The character of Viktor does not belong to me. This work is not for profit and meant as artistic expression inspired by the original work.
For All The Sultan's Gold
by Beth
Transylvania, Anno Domini 1503; Year of our Lord 7012 of the Eastern reckoning
The leaves on the flagstones of the wall walk cracked and rustled under Viktor's boots. The battlements to his side were blackened with fire and torn already by earthquakes. None living in this place, but it was the one he would start in.
All this would not have happened, had he reigned in the previous century, he thought. Marcus had ignored the first rumours of a local lordling's strange habits, of impossible escapes and too precisely devastating plagues. They still did not know who had bitten the Wallachian, nor when, but the grave at Snagov had been empty when Kraven had checked it.
Enough of it. Viktor would find the man, tear his head off and watch as the last of that cursed blood drained across his boots. There were rules to be contended with, his rules, and none of them provided for a madman to be given this power.
In the darkness over Poenari Castle, a wolf howled. Paws skidded over stone.
Viktor turned, unsheathing his sword with a curse. But it was no wolf in the doorway of the staircase, not this broad shadow, a tattered cloak flapping in the breeze. The scent of blood, fresh and old, wove through the air.
"I am an Elder of the Great Coven," Viktor declared. "Show yourself."
The shadow - the creature - moved forward, conveying the suggestion of a crawl even as it remained upright. Still the starlight shied away from it.
The voice was rusty with disuse, but the Latin was melodious, precise. "Are you a descendant of Corvinus?"
"No. I am Viktor. But I bear in me the power of Corvinus and the blessing of his blood. All who bear it obey the Elders, and this is your place also."
That drew a low, rich laugh, the figure bending forward either in mirth or in preparation to attack. "I met a Corvinus, once, who would have me bend to his will. I betrayed him."
Viktor took a step forward, letting his sword arm hang free, unthreatening. "There is so much we can offer you."
"That sounds familiar, too." This close, the shape of the creature's head was visible in the shadows, elegant features framed by long, straight hair. "What will it be? Power? Knowledge? Women? Boys?"
"What would you want?" Behind his back, Viktor tensed his arm, testing the balance of the blade.
Movement, pain. The pure sharp sound of metal on stone as his sword flew over the castle wall, and darkness and stars flashing as he was pushed over the battlements, falling himself-
Suspended in mid-motion, a long-fingered hand around his throat.
The starlight fell on the creature openly now. Pale skin with a red flush on the cheeks and lips, the mouth open to reveal fangs longer than they should be. Werewolf teeth, but a vampire's face, vampire's breath. The touch was cold, chilling, and the smell under the blood was of old parchment and crumbling gravestones.
Viktor bared his own fangs as he tore at the hand squeezing his throat. He hissed and knew his eyes were burning blue with the power of his blood. But what answered him was an inhuman growl and eyes the colour of poison.
"I was offered all for my obedience and my chains, Viktor of the Great Coven," the monster said, not even breathing hard. "My freedom is not for sale. Not for all the sultan's gold, not for all the sultan's love, and not for anything the pathetic crawling creatures you call vampires can offer me."
Viktor arched his neck, fighting for a gulp of air. "What are you?" he choked out.
In Vlad Draculea's smile, there was the warlord and the defender of the faith, the tyrant and the traitor. "Did you think Corvinus was the only one to make a deal with the Devil?"
From the battlements of Poenari Castle to the waters of the Princess's River below, it was a long way to fall.