The Dracula Chronicles: The Path To Decay Read online

  Hassan assessed the situation with his officers. He ordered his troops to fall back beyond the range of the Hungarian artillery. In the morning, he would have the chance to secure a monumental victory.

  “Send word to Dracula,” he said to Hazim. “By the time the sun reaches its apex on the morrow, we should be able to drive Hunyadi from that hill. I want him to cut off any hope of a retreat.”

  HUNYADI held a conference with the commanders in his camp. He knew his army could not hold on for much longer.

  “Shall we organise a withdrawal during the night?” Szilágy asked him.

  Hunyadi did not want to leave defeated again. To do so would see his reputation tarnished still further. He managed to survive the aftermath of Varna. A second crushing defeat could end his career, and he knew it. It would provide his rivals in Hungary with the ammunition they craved to discredit him. On the other hand, if he tried to defend the hill in the morning, he would merely be signing death warrants for all his men.

  “Yes,” he answered, sighing hard. “We have no other choice.”

  “It would damage you back home,” Talotsi warned.

  “What would you have me do?” he said, his anger rising. “Condemn my men to die?”

  “We cannot hold the hill for much longer, Franco,” Basarab said. “At least if we withdraw through the night, we get the chance to fight another day.”

  “It affects us all if John is further discredited,” Talotsi argued. “There are those in Buda rubbing their hands at this outcome.”

  “We can deal with that when it comes,” Szilágy said. “If we remain, then we die.”

  “Mihály is right,” Hunyadi said. “We must retreat.”

  He walked away from the group and sought solitude in the darkness. There was no other way. It was better to leave and fight another day than to die a worthless death on this godforsaken plain. He knew it would give his rivals the chance to attack him, but he had survived the fallout from Varna and he was sure he could survive this too. Hungary had no other better equipped than he to defend it. The nobles in Buda talked a brave fight, but in reality they all hid behind the shield he provided for them. They might make his life difficult, but he knew they slept at night only because they had him. To leave was the right choice. He could deal with the backlash of that when he got home.

  SERBIA.

  THE HILLS BEHIND THE PLAIN AT KOSOVO POLJE.

  OCTOBER 20, 1448. THE EARLY HOURS.

  Hunyadi organised a full withdrawal for the middle of the night. He hoped by leaving it to such a late hour, it would reduce the chance of a pursuit by the enemy. Two banners of infantry were to remain and defend the hill to allow the remainder of the army to slip away.

  Word reached Dracula from Hassan. His leader wanted him to advance on the Hungarian camp at first light to hem the enemy army in on both sides.

  “I do not want to wait for the morning,” he told Kazic.

  “Why not, my Lord? It is a good tactic to trap our enemy.”

  “Yes, that may be so. But an attack by night would be even more devastating. The element of surprise is better than anything.”

  “If that is your wish, my Lord,” Kazic accepted with a bow of his head. “I would advise against it. Our men are not accustomed to fighting at night.”

  “They are on horseback. I do not see where there should be a problem.”

  “Very well, my Lord.”

  “Let them sleep. We shall wake them and attack in the last hours before dawn.”

  “What of Commander Hassan’s orders, my Lord? He might take serious offence if you do not act on them as he specified.”

  “When I give him his final victory how could he be dissatisfied?”

  Kazic could see that nothing was going to sway the young warlord from his own plans. He nodded and left to spread the word. On his order, scouts were despatched to double check on the location of the Christians. He posted extra sentry watches before he turned in.

  Dracula did not sleep at all. He sat thinking about his strategy for the coming attack. He thought too of John Hunyadi and Basarab. The chance to avenge the deaths of his parents was close at hand. His need to settle that score burned inside him like a fire that nothing could extinguish, except their deaths. He imagined over and over Hunyadi’s last moments before he killed him. Would the snake plead for his life? Might he drop to his knees and cry like a baby?

  These thoughts added to his determination to see his plan through. The very idea that he now had the chance to drive his sword through Hunyadi invigorated him as much as his first kill. He took up a battle stance and wielded his sword about. All the time, he saw the image of Hunyadi on his knees before him. He imagined all the different ways he might kill him. First, he drove the Fier Negru through his gut. Then he ran the blade across the torso. Last of all, he swung his famed sword and decapitated his enemy.

  Kazic joined him again. By then, he had decided on his plan of attack. He wanted to divide his force into three columns and hit the sleeping Christian army on all sides. Any that ran forward to escape, would drift straight into Hassan’s lines. There, the Ottoman army would slaughter every last one of them.

  On his order, his cavalry walked their horses along the soft riverbank of the Sicnita. He did not want the enemy to hear them until the very last moment.

  When they came within a mile of the enemy camp, he divided his army into the three sections. He waited until such time he believed his men to be in position. Then he ordered one of them to shoot a flaming arrow into the sky to signal the attack.

  Every man in Hunyadi’s camp stood to attention. They readied themselves for the planned withdrawal. Suddenly they heard the thunder of horses to the rear. Dracula’s three huge cavalry columns stampeded towards the Christian camp bringing the promise of death.

  “What is that?” Basarab asked, unable to disguise his fear.

  “It is the sound of horses,” Talotsi said, stating the obvious.

  “Yes, but how many?” Hunyadi wondered.

  “It sounds like many thousands to me,” Szilágy said.

  Each of them shouted orders to the men to prepare. They all adopted a battle stance. Gazing into the darkness, they waited in fear for the invisible enemy to strike its first blows.

  The Rumelian Spahis under Dracula’s control hit them hard. Hunyadi tried desperately to organise his men into a cohesive unit, but they were run ragged. The enemy slaughtered them without mercy. The cries of the dying echoed across the plain. All in the Turkish camp nearly a mile away could hear them.

  “What is that?” Hassan asked, emerging from his tent.

  Hazim turned to see his commanding officer. “It is the Christian camp.”

  “I realise that. What is happening?”

  “I do not know, Commander.”

  “Can you make enquiries?”

  “It must be Dracula,” Hazim surmised. “He must have attacked.”

  “I ordered him to attack in the morning.”

  “You know how these young generals are, Commander. They are very impetuous at the best of times. I seem to recall another who was no different.”

  Hassan did not flinch at the reference to him in his younger days. “I shall have his head if he ruins my plans.”

  “On the contrary, Commander, the omens sound good.”

  “I still expect my orders to be followed and obeyed.”

  “If he is successful, he may well save the lives of many of our men.”

  Hassan grunted. “We shall see.”

  “Shall I order an attack from this side, Commander?”

  “No,” Hassan said with real authority in his voice. “We do not know for certain what is happening. If Dracula has attacked, then he can have his battle. However many men he loses shall be fewer for him to use to take back his throne.”

  “The dawn is on the horizon.”

  “Prepare the men then,” Hassan said, looking at the distant skies. “We shall attack at first light, but only then.”

&n
bsp; Dracula rode through the chaos. He searched hard for Hunyadi’s tent, killing all who stood in his way. The tent in question had already been ripped down and its owner gone. Hunyadi realised after only a few moments that all was lost. He and Basarab led the exodus of soldiers fleeing in every direction.

  Skanderbeg chose that moment to arrive with his forces. His scouts had assessed the situation with haste and he launched a rearguard action with his own cavalry. It allowed Hunyadi and most of the others to escape safely. A bitter struggle ensued between the Rumelians and the Albanians. The fierce exchanges saw more of the Christians slip away into the safety of the night.

  Mihály Szilágy did not succeed in getting away. The Rumelian cavalry blocked his escape and hemmed him in on all sides. It left him fighting harder than ever before to preserve his own life.

  Dracula saw him and made a beeline in his direction. He cut a path through the men defending the Hungarian. When only six feet separated them, he dismounted and approached Szilágy on foot.

  The battle was over. The Turks put the few Christians soldiers that remained in the camp to the sword. It left Szilágy all alone to fight.

  “Take my horse,” Dracula said to one of the Rumelians close by. “I shall deal with this one myself.”

  Kazic drew up alongside the Rumelian. He never strayed far from Dracula’s side on the field.

  Although Dracula did not know Szilágy, he recognised him as a man of importance. The way the Hungarians defended him indicated that much.

  Szilágy squared up to Dracula. He knew his time in this world was soon to come to an end. Even if he won this duel, one of the others would surely run him through. He quietly prayed for a swift death. It was that, or fall on his own sword, rather than risk capture and possible impalement.

  He studied his opponent in the few seconds it took the young general to take his stance. The man looked far too young to be in a position of such authority. Yet it was clear that he was the leader of this force just from his gait. The confidence he exuded did not inspire much hope in Szilágy. Still, he would not go down without a fight.

  The two of them exchanged blows. The speed of the young man surprised and alarmed him. It was all he could do to fend off Dracula’s lightning moves.

  “You are no match for me,” Dracula taunted him, in his native tongue. “Why not surrender and spare yourself this indignity?”

  “I think not,” Szilágy retorted in perfect Romanian, keeping a firm focus on his foe. “I would fall on my own sword first.”

  Dracula continued to grin. “That shall not be necessary. You shall know the feel of my blade soon enough.”

  They traded blows again. Szilágy fell onto the back foot, trying desperately to keep Dracula at arm’s length. The strength behind the blows he parried almost defied belief. He knew it would not take his opponent long to disarm him. And that would be the end.

  “You are very skilled,” he said, stepping back even further. “I have only met one other in my life that was even close to you in ability. Even he was not as skilled and not as strong.”

  “I am amazed you would even consider talking when you are so close to your demise,” Dracula said, easing up on his attack. “It is fitting then that you shall fall to the finest swordsman you shall ever have met.”

  The arrogance of the younger man told Szilágy that Dracula had to be of royal stock. Draculesti perhaps? He certainly has the look of one. “Who are you?” he asked. “If I am to die this day, I would care to know at whose hand I shall fall.”

  “Who are you? Hunyadi perhaps?”

  Szilágy laughed despite his situation. “No, I am not he. Nor would I like to be.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “I am Mihály Szilágy of Hungary,” he said proudly. He lowered his sword and stuck out his chest.

  Dracula ceased the attack and racked his brain quickly for what information he knew of this man. He knew only that Szilágy was a great soldier and leader and spoken of in high esteem by all.

  “Szilágy?” he repeated. “You are related to Hunyadi?”

  “By virtue of marriage, yes. He is wed to my sister, Erzsébet.”

  “How deeply implicated are you with his treachery?”

  Szilágy sighed. “You must be the son of Dracul?”

  “I am,” Dracula said, with real grit in his voice. “You accompany him in battle always, do you not?”

  “Only where it serves the interests of Hungary. I had no hand in his vendetta against your family, if that is what you mean.”

  “But then you would say that. I would, too, were I in your position.”

  “Vlad Dracul was my friend. He is the other I spoke of. A very gifted swordsman he was too. I practised with him many times. He is the only man that ever had the better of me before this day. I had no involvement in the feud between John and him.”

  Dracula gave some thought to his words. Szilágy had no reason to lie. He did not look as though he feared death. Dracula knew him to be a true warrior and man of honour.

  “I fought alongside your brother at Varna. I liked and admired him.”

  “I believe you,” Dracula said, sheathing his sword.

  “Why did you do that?” Szilágy asked, surprised at his actions.

  “I no longer have any desire to kill you. I cannot honour my father by killing those he looked on as friends.”

  Szilágy felt relief at the reprieve. He still expected the Rumelians to finish him off even if Dracula did not. For that reason, he kept his sword at the ready, waiting for the inevitable attack.

  “Sheath your sword,” Dracula said. “You are safe.”

  Szilágy did so. Dracula turned to his men and issued the order in Turkish that he had granted Szilágy an amnesty.

  “You intend to let me live?” he asked.

  “I intend to let you go.”

  “I thank you for the gesture. But why? I am your enemy here.”

  Dracula felt safe to speak freely. He knew none of his men had any grasp of Romanian. “That may not always be the case. Still, there can be honour, even between enemies.”

  Szilágy saluted him. “I shall never raise my sword against you. Nor shall I participate in any conflict where it opposes you. On that I vow.”

  Dracula returned the salute. “Go from here, Mihály Szilágy, and return to your home and your family.”

  Szilágy mounted his horse. “I hope we meet again in better circumstances.”

  “You released him, my Lord?” Kazic asked, after Szilágy had left.

  “Yes, he was a friend of my father.”

  In his flight, Hunyadi remembered the curse of Maia Dracul. Again his army had fallen. He wondered who had masterminded the night attack against him. It was not the way of the Ottomans to fight like this. There were whispers that some of the men had seen the Draculesti banner.

  Was it the second son of Dracul? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. If it was Dracul’s son, he had a new and dangerous enemy.

  All he did know for certain was that his ambitions along the Danube had come to an end. His reputation lay in tatters. The gossipmongers would cry out that the White Knight was fallible after all. Dracula had delivered the first stroke of his vengeance against him.

  SERBIA.

  PASHA MUSTAFA HASSAN’S CAMP

  AT KOSOVO POLJE.

  OCTOBER 20, 1448.

  The first light of dawn crept over the horizon. Dracula rode at a canter into Hassan’s camp with his aides. He had won a decisive victory. The bodies of the Christian dead filled the hill opposite them, and the Albanian force had given up the fight and vacated the area again. Many more dead littered the plateau that fell onto the plain. His own losses amounted to fewer than three hundred.

  He found Hassan pacing back and forth outside his tent. The Turk still awaited news from the events of the night. His expression looked grim when Dracula dismounted at his feet. But this in itself suggested the young man had won.

  “What happened?” he asked sternly.


  “I have crushed the army of Hunyadi and sent Skanderbeg on his way once again. Could you not hear the melee?”

  “Yes, I heard it. Why did you not follow my orders?”

  Dracula could not understand his displeasure. “Victory is total, my Lord. The enemy no longer poses any kind of a threat. A few escaped, but the rest lie dead on the hill.”

  “You did not answer me, Dracula.”

  “I acted on my own initiative. I knew I could win, and I did.”

  “Yes and you shall no doubt be lauded for it.”

  Dracula bowed. “I dedicate this victory to you, Commander.”

  It did not move him. “This is not the way to behave in this army. My word is final to all I command.”

  The reprimand deflated him. “Forgive me then, Commander, for contravening your orders.”

  Hassan then broke into a smile. “By the same token, you have scored a stunning victory. I salute you, Vlad Dracula. You are a remarkable young man.”

  It lifted his spirits at once. “I thank you, Commander.”

  “You shall no doubt be the toast of Adrianople once more.”

  “I do not seek recognition. I care only to win on the field of battle and to crush my enemies.”

  “Yes, but winning on the battlefield brings you that. And rightly so.”

  Dracula nodded that he agreed.

  “You appear to do it very well. I would not like to stand against you.”

  “I cannot expect my men to go where I dare not go myself.”

  “Very true. Yet I doubt many officers possess your courage.”

  “I have a proud lineage to live up to. I am my father’s son.”

  “You do it well, Dracula. Did you locate the body of Hunyadi among the dead?”

  “Would any of my men know his face if they were to see it? I cannot say if he was even killed in the battle.”

  “If he were dead then the very best of his men would be lying all around him. You would have known it.”