Michael Belmont and the Heir of Van Helsing (The Adventures of Michael Belmont) (39 page)

The man had a long gray beard, which was colored with blood.
 
His girth- constraining armor told Michael he’d outgrown it long ago, and the remains of an ornate, shattered sword lay at his feet.
 
A black-haired maiden in a flowing purple dress wept bitterly upon the ground beside him.
 
This had to be the king and his daughter, Michael thought.
 
He’d apparently decided to make his own attempt at killing the beast instead of offering up his daughter.

As George brought the horse to a halt, the maiden picked up the old man’s shield and held it up over him.

The dragon had heard George approaching, and now turned to face him.
 
His dark green scales rippled as he flexed his muscles in anticipation of the new foe.
 
He bared his horrible razor-like teeth and hissed.
 
Then he laughed.
 
“I see that two fools will serve as my dinner tonight.
 
Or perhaps you’d like to reconsider your folly and ride back to wherever it is you’ve come from.
 
I hope you don’t, however, for today my hunger is great.”

“Come with me willingly and spare yourself some pain,” George told him.
 
“I know that I cannot kill you, but great agony will befall you for resisting me.
 
Either way, you will be taken and cast into the pit for your rebellion and crimes against God and man.”

The dragon roared with laughter.
 
“Come then, perhaps I’ll spare the king’s life long enough for him to watch you burned alive for your insolence.”
 
He spat out a stream of fire, which enveloped George and his horse.

For a moment, Michael was terrified for him, expecting the man to be incinerated, but as George held up his lance, some unseen force deflected the waves of fire, and they simply blew around him like a hot summer wind.

The dragon roared in laughter once again, until he saw his victim, unharmed, staring back at him.

“WHAT?” the creature roared in confusion.
 
“What manner of man are you?
 
If my flames cannot touch you then perhaps you’d like to be smashed into wine.”

The beast whipped its tale violently at the knight, but Artax seemed to sense the blow coming and reared back out of the way.
 
George directed the horse into a gallop and shot off away down the road as the dragon resumed his laughter.

“Ha, ha, ha.
 
Flee coward.
 
But be warned, if I ever see your craven face in these parts again, not even the swiftest horse will save you.”

Before he finished speaking, George pulled the horse back to face him.
 
He held his lance even and steady, and quickly sized the monster up, and then he charged.
 
The dragon dug his feet in and braced for the impact, bearing his teeth in a smile that Judas in hell might be proud of.
 
“Come then, boy.
 
Come and meet your fate like a man,” he roared.

George’s lance met the dragon’s scale armored chest with a crack as loud as thunder, and Michael expected to see shattered wooden pieces go flying in all directions, but amidst a flash of blue light, the only thing that went flying was the serpent.
 
He was thrown dozens of feet through the air before crashing down to the earth with a blow that shook the leaves free from nearby trees.

The dragon lay on its back, motionless, with its tongue flopped across the dust.
 
A rope of blue light had appeared and was winding tightly around its body from head to tail.

George slid off his horse and drew his sword.
 
He thrust it into the body of the fallen serpent, and immediately its form began to change.
 
As Michael watched, the large body of the dragon was soon replaced with that of a regular man.
 
His ethereal bonds remained as tight as before, and when George withdrew the sword, no wound remained, and no blood stained the blade.

“Come…here. Come…” called a firm but failing voice.
 
George looked at the king, whose quivering hand reached out to him.
 
He went to the brave old fellow, taking his hand and meeting his frightened eyes.

“Thank y-you, for saving her,” he strained to say.
 
“I give her to you, t-to wife.”

George looked at the weeping girl crouching next to her father’s body.
 
She was stunning, even amidst her tears.
 
She had curly, black hair, and large brown eyes.
 
Michael was shocked- she looked surprisingly like Magda, like a slightly older sister perhaps.

“Sh-she has always spoken of marrying a gallant warrior someday.
 
I never had the heart to give her hand to a man she didn’t love, but now here you are, almost as if you’d ridden out from one of her stories.”
 
He placed their hands together and gazed up at her lovingly.
 
“Take care of her for me,” he said softly before slipping away.

“Goodbye, my father,” the girl wept as she leaned over to kiss him one last time.

George sheathed the sword and helped the princess to her feet, and the scene faded away.

When Michael opened his eyes he felt tired and weak.
 
He had to force himself to get up, and when he looked to the window he noticed it was starting to get dark outside.
 
That’s odd, he thought, I must have been out for a while that time.
 
He staggered over and pulled the window shut, making sure it was locked securely.

The experience had really taken a lot out of him for some reason.
 
Then again, he’d never had two visions so close together before.
 
Something else was different this time as well.
 
He’d been able to see George’s memory even though he hadn’t been touching the sword the whole time.

And that princess- Magda looked so much like her, was it possible she was Magda’s ancestor?
 
The dragon had told her that she had the blood of heroes
and kings
in her veins.

Still, how could he use any of this information against Mihnea?
 

At least he was getting better at controlling the visions.
 
He was tired, but he needed something more, there had to be something that could help them, some little tidbit of information that could make all the difference.

He lay down in the bed again and grasped the hilt of the sword.

“Okay, let’s do this one more time.
 
Concentrate,” he commanded himself.
 
“Show me something, anything that can help us.
 
Please!”

It took several minutes of hard concentration before blue light began to emanate from Michael’s ring.
 
It enveloped the sword, and his vision began to blur.

The scene that opened up before Michael was one of a candle-lit bedchamber.
 
It took him only a few moments to recognize the man who stood over him, looking down with sad, watery eyes.
 
The Dragon looked younger and much healthier than he had the last time Michael had seen him.

“My good friend,” The Dragon said, patting his hand, “I don’t know how I’m going to carry on without you.
 
It doesn’t seem right that I go on living, remaining so young, while you must grow old and die.
 
You are a greater man than me in both nature and deed.”

“Do not grieve for me, Vlad.
 
You have been a faithful friend and ally, and the work I was entrusted with will be passed on to others when the time comes.”
 
He let out a series of loud, rasping coughs.
 
“But you, my friend.
 
You must continue to fight evil in all its forms.
 
You must continue to train others-to teach them all the things you’ve learned.”

“I will.
 
I give you my word on that.”
 
He wiped the tears from his eyes and paced to the foot of the bed and back.
 
“And what of this castle?
 
It was built as a fortress to protect that gateway in the throne room, a gateway that only you control.
 
What will become of this place upon your death?”

“Uriel told me that my true heir would always have control over this castle.
 
Someday, hundreds of years from now, the gateway will no longer be needed.
 
And then it will become the duty of that person to destroy it.”

“But what if your line comes to an end?
 
Have you been assured that a rightful heir will be walking the earth when that day comes?”

“No, I haven’t.
 
But there are things more important than blood, birthrights, or titles.
 
My true heir will be known by his courage and honor, and by his willingness to do what needs to be done, even if it costs him everything.”

The Dragon nodded.
 
“I understand.
 
But now as your work on this earth comes to an end, I find myself wondering what kind of man could possibly replace you.”

“Your words flatter me more than my own memory.
 
I’m far from perfect, but I’ve tried to be a good man.
 
I’ve made the acquaintance of better men than myself, and I’m sure many better will come along long after my spirit has departed.”
 
He took his friend’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
 
“Soon I will be with my beloved princess once again; The Lord could grant me no greater reward.”
 
He closed his eyes and let out a deep, long sigh.
 
“Will you stay with me Vlad, until I pass?”

Michael suddenly realized something; he could feel George’s emotions, sense some of his thoughts.
 
He was full of sorrow from saying goodbye to his friend, but there was happiness as well.
 
There was a longing to go on to that place he considered his true home.

“Rest, my friend,” came the voice of the Dragon.
 
“I’m not going anywhere.”

Michael slowly opened his eyes.
 
He lay still for several long moments, straining to focus on the world around him.
 
He turned his head to see that the sky outside his window was now black, although the room was lit up from the faery lantern he’d placed on his dresser.
 
He must have been out for several hours, although the vision he’d just seen was still fresh in his memory.

He pushed himself up to a sitting position- surprised by the effort it took, and leaned against his pillows.
 
Another small cloud of dust arose from the bed, and as he sneezed a large clump of coagulated blood shot into his lap.

“Uhg, gross,” he mumbled aloud.
 
Lifting his hand, he felt a crusty dried substance all over his face and neck.
 
“OH NO,” he yelled in fear, hopping to the floor and stumbling to the mirror.
 
He nearly crashed into it headfirst, he felt so weak.
 
Frantically, he searched his neck for bite-marks, but to his relief, found none.
 
A fresh trickle of blood began to stream down both sides of his nose.

Finding fresh water in the washbasin, he cleaned himself as best he could, plugged his nose to stop the bleeding, and took a good look in the mirror.
 
He barely recognized the boy looking back at him with sunken eyes and a pale face.
 
He couldn’t remember looking so bad since a bout with pneumonia a few years earlier.
 
He didn’t feel sick though, just fatigued.
 
He had pushed himself too hard, he realized, but maybe it had been worth it.
 
Maybe he had gotten the answer he’d been looking for.
 
He needed to get out of this room and get to his sister and friends as soon as he could.

Even as these thoughts ran through his head, he found himself climbing back onto the bed.
 
He couldn’t do anything until he rested, that much was obvious.
 
And in his condition, trying to brave the castle in the middle of the night was probably not the best idea.
 
Although he was exhausted, he wasn’t sure he could easily go back to sleep.
 
Even so, he closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander through all the things he’d just seen.
 
A thin smile spread across his face.

“You think you’re so smart,” he whispered as Mihnea’s face glared at him through his mind.
 
“I know a few things that you don’t, you big arrogant—"

The shrill sound of nails scratching on glass sent a chill through Michael’s body.
 
He sat up faster than he’d believed he could and gazed at the window.

A small, white hand pawed at the glass, and Michael cringed to hear the scratching.
 
He slid off his bed and retrieved his bow, never looking away from the window.
 
It took much effort to pull back an arrow, and his hands shook as he strained to hold it, creeping toward the ghostly visitor.

It was so dark outside that he couldn’t see anything but a vague discoloration through the glass.
 
Michael wished he’d thought to pick up the lantern and take it with him in his teeth, but it was too late for that now.

He stepped within mere feet of the window, and terror seized his heart as a small girl appeared, floating in the black air like a ghost.

“Michael, let me in,” pleaded his sister.
 
“It’s cold out here.
 
Please open the window for me.”

Michael held the bow as steady as he could, the arrow ready to be loosed.
 
He looked into the horrified eyes of his baby sister.
 
Was she really one of them now?
 
Did this mean there was no hope left for her?
 
Had she made her first kill?
 
“You’re a vampire,” he told her sadly, tears beginning to fill his eyes.
 
“What are you doing out there, Abby?
 
Am I supposed to be your next victim?”
 
Michael had never felt so hopeless, so scared.
 
He didn’t think he had it in him to shoot his own sister, even if it meant forfeiting his own life.