Page 54 of Dragon Slayer

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GALLIPOLI

“I’m leaving you my bell, Mama,” Val told Eira before they departed, and put the bit of dinted bronze into her cupped palm.

She’d smiled at him. “Won’t you need it with you, on your trip?”

“No. You keep it. And if you need me, you can ring it, and I’ll come find you.” He’d said so in a fit of uncommon bravery, little chest puffed out, wanting to be the man that his older brothers already were.

Eira had hugged him close, and kissed his forehead, and wished him safe travels in an uncharacteristically tight voice. She was worried, he knew, and it had pained him to leave her behind.

But this was such anadventure.

Their party rode down a narrow, dusty roadway carved along a narrow ledge, only wide enough to ride two abreast. To the left, an uneven hillside of heaped boulders, laced with scrub grasses and stunted olive trees. To the right, a downward slope thick with brambles; effective barriers on both sides.

Val clutched tight to his reins, and willed Dancer not to trip.

“Stop being so frightened,” Vlad admonished.

Val dared take his eyes off the trail long enough to shoot his brother a dark look. “I’m not.”

“Uh-huh. That’s why your knuckles are white.”

He attempted to relax his hands a fraction.

“We’ll be there soon,” Vlad relented. “And then you can finally see what a sultan looks like.”

“Oh, yes,” Val said, perking up as he remembered. He’d never been in the saddle for such long stretches, and he was sore, and tired, and nervous about the drop-off beside them. He’d forgotten his initial excitement at the outset of the journey: he’d finally get to see the sultan.

A messenger from Edirne had arrived in Tîrgoviste several weeks before, bearing a summons from Sultan Murat, leader of the Ottoman Empire. He’d learned of John Hunyadi’s visit, and, in elegantly subtle terms, had suggested he questioned Dracul’s loyalty. He wanted a meeting. A confirmation of their treaty, a show of goodwill, and a chance to speak face-to-face. He would have his heir, the young Mehmet, with him, he said, and asked if Dracul might bring his sons as well, so the boys could meet.They’ll be allies someday, when you and I are dead and in the ground, the missive read.

They rode now to Gallipoli, and an audience with the sultan who controlled their father’s alliances and military actions.

Val was excited. And he was torn.

They rode a moment in silence, hooves clopping loudly on the hard-packed road. Val snuck another glance at his brother, and found Vlad scowling beneath the hood of his cloak.

“Why are you angry?” Val asked. He could feel his brother’s aggression, radiating off of him like the heat from a fire, and it dimmed his own anticipation.

Vlad snorted. “Because I don’t want to meet the sultan.”

“Because of Father?”

Vlad answered with a question of his own: “Why should I want to meet the man who subjugates us?”

Val had no answer for that, and lapsed back into silence.

The trail sloped down, and narrowed farther, so they had to ride single-file, and lean back in their saddles, counterbalancing the horses’ forward momentum. The land to the right leveled off, its brambles shoulder-high, and tightly-woven enough that daylight couldn’t penetrate the boughs and thorns. A cloud scudded across the sun, shading them, and the wind changed direction, suddenly.

That was when Val caught the scent of humans. Many of them, and not in their party. A group come to greet them, Val thought. The sultan’s men.

At the head of the line, Cicero halted, and threw up a hand to signal them.

Val reined his mare in hastily, nearly colliding with the rump of Vlad’s horse.

“What–” he started.

But Vlad twisted his head around, nostrils flared, eyes wild. “Ambush,” he whispered.

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