Martin stared down at the young vampire.
His old mind struggled to keep up with the accusation which had just been flung at him.
Poison?
Why would he poison a Master?
Perhaps he was instead offended by the cheap goblet the blood had been delivered in? Or the fact the blood was from another Renfield?
What on earth was the vampire thinking? And was it his place to refute the accusation? Or should he accept whatever such punishment the vampire decided to deliver?
He thought carefully before answering.
"I'm sorry, Master," he said slowly. "Is the blood not to your liking? Perhaps a glass from the maid might be more palatable?"
"Palatable?" Vlad held the goblet out. "What nonsense are you spewing? This! This blood is deficient!"
Marting gulped. "Deficient, Master? In… what way?"
In what way?
Vlad looked from the goblet to Martin. Did he truly not know?
He held the glass out to the old man, showing him the red fluid. "Look at it! Whoever's blood this is, they're not eating properly! There's not enough iron in it. And it's so thin. Why is it so thin?"
"M-m-master. I…" He bowed his head, feeling ashamed. "I humbly apologise for the quality. It is… It was… The best we can get… right now…"
"Huh?" Vlad's expression was incredulous. "This is the best? I know I am a fledgling, but still… This is a bit much, isn't it? Whose blood is it anyway? Why are they not healthy?"
"M-m-mine, Master…"
"What?" He blinked at the Renfield. "Did you say this is your blood?"
"Yes, Master."
"Why?"
"Pardon, Master?"
He's deaf, Vlad thought, wanting to scream.
"You are a Renfield. You have important work to do. You clean. You work, yes?"
"Yes, Master!" The old man's eyes widened in fear. "I work hard for the Court, I swear!"
"Then why is this your blood?"
"Who else's would it be, Master?"
"Who else?" Vlad blinked. "Why, that's what Dolls are for!"
"Dolls?" The old man was looking almost as confused as Vlad. "Master, there have been no Dolls since the war…"
Vlad rocked back, staring up at the man.
It felt like it was one shock after another today.
No Dolls, though?
And blood was coming from the Renfields?
It was no wonder the blood was so thin. The Renfields would be working all day, then feeding their Masters at night.
They'd be exhausted.
And exhaustion would make their blood weak.
"I don't believe this," Vlad croaked. "What world is this? What has become of the Black Dragon Court?"
"I'm sorry, Master!"
"Nevermind," he sighed. "You may leave, Renfield. I apologise for my rudeness."
The old man fled with a few more stuttered apologies of his own, leaving Vlad alone with the thin blood inside the small goblet.
He stared down at it.
The old man's blood. Thin. Weak.
But it was blood.
Sighing, Vlad drank it down as quickly as he could and tried not to gag.
It lacked flavour and there wasn't enough energy in it to contribute much to Vlad's new heart. But it would nourish his vampire cells for a while.
"Ugh."
His heart slowed a little as the new blood was absorbed into his veins. It, too, wasn't enthusiastic about this weak contribution.
I need more blood, Vlad thought. Better quality, too!
How could the Black Dragon Court let its fledglings drink Renfield blood? And why would it treat its Renfields so poorly?
It made no sense.
None at all.
He rocked in his seat for a moment then decided he would learn nothing new by staying in his room. So, scowling deeply, he left.
Hands clasped tightly behind his back, he strode the length of the hall and found himself in the courtyard again. His fellow fledglings, almost a dozen of them, were training.
Training to one day hold a sword.
Vlad's eyes widened in awe as he watched a vampire calmly lead them in the repetitive motions required to firm their stance. The fledglings imitated with mechanical precision.
As one, they let out sharp hups as they struck imaginary foes.
First in front of the fledglings was Tibor. He held a wooden training club and was giving his best.
"Hup!"
Strike.
"Hup!"
Vlad shook his head.
No.
No, this was a nightmare. It couldn't be real.
"Sloppy," he gasped. How could they be so sloppy?
Ferenc was rolling in his grave.
Or his ashes were. Either way, his ghost would not rest happily if he could see what was happening in the courtyard.
As he was standing there, another fledgling tried to pass him. A straggler?
Reaching out, Vlad snatched the young vampire by his collar.
"Hey!"
"You," Vlad pointed at the other fledglings practicing. "What is all this?"
"What do you mean? It's training!"
"Training? But why are you using clubs? Where is the sword?"
"Swords?" The vampire frowned at him. "Are you crazy? We don't use swords in the Black Dragon Court."
Vlad's eyes boggled and he tried to get control of his temper.
Be calm.
"You… don't… use… swords?"
"No."
"Then what the Hell are you practicing for?"
"Maces, of course!"
"Maces?" Vlad almost shouted. "What's this Ottoman bullshit?"
"Did someone hit you on the head?"
"Just answer! Why is the Black Dragon Court, famous for using the Black Dragon Great Sword, training in maces?"
The other vampire struggled to work free of Vlad's grip, but couldn't.
He fixed Vlad with a wary stare. "You shouldn't look down on the Court…"
"Look down on? Who is looking down on the Court? I'm not the one using stupid Turkish maces!"
"It's what we train in," the fledgling shrugged. "Can I go now? I'm already late!"
Vlad let the fledgling go.
What else could he do?
It wasn't the fledgling's fault the Court had gone astray.
"Feeding on Renfields. No Dolls. Living in a dirty old ruin. Playing with Turkish weapons." He found himself rambling. "What is wrong here? What has happened to the Court? I cannot believe it. I can't. I must be dreaming. Wake up, Vlad. Wake up!"
But he did not wake up.
"Fledgling." A heavy hand suddenly dropped down on his shoulder. "You're not training with the others? Elder Miklos is not Elder Laszlo, but he still has much to teach."
The words were spoken softly, but there was a firmness to them that made Vlad's body tense.
He glanced at the newcomer.
An older vampire. He had a bushy moustache, clear blue eyes, and dark hair tied back behind his head.
He was dressed in a similar style as Vlad but had a long flowing cape over his shoulders with a wide pointed collar edged with red velvet. The cape, once fine, had seen better days.
Still, he appeared confident.
At least, he gave off the aura of someone used to being in command.
But if he'd been a vampire for more than fifty years, Vlad would eat his boots.
"I am not training," Vlad confirmed.
"Ah. You are the new fledgling, yes? Everything must be a bit disorienting still."
Vlad nodded. "It's all so strange."
"Amir believed you would not last the night. It seems he was wrong."
"It seems like."
"You should still wait a few days before training. Your veins will be thick with impurities. It will cause you harm if you start training straight away."
Bullshit, Vlad thought.
But the old vampire's words seemed to be coming from a place of kindness, so he didn't say so.
Instead, he nodded. "Elder? May I ask a question?"
The words sounded strange in Vlad's ears.
He hadn't called another vampire Elder in a long time. But he had to acknowledge the state of his body and his status in this new Court, even if it was a Court in clear decline.
"Ask."
"Why do they train in the mace? Why not the Black Dragon Great Sword?"
"Black Dragon Great Sword?" The older vampire sighed. It was a rueful sigh. "Ah, fledgling. That is the shame of our Court. Has no one explained this to you?"
Vlad's lips tightened. "No. Not clearly."
"Then I shall do so." The old vampire put a hand on Vlad's shoulder again. "A long time ago, our forefathers fought in a great war. Transylvania was invaded by the Pope and his Church. And although our forefather slew the Pope, it came at a great price. Only those too weak or wounded to fight were left behind here. Every other skilled member of the Court was slaughtered."
"But some could not attend the final battle! Didn't they try to grow the Court again?"
"They tried, yes. But the Full Moon Clan attacked us two years after the war. They burned down the castle. Looted everything of value." He lifted his head to the dark night sky. "We had nothing left. Our remaining warriors, skilled in the Black Dragon Great Sword died trying to defend the gates. The art is lost to us now."
Vlad's fingers curled into hard fists.
Oh, Ferenc, he thought bitterly. I hope you cannot hear these words.
Vlad watched his seniors as they struggled through basic combat motions.
"Very good, fledglings," the elder vampire next to him called to them suddenly. With an appreciative clap of his hands which left Vlad even more stunned. "Marvellous work!"
Marvellous?
Vlad's freshly refined heart sank. His beloved Black Dragon Court was in a worse state than he could ever have imagined.
Was this why he had returned?
Had his soul wandered aimless and witnessed the shame of his Court's fall?
Had it been unable to take it any longer and invaded the body of a new fledgling doomed to die?
These answers would wait.
First, Vlad would need to do the impossible.
He sighed and shook his head at the fledglings whose chests puffed at the elder's words.
"I am Elder Janos," the elder said softly to Vlad. "Please come to me with any troubles, fledgling."
"I am Vlad," he returned with a bow of his head. Regardless of his opinions, the elder seat must always be respected.
"Vlad? Is that truly your name?"
"It is."
"Then we expect great things from you, fledgling. That name carries much weight in the Court."
Vlad felt the elder walk away and sighed.
Great things?
Vlad would only need to pick his fingernails and it would seem great to these people.
"Hup!" The fledglings continued their training as Vlad wandered miserably back to his room.
His mind was chaos as questions swirled through his brain.
What could he do to fix this?
And, more terrifying, could it even be fixed?