No one had made it through the battle unscathed. The soldiers fell as they fled, their energy depleted, yet still they were forced to fight off the Ottomans, who had circled around the Walachian army and ambushed them. Razvan bravely wielded his sword and spear to the last, but a group of enemies surrounded him and released a hail of arrows that snatched his final breath. The soldiers of the empire ridiculed him, calling him a porcupine, before severing his head, stuffing it into a leather satchel, and taking it back to camp.
Elsewhere, a heavily wounded George continued to fight as he fell back. His plan to assassinate the enemy commander had come one step short of success before he was forced to retreat to protect his own soldiers.
George swayed on his horse, lacking even the energy to remove the arrow stuck in his back. Forcing his mind back from the brink of unconsciousness, he commanded his troops in the hope of saving as many men as possible. Although he didn’t know what had happened to his father, when George heard the far-off victory cry of the approaching imperial army, an uncontrollable stream of tears poured down his face. That cheer told him of his father’s passing. Whatever his ultimate fate had been, George knew he had died valiantly like a warrior. Others might make light of Razvan’s death, but never his son. Never.
The weariness in his soul reached a breaking point.
Overcome with the all-encompassing desire to sleep, he almost fell from his horse on numerous occasions.
Visions burst forth like phantoms, not of his current predicament, but of memories past.
Images of enemy soldiers who, on Vlad’s orders, had been left exposed in that field flickered behind his eyelids. It would be his turn now. George didn’t want to be impaled while he was still alive. If that was to be his fate, he wanted it to happen after he was dead. Once he died, it didn’t matter what they did to him. His soul would leave his body and, with a bittersweet smile, gaze upon the ridiculous sight of his exposed corpse as it ascended the stairs to heaven. There, his father and fallen comrades would be waiting for him.
He had no regrets in life. They’d fought enough. All the blood that had been spilled would, one day, form the foundation for the liberation of his homeland from the empire.
After finally managing to escape from the enemy and secure a place for his remaining troops to set up camp, George was carried into a tent, his condition grave. It was there that Elyne raced to find him. Looking at her husband’s deathly pale face, she broke into tears, assuming the worst.
The officers consoled Elyne and told her that now the Walachian army had been annihilated, the war would soon end.
“It was doomed from the start. If both Razvan and George die, the soldiers’ spirits will crumble. Some men have already fled. But that’s fine; there’s no need for everyone to share our fate. We plan on making one final assault. We’re going to assemble all the men and attack, but please, ma’am, don’t worry over us.”
The officers gave her reassuring smiles, then bowed low to Elyne.
“You should leave here before the next attack. And promise that someday you will see Walachia restored.”
Elyne nodded wordlessly.
It didn’t matter if they lost. Considering the long-standing conflicts with the neighboring nations, it was probably inevitable that Vlad and these brave men had gone to war. But even now, they must be satisfied with their efforts. Walachia would become a vassal state like Serbia, and the Ottoman sultan would behave even more arrogantly than he had before. But no matter how cruelly the sultan treated them, the people of Walachia would never forget the blood that had been spilled for their nation. The men who had given their lives for the motherland would forever be remembered as heroes, filling the Walachian people with pride to have that blood flowing through their veins.
As she gazed at George lying inside the tent, Elyne could no longer suppress the emotions welling up inside her.
It was time for Elyne, as his wife, to quietly watch him leave this earth.
Time for her to give up on everything.
Yet the more she let herself succumb to despair, the more intensely she felt the urge to help her husband.
She had served him faithfully as the wife of a soldier, with a strong faith and an endless devotion to God’s teachings. Every human must die at some point, and defying that fate was the devil’s work. She understood that well.
But even so, the desire for her husband not to die toyed with her heart.
Elyne turned to the conjurer standing by her side and asked if there was any way to save her husband’s life.
The conjurer replied that no normal way could do so.
Then what were the abnormal ways?
“Powerful magic,” the conjurer replied. “Not the kind I use for healing, but an extremely potent spell of a different type entirely. However, it comes with risks, and it requires a sacrifice.”
“What do I need to offer? Chests of gold? Land with a spring?”
“My freedom will suffice.”
“Your freedom?”
“I have served you for a long time, my lady, but I think the time has come to end this arrangement. Once I have finished treating Master George, release me from my duty to protect you. Promise me that, and I shall do everything in my power to save him.”
It was such a pure, simple request that Elyne felt moved, and she agreed.
“Very well, I shall begin my preparations,” the conjurer said, then left.
Elyne waited in the tent for them to return.
The conjurer returned close to an hour later. “Voivode Vlad has just passed,” they announced with a grave expression.
“What?”
“The boyars of Walachia have betrayed him again. They plotted to have the enemy surround Vlad and kill him without mercy. What a shame. He was still so young, only forty-five.”
“What were his last words?”
“‘I did what had to be done. Someday, the world will see that.’”
“And the Catholic Church? Did they not send any reinforcements?”
“No. Not one.”
“Despicable. The voivode even converted to their faith.”
“They saw through to the political intentions behind his conversion, so they didn’t trust him. The voivode was a little too hasty. Or perhaps he did it knowing full well that, in the worst-case scenario, this would happen. He saw his own life as a resource to be used for his homeland.”
“What happened to his body?”
“The corpse was decapitated. They took just his head, most likely to display publicly in Istanbul. The horrors of humanity truly know no bounds.”
Elyne covered her mouth with both hands at the horrific ending that had befallen the voivode. She swayed, unsteady on her feet, and the conjurer caught her. “Settle yourself,” they whispered in her ear. “This opportunity has allowed me to make the most powerful of restorative elixirs.” A small glass bottle glittered in the conjurer’s palm. “This concoction contains the blood of Voivode Vlad himself. There is no more potent an elixir.”
“The voivode’s blood?”
“Yes. I obtained a small quantity when they removed his head.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I am a conjurer. People think nothing of me wherever I go.”
“Or perhaps you betrayed our lord, too. Maybe you wanted his blood so badly that you arranged for him to fall into their hands. If that is how you got it, then I will never use it.”
“My lady, you are a wise and well-educated woman. Yet how much of your knowledge involves matters of magic? None, I assume. Magic is a skill used by commoners, not something employed by the upper classes. But some wishes in this world can only be granted by the skills of such people. Who transforms cows and pigs into luxurious meals? Or tidies and cleans to make manors comfortable? Everyone works behind the scenes to serve others; conjurers are no different.”
Elyne gripped the bottle of elixir. She was aware that she didn’t know all the workings of this world. She’d never soiled her hands with the dirty jobs of the common people. Once she began questioning things, there would be no end to it.
“Will my husband really get better if he drinks this?” she asked.
“You know of Vlad’s vitality. He possessed an extraordinarily strong life force, so restorative medicine made from his blood is of the highest quality. However, it is rare to obtain the blood of someone so exalted. Such people do not generally allow it—unless, that it, they are cut down by a sword or beheaded.”