Page 259 of Dragon Slayer

47

ARRIVAL

Fulk took a sequence of deep breaths which did nothing to calm the rage boiling inside him. He hadn’t snapped at anyone in averylong time. He’d always found it a bit shameful – losing his composure in front of others. In front of mortals, especially. It damaged his credibility as a man.See, he’s just an animal after all, the darted glances suggested.

But right now, he was dangerously close to erupting in the middle of Dr. Talbot’s office.

He chose not to address the terror coursing through his veins and instead focused on the blistering fury. He planted both hands on Talbot’s desk and leaned low over it, growling in the back of his throat. “You didwhat?”

“You’re acting as if I’ve invited him,” the doctor countered, adjusting his glasses. “I merely told him that his visit would be appreciated after he insisted on dropping by personally. We do need him to recast his tracking spell on Prince Valerian, after all.”

“Trust me when I tell you that you don’t want him here.”

“He’s already been here.”

“When?” Fulk’s voice was more growl than pronunciation now.

“Before you and the baroness arrived. Give me some credit, my lord. I knew there was bad blood between you and Mr. Price. I knew better than to have the two of you in the same room.”

Fulk could imagine it: letting the wolf peek through; leaning across the desk, too fast for the doctor to duck away; taking Talbot by the throat and digging in with nails, with claws; the blood, the scream, the–

He snarled and spun away, chest heaving.

Talbot said something, but it was muffled by the blood roaring in Fulk’s ears. Whatever it was, it wasn’t important.

He remembered a moment, centuries before, before Annabel, before he’d betrayed his vampire master. A moment in the evening, in the duke’s study, opening and reading aloud his master’s daily correspondence by the light of a few candles and the fire in the grate.

One letter stood out from the rest, sealed with red wax pressed with the dragon and cross signet ring that belonged to Vlad Tepes of Wallachia. It had come a long way, and bore the scuffs and rips of travel; a smear or two of what Fulk could tell was blood.

It was written in painstaking Latin. It smelled of an alpha male wolf.

I send this missive to the few powerful Western vampire lords of which I know, at the suggestion of what remains of my pack. It is with much grief that I tell you that my master – Vladimir by his mother’s tongue, and Vladislav by his father’s, Vlad Dracula, Prince of Wallachia, is given over to the immortal sleep. Though he is not dead, I am ashamed to admit that I cannot find his resting place. His brother, the traitor Valerian, also called Radu, is responsible for the grievous injury done to my master. I have captured Valerian, bound him with silver, and sought answers to my questions as to his brother’s whereabouts. He will not answer, even under torture. I have entrusted the care of the prisoner now to a group of monks, and taken my leave of civilized life. The enemy is nigh, and I must go. Should any brave crusaders remain who wish to take up my master’s mantle, I leave evidence of Valerian’s whereabouts. You may contact my mortal companion Malik Bey should you wish to assist my search for Vlad.

A hand-drawn map accompanied the letter. All of it was signed by a wolf named Cicero of Wallachia.

Fulk stared at it a long moment. Finally, he said, “We had word that Dracula was indeed dead. Killed by his brother.”

Over by the fire, Liam swirled the wine in his cup and chuckled. “Come now. Brother killing brother? Who would do such a thing?”

Fulk heaved a sigh. “Their uncle, for one.”

“Yes,” Liam said, smile stretching. “Thatwasthe joke. Thank you for explaining and taking all the fun out of it, my dear idiot.”

“Quiet, both of you,” the duke said, waving a dismissive hand. “Throw that nonsense on the fire, Strange. I have no use for it.”

“But, your grace–”

“Vlad Dracula is an overeager fool. He tried to take on the might of the Ottoman Empire – Mehmet the Conqueror! Who sacked Constantinople! What sort of half-wit attempts such a thing?”

A brave one, Fulk thought to himself.Or a furious one. He said, “He won, though.”

“Won? Pah! He turned back one march. And now he’s asleep. How is that winning? On the fire it goes, I don’t care.”

Fulk did cross the room to the fire, and he did throw in the letter…but he crumpled the map in his hand and pocketed it.

When he turned his head, Liam grinned at him with all his teeth, but the mage said nothing to give him away.

It was one of thousands of moments that Fulk wanted to pull out of his head and play on a screen for the good doctor. He wanted to show him Liam’s quiet cunning, his insincere smiles. Fulk had long since decided that Dr. Talbot was an idiot, and possibly a madman, and definitely more egotistical than was healthy…but he didn’t believe the man evil.

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