Vlad tossed and turned.  Outside, cold northern winds from the mountains circumvented the flaps of the young prince’s tent, slipped under the pile of animal hides that acted as his blanket, and penetrated his flesh to the marrow.  Outside sentries paced back and forth in the damp grass as the stars overhead continued in their timeless procession.

In the silent chill dark visions haunted him.  The dream, if indeed it were a dream, began in Vlad’s boyhood bed chamber in the drafty heights of Castle Dracul.  Lightning struck the peaks in the distance with spiked cobalt hammers, jarring him awake.  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and felt the cold floor beneath his feet as he made his way towards his parent’s bed chamber.  He was gripped by a terror he could not...

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