking place inside.

Natalia was sitting on the bed consoling another woman, probably Milek’s sister. The water witch was watching two boys play a game with sticks on the floor, while Dimitri and the other man guarded the door. Petran crouched low on the narrow balcony and listened.

“I don’t know where else to go,” he heard Milek’s sister choke out between sobs. “They arrived in broad daylight and told us to hand over Ivan or we’d all be massacred. But Ivan hasn’t passed by our village in a long time!”

“It seems like Balaur is just looking for an excuse to make arrests,” Natalia said. The characteristic softness in her voice was nowhere to be found. Instead, he heard the voice of a mature, strong woman who knew what was at stake.

“Then, Balaur declared that all serfs were to wear that strange metal thing on our backs. Some of the men protested, saying that Balaur had no right to force us, since we are on Somenski’s lands. But he did not care and used the weird machine to chop off their wings,” the woman exclaimed in terror.

“A machine, which cuts off wings?” Natalia asked in shock.

“Yes,” Dimitri answered. “This is Vrajitor’s latest invention. Balaur has been forcing all serfs to put it on. Ivan believes that even if not triggered, in time the device will wither our abilities to fly just by sheer pressure.”

“I didn’t want to disobey my lord, but how could I have allowed my boys to suffer that way? They don’t deserve it,” Milek’s sister sobbed.