Page 129 of Dragon Slayer

Vlad tilted his head in bare acknowledgement. “Alright. I’ll grant you that.”

“What sort of man was he?”

He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected this emotionless, methodical cavalryman, sent to war at his sultan and emperor’s whim, to care what sort of Romanian whose land he was sent to help retrieve.

Malik Bey, Vlad was beginning to think, was no ordinary cavalryman.

“Do you truly wish to know?” Vlad asked. “Or are you toying with me?”

Vlad’s tone, his glare, paired with his position of command, would have cowed most. But Malik, smooth-faced and unperturbed, said, “I truly wish to know.”

Vlad sighed. He wasn’t used to putting such things into words. In his seven years of captivity, he’d rarely had a chance to express himself with any meaning.

“Father is…” He caught himself. “Was.” Though a part of him wouldn’t believe it until he’d touched the cold, rotting body with his own hands. “A kind man. Far kinder than me. More like Va…my brother. Radu.” He’d almost slipped; almost spoken Val’s real name. A name didn’t mean anything, in the grand scheme of the world, but Val was a pawn and a whore. If his true name was all that he still held as his own, then Vlad would help him keep it secret.

“You think yourself cruel?”

“I know I’m cruel.”

Malik looked like he almost smiled. It could have been a trick of the firelight. “You are honest.”

“What point is there in being otherwise?”

Quiet a beat. And then Malik said, “May I tell you what I think?”

“You’re awfully talkative tonight.” When the man’s expression didn’t change, Vlad rolled his eyes. “But, yes, you may tell me. Though I don’t have any idea what you find so important you’ve finally deigned to speak to me as a man.”

He ignored the jab. “I think,” he said, “that the cruel man is the one who takes pleasure in the pain of others. Vengeance isn’t cruelty. Not by itself. Not when it’s justified.”

Vlad studied him a long moment, searching for a lie. He found none, though he conceded that he didn’t know the man well. Not at all, really.

“And what if I do enjoy violence?”

Malik shrugged with one shoulder and dropped his gaze to the fire, reflective. “We all learn to, at some point. Tenderness will drive you mad if you let it, and some joy, even that kind of joy…it helps.”

Vlad nibbled on his flatbread. “You make an excellent point, Malik Bey.” And, strangely, he felt lighter for a time, as they sat by the fire. He’d been carrying his burdens for so long, and alone, that he’d forgotten the relief of a spare set of shoulders.

~*~

Tîrgoviste was not the sort of sprawling metropolis in which a man could hide an invading army – even one so small as Vlad’s. The second they left the cover the of the trees, they’d be made, and then they’d be fighting Vladislav’s people in the streets. A dangerous, bloody, foolish plan if ever there had been one.

Vlad left his infantry under cover of forest. “I’ll send a messenger for you, and when I do, come double time, understood?”

“Yes, your grace.”

His foot soldiers were loyal first to the empire, and second to Mustafa, but the long march, and Vlad’s unfailing straightness in the saddle, his mastery of their language, and his brusque manner had gone a long way toward winning them over.

His cavalry he split into twos and threes, and had them enter the city from different angles, at different times. Their armor he had them pack away in their saddle bags, or cover with dull cloaks they’d bought off a passing merchant three days back. Duck your heads, he told them, and round your shoulders. Look like merchants, or weary travelers, and keep your swords hidden.

It was a thin ruse, but it was the best he could concoct on short notice.

“A smart plan, your grace,” Malik said placidly beside him, as they rode side-by-side down a narrow, twisting roadway between high, tile-roofed houses.

“It’ll be smart if it works,” Vlad said. “Keep a sharp eye. He could have spies in those upper apartments.”

His tone was sharp, but inwardly, it wasn’t fear making his heart pound against his ribs.

He was home.

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