Callum of Drakkar Coven (Part 2)
What awaits Laramie and his friends after being captured by the vampires in the castle?
In the first installment of Callum of Drakkar Coven.
The sunlight filtered through the dingy floorboards, illuminating the dank space that had effectively served as Laramie’s prison for the last nine hours. He pressed on the hatched lid, but it wouldn’t budge. One of the legs from the heavy table had accidentally been set on it in his father’s haste. He was about to start crawling around, looking for another way out, when he heard shouts barreling through his front door. He immediately recognized the voices of his two best friends, Timothy and Daniel.
He pounded heavily on the floorboards to get their attention.
“Is that you down there, Laramie?” inquired Timothy.
“Who else would be beneath my floor?” Laramie replied, itching to get out of the hole in the floor so he could go looking for Sarah. As soon as he heard the table being moved, he forced his way out of the hatch, landing in a heap on the floor, coughing.
“My deepest thanks,” Laramie said, then rolled onto his back to catch his breath. The air under the floorboards had made it difficult to breathe, setting off his already troublesome lung condition. Any longer and he might’ve found himself in a lot of trouble.
“Are you all right?” asked Daniel, looking concerned by the difficulty Laramie appeared to be having with his breathing.
“I will be fine once I see Sarah,” Laramie replied as he struggled to his feet and headed toward the door. He turned back when neither of his friends responded. “What? Where’s Sarah?”
“We cannot be sure, as yet,” Timothy began. “She is missing. But there are many men from the village out scouring the fields, including your father, looking for anyone that may have been dropped in the riders’ haste.”
“They have found three girls already,” Daniel added cheerfully, but then lowered his gaze. “Mark, the butcher’s son …he was taken as well. They found him in the cornfield.”
“And?” Laramie asked.
“His throat had been torn open,” Timothy replied.
Laramie sank onto the floor, clutching his stomach.
“So, it is true,” he said. “They do kill them.”
“I am certain we will find Sarah,” Timothy said, trying to sound encouraging. “We should head out and start looking. Maybe we can begin down at the tree line and work our way back toward the village. The path cut by the riders’ horses is relatively vast. If Sarah were dropped, she could be as far away as Seraphim Creek.”
“There is no time to be searching the fields,” Laramie said as he stood up. “It is most likely she is being held captive in the castle as we speak.” He glanced around the room and lifted his knit sweater. “I need to head to the castle immediately to retrieve her.”
Daniel coughed in surprise. “What?”
“She is my betrothed,” Laramie responded. “I am duty-bound to rescue her from what I am certain would be a horrific death.”
“You have taken leave of your senses,” replied Timothy. “Surely people have attempted rescue before. And there are no legends about anyone ever being retrieved from the castle.”
Laramie set his stance. “I must try for Sarah’s sake.”
“Then we will accompany you,” shouted Timothy as he and Daniel chased after Laramie.
Daniel soon lagged behind despite Laramie’s breathing problem. Daniel’s life as the baker’s son had provided him with far too many pastries and very little physical labor over the years, and the added weight was slowing him down.
Laramie pushed his way through the dense shrubbery scattered along the short outcrop of the mountain range. He was looking for the rarely trodden path that led to a small entrance in the rocky face. Laramie knew it was there. He had seen it many times before in his younger years.
It was a favorite game of the younger children in the village to prove their bravery by touching the first step just inside its opening. No one, as far as he knew, had ever gone beyond that first step, and that was to be expected. Every child had been spun the frightening tale that warned of traveling beyond that first step, and how doing so would lead you straight into Oleander’s clutches.
Ducking his head inside the entrance once he found it, Laramie listened for a second, trying to detect if there was anyone or anything lurking beyond the first visible turn in the stairs. He waited for Timothy and Daniel to join him before heading inside.
“It stinks like death in here,” whispered Daniel, wrinkling up his nose in disgust. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”
Timothy reached back, tapped Daniel to be quiet, and then stumbled straight into Laramie, who’d come to a sudden stop in front of him. It took a matter of mere seconds for the three to be snatched, bound, and bundled away, destined for the dungeons.
Callum paced the floor of his chamber, waiting anxiously for Finster to make his final tabulations. He and his brothers had placed a friendly wager on how many humans Oleander and his men had captured, with a bonus going to whoever came closest to the correct proportion of males to females.
He felt confident he held the upper hand and was likely to prevail, as he had briefly perused the holding area under the guise of needing a snack. There were no set rules in this wager, and underhanded tactics and manipulations were to be expected.
Callum had made a final headcount, then taken an unfortunate young thing away with him, draining her rapidly when she had begun the most incessant whining, which had left him with an infuriating headache. He smirked inwardly. In the interest of preserving his ploy, he had been diligent in disposing of her body, a behavior neither of his brothers would expect.
The remaining debris of human bodies scattered around his chamber was many weeks old. They would never suspect a thing.
“Final numbers are in,” began Finster. “Slight delay while the dead and damaged were cleared away.” He perked up his voice. “And we had some late arrivals …walked in on their own.”
“The numbers, Finster!” Drachen growled as he leaned heavily on the desk, breathing with vehemence across the pages.
Finster cleared his throat. “Final numbers … forty-seven. All under the age of twenty, as requested by Lord Callum.”
“I counted forty-eight when I was down there,” replied Drachen. “You have miscalculated, you idiotic human.”
“I assure you that is not the case,” Finster retorted, unabashed.
Callum laughed heartily. “I drained one after your count, brother. Just your type too. A young and juicy female.”
Drachen snorted in disgust at his brother’s blatant deception.
“How many of each?” Oleander asked as he peered over Finster’s shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of his numbers.
“In all …there are eight males and thirty-nine females,” replied Finster. “Which means Lord Callum wins the count and the bonus.”
“But he doesn’t win the prize,” added Drachen, amusedly. “He only has eight young males to play with. What a shame.”
Oleander swung his way around to the front of the desk and rested against it, sipping on the goblet he’d brought with him to Callum’s chamber. He crossed his legs and slurped noisily, specifically to annoy those around him.
“Don’t worry, big brother,” Oleander said to Callum. “Next time I go hunting, I’ll be sure to keep your preferences in mind above my own. I wouldn’t want you to be starved …for affection.”
Callum sprang forward, bared his fangs, and hissed, causing Oleander to shift back in response. Callum snorted, satisfied. Occasionally, it was necessary to remind his brothers that he was in charge and capable of killing either one of them or both, as the case may be. Oleander could be a pest sometimes, but only needed to be corrected. His youngest brother had no designs on assuming the role of Lord, unlike Drachen, who spent most evenings scheming to overthrow him. It was a power struggle that had been going on for hundreds of years.
Oleander slipped past Callum, nodding his apologies, and followed Drachen from the room. As their rights dictated, now that Callum had chosen the first meal, they too could proceed to the holding area and pick out something for themselves. The rest would be held strictly for Callum’s use and disbursement.
Laramie peered around the dank room he’d been herded into with Daniel, Timothy, and five other men. He was relieved to be out of the dungeon, but remained immensely concerned about Sarah’s well-being. A commotion had erupted in the women’s holding area mere moments before they were led away, causing a great deal of panic and speculation as to the cause of the horrific screams.
Thankfully, he’d spotted Sarah as she was being directed toward what appeared to be a segregated women’s living space, but he couldn’t be sure when, or if, he would see her again.
Studying the room, he noted two rows of soiled mattresses lining the damp, moss-covered walls on either side, and a massive tub of steaming water at the far end, creating a thick mist that permeated the room with the familiar smell of patchouli and eucalyptus.
Laramie’s father had always made a point of diffusing eucalyptus oil into the air at home to improve Laramie’s breathing, and he was thankful for the immediate beneficial effect the tub was having on his lungs. He gazed beyond the tub in the direction of two narrow doors at the far end of the room and was somewhat surprised to see a fire burning in a small hearth between them, adding some warmth to the damp, frigid conditions they were apparently meant to endure.
A man in his mid-forties, dressed in a natural linen tunic, cleared his throat and clapped his hands delicately to get their attention.
“Attention, gentlemen.” The man cleared his throat again. “My name is Jonathan, and I will be in charge of your care for as long as you remain here in these quarters.”
Jonathan looked up and down the row of terrified faces. His countenance suggested he wished to soften the harsh reality of their situation. In fact, all he could do was prepare them for what might be the most horrific experience of their lives.
He studied their individual faces and physiques; they were a handsome-looking group. Oleander had definitely been diligent in his selection. Except for one hapless individual. Jonathan strode toward the one exception and grabbed him by the face, making him look up.
He studied him intently, then released his face, feigning disgust. The young man was the appropriate age, but he was overweight and far too short for Lord Callum’s liking.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Jonathan asked him.
Daniel swallowed with difficulty, having drawn attention to himself. He moved to speak, but no sound came out.
“Never mind,” interrupted Jonathan. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t imagine Lord Callum will keep you around for long.” He stepped back to address the entire group, leaving Daniel quaking violently.
“Just try to stay calm,” Laramie whispered to Daniel. “Once everyone goes to sleep, we will find a way out of here.”