The Devil’s Remnant

Prologue

Hungry 1462

The three Knights of the Order walked silently down the long dimly lit corridor, nearing the chamber of the dragon: the middle one in chains. Under the weight of the iron shackles, the prisoner’s steps were slow and deliberate. His hand-forged bonds, binding his ankles and limiting his stride, dragged along the river-rock archways of the castle’s hall. With each labored step, the chains rattled and bounced, grating out their dismal elegy, mirroring the ghostly instruments of the condemned within the haunting confines of purgatory. Accompanying the dirge in a steady beat were the clear unimpeded footfalls of the other two men: brother’s at arms leading the traitor of their Order.

All three men were dressed in the same white tunic, draped over their shoulders like heavy robes, concealing most of their armor. All the tunics carried the embroidered work of a bright red crimson cross, offset from the center of the garment, favoring the left side of their torsos. Placed squarely over the heart, stitched into the upper left quadrant of the white field of the cross was an emblem of a peculiar dragon, wrapped around the base of a shield, guarding the coat-of-arms with an outstretched, taloned hand.

The two escorts seemed indifferent to their duties: little interest in speeding the man to his audience, allowing their prisoner the dignity of setting the pace of travel.

Vlad was no stranger to the confines of imprisonment. As a young man he was captured in battle and held along with his younger brother for almost two years in the dark recesses of a Turkish prison:—— war criminals of the Ottoman Empire.

It was claimed: Vlad’s Father,— Dracul, betrayed the Order trying to regain his children’s freedom by becoming a vassal of the Sultan; but Vlad knew differently. No matter what lies were spread betraying Dracul’s trust, Vlad knew his father was loyal to the calling. The prisoner could read the real truth, as he understood the mind of those that thirst for power.

Eventually, the ruler of the Ottoman realized:— The two brothers, sons of the king of the land he wanted to control were useless as leverage; — but as allies, the royal offspring could open the door to the North. Vlad and his brother were released into the custody of the Sultan’s household with an effort to win them over as adopted sons. Vlad played the role beautifully and won the respect of the ruler. However, the young prince had made a pledge to stay true to the Order the same as his father. When Vlad was returned to his father’s legacy, and placed on the throne of Wallachia by the maneuvering of the Turkish Sultan; Vlad refused to be a puppet of the Ottoman and fled at his earliest opportunity to live with an uncle where he continued his induction into the Order of the Dragon.

Vlad’s younger brother, Radu, was of a different cut of the cloth. To young to understand the depth of what true loyalty required. Radu resented their father’s abandonment and accepted the favors of the Ottoman Sultan, converting to Islam.

Vlad lifted the loose massive links just below the wrist cuffs to keep the heavy shackles from chaffing his forearm as he expelled a sharp burst of air from flared nostrils. Contempt burned for his traitorous brother. I will have my revenge.

Through the dim, torch lit corridor the entrance to the Dragon’s lair was just ahead. Vlad contemplated his fate: The shame of being viewed as a traitor, his trial; being led to the son of the very man that had ordered the death of his own father. He looked down at his bonds without fear. He was not the type to beg for mercy. He was loyal to the calling, like his father before him. It was not his father that betrayed the Order, or committed treason with the Ottoman. Someone else had traded the “Breath-of-Life,” to the enemy. The only mystery to Vlad was how the “Breath,” came to be tainted? He was not even sure how that was possible.

Two immense paneled doors swung open slowly, growling under the weight of their leverage against the steel hinge pins chafing under the torque. Vlad walked silently through the entryway into the massive chamber of the Dragon. The large cathedral interior inspired a sense of awe and dark beauty as he scanned the many pillars supporting the heavy stone masonry ceiling. Marble statues stationed between the columns lined the approach to the throne like a military guard humbling the condemned.

Vlad continued his course unwavering. He spied the leader of the Order of the Dragon sitting on a small throne at the end of the colonnade, dressed in the same white tunic: but with a rich velvet looking cape draped over the shoulders. Vlad looked straight at his accuser feeling he would have more sympathy from the stone statues, whose white marble orbs seemed to be following his every step deeper into judgment.

The prisoner felt the shadows were playing with his mind as he caught sight of the two royal gargoyles moving into position behind the throne as he neared. They came to a halt and stationed the butts of their long pikes to the floor with a uniformed thud. 

The creatures were legendary. Few humans ever laid eyes on them, but it was said they guarded the leader of their Order. Vlad would have believed them human if it weren’t for their massive frames and long canines extending down from the corners of their mouths. Fangs they used to feast on the souls of the damned. Looking at them, Vlad believed the stories.

“It appears you have lost your way,— Dracula,” came a sneered taunt from King Matthius Corvinus before Vlad even reached the base of the steps to the throne.

The prisoner stopped and dropped to one knee and bowed his head. He knew the insulting name implied he was the son of a traitor: Arguing with the ignorant,— once their minds are set on a path,— will achieve nothing. Vlad took a deep breath; but continued fixated on the floor, “Not at all, my lord. I have come to the only one as dedicated to our Order as myself in stopping the incursions from the south.”

The King of Hungry coughed, and cleared his throat as he stood. “You would declare your allegiance to the Order of the Dragon and yet impale the emissaries I sent to you?”

“I executed spies that declared their allegiance to my father and came to me with a plot to remove you from the throne.” Vlad slowly lifted his head and looked directly at his accuser. “…quia maledictus a Deo est qui pendendet in lingo….” (Deut 21:23; “…for he is accursed of God that hangeth on a stake…”)

The King seemed shocked at the revelation. He sat back down methodically as he pondered the news. He thought the ploy would buy their way into Vlad’s graces. Matthius’ instructions to his emissaries had been followed. The king leaned forward on his throne with an icy stare at the prisoner. “You go too far, Dracula! Those were my men you hung upon stakes as accursed men. The accused should have been brought before me for judgment. ”

Vlad Tepes dropped his head. “Forgive me, my lord; if I overstepped my authority, but I felt impalement was a just end for such treachery.”

Matthius placed a hand on his knee as if supporting the weight of his furrowed brow, and stroked his beard with the other. He wanted Vlad dead. “And why should I believe this is anything but a lie to save your own neck? Stories of your merciless slaughter darken the orders of our pope.”

Vlad lifted his head slowly, “Sometimes convention frowns on necessity,—— my lord.”

Matthius glared questioningly at the prisoner.

“When the Turks invaded, I was greatly outnumbered and without support. I dispatched messengers for aid, but was left to my own devices in stopping the horde. We burned the lands and poisoned the waters ahead of the army, but they kept pressing in. We were desperate, but the field of the damned played on their fears! Their impaled brethren in the open along the Danube, rotting for the entire horde to see!— ’…et nequaquam contaminabis terram tuam…’ The land was defiled and they could not set foot on it! The Great Mohammed,— conqueror of Constantinople,— invader of our Christian lands, could press no further.”

Matthius slammed a fist down on the arm of the throne. “You abandoned our Order and set yourself up as King! You’ve answered to no one.” The ruler stood pointing at the condemned man. “You fear not even God himself!”

“My Lord,— nothing could be further from the truth! I have struggled greatly to keep the Turks from our lands as ordered by the pope of our most holy empire. I’m your humble servant. I came here knowing you are my only ally against the encroachment of the infidels in their their latest invasion. I have obeyed the commands of the White Knight to the best of my ability: God rest his soul.”

The soft music in clicks and chirps of the angelic language echoed through the hall. “I have heard enough,” the voice commanded. It was a language meant only for the chosen.

Vlad looked straight ahead as if in ignorance. Dracul did have a tendency to set his own rules. He had taught his sons, including Vlad, the forbidden tongue.

“Ask the prisoner, what happened with the insurgents infected with the serum?”

Vlad took a deep breath. It was claimed the “Breath” was traded by Dracul to the Ottoman as a bribe to keep him and his brother safe, forever labeling his father as a traitor of the Order. Was my father under orders to pass on the Breath? To what end?

King Matthias sat back down on his throne, staring at the prisoner for a long time. When he spoke, it was slow and deliberate. “The Breath-of-life acquired by the enemy.” There again was a long pause, “By your father’s hand:—— the messenger wishes to understand the adverse affects it had on those without faith.”

Vlad’s minded raced with the implications. He did not understand the angelic word “Serum,” but he rightly guessed it to mean a form of treatment. However, being infected meant the act was a deliberate effort to pass on a disease.—— “My lord, I was not an eyewitness to the initial effects of the gift given to the heathens. I could only speculate as I was a young man at the time and a prisoner of the Turks.”

King Matthius chuckled. “Come now Dracula,—the heathens you impaled,—— were not many of them suffering the adverse affects of being given the gift of life without faith?”

Vlad stared at the stone floor. Faith had nothing to do with it. He had seen his own men succumb to the tainted Breath: the madness, the painful death for the lucky ones. And then those soulless ghouls that would awaken from the grave. The empty creatures that turned to cannibalism with in the dark recesses of the dungeons and catacombs below his castle stronghold.—— “They were no longer human, my lord: feral, mindless creatures.” He shook his head slowly as he raised his eyes to his leader of the Order. “Most we slew, some we imprisoned to see if they would awaken from the madness. Many died of the plague.”

“You did not kill them all? How many were there?”

“Thousands, my lord. The numbers seemed to increase daily. Even now the plague spreads,—— many of the condemned had escaped when we fled from before the horde.” Vlad spit under his breath. “My brother will gain nothing but death for his troubles.”

“Your brother?”

“He was leading the curs.”

“Did any of our Brethren succumb to this accursed death?”

Vlad didn’t want to answer the question. Those granted the Breath were suppose to be immune to death,— at least their eternal souls. Yet, he had watched two of his most trusted confidants fall victim to the plague. His mind raced. “Villages, land owners, the heathens we imprisoned. None seemed shielded from its wrath.”

“That is not what I asked you, Dracula. Did any of our Brethren succumb?”

Was everything a lie? Vlad lifted his arms and stared at his chains. He had seen his Brethren die in battle. The White Knight himself was killed in a Holy Crusade. He slowly stood making eye contact with his leader. “Only two that I know of, my lord. They lost their faith and succumbed. I had to kill them myself.”

King Matthias sat back on his throne, contemplatively stroking his mustache. When he finally spoke, it was in the soft clicks and chirps of the angelic language.

The voice of the messenger answered as the dialogue resonating within the cathedral sounded like music from above.

Vlad pondered as he listened, My father was told this pestilence was a curse unleashed on the unworthy. Why would those granted the gift succumb as the heathens?

“A necessary evil.” Whispered the tongue of the dragon. “Your prisoner understands the implications of the loss of faith. Why are you questioning me?”

But King Matthias continued in defense, “My lord, this man is not to be trusted. He lived among the heathens and knows their ways. His own father and brother abandoned the path.”

“And yet, he remains loyal.”

“He is no different than his traitorous family. We should execute him now before his diseased influence spreads like gangrene.”

Lightning rippled at the top of the stairs to the left of the throne. In a dazzling net of random patterns, the blue flames danced like a web of jagged threads encasing a giant. In that instant, the Dragon appeared. A long taloned hand resting on the hilt of a double-edged sword, sheathed at its side. The horns of his head pivoted with a humming sound. The tips pointed directly at the king. Long twisted locks, wrapped just under the masked head, skirted the base of the skull like chain mesh; yet if the rest of its body were covered with the same scaly skin as its forearms, Vlad was sure it was more than adequate as a shield against injury. Were the scales some kind of body armor? They seemed to shimmer like steel in the dim light of the cathedral. Was the creature’s bare hide made of iron as the legends implied?  A long cape,—cloaked the rest of its body, hanging from the shoulders, secured like a royal robe to inspire majesty. Vlad was struck with fear as he spied the small fiery pupils that burned beneath the creature’s huge solid black orbs——as dark as a moonless night. 

  But it was the long dagger like canines, that for the moment, Vlad could not take his eyes from, as the angelic voice issued forth.

“Has your faith grown weak?”

King Matthias sprang from his seat and fell to the floor just in front of the Dragon with his head to the earth. The two gargoyles turned and dropped to one knee, as did the knights on either side of Dracula. None of them looked directly at the unexpected visitor.

But Vlad was too awestruck to react as the rest. At first he just stared, then slowly dropped back to his knees at the realization of what the others were doing. The stories are true. He could not take his eyes off what he took for a vision. Is this real?

“Forgive me, my lord. I serve your every command,” King Matthias whispered. Vlad could hear the nervousness within the words.

“Rise my servant.”

King Matthias stood slowly.

The Dragon turned to Vlad. The small red flames within those desolate, empty fields seemed to pierce his soul. “This one has lived among the condemned and yet has remained clean. He is useful to me. He must sanctify his faithfulness with blood.” The creature pulled a dagger from behind his cloak and handed it to Matthias; its eyes never wavering from Vlad.

The king took the weapon cautiously with both hands and then turned toward the prisoner. He walked down the steps, holding the blade as if it were sacred. “The messenger from on high demands loyalty. Your blood will reveal the truth in your heart.”

Matthias presented the blade to the prisoner, hilt first, resting the gift across his forearm. “Pledge your loyalty.”

Vlad stood and took the weapon. His mind snapped to the words of the angel in John’s Revelation: et ducit mihi vide ne feceris conservus tuus sum et fratrum tuorum prophetarum et eorum qui servant verba libri huius Deum adorn.* Would a true messenger set himself up as a God?—— “My heart is true, my soul for the cause.” And he ran its razored edge across the palm of his hand. “With my blood I confirm my path.” He made a bloody fist with the injured hand and pressed it to his chest. “With my soul, I pledge my faith. Test me lord, I will not fail my vow.” He handed the dagger back to the king.

Matthias returned up the steps and dropped to one knee, presenting the blade back to the dragon with both hands. “Your servant pledges his loyalty.”

The cape came up like a shroud and the dragon disappeared. Vlad looked at the king who was still kneeling with his hands extended, but the knife was gone. Then the soft musical words whispered a last command. “No harm will befall my servant,— Matthias. See to it, but do not allow him to leave.”

Vlad heard the words as he looked down at his bonds. Did I just sell my soul?

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*From the Latin Vulgate, Revelation 22:9 when John bowed down to the Angel of God. “And he said to me: See thou do it not. For I am thy fellow servant, and of thy brethren the prophets and of them that keep the words of the prophecy of this book. Adore God.