Vlad: The Last Confession Read Free Page B

fire at its top, eastern end and largely failing to do so. It was a functional room at the center of a simple fortress. Ordinary.
    Yet what had been placed in the room made it…not ordinary.
    He looked around, then at the young man before him. “Tell me what you have done.”
    “I have obeyed the orders of my prince, the Voivode of Wallachia.” Petru held up a sheaf of parchment. “To the letter, I trust.”
    “And how did these orders come to you?”
    “They were left in the night outside the gate, three weeks ago, in a satchel. They bear the Voivode’s seal but…” He licked his lips. “…But another paper warned that the Voivode was not to be contacted further, or acknowledged in any way.”
    Horvathy nodded. The Voivode knew as well as any the danger in the game they were playing. “And was anything else left?”
    “Yes, my lord.” The younger man swallowed. “The satchel was weighted down with the several parts of a hand-and-a-half sword. A blade, quillons, the pommel. There was an order to re-forge it. I had to send to Curtea de Arges for a blacksmith. He arrived this morning, has begun. Our forge is poor here but he says he has all he needs.”
    “Not quite all,” replied Horvathy, reaching inside his doublet. “He will need these.” He pulled out two circles of steel, the size of finger and thumb joined. Their edges were rough, for they had been gouged from the pommel of a sword. “Here,” he said. “These were sent to me, with the summons that brought me here.” His one eye was fixed on the younger man’s two, awaiting the reaction.
    It came, in a gasp. “The Dragon!”
    “You recognize it?”
    “Certainly, my lord.” Petru turned the pieces over in his fingers, wincing as the serrated edges drew blood. “It is the symbol both of the man who built this castle and the sacred Order he led. The man, the Order, both dishonored, disgraced…”
    The suddenness of Horvathy’s lunge startled Petru. The Count was a head taller than the knight, bent now over him, “I’d be careful about terms like dishonor and disgrace, Spatar,” he shouted, his scarred face a hand’s width away. “Because I am a Dragon, too.”
    He held the stare, his one gray eye gleaming, all the brighter by its contrast with the other puckered socket.
    Petru stuttered, “I…I…I meant no offense, Count Horvathy. I merely…repeat what I have heard…”
    The stare held a moment longer. Then the older man turned away, spoke more quietly. “You repeat gossip, gleaned from tales of one Dragon—Vlad Dracula, your former Prince. Yet part of what you say is true—it is his dark deeds that have tainted the Order to which he swore his oath. Tales that have all but destroyed it.”
    “All but?” Petru said, carefully. “It is destroyed, surely, is it not?”
    The Hungarian breathed deeply. “Until it is slain by St. Mihail’s magic lance, a Dragon cannot die. It sleeps only. Sleeps perhaps one day to waken…” Horvathy’s voice faded, behind the hand lifted to his face.
    “My lord, I…” Petru took a step towards the Count, his tone cautious. “I was raised to honor the Dragon. I dreamt of becoming a brother. If it could awaken, with honor, I would ride beneath its banner gladly. And I would not ride alone.”
    Horvathy turned. Saw the yearning in the younger man’s gaze. He had once had such hunger, such ambition. When he had two eyes. Before he was a Dragon. Before he was cursed.
    He breathed deeply. He had also startled himself with his sudden anger. And he knew it should not be directed at the youth before him, but at himself. He reached up, running his finger over the scar where an eye had been. Perhaps this was the day of redemption of all sins, the beginning of hope. Others must have thought so too. Or else, why all these elaborate, secret arrangements?
    He turned back to them now. In a calmer voice he said, “Tell me what else you have done.”
    The younger man nodded, relief clear on his face. He