The Vorbing (14 page)

              Pierre grunted at the impertinent advice.

              “We are no longer competitors,” Vlad said to soothe Pierre’s frustration. “We are brothers in arms now.”

              Pierre was enraged and took no notice of what Vlad said. “I must miss the big celebration of the year to accompany you to this accursed, bog village of yours,” Pierre said with exasperation.

              “We all have our crosses to bear,” Vlad said unsympathetically.

              “Aye,” Pierre said. “We do.”

              Vlad woke up to see Sir Pierre de la Costa smiling down at him.

              “Awake at last, boy!” he boomed. “You’ve slept these last three days. They said you were dead, but I said I’d put any man to the sword who tried to put this champion in his grave. Hungry?”

              Vlad mumbled an answer.

              “Of course you are,” Pierre said. “You shall have sustenance as you have had rest. Had Mortis been a hundred miles further, I fear you would have died from your exertions.”

              “Where am I?” Vlad asked groggily as he sat up.

              “You are in the Azorian Palace,” Pierre said. “You impressed many with your fine display on Saint George’s Common, including myself, and I am not given to flattery easily.”

              “So,” a female voice said, “our champion awakes.”

              Vlad focussed his bleary eyes on the lovely visage of Princess Annalise. “Hello, your highness,” Vlad croaked as he tried to sit up.

              “Be still, Vlad,” she said softly, putting her hand on his chest. It struck Vlad that he’d had no female care since he had left his village.

              “Will you accept your prize now?” she asked.

              “What prize?” Vlad asked from his drowsy mental fog.

              “Why, your archery prize, of course!” the princess said.

              “Oh yes, how foolish of me,” Vlad said. “I would be delighted.”

              Princess Annalise clapped her hands, and a servant appeared proffering a purple cushion with a golden arrow on it. “Vlad Ingisbohr,” the princess said in a regal tone she had used many times in the past, “you are the archery champion of the city of Mortis. I present you with this golden arrow for your unerring accuracy and boldness.”

              “Thank you, your highness,” Vlad said. “I shall treasure this.”

              “You must give it back when your time as champion expires in a year,” the princess said. “Gold is scarce, and we cannot fashion new golden arrows at will.”

              “Oh,” Vlad said, audibly disappointed. “Very well.”

              The princess sat on the side of the bed. “So, our champion, tell me,” she enquired, a girlish smile playing across her face, “is there a girl that warms your heart?”

              “Yes, your highness,” Vlad said. “She waits for me at home in my village.”

              “A truly lucky girl,” the princess said in a disappointed tone.

              “Thank you, your highness,” Vlad said.

              “Goodbye, Vlad,” the princess said. “Have a safe journey home. I know Pierre here will guard you and your village well.”

              “Your highness,” Pierre said, bowing his head.

              The princess left them alone.

              “Let us get you fed and get our journey underway,” Pierre said.

              “We should go now,” Vlad insisted. “I have wasted three days in slumber.”

              “You must eat something,” Pierre said. “You will need your strength for the road, believe me.”

              “Very well,” Vlad said.

They departed to the palace kitchen to eat.

Chapter Twelve

Vlad and Pierre walked to the gates of the city of Mortis with full bellies. The mighty gates had stood for millennia, and with good fortune, would stand for aeons to come. Vlad had more time to admire the workmanship leaving Mortis than he had entering the city. He hoped to see them again in happier times and knocked on the wood for luck. Pierre untied a large white stallion and a donkey. Vlad knew which animal he would get. Pierre mounted the white stallion, and Vlad attempted to mount the donkey. Vlad was not a great horseman and the knight remained unimpressed.

              “Come along, boy,” Pierre said impatiently. “Mount up and let us be on our way.”

              Eventually, Vlad appeared to be in the saddle and tottered along behind Pierre. Vlad told himself he would dismount when they reached Nocturne, lest the villagers mocked him and his awkwardness on the donkey. Vlad took a last look at Mortis. He had arrived as a peasant boy with nothing, and left a champion with one of the king’s knights as his protector. It was some sort of miracle. Vlad turned his attention to the harsh road back to Nocturne. His donkey plodded on silently while he watched the road and trees ahead for any unusual activity. Pierre stopped a moment and waited for Vlad to catch up. The two animals and their riders disappeared from view into the forest. Mortis had been an expectation for Vlad. As he left, it was mostly a good memory receding from his mind. There were more pressing matters to deal with

              There were oak, chestnut, and beech trees in the wood, and the wind made them bow as if in deference to the knight and his companion. A tapestry of crows, magpies, and seagulls foraged for food on the forest floor. Their colours blended as the birds passed one another, scanning the ground for food, protected by their strength in numbers. Vlad had never seen such a variety of birds in one place. There were even a few pigeons on the periphery that joined them. If there was just one bird there, it would be easy prey for a hawk. Being together in a group increased each bird’s chances of survival greatly. It made Vlad see the need to unite Nocturne with even greater clarity.

              “Look at that crow marching like a soldier to war,” Pierre said laughing. “I knew someone like that once.”

              The birds scattered into the trees and into the air as Pierre and Vlad rode through them. Then, as suddenly as they had parted like the Red Sea for Moses, they merged again to scan the ground for morsels of food. Their ability to adapt to their surroundings and even coexist with enemies proved they could survive together. Although impressed, Vlad had an uneasy feeling in his stomach. They had left their sanctuary, entered hostile territory, and were vulnerable. The return journey was not a solitary one on foot for Vlad. He had a travelling companion and transport, and for that he was grateful. Unlike the birds they saw, though, two did not constitute safety in numbers. They were mortal men. Anything could happen out there and nobody would hear their cries for help. Everything conspired against a traveller: the natural wildlife, the elements, the flora and fauna, the unnatural criminals, and the supernatural creatures. Then there were hunger, thirst, disease, injury, and even something as simple as getting lost or having no shelter, and just one could be the end of them.

              Vlad felt he had matured rapidly, it was a growth spurt forced on him. His survival, and the survival of his mother, Ula, and his village depended on his return with deliverance for them all. How he wished to see them all again and free them from the oppression of the vampires. Vlad’s brief tenure in Mortis was the first time in his life he had stopped thinking about vampires. It had been a welcome if temporary release from his obsession. Vlad’s determination to enjoy that peace permanently had increased. He wanted a new life for himself. In Nocturne, the vampires haunted every waking moment and plagued the dreams of everyone when they slept, if they did. There was no escape. Even in daylight, the malignant aura of vampirism clung to everyone and everything. It was a psychic shock before the real shocks returned after dark. No wonder so many went mad there under the strain. Vlad and his people richly deserved the long overdue life of peace and normality that others took for granted.

              Vlad saw a life of love with Ula and their children, his mother’s grandchildren. Hana Ingisbohr would gain a new lease of life with the babies. He imagined her playing with them at the family farm. She loved children and enjoyed taking care of people. Hana was a great mother and would be an even better grandmother from all the experience she had gained. Ula could learn much from her and no doubt she would. Ula got on well with Vlad’s mother and Hana told Vlad he had found a lovely girl in Ula. Hana had indirectly given them her blessing by telling Vlad that, and he had sensed it. Vlad smiled at the thought of it. The smile soon left his countenance. To get to that life, they had to fight harder than they ever had against the vampires and endure more battles and deaths. War-weariness weighed heavily on part of Vlad’s psyche. Another part was impatient for the final conflict to begin. Whoever lost that battle would not survive. It would be victory or death for Vlad and his people or the vampires. He knew it, and so did Deadulus.

Even though he slept in daylight, Deadulus already knew of the knight by Vlad’s side. It surprised the vampire as much as it surprised Vlad. Deadulus had reached out with his mind and felt their presence on the road. The boy was becoming a man, a powerful man, and a potent threat with it, even stronger than his father before him. Deadulus felt a flicker of fear he had not experienced in a long time. He savoured it and used it to spur him on to the total victory he believed was his right. Deadulus returned to his slumber in the cave high on Vampire Mountain.

The vampires would try even harder to kill Vlad on the road back to Nocturne. It made Vlad’s stomach tighten even more. The only relief for Vlad was that it was early morning and darkness was many hours away. He did not want to think what would happen once night fell. The blood crusade he and Pierre were on could end with the spilling of their blood in the middle of nowhere. That would be the end of everything Vlad worked to achieve. He brought his mind back to the present and the road ahead. Allowing the mind to wander by losing concentration could also be the end of someone out there.

              A strange, vinegary smell assailed Vlad’s nostrils and his donkey seemed startled and brayed and bucked. Pierre stopped and sniffed the air. Whatever caused the donkey’s nervousness spread to Pierre’s horse. Even though he was an experienced horseman, he struggled to control his mount. It galloped off into a nearby river. Pierre almost had him under control when the beast threw him and he fell into the water with a great splash. A hawk screeched out as it flew out of a tree overlooking the knight and vanished into the distance. The horse seemed to calm down after that.

              “Get a fire going, Vlad,” the knight said. “I need to dry off.”

Pierre sat shivering and almost naked by the campfire as he tried to warm himself. Vlad stared in horror at the painful-looking scars that covered the knight’s body.

              “So many wounds,” Vlad said, wincing as if he felt empathetic pain.

              “Aye, boy, that’s the price of victory. It’s not all about glory, it’s about the effort and pain you’re willing to endure to achieve it. These marks are symbols of valour, and I fought hard to earn them. I watched many friends and comrades die while getting them. I remember where, when, and how I got every scar, every moment of every battle. They give me pain when I sleep.”

              “Such damage,” Vlad said.

              “Damage?” Pierre asked. “They’re all that’s holding me together!”

              They both laughed, Vlad more cautiously than Pierre, as he feared the knight’s temper.

              “They are symbols of maturity,” Pierre continued, “and a commitment to a greater good: family, community, king and country, and God. Keep your pity, I don’t seek it. There were times I had to show none to the enemies of the church. I will go anywhere, fight anywhere to defeat evil.
Virtus Basis Vitae
- the basis of life is virtue. That is the motto of the Knights of Mortis.  Wherever evil is, you will find me with the Lord at my side. It is my life’s mission to do the Lord’s work and spread his teachings to the ignorant.”

“Beware the self-righteous man, for he will destroy the world many times over before he sees his folly,” Vlad said quietly.

“Is that from the Bible?”

“No, it’s from me!” Vlad said laughing.

“Hmm, I thought it was some Bible passage I had never heard before, and that would be unusual, as I know all of it. Call me self-righteous again, and I’ll cut that insolent tongue from your head.”

“You’ll try, I’ve beaten you once already, remember?”

“I am a man that’s seen the world and almost died defending my beliefs. I left many friends behind in the ground on crusade, virtuous men who laid down their lives for God. A boy who has never left his village and sacrificed nothing cannot judge me.”

              “I grew up without a father because he gave his life fighting the forces of darkness,” Vlad said, angrily getting to his feet. “Don’t tell me I’ve sacrificed nothing. I have fought and left my village. That’s how I defeated you, remember?”

“Yes, you have sacrificed for God too. Forgive me, young Vlad. You are more like me than I’d like to admit.”

It was probably the closest that proud Pierre de la Costa would ever get to paying him a compliment, and Vlad silently accepted it.

Pierre traced one scar with his finger, lost in thought for a moment. “I heard of a tribe in a far-off country who painted their bodies and faces for war,” Pierre said. “These scars are my war paint.”

              “Yet you keep your war paint hidden beneath armour,” Vlad said.

              Pierre stood up with his arms out in a daring pose. “Let my enemies see my lacerations and know the warrior they face,” Pierre said, addressing any invisible foes within earshot.

              “They are impressive,” Vlad said, with barely disguised admiration.

              “War is ugly, brutal, and painful, Vlad. You only see beauty when peace is won. Remember that. We are sleepwalkers on the path we have chosen. Have no illusions about that.”

              “Then why did you choose to fight?”

              “It was not a choice. It was and is my duty as a knight and defender of the faith. My church and my king compelled me to go, and I did.”

              “Did you kill people?”

              “Of course, it was war. Kill or be killed.”

              “
Thou shalt not kill
,”

              “We were fighting enemies of our faith, Vlad. It was a necessary evil, just as killing the vampires is.”

              “I suppose so.”

              “When I returned, they called me a hero. What is a hero but someone who does good by evil means? I take no pleasure in taking a life. If the cause is just and the threat great enough, I will do it and live with the consequences. That is the difficult road of which I speak.”

              “I have never known life without the vampires. Every day is a difficult road for me, comrade.”

              “Yes, this is true. Let us eat now while we can. I always have an appetite after I wade.”

              “Even if the wade is involuntary?” Vlad asked with a cheeky grin on his face.

              “Especially then!” Pierre said, stabbing the air with his finger to make his point.

              They both laughed. Vlad tossed a piece of cooked fish to Pierre. It burnt the knight’s fingers. He juggled it from one hand to the other until he felt it was cool enough to bite into. It was not cool enough, and the knight opened his mouth and inhaled cold air to cool the inferno in his mouth. Vlad laughed again. Pierre gave him a kick.

              “Do you know women have an open wound between their legs that never heals?” Pierre said.

              “What?!” Vlad said incredulously.

              “Yes, it’s true. I have seen it. The birth canal. It bleeds every so often, too. It must be agony.”

              “No wonder vampires mostly kill women in Nocturne,” Vlad said. “Men usually die in battle against the vampires, but in peacetime, females make up the majority of those attacked or killed. It must be that bleeding wound, you could never hide from a vampire if you had that.”

              “I could never go through what a woman goes through in childbirth,” Pierre said. “They have my admiration for that.”

              “Aye, it is a miracle, but an agonising one.”

              “We can agree on that.”

              “Is there anyone else who gets your admiration, Sir Knight? Who is the best warrior you have ever seen on your travels?”

              Pierre’s features flickered in the firelight as he stroked his beard and tried to remember.

“I have met many fearsome warriors on my travels. The ones that fascinated me most were the Redua. They are superb swordsmen and horsemen and fight with the hearts of lions. When they are defeated, they believe it is an unbearable shame and take their own lives. I tried to convince them it was a sin to commit suicide and that defeat was an opportunity for rebirth, to be born again with the added knowledge of one’s own limitations and a new appreciation of the skills of one’s enemies. My suggestion greatly offended them, and I narrowly avoided death at their hands. Only their respect for me saved my life. Their traditions are rigid and were there a long time before you or I. I could no more impose my beliefs on them than they could impose their beliefs on me. So I had to accept it and allow many Samurai to die needless deaths – such a waste. I still believe what I told them was right, but they have their beliefs and I have mine. Every warrior, every man must fight his way for the things he believes in. If necessary, he must die as he sees fit, too.”