Alex Archer - Bathed In Blood

It seemed his prayers had been answered.

He glanced back at his men, gave the signal and then rose from his crouch and headed for the half-open door at a brisk walk, drawing his sword as he went. If it came to fighting, he would be ready, as would his men; the handpicked fighters following at his heels were some of the best in his retinue, never mind the most trustworthy. They’d been sworn to secrecy for the duration of the mission, and he was confident that each and every one of them would keep their word. He heard more than one blade slide from its sheath behind him, and smiled at the sound.

Thurzó didn’t stop when he reached the door but strode in, an excuse about his concern for the countess’s safety ready on his lips. The excuse turned out to be unnecessary, though, for the foyer was empty and quiet.

Too quiet.

Thurzó waved his men forward. Perhaps it was just a misperception caused by his own unease, but every single man that followed him inside seemed to hesitate, as if aware that crossing the threshold put them on a path from which there was no return.

Real or imagined, Thurzó didn’t blame them. What they’d come here to investigate would chill even the most hardened of hearts. And if it was true...

If it was true, then God help us all.

The men quickly split into two groups. The first would sweep the upper floors while the second, led by Thurzó himself, would cover the main floor and then descend into the dungeons.

If the rumors were true, that was where he expected to find Elizabeth. Word had reached the king a week hence that she would be gathering tonight with her confidants for one of her dark rituals. Thurzó had come to catch her in the act.

Better me than someone else, he reasoned. At least I will show restraint.

They found the first body less than five minutes after separating from the others.

The young woman lay sprawled facedown against the side of the passageway. She was naked, with long blond hair that was caked with drying blood. A thin, wavering trail of the same stretched out behind her, as if she had been crawling forward on her stomach before her strength had given out.

Thurzó rushed to her side, but when he rolled her over it was clear he was too late; her unseeing eyes stared up at him from her slack face.

He noted absently that she’d probably been quite pretty, but the majority of his attention was drawn to the extreme pallor of her skin and the multiple wounds that covered her chest and abdomen. He stopped counting at twenty. The sheer violence of the act sickened him; who would do this to a woman?

He knew the answer, of course. He didn’t want to admit it.

Elizabeth, what have you done?

At first, Thurzó thought the injuries had been made with a knife or dagger, but upon closer examination he could see the wounds were rounded, like those delivered with an auger or some other tool designed for puncturing. They were also deep and had no doubt led to significant blood loss. That alone made him think she hadn’t crawled here on her own; someone had been dragging her and dumped her here when they had no more use for her.

After she’d been drained dry...

He shook the vile thought from his head and rose from the body, knowing this wouldn’t be the last corpse they would find within these walls.

“Nothing we can do for her,” he said quietly to his men. “We’ll take care of the body once we’ve secured the countess. Let’s keep moving.”

The group continued deeper into the castle. The halls were well lit but eerily empty, and the strange silence lay about the place like a shroud.

Thurzó was familiar with the general layout—one of the reasons he’d been chosen to lead the fact-finding expedition. He had been friends with Nádasdy, Báthory’s deceased husband, and had often played within the castle walls as a child. He used that knowledge to lead his squad through the various rooms that made up the lower floor with relative quickness until they neared the stairs that led to the dungeons. There they found a second body.

This one was also a woman, though slightly older than the first. She was a brunette and she, too, was naked, making it obvious that the two women had been treated similarly. Thurzó could see the same rounded wounds, the same pale hue to the skin that indicated massive blood loss, the same refined beauty in the woman’s features.

His men muttered darkly at the sight, and he knew their mood was changing from apprehension and fear to anger. It was one thing to accidentally kill a woman in the hot blood of battle. It was quite another, however, to ruthlessly murder a woman in one’s home. The noble class was not known for its gentle manner toward commoners, but this...this was just obscene.

Thurzó rose to his feet, intending to speak to his men, but before he could do so the door to the dungeons proper, just a few feet away, was shoved open. He spun around, sword at the ready, to find himself staring at two older women dressed in dark garments, carrying an injured and bloody girl between them. The way they were holding her, dragging her up the stairs by her wrists, made it clear they weren’t concerned with her welfare in the least; she was just another piece of garbage to be disposed of, no doubt the sooner, the better.

The two groups stared at each other for a long second, both nonplussed at being interrupted.

Thurzó recovered first, springing forward and pushing the point of his sword against the throat of the woman on the left, whom he recognized as Dorotya Semtész, one of Elizabeth’s personal servants.

“Put her down, gently,” he told them.

For a moment he thought Semtész might actually try to argue. She glared at him, pretending to dismiss the blade at her throat, but a glance over his shoulder at the rest of his party, all heavily armed and no doubt as angry as he, must have convinced her that arguing was a waste of time. Without a word she lowered the injured girl toward the floor and her companion followed suit.

Thurzó kept his blade on Semtész’z throat as he said, “Bakoš, Kollár, help that young woman. Szabó, keep your eye on her—” he indicated Semtész’s companion with a nod of his head “—while I talk to this one.”

As his men did as they were ordered, Thurzó nudged his captive off to one side, away from the others, with the point of his sword. When they were far enough away for his men not to overhear, he asked, “Where is she?”

Semtész didn’t bat an eyelash as she lied through her teeth. “At her estate in Vienna. She’ll be there for a fortnight.”

Thurzó knew that wasn’t true; he’d had men watching Báthory’s other estates for three days, and he knew she hadn’t left Csejte.

Kollár interrupted him from behind.

“She’s dead, sir.”

That made three victims so far.

God help them.

“If Lady Báthory is out of the country, then I suppose this was all your doing?”

Báthory’s servant was smart enough to see the trap he’d laid for her—admitting to the crime would mean she was as good as dead, since murder was a capital offense—but she surprised him by nodding in agreement.

“Yes. The girl’s death is my fault.”

He didn’t believe that for a moment, but he also realized the futility of trying to get information out of her when she was all too willing to confess to murder. Anything she said would be suspect, and all of it more than likely designed to delay him from carrying out his real objective—locating and arresting the countess.

He didn’t have time for this.

Thurzó grabbed the woman by the arm and led her back to Szabó, who was keeping an eye on her companion. “Put them in irons,” he told his lieutenant. “We’re taking them both back to Bratislava to stand trial.”