Page 223 of Dragon Slayer

“I know,” Vlad said, turning his gaze that direction. “To his eyes, we are few, and he thought this would take care of us. But I don’t have to defeat his whole army, Malik. Only him.”

~*~

By the time they reached the palace, not only had Eira, the wolves, and the dozen mercenary soldiers managed to gain control of the gate and drawbridge, but the men Vlad had sent around the long way this morning had arrived to back them up. Vladislav’s men filled the bailey, but the odds were nearly even, and they looked and smelled nervous.

Vladislav himself awaited them, flanked by guards, his armor spotless, and hastily put on, it seemed. He stank of fear.

But he lifted his chin and said, “Vlad Dracula. What you have done here today is treasonous. This is a vassal state of Sultan Mehmet, of the Ottoman Empire, and you–”

“Shut up.” Vlad unsheathed his sword, its blade wiped clean of blood, glinting in the sunlight. He pointed its tip at Vladislav. “Do you recognize this blade? It was my father’s, Vlad Dracul’s, and he had it on his person the day your dogs cut him to shreds and tore the beating heart out of his body.”

A low growl sounded behind him: Mother. Her pain and fury was a palpable thing, staining the air.

“I use it now to challenge you,” Vlad said, “in single combat. If you slay me, my men will leave. If I slay you, this palace, and this seat, is mine. As it rightfully should be.”

An advisor leaned in to whisper in Vladislav’s ear, but the pretend prince waved him away. He gulped, throat spasming. “And if I don’t accept your challenge?”

“I’ll slaughter everyone here anyway,” Vlad said, and bared his teeth, showing his elongated fangs. “And feast on them.”

The wolves began to snarl, then, snapping and slavering.

“What shall it be?” Vlad asked.

Vladislav drew his sword.

Vlad charged him.

Men scattered, pages, and squires, and advisors scrambling to get out of the way.

Vladislav parried Vlad’s first strike, and met the next, steel clashing together with a sound like bells. He gritted his teeth, and Vlad saw sweat on his brow.

Vladislav was not a prince who spent much time in the training yard.

“You could surrender,” Vlad said, pushing back, using his arms to push their crossed blades toward his enemy’s face.

Vladislav grunted, and retreated a step.

Vladshovedforward, and Vladislav stumbled back, and nearly fell. He got his sword up, just barely, to block Vlad’s next attack.

“You’re not even a man,” he huffed between ragged breaths. “You’re some hellspawn wearing a man’s skin like a suit.”

Vlad chuckled. “Oh, but I’m a man of God, christened in his holy house. I have taken the Blood and the Body into my own.” Three quick strikes. The last Vladislav could not turn away, and the edge of Vlad’s blade opened his glove, and his hand beneath it, blood sparkling like jewels.

Red-faced, winded, grimacing in pain, Vladislav lifted his sword again–

Vlad batted it away with his own. He put all of his strength into the swing, and the other man’s sword went spinning away, landing in the dirt a yard away. Vlad used the momentum for a counter swing, and sliced Vladislav’s injured hand off at the wrist.

Vladislav yelled. Blood spurted, and he fell to his knees, clutching at the gory stump.

Vlad saw guards try to move forward, wanting to protect their master, and the wolves moved in, growling savagely, hackles raised, Eira leading them, her own bloodied blade held before her.

“Oh, God, oh God!” Vladislav gasped, as his blood poured down onto the dirt, and tears tracked down his face.

Vlad put the tip of his sword beneath the man’s chin, and tipped his head back. “Look at me.”

He did, through a sheen of tears, his jaw quivering. He was a pitiful sight, slumped there, dying slowly of blood loss. Vlad searched his heart for sympathy, but found none.

He thought of Father. Of Mircea, dying cold, and crushed, beneath the earth. Thought of his mother’s tears, and of his brother the whore slave.

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