The Vorbing (9 page)

Hana got to the barn where the council had judged and banished Vlad.

“You wait here, Ula,” Hana said.

“I want to come in with you,” Ula said.

“No, my dear,” Hana insisted. “If something happens to us both in there, Vlad will have no one left. Better you stay out here. We both love him.”

Ula reluctantly agreed.

Hana kissed her. “You’re a special girl, Ula,” Hana said. “Vlad has chosen well. You will make a good wife and mother, too. Now, I must do this alone.”

Hana took a deep breath and stepped into the barn where the council was breaking up for the evening.

Vrillium Gladwish and the others were talking and laughing as they walked towards the entrance. They stopped when they saw Hana Ingisbohr striding with resolve in their direction.

“What have you done to my son?” Hana asked.

“We banished him,” Vrillium said. “Be grateful we spared his life. That was the other choice.”

“What had Vlad done that would make you want to put him to death?” Hana demanded.

“Your son Vlad was consorting with Mattna, a known sorcerer,” Vrillium stated impatiently. “That alone would be enough for a death sentence. Your boy also killed Necromus, second only to Deadulus. That act would have instigated more bloodshed if we had not taken visible action to placate the vampires.”

“Mattna was no sorcerer, and Vlad killed Necromus defending himself, me, and our home, is that a crime now?” Hana asked.

“The council’s decision is final,” Vrillium insisted. “Do not question our judgement. Your boy also brought this council into disrepute with his insolence.”

“This council has been in disrepute since my husband died,” Hana said defiantly.

              “Hold your tongue, you impertinent sow!” Vrillium said angrily. “Only the Ingisbohr name made us spare your son’s life, and even that is wearing thin, so choose your words carefully.”

“I will not!” Hana said. “I will say what I have to say, and you will listen.”

Vrillium snorted with derision, a smirk on his face.

“You will rescind the banishment,” Hana demanded as she stepped closer to Vrillium, “and send out a search party after Vlad. You will find him and bring him home to me. Do you understand? If you do not, you will face grave consequences.”

“You are a woman alone,” Vrillium said. “You have no authority here. You are in no position to make threats. I warn you again not to disrespect me or this council. I reject your demands. Now, let your grave consequences descend upon us.”

“I curse you!” Hana shouted. “I curse you all for what you’ve done!”

Vrillium folded his arms defiantly. The council members muttered among themselves and got agitated.

“She has bewitched us!” Vrillium shouted, pointing at Hana. “You all heard it. Seize her!”

The councillors grabbed hold of Hana.

“Take her to the stable and bind her until we decide what to do with her,” Vrillium said.

A councillor’s son, acting as a makeshift bailiff, took Hana from the barn. Ula watched in horror from the shadows as Hana passed her. Hana’s defeated eyes watched Ula until she was out of sight. When they reached the narrow stable, Hana was shoved in and tied to a post there. She slumped to the ground in tears.

“My son, my son,” she sobbed. “God help you now.”

Back at the Ingisbohr farm, Ula helped the ailing Lillia Kurten onto the family’s wagon.

“Take your time,” Ula said.

“Where are we going?” Lillia said.

“It’s not safe for you here now. I know a place we can go until you recover.”

“Where is Hana?”

“She sent me to get you. Please, no more questions. Save your energy.”

Lillia groaned in pain and pulled the animal fur around her body tighter to keep in the warmth. Ula climbed up on the wagon beside her and looked around to see if anyone was coming. They were alone.

“We’ll be there soon, don’t worry,” Ula said.

Ula took the reins and made the horses move. The wagon rumbled off into the night leaving the Ingisbohr farm deserted in the darkness.

The sounds of night in the forest were all around Vlad. He heard insects chirping, a distant owl hooting, and the wind rustling through the trees. It struck Vlad that he had never been out alone at night before that moment. The vampires had robbed him of that experience, and he hated them even more when he saw and felt what they had denied him. Those welcome sounds became silent portents so rapidly that it stopped Vlad in his tracks. He knew animals perceived impending danger in a way humans could not. The imminent arrival of the vampires cowed the forest animals into silence, but the wind had stopped, too. Vlad wondered if the vampires had mastery of weather patterns, as well. A howling wind would help mask the sound of Vlad’s escape and stymie the hunting technique of the vampires. Vlad’s opponents seemed to have every unfair advantage there was, and it frustrated him.

              The silhouette of a ruined abbey on the hill presented itself as ideal sanctuary. Vampires could not attack someone on holy ground, but it was some distance away. Vlad jumped into a dry riverbed that snaked its way to the base of the abbey. It offered good cover that would give him a better chance of reaching the abbey, but he also knew what expert hunters the vampires were. They had the further advantage of having greater numbers capable of outflanking and overwhelming Vlad. As he ran, Vlad heard the cry of Deadulus echo down the mountain, and the vampires roared out of their cave in droves. They knew Vlad was running scared, and they wanted the despised blood of the son of Ingisbohr. They would ignore other targets that night and concentrate all their considerable efforts on him. Even the red mist they travelled within seemed to move more rapidly than usual. It had reached behind Vlad in less than a minute.

Vlad knew the vampires were closing in on him. He quickened his breakneck pace while attempting not to lose his balance (something he was close to doing on the uneven, muddy earth of the riverbed). In a flash, the mist had disappeared, and instead of vampires, Vlad saw a pack of red-eyed werewolves with drooling fangs pursuing him. The vampires were extremely tricky adversaries. They had many evil allies and could make any animal do their bidding.

It was difficult to hear ordinary wolves, as they were light on their feet. Werewolves were two to three times bigger with the footfall of a large horse. Unless they were starving and desperate for food, wolves were shy creatures and avoided humans. The werewolves pursuing Vlad were quite the opposite. They were vicious, ravenous beasts whose only intention was to maul their victims and pass on their foul contagion to another innocent party. That was foremost in Vlad’s mind as he fled for his very existence. His thoughts were not clouded by blind panic, although fear was rising within him with every stride he took. The sting of his earlier injuries intensified as the pursuit continued.

              The abbey never seemed to get any closer, and it tantalised Vlad maddeningly. He felt like he was running in quicksand, expending all his energy and getting nowhere fast. Vlad reminded himself he was dealing with the supernatural, and it always warped reality and time whenever he experienced it in Dubhtayl. It never seemed real, because it was reality in a heightened, nightmarish state where physical and mental boundaries did not exist. The paranormal had something in common with the storms that fascinated Vlad; that awesome and unpredictable fury of nature paralleled the once natural in the supernatural world.

              The werewolves were within striking distance of Vlad. One good lunge, and they would have him. Vlad’s margin of safety was a hair’s breadth, but he told himself that even the tiniest advantage was all he needed. Proximity was not a kill. A werewolf strained its sinewy neck and extended its snapping jaws to maximum length and got its fang caught on Vlad’s cape. The garment tore, and the werewolf lost its grip and its momentum. It quickly gained on Vlad again though, rejoining its pack to bite at Vlad’s heels. Vlad sensed their steaming breath on his bare legs and it gave him gooseflesh. He lashed out at the werewolves as he ran and caught them with a few backhands in their snouts, which bled. The blows didn’t hurt the huge beasts badly, but they gained Vlad another
soupçon
of life and showed them he would go down fighting.

Up ahead, a thick tree trunk lay suspended across the riverbed. Vlad had to make a split-second decision to go over it or under it. If he picked the wrong option, he would be torn apart while still alive. Instinct took over. Vlad athletically leapt over the tree trunk, the werewolves went under it, and an obstruction formed when the pack leader skidded and got stuck underneath it. It delayed their advance for a few crucial seconds. Vlad felt a fleeting moment of relief at the good fortune of his temporary resurrection, but he had no time to celebrate. The werewolves flooded over the fallen tree and were back in the hunt again. They immediately began making up the ground they had lost with their phenomenal power and speed.

              Vlad reached the end of the riverbed, and his heart stopped when he saw that a sheer embankment was his only way up into the ruined abbey. He was exhausted, hungry, and at the limit of his energy. The last thing he needed was more exertion, but he pushed all despair from his mind and climbed frantically. Huge clumps of the mossy bank came off in Vlad’s hands, and he fell back into the riverbed. Vlad heard the snarling werewolves getting nearer. He tried again, and pushed himself up with his legs. Again, the mossy bank gave way and returned to his starting position. The werewolves spotted him and leapt through the air to pull him to the ground and begin a ferocious, lethal assault.

              Vlad saw them and leapt as high as he could, and grabbed onto a protruding root coming out from under the stone foundation of the abbey. He felt a sharp pain in his ribs from overextending them and almost let go of his lifeline. Vlad said a silent prayer that the root would not give way. It gave him enough height to avoid the werewolves. He held on with all his might and pulled himself slightly higher as the werewolves circled beneath him, leaping up and snapping their fangs at his heels. Vlad started to lose his grip as his hands perspired. Sweat dripped off his body, which only sent the werewolves below him into an even greater feeding frenzy.

              One werewolf leapt up and sunk its fangs deep into Vlad’s sheepskin cape. The garment did not rip the second time, and the chord fastening it pulled tight against Vlad’s throat, depriving him of air. The werewolf shook its head violently from side to side, choking Vlad further and straining his muscles to their limit. The werewolf then went limp, using its bulk to drag Vlad downwards. Its fangs may as well have been around Vlad’s neck, as it bided its time and smothered him slowly. Vlad knew he could not sustain the weight of himself and the werewolf much longer. The root was beginning to unravel in his hands, and he was getting lightheaded and starting to blackout. Vlad lowered his chin and tugged at the chord fastening his cape with his teeth. The chord remained tied. His shoulder muscles went into spasm from the immense exertion being placed on them. He wheezed and gagged loudly from being strangled by the chord as his face went dark red. Vlad felt the other werewolves jump up as they tried to add the extra weight that would tip the balance fatally in their favour. Vlad rested momentarily and made one final effort, successfully undoing the sheepskin cape with his teeth just as a second werewolf bit into it. The cape fell back into the riverbed on top of the two werewolves, and their companions savaged the item of clothing. When it registered that Vlad was not wrapped in the cape, the werewolves turned their attention back to him above them. Vlad took a massive deep breath, and with one mighty heave, hauled himself to safety on the bank above as the root holding him broke. He tossed earth from the holy ground down onto the werewolves. Sparks came off them when the consecrated earth hit them. They howled in agony and dissolved back into the green fog.

              Vlad was in shock from the nightmare day he had endured. Everyone and everything seemed to want him dead. As the fog receded, Vlad lay utterly shattered beside the ruined abbey, panting loudly from his surreal ordeal. He was beyond exhaustion, and incapable of generating enough energy to even contemplate moving. Every part of him ached and throbbed. As the lids of his eyes closed, he saw vampires circling the abbey high above him in the sky. They could not land, but they would not take their eyes off him all night in case he made one slip. That was all they needed.

             
Let them watch.

              His inner strength gave him new confidence. In combination with the life or death struggle he had survived, it made him feel more alive than he ever had in his short life to that point. It was an incredible feeling in his young mind and body. Vlad fell into an instantaneous sleep and dreamt of grateful salvation.

A wild howling noise brought Vlad Ingisbohr back from the land of sleep with a start. He opened his eyes, expecting to see vampires surrounding him, leering down at him with their fangs bared. Luckily, he saw none. He cautiously peered back down into the riverbed where the werewolves had been, but all he saw were footprints in the mud and torn shards from his tunic blowing away in the distance. The howling wind of a storm engulfed him. Trees were bending backwards in the gale, and it nearly blew him back down into the riverbed. He rolled back from the edge of the riverbed and got to his feet and ran. Even though it was daytime, it was incredibly dark. Vlad struggled around the wall of the ruined abbey and slumped down against it. It gave him a little protection from the biting storm, but not much. Vlad heard a mighty crack followed by an earth-shattering crash. Vlad peered around the corner into the blinding wind and saw that a huge oak tree had collapsed in the maelstrom nearby. He desperately needed cover from the teeth of the tempest that snapped at him from all angles. If the wind didn’t drop something heavy on him, its frigid blasts would freeze him to death.