Count Rothchild Read online

  All present thought he had said four riddles, not five.

  Tatijana licked her lips, waiting for the next riddle. She would keep playing his game for now.

  “What runs but never walks?” asked the odd, robe-wearing man.

  She rolled her eyes, answering, “Obviously a river.”

  And again a huge smile appeared upon Bladamere. “You have but one more riddle to answer. Why does a doctor keep his temper?”

  The four contemplated why a doctor kept his temper, yet none knew the answer right away.

  Bladamere danced about thinking that he had stumped his guests. “It looks like you have no answer for my final riddle,” he proudly called out. “There will be no more clues or prizes for any of you!”

  Paublo had it then come to him, stating, “He cannot afford to lose his patience.”

  The mad mage scrunched his face up some.

  Tatijana asked, “What is this reward you will give to us?”

  The mad wizard went to a shelf and gave them each some fine blue crystals. “These new friends will heal you.”

  Paublo and Tatijana as well as the others were glad to receive such magical crystals of healing. They were a fine bluish-green color and would come in handy upon such an adventure, yet neither was satisfied with such being their only gift.

  Bladamere could see that they were unsatisfied. “I know you are asking more of me and let me just say there is one on the mainland can help you more than I. His name is Cringle; he is a wonderful dwarven sage. I suggest you go back and speak with him.”

  There was no way they were turning around now. Tatijana felt they were on the right path. She had an innate sense for such. It was in her blood.

  The mad mage then tossed her a ring of some sort. It had the face of a cross on it, set with a ruby in its center.

  “One more gift for you, my dear,” he announced. “This will protect you from fire!”

  She was unsure where to go next, yet thanked the odd man.

  Soon they were on the water once more and taking ship back to the mainland. Maybe, just maybe this infamous sage knew more. It was their only lead and thus they headed that way by large boat.

  Paublo debated now as he searched his mind for answers to explain to Tatijana that he himself knew of Drakko; at least in a story.

  It was late that evening when Tatijana, who could not sleep, decided to take a stroll up on the upper deck of the ship. It just so happened that there was a man who seemed to have the same dilemma up there as well. He was walking about the upper level and, when spotting the tall, black-haired woman, tipped his hat and came forth to say hello.

  He was a middle-aged man with a dark thick beard, a chap rather handsome and tall himself. He smiled, drawing closer to her, his eyes almost mesmerizing.

  “Good evening,” he nodded. “Have you looked up to the sky yet; it’s rather intoxicating to see so many stars out tonight. It’s beautiful!”

  Tatijana looked up and he was correct; it was a wondrous sight. Thousands of stars were up there; it felt magical.

  He then calmly explained, “I think the stars are actually tears from lost loved ones from heaven; they come out at night, alive in the sky to help enlighten the ones left behind; to give us hope, and to offer vision for the future.”

  Tatijana felt his words rang true.

  He then added, “May I ask, what do you think of the stars, young lady?”

  She hesitated, looking up at the bundles of dotted lights in the sky. This stranger was rather charming. She usually avoided small talk, but found herself answering him. She liked his observation and wisdom.

  “I think you might be right, sir,” she said. “One of those stars is my mother, and I think she is still watching over me even today.” She then sighed. “Though I think tonight the rest of them are just keeping me up. I find it difficult to sleep this evening, but I will soon go down below and try one last time.”

  Both stood and looked about for a while thereafter. She caught him looking over at her and he smiled again. The man did not try and change her mind, and when she bid him goodnight he nodded once more.

  There was a commotion on the ship about an hour later. The word was that a gigantic bat was seen on board, yet the watchmen claimed it flew off before he or another crewman could shoot the nasty creature. Many passengers awoke via the bickering as to what anyone truly saw. It took a while, but all retired once more.

  A couple of days later, the ship reached land and once more the four companions were off to check on another possible lead. Their purchased horses took them to the north.

  On first night’s watch, Paublo noticed Tatijana digging in her pack for something to eat yet pulling out what appeared to be a letter. She appeared surprised to see such a folded piece of parchment amid her stuff.

  He sat by the fire of their off the road campsite and watched as she peeled away its wax seal and unfolded it.

  This woman loved the night, he thought, watching her. She seemed to dislike the sun, coming alive now. He wondered why she would cling to the shadows daily.

  She began to read it. Her face took on an appearance different to her normal look. It was one of sadness and sorrow as she read on. It was a long letter indeed.

  He thought he would like to read this letter the first chance he could get his hands on it. He dared not ask at this moment. It looked to be personal. He acted as if he could not care, faking disinterest and turning away at times.

  The next day they found the tower of the dwarven sage known as Cringle.

  When meeting up, Tatijana still seemed a little off after reading that letter the evening prior. She had been like that ever since. Paublo took to the questioning when the short man came in sight in answering his slightly too small door.

  Cringle had a beard that touched the floor and a pointed purple hat jutting from his broad head.

  He bowed, stating, “I am Cringle, and I am at your service. What may I be of assistance for?”

  He then let them inside; it was a mess of books, beakers, papers and all sorts of herbs and whatnot. They could barely find a seat. Marco was left outside as a guard.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Cringle announced. “I get lost in my own research these days. I haven’t left the tower in weeks. I wanted to see the great Games of Englewood, but I missed those, too.”

  Paublo himself also liked the annual competition of combat and skills at the capital city, but this was not the time for such fun talk. He went directly to the point.

  “We’ve come from afar seeking information about the infamous Count Drakko Del Rothchild. We have been told that at one time he was named Krons and he was a knight of the Dragon on Quester Island.”

  Tatijana lifted her head, no longer lost in thought.

  Paublo added, “I am a member of the coveted Van Warden family, and my mother is Gaylen Van Warden Hartsell. In case you were not aware, she wrote a story about this man, a rather detailed one, long ago.”

  The huntress now probably wondered what he knew. How could he have held information back from her and such?

  She gave him the evil eye, reprimanding the young adventurer, “You should have told me this before.”

  Little did she know a Van Warden, like he, was knowledgeable at many things, eavesdropping only one of such skill. Yet he was not proud at the moment. He felt as though the tall woman would rip him a new one even more so, perhaps any minute now.

  The dwarf saw their stare down. “It’s a busy world,” he proclaimed. “Things get lost in the shuffle.” He spoke right over the atmosphere now, steering all to his tellings. “I know of such a name. No need to argue or debate. He has been said to dwell somewhere on the mysterious island of Teevas. A place lost in fog in the king’s sea.”

  This was excellent information. Paublo at least knew of the place via his mother’s infamous tale. He remembered more and more. Cringle suddenly farted and all in his chamber could not help but laugh. Even Tatijana had a chuckle.

  He paused, and the
n said, “I know of a priest that could serve you well in explanation. From what I’m hearing, you already know much about this man, yet there is more to learn as well.”

  More travel, more possible information; Paublo wondered if this search would ever amount to anything but wild goose chasing. He tried to avoid Tatijana staring at him, listening on.

  Cringle explained, “Go to Dorrany Castle; it is there that the bishop, a friend of mine, Armas Defloore, will offer you knowledge about the undead.”

  “I’m not so sure a priest can tell us what we need to know,” Tatijana spoke out.

  “You might be surprised,” said the long bearded dwarf. “He is friends with a fellow by the name of Antione Van Helsing, and his family is well-known as damn good demonic hunters.”

  Van Helsing, thought Paublo. Here was another name from his mother’s newspaper article. If he recalled correctly, this man was long dead.

  They paid Cringle for his knowledge and aid and then, once on the road, broke into a heated discussion. It was more than obvious now they were hunting the Nosferatu, be it an ancient one of such kind.

  The servants, or hired men, so to speak, were already fine with such. They were henchmen for the DeAbleau family open to this without hesitation. Paublo, though, was slightly agitated now at what was being revealed. He was connected to it and, oddly enough, was excited.

  Tatijana barely spoke to him directly as they went on; she remained upset still as to his secrecy. He had never meant to hide anything. There would be no turning back now.

  On the way to Dorrany Castle, at one point they took rest off the road in the woods. The night was upon them and Paublo was on watch. He had already snuck the letter from Tatijana. Bards had skills, thieving skills if need be, and from her pack he had slipped such to his own gear during a previous resting stoppage.

  He had it in his pocket now and when time permitted he slipped off to relieve himself and sat down to read it nearby.

  It would have to be read by small candlelight; he was fine, as his young eyes were in good working order.

  Here goes nothing, he thought to himself.

  My dearest Tatijana

  I am not sure where to begin. I sit and sit for days and months, even years, trying to find the right words to tell you of myself and to make you understand. I saw you the other night on the ship under the stars and it made me feel alive for the first time in centuries. When I was a young man, I was full of zest; my life so exciting. I had the Virtue of a good man. It was then I became a knight and soon even a Baron. I was not that of my kin, my brother or our father. The blackness in their souls I kept away from. I was my own man and proud of such. Yet in time death all about me made everything difficult; it overwhelmed me and in darkness I became lost.

  You see, when I saw you, you appeared as your mother did when we loved one another. I see now that you are strong and beautiful like she. I wanted to tell you of myself upon the ship, but the time was not right, Tatijana. I want you to know I loved your mother Lilyana deeply; your father killed her in an outrage of jealousy; it was not me. It was his pride that made him do it, his ego, and this is what he shall live with; a heavy heart filled with shame the rest of his life. So you know, Tatijana, I am your real father.

  Paublo searched the shadows about making sure no one or some animal was lurking about. He saw and heard nothing, and there was more to read, so he carried on.

  I do not wish to ever harm you. It breaks my heart knowing that you now feel such anger. I want you to leave me to my own suffering, to my lonely life. I want you to go forward and live well on your own without regrets and void of anguish. I glance up again now on a castle top, and the stars still remind me of the tears of the crying of loved ones. Later I will sit in my dusty chamber to once more read a thousand books thrice; my tortured soul stuck in constant solitude. I myself have lost so much. Lilyana was dear to me, as much as any of the others that have slipped from my grasp. Everything I have ever loved is gone. Intoxicated, I accidentally slew my first wife, Estelle, my second, Caroline, died in a tragic hunting accident by my own arrow, my third, Claudiva, lost in this world of ego turned dark and sinister. I felt your mother was my saving grace, my last chance for real love.

  But this disease my brother Dracula gave onto me to trick me to awaken the dead, fooled me as to what love could truly be. What I have become I am not proud of. I only bring suffering to those I touch. I will simply never know real love. I do not wish this upon you, daughter. Please do not continue along those lines, leave it all alone and live your own life. Let it all go.

  I now stand alone with no children and little optimism. My business ventures, and I’ve had many, are gone, and my love of life evaporated to nothing. You see, no one knows the truth. I did have to turn to my brother Dracula at one time; it was a cold evening when I stood out on the walls of my castle shouting for vengeance for what had happened. I soon placed a stiletto upon my own heart. I drove it in and it was all about to end. I fell off the ledge; I smashed upon the terrace below. This I tell to you only and no one else.

  It was then Dracula looked at me as if he had the answer. I told him that I wanted to save people, to be loved, yet I felt so helpless. He wanted to change me, to take my normal existence and give me eternal power, a life like his. I shook my head no; I was almost gone and felt a sense of relief. Yet he did not listen. He bit into my neck and gave me life never ending. What I have become, my child, is not the man I wished to be. Yes, I have risen from my own death, it has changed me. I am now out of hibernation to avenge the death of each woman that I loved and loved me in return. I cannot stop this bloodlust easily. I try every day to hold back.

  I am ancient more than you will ever comprehend. I say once more, leave matters alone, my daughter, go out and seek shelter from the rain. I love you as I have loved your mother. You are the only family I have now and the love of a father to his child is eternal!

  Drakko Del Rothchild

  As he was finishing the letter, Paublo, neglecting his watch duty, removed from the campsite where the three others lay in their bedrolls, heard a sudden crunching or a snapping like that of a branch or log.

  He cursed out loud. “Oh, shit!”

  Something was out there or, worse, it was here looking down upon him with the stolen letter in his hand. He glanced around and over his shoulder multiple times. She was not nearby; it had to be something else.

  He saw in the firelight, as he was walking back to their camp, three monstrosities. They were troll-like beings; however, their flesh was not of a typical troll’s greenish tinge. These giants looked more like oversized humans. They had the largest of thick ears, and were flesh-toned, if not overly tanned in color; their noses were huge. Horribly, each moved towards Paublo’s companions carrying a branch for a club.

  By the time he would make it back to the fire he feared for the lives of his companions; it would take too long, but it was all he could do, thus he drew his sword and ran as fast as he could through the trees to reach them.

  Yet his help was unnecessary. Suddenly Tatijana leaped from her prone position with a dive-like motion, her great scimitar in hand. She was on her feet quickly, already landing a blow.

  The first of the over-sized ogres had lumbered down to pick her up and, as she rolled away from him, she slashed with her curved blade across its gut. The hit saw his bowels fold out and spill to the ground. The intestines flapped about for a second and then the ogre fell forward.

  The second of the ogres raised his big club as to smash her. Paublo was hollering for the twins to wake up, still running, though not there just yet.

  It did not matter, for as the club came down on Tatijana, she parried slightly to the left, letting the club run down the side of her sword, and she followed up with a swipe across the ogre’s neck, severing its head from its body. The goliath frame shook headless for a moment and then lurched downward. Everyone was well awake now.

  The last of the ogres turned to leave, heading into the darkness of th
e woods, but both Marco and Oliver shot it in the back with well-aimed arrows.

  Paublo arrived, calling out, “I’m sorry.”

  Marco and Oliver were then quick to grab their hand-held weapons when the big lug turned about mad and came back at them. The tall dark-haired woman pushed them aside, waving them away. Her eyes lit up wild as her face took on a wicked look.

  “He’s mine, stay back,” she insisted.

  Paublo was still apologizing for not being there, but Tatijana paid no attention.

  The last of these humanoids, after taking two arrows, had lost all reasoning. He wanted blood, Tatijana’s blood.

  She welcomed such a fight, screaming a murderous sound while charging at the ogre.

  The goliath was slow, and pretty dim, and his instincts made him raise his club to defend. She weaved a series of cuts at his upper body and, as she surmised, he tried to block them all. It was then she spun low, taking out his Achilles tendon, nearly severing the foot from his body. He toppled to the one knee giving her a funny expression. He still had his club and he raised it up as if he would hit her if she approached.

  It did him no good, as the huntress charged once more, this time leaping in the air, sword point forward, to drive such straight into the larynx of this final ogre.

  Paublo almost fell back on his butt in amazement; this woman was fierce! He then got an eerie feeling when he looked at her, as there was blood now coming from her mouth; a mouth that was showing fang-like.

  He stepped back away from the fire and asked in awe, “What the hell are you?”

  She grinned at him; it was a look that was not pleasant.

  “You’re not even human,” he then announced, eyes wide and raising an eyebrow at what he saw.

  The two servants went about adjusting their bedrolls and tending to the fire as if nothing strange was happening. They knew all about the huntress.