Vlad Dracula: The Dragon Prince by Augustyn Michael

Author:Augustyn, Michael
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: iUniverse
Published: 2014-04-10T16:00:00+00:00

11

Hungary. Over the past weeks, King Matthias had spent more time in the small room on the plain wooden chair than he had in the court on the throne. He was piecing together his faction and the beginnings of his reign.

If his eyes were still tired from his recent ordeals—his brother’s execution, his own imprisonment—it was the tiredness of awakening. Each day the eyes were more alert. His twenty-year-old face with its slightly heavy jaw had already all but shed the lines of his grief.

For the work at hand, he was dressed simply. His tunic, leggings, and short cap were gray—plain, if soft. His only adornments were a thick gold chain that showed the royal seal and a weighty gold ring that had no significance other than the fact that he liked it.

He nodded to the steward to summon his last caller of the day: a former enemy of his father’s. A mercenary. His name was Jan Jiskraz. Matthias was somewhat surprised when they finally met face to face. Jiskraz had begun his career so long before, in the old Hussite wars, as one of the Protestant reformers fighting against the papists, against the chivalry of Hungary itself. After that, he had taken sides in Hungary’s own civil war, fighting on behalf of a bold queen against Janos Hunyadi’s faction of barons. It was from that war that he now held a province near the country’s northern border.

But that war, or the bold queen’s name, would not be even mentioned in this meeting. Jiskraz had been summoned for business. New business. Not for old sentiment or hard feeling.

What surprised Matthias was the mercenary’s appearance. His bowl-cut hair was white, his face well creased. But he was still built like a dagger, and his accoutrement only strengthened the image: heavy, bark-colored leather, studded and polished; vest slightly winged at the shoulders, belted tight at the waist; snug chaps; boots to the thighs. And Jiskraz’s eyes still showed a very dark blue.

Matthias addressed him frankly, “We can be of use to each other.”

The frankness struck Jiskraz. Was this new boy-king a fool, admitting so easily to a need? Or was he just … practical? Eminently so—stating the obvious rather than haggle about it.

Jiskraz waited for him to go on, but Matthias also waited, and he was the king. It was left to Jiskraz to respond. “I would keep my northern province, sire. With peace between us.”

Matthias gave a nod: reasonable. He stated his own price: “I need you to stand by. Maybe to fight. Soon.”

Jiskraz was not surprised when the king elaborated: the south. Transylvania. Wallachia. Dracula and the Saxons.

Jiskraz started to offer, “Sire, the sultan—”

“Pardon,” Matthias said. “But I know. The sultan’s ‘eyes.’ He is watching this feud and gloating. Hoping that we and Wallachia tear each other apart. Which is why it must end.”

Jiskraz wondered, But why me? The king had other men.

As though reading the thoughts, Matthias was again frank. Not baiting. Without guile. “Are you afraid of Vlad Dracula?”

Jiskraz answered without guile.

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