"Even I did not know the walls of the castle could look so clean," Elder Matyas said, his voice a papery whisper as the gathered elders looked down upon the courtyard at the juniors working frantically to scrub the walls clean of soot.
"I have often thought of getting them to do this," Elder Miklos mused. "But was worried it was overstepping my bounds."
"It is remarkable that they took it upon themselves to do so," Elder Matyas said, gently brushing a hand across his brow. He let out a low chuckle. "Is this pride I feel?"
Elder Janus blew air through his lips. "If you don't feel it, I do."
Elder Miklos shook his head. "But who was the cause of such activity? They should be praised."
"The new one."
"New one?" Elder Matyas frowned. "I thought we had agreed there would be no new ones."
"I thought the same," Elder Janus said with a nod. "But he is there."
"Is he one of yours?"
"Not one of mine."
"Don't look at me like that," Elder Miklos said when Elder Matyas fixed him with a cold gaze. "I didn't bring in a new fledgling."
"Well, if we didn't, could it have been Elder Laszlo?"
"He is training with the young Knights," Elder Janus said, plucking at his lip. "And he has not recently expressed a desire to create more fledglings. I believe young Tibor was his last gift, and that was reluctantly given."
Elder Miklos frowned deeply. "Then whose is the child? And what is his name?"
"His name," a softer voice whispered through the room like a cold chill. "Is Vlad. And he is one of mine."
The three elders turned as one and bowed to the approaching Count.
Count Bela, the sole remaining Count of the Black Dragon Sect.
He was tallest among them, with long flowing black beard and calm grey eyes. His cape was lined with fur. And although his clothes revealed touches of finery, they too carried traces of wear and tear like the rest of the Court.
He smiled at the gathered elders with a smile that was both genuine and calming.
"Vlad?" Elder Miklos clicked his tongue. "Isn't that a bit crude, my Lord?"
"A happy accident, I'm sure," Count Bela replied. "But perhaps that single spark of hope has added some warmth to the castle, eh? None of us thought to remove the stain of our shame before."
"Elder Laszlo wanted it kept as a reminder," Elder Janus reminded them. "To give the Knights something to feel determined to avenge. It is good motivation."
"Motivation only works for so long. Sooner or later, a step must be taken towards one's goal," the Count said.
"True."
Elder Miklos sighed. "So, should we praise the child?"
"No." Count Bela gave a gentle shake of his head and peered down at the courtyard. The smile remained on his face. "Leave the child for now. Let's see what he does with his simple taste of power."
"If he gets a big head, Laszlo's bunch will thump him down," Elder Matyas growled. "It might snuff out the kid's motivation in an instant."
"If it does, then he would not be the spark we desperately need, would he?"
"No, my Lord. I guess he would not."
Outside, it started to rain.
"Shit," Tibor groaned. "Just what we need. Now we'll get drenched."
"What the Hell are we doing?" Jenos asked, suddenly throwing his rag into his bucket. The bucket was black with sooty water. "Why are we doing this? Shouldn't the Renfields be doing this shitty job? Ist? What do you think?"
Ist kept scrubbing, not even looking at them. "I think it'll soon be dawn."
"But why are we listening to him? He's our junior! He should be listening to us!"
"Feel free to go tell him that."
"Tibor?"
Tibor rolled his shoulders, kneading the aching muscle inside. Despite all their training, he couldn't remember feeling this sore.
He swept his gaze around the courtyard walls.
There seemed too much to clean before dawn.
"Jenos?" He fixed the other fledgling with a sharp glare. "Shut your dumb mouth and keep scrubbing."
"What?"
"I don't know who the Hell that kid is," Tibor growled. "But he's strong. Stronger than all of us."
"He's not stronger than Andros," Jenos sneered. Then paused, looking down at his bucket. "Is he?"
"How the Hell would I know? All I know is he's stronger than us. So, start scrubbing or else I'll beat you before he does!"
"Shit," Jenos snatched up his rag and went back to work. As he slapped the rag onto the wall and started smearing the sooty grime, he imagined he was wiping the stupid grin off Vlad's face.
It would keep him going for about a minute before his thoughts turned to glum defeat.
If Tibor and Ist were afraid of the new fledgling, what could he do about it?
Around them, the other fledglings doubled their efforts.
All of them moaned, their bruised bodies being tortured by the exertion of scrubbing.
Some of them were panting as sweat dribbled freely down their skin.
But no one complained anymore.
They didn't have the breath for it.
Also watching the fledglings were an old lady, an old man, and a young man who walked with the stiff gait of an older one.
They stood within the shadows of the hall, peering through the window. Their faces a mix of awe and horror at what they were witnessing.
"Am I imagining things, Bren?" The old lady shivered. "Tell me. Am I seeing strange things? Is my mind finally broken?"
"You ain't imagining anything, Farrah," the young one rasped. "Them fledglings are cleaning."
"They're not doing a very good job," Martin sighed. "But he's right. They're cleaning the walls."
"Unbelievable," Farrah wheezed. "I wonder what caused them to do such a thing."
"The new one," Martin said confidently.
Bren scowled. "The boy who said your blood was shit?"
"Yes."
"Hmph."
"I told you there was something strange about him," Martin said. "He felt… like one of the old ones."
"Ridiculous," Farrah snorted. "You never even met an old one. None of us have."
"I saw one, once," Martin insisted. "When I was a boy."
"Yes, we've heard the story. But it's just a story."
"It was real," Martin hissed. "And that fledgling is just like him."
"He still said your blood was shit," Bren grunted. "Means I think he's an asshole."
"He might be," Martin allowed. "But he wasn't angry about the blood because it was mine. He was angry I was a Renfield."
"Renfield blood not good enough for him?" Bren asked sourly. "Sometimes I think they don't appreciate us at all. You know how much blood I give them every day? Every day, Martin! God, I'm so tired…"
"That's why he was angry."
"What?"
"He said my blood was weak because I worked a lot." The old man squinted shrewdly. "He knew without even tasting it, Bren. Knew that I am tired and weak. And you know what else he knew?"
"Hmm?"
"He knew about Dolls."
"Dolls?" The youngest Renfield snorted. A half-laugh. "What the Hell would a fledgling know about Dolls. We ain't had a Doll for more than a hundred years."
"I know," Martin said, nodding. He shared a glance with Farrah, then smiled. "But he spoke about them like he knew them. Personally."
"Maybe he read it in a book."
"Maybe." The old man shrugged. "But I tell you now. There's something different about this one. We should keep an eye on him."
The three Renfields returned their gazes to the fledglings who were enduring a heavy downpour.
"It's a good thing they're vampires," Farrah sighed. "Else they'd all catch cold."
Sitting on top of the ruin of a tower, his gaze looking out from the castle towards the mountains beyond, Vlad crossed his arms and tried not to scowl too hard.
Prince Ferenc had told him often that he shouldn't scowl all the time.
You'll scare the fledglings.
"Good," Vlad muttered with a glance back at the courtyard. "They should be scared."
He had to admit they weren't doing too bad despite their condition. But their weakness showed. He could hear some of them practically wheezing with effort.
Still.
At least no one had stopped.
They all kept working.
That was something.
Rain fell around him, but he didn't care. The sharp cold worked to keep him focused as he tried to pierce the gloom and get a good look out at the land he'd once thought of as the Black Dragon Court's domain.
How much of it still belonged to the Court?
How much would he have to take back?
A lot of blood would surely need to be spilled to return what was rightfully the Court's.
Vlad smiled at his first genuinely pleasing thought since returning from death.