Page 121 of Dragon Slayer

Help me kill them all,he’d prayed last night, while his brother cried.

God had a grand sense of humor, it seemed. Sometimes he sent you exactly what you wanted as a gift from someone else you wanted to kill.

For the first time in his nearly seven years of captivity, Vlad went to his knees. “Yes, Your Majesty. I will accept.”

~*~

Vlad was taken to meet with Mustafa Hassan, first, a competent military commander indifferent to Vlad. He was marching north anyway; he could spare men to help Vlad retake Tîrgoviste.

Vlad didn’t care. If those foot soldiers could help him accomplish his goal, that was all he needed.

Then he met the captain – destined to be his second in command – of the cavalry unit he was to take.

The first surprise was that the man was a janissary, and not a true Turk. The second was that he bore the dark, almond eyes, glossy black hair, and high cheekbones of someone born much farther to the east than Adrianople.

His name was Malik Bey, and the long scar at the outer edge of his left brow proved he’d seen battle.

“Vlad Dracula,” Vlad introduced himself. “Prince of Wallachia.”

“I know who you are,” Malik said in perfect Turkish, and clasped Vlad’s forearm in greeting. His voice was even, calm. Polite. Outwardly, he seemed disinterested. This was just another boy prince set to give him orders.

But Vlad sensed a certain interest in the man; the subtlest hint of curiosity. Janissaries fought valiantly and loyally for their Ottoman masters – but that didn’t always mean they wanted to.

“I hear we have a coup to plan.”

Vlad smiled, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done such a thing. “Yes. We do.”

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