by Darren Shan
Then he saw the new Prince, sitting awkwardly on one of the thrones, and his sense of awe evaporated, to be replaced by incredulous delight. “Vancha?” he cried.
A filthy vampire in purple skins, encircled by belts of throwing stars, raised an eyebrow and sat up straight. Brushing green hair back from his face, he said archly, “That’s Sire Vancha, if you please.” Then he winked, spat over an arm of the throne, broke wind loudly and grinned. “I bet you never saw this one coming!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Vancha joked with Larten about his promotion for a while, but when he heard what had happened on the ship, he became a different person. Larten hadn’t seen much of Vancha’s serious side in the past. He’d initially thought that the scruffy General was an odd choice for a Prince, but as Vancha coolly discussed the killings with him, he came to see that the strange-looking vampire could judge as thoughtfully and wisely as Paris Skyle or any of the other Princes.
“You did wrong,” Vancha said. “You were in a perilous situation, and they shouldn’t have killed the girl, but slaughtering them all…”
“I know,” Larten replied softly. “I make no plea for mercy.”
“And that’s the only reason I’m thinking of granting it,” Vancha grunted. “We all make mistakes, though rarely as grave as yours. Those of good standing admit their errors and try to learn from them. Our laws are harsh, necessarily so, but they make certain allowances for those who are genuinely repentant.”
He debated the matter with Seba, considered it at length, then finally said that he would grant Larten pardon. “But you’ll have to atone for your sins eventually,” he added. “Destiny will probably place you in a situation at some point where you must risk all and maybe suffer greatly to help a group of humans. But if it doesn’t, you should look for such a group. Saving one life doesn’t excuse the taking of another – the universe doesn’t balance out so neatly – but it’s a start.”
Vancha was outraged when he learnt of Tanish’s treachery. He wanted to send a team of Generals to track down Tanish and make an example of him, but Larten begged for a stay of execution. “I would like to settle matters with Tanish myself,” he said. “I made a promise not to kill him in the near future, so I ask that you leave his fate in my hands.”
Vancha looked uneasy. “But if he murders others…”
“I do not think that he will,” Larten said. “If he does, I will answer for those and you can punish me in his place.”
Vancha wasn’t happy, but he knew how important personal promises were, so he vowed to set the Tanish Eul matter aside and only move against him if Larten died or hesitated too long.
After that they chatted as old friends do when they haven’t seen each other for years. Vancha told Larten about his investiture and what it felt like to be a Prince — he made it sound more of a nuisance than an honour. Larten asked about Paris Skyle and his other friends. Vancha made him tell them again about the palace of Perta Vin-Grahl. Then the ugly Prince told him to find quarters, settle down and get a good day’s sleep. “You can resume your training at sunset,” he said.
And that was that. Larten was part of the clan once more and life continued as if he’d never been away.
The next several years swept by in a busy blur. Larten worked hard, passed all the tests he was set, and at last was appointed a vampire General. It was a proud night when Paris Skyle – back at Vampire Mountain after his most recent adventures – pricked his thumb and daubed Larten’s head with his Princely blood, the closing part of a long, complex ceremony.
Seba and Wester were present and they applauded softly, not wishing to appear overly enthusiastic, since this was a solemn occasion. But both had to wipe tears from their eyes when no one was looking, and afterwards they toasted Larten’s name repeatedly until the barrels of ale in Vampire Mountain threatened to run dry.
Being a General wasn’t that different to being an ordinary vampire, at least not for the first few years. Larten carried on with his regular duties. He often sparred with Vanez Blane and the other tutors to hone his skills. He worked with some of the younger vampires, teaching them the ways of the clan, but he wasn’t a natural mentor and avoided such tasks when he could. He left the mountain every now and then to hunt in the wilds around it. Paris and Vancha sought his opinion on some minor issues that had been brought before them – judging his sense of judgement – and he got to vote with the rest of the Generals, which wasn’t often, since the majority of voting issues were set aside for Council. But for the most part, things rolled along the same as ever.
Larten didn’t mind. He knew that he would be given a mission sooner or later, and that he’d end up missing the peace of Vampire Mountain when called upon to leave it. His years of lonely wandering had taught him the importance of friends and stability. He was no longer in a rush to experience the cut and thrust of the outside world. Action and intrigue would find him if that was his destiny. And if they didn’t, he would consider himself one of the lucky ones. There was much to be said for the quiet life.
Larten was glumly confident that fate didn’t have a non-eventful future in store for him, so he cherished those dull, slow years. While destiny lined up whatever it planned to throw at him next, he trained, learnt, lived cleanly and waited calmly.
Council came round again and Larten helped prepare the mountain for the influx of vampires. As a General he was expected to take control of situations, and he had a team of young vampires working under him. The responsibility alarmed him to begin with – life was a lot easier when someone else was giving the orders – but he adjusted quickly and was soon dealing smoothly with the variety of chores thrust his way by Seba, Vanez and others.
Larten developed a new level of respect for Seba and his role as quartermaster. The elderly vampire was kept on the go every waking minute and seldom got more than three hours sleep a day, even less the closer they drew to the great gathering. He had to be in a dozen places at once, deal with a hundred panicking vampires, oversee everything.
It was an incredible juggling act. Seba delegated artfully, but there was much that he had to personally tend to. Larten doubted that he would ever have the experience or patience to cope with a job like this. He didn’t envy his old master and was glad that it was highly unlikely that he would ever be offered the post of quartermaster. Wester was far more suited to a job like that, and as far as Larten was concerned, he was more than welcome to it.
The first vampires began arriving for Council a few months before it began. There was never a set date for the Festival of the Undead. It would begin once all who were coming were present.
About a month before the big night, Larten spotted Mika Ver Leth on his way to the Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl. Mika was with a vampiress, but Larten paid little attention to her. He wanted to congratulate Mika on his recent dealings with the vampaneze. There had been skirmishes between the two clans. Both felt that certain individuals on the other side were acting provocatively. (Larten was fairly sure that Wester was one of the vampires hell-bent on causing trouble, but they rarely discussed such matters.) The centuries-old truce was in danger of crumbling. If it fell, the result would be chaos.
Vancha had been sent to parlay with the vampaneze, and Mika had gone with him. The young, ambitious vampire had been working hard while Larten was away, and had built up a fine reputation for himself. He’d come of age in the tense negotiations. He had suggested some changes to the terms of the truce and helped calm a few of the more agitated vampaneze. Peace had been secured and Vancha made it clear that it was largely thanks to the work of Mika Ver Leth. Wester wasn’t pleased – he hungered for war – but most vampires were relieved and Mika was something of a celebrity now.
“Mika!” Larten called, catching up with the dark-haired, steel-eyed General. “Congratulations. I heard about your dealings with the vampaneze. Vancha said you are a born politician.”
“I think Sire March gives me undue credit so that those who wanted war turn on me instea
d of him,” Mika snorted. “You, on the other hand, found Perta Vin-Grahl’s palace all by yourself. I’m jealous. I plan to travel there in the near future, gods willing, but it won’t be the same as being first inside.”
Several vampires had already made a pilgrimage to the icy palace, following Larten’s directions. A limit had been set on how many could go there in any year – they didn’t want to alert the humans who lived in Greenland – but Larten was sure Mika wouldn’t have to wait long, given his current status.
“Will you come with me to the Hall named in Perta’s honour and tell me about your discovery while I wash?” Mika asked.
“Of course,” Larten said. As he fell in line beside Mika, his gaze flicked to the woman walking beside them. Then he stopped and looked hard.
“It took you long enough to notice,” the woman sniffed.
“I know you,” Larten said as Mika stared at them.
“I should hope so,” she said drily. They reached the door of the cavern and went in. The woman undressed and so did Mika. Vampires didn’t worry about nudity. There weren’t many women in the clan, but those who had been accepted by the gruff Generals were treated the same as the men. They fought together, ate together and bathed together. It was their way and Larten normally wouldn’t have spared the woman a second glance, naked or otherwise.
But he knew her. He couldn’t remember from where, but they’d met before, he was sure of it. And there was something about the meeting… something out of the ordinary…
Larten stood by the edge of the pool, fully clothed, gawping at the woman as she washed herself in the chilly spray of the mountain waterfall, trying to recall her name or where he’d last seen her.
“Can’t you remember?” she laughed, stepping clear of the natural shower. Mika was squinting at him and Larten had an idea that the high-flying General was fond of his partner and didn’t like the way that Larten was looking at her.
“Did we meet in Paris?” Larten guessed, though he knew that was wrong. Their meeting went back further than that.
“I’ll give you a clue,” the woman said, wringing water from her long dark hair. “You made up a song about me once when you were drunk. You claimed I was nectar to all males and you wanted to hook me like a whale.”
“Did he indeed?” Mika thundered.
Larten ignored the indignant General. He recognised her now. He should have known who she was the second he saw her, but a lot had happened since he’d first met the Lady of the Wilds and her sharp-tongued assistant. “Arra?” he gasped, stepping into the water, such was his shock. “Arra Sails? What in the name of all the gods are you doing here?”
“Washing,” she said briskly. “Do you want to scrub my back with a flannel?” When he blushed, Arra laughed at him as merrily as her mistress Evanna once had many years before.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
That last month before Council was a distracting time for Larten. He should have been concentrating on his duties, working with his team to get everything in place for the Festival of the Undead. But he kept thinking about Arra Sails, Evanna’s one-time apprentice.
Arra spent most of her time with Mika. He wasn’t the one who had blooded her, but he’d taken her on as an assistant a couple of years earlier when her original master decided she was too lively for him. It was hard for Larten to catch Arra by herself, but when Mika’s back was turned he’d managed to sneak in a few late-night conversations and had learnt something of her life since she’d parted ways with the witch.
Larten’s stories about the clan had convinced Arra that the vampire way was for her. She had set out in search of a suitable master and finally found one. He was past his prime, but had fought many times and could teach her much. She enjoyed her apprenticeship, but they quarrelled with each other a lot. He had been hoping for an assistant to support him in his old age and take care of him.
“The damn fool wanted someone to massage his feet, not back him up in battle,” she snorted.
Arra wasn’t the quiet, caring assistant that the elderly vampire had hoped for. She pushed him hard, tried to reignite the fire in his stomach, urged him to fight often so that she could join him in action and learn. In the end he was relieved when Mika took her off his hands. He hadn’t come to Council — he was afraid Mika might foist her back on him!
It was clear to Larten that Arra suffered none of the doubts that had plagued him during his wilderness years. She loved being a vampire, had taken to the life immediately, and was determined to push ahead as fast as she could. She’d already passed more tests than he had at her stage, and hoped to become a General in five or six years, one of only a very few women ever to hold the rank.
Larten tried to give Arra little gifts in the run-up to Council, to sweeten her, but she rejected them. She didn’t want favours or special treatment. She was here to train and fight, not be buttered up by orange-haired charmers.
With no other choice, Larten focused on his job. But it was difficult. This was the first time since Alicia cut him out of her life that he’d shown any interest in another woman. There’d been a spark between him and Arra all those years ago – or so he thought – and he was keen to fan it to life again. But he had never tried to seduce a vampiress before and he found her a hard nut to crack.
The Festival of the Undead couldn’t come quickly enough for Larten. If gifts didn’t impress Arra, he hoped a display of skill and strength would. He had come a long way since his first disastrous experience of combat in Vampire Mountain, and fancied himself to give a good showing. Maybe he could woo Arra by breaking lots of bones and skulls.
As soon as the Festival kicked off in its usual chaotic manner, Larten searched for Arra and Mika. It took him a while to track either of them down, and when he eventually found the General – resting after a particularly hairy axe duel – Arra was nowhere to be seen. That disappointed Larten, but he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to put Mika in his place. “Come on,” he snapped, striding up to the seated General. “I challenge you. Name your weapon of choice.”
Mika trained his gaze on Larten, then shook his head and smiled thinly.
“You cannot refuse me,” Larten growled. “No vampire can refuse a challenge during the Festival.”
“That’s true,” Mika said. “If you insist, I will fight. But I’d rather not.”
“Afraid I will disgrace you in front of Arra?” Larten sneered.
Mika didn’t rise to the bait, although the flesh round his throat turned a deep red colour. “I respect you, Larten,” he said. “You’ve gone astray in the past, but I admire the way you’ve fought back. Any other time I would relish a duel with you. It would be an intriguing contest.”
“Then fight me,” Larten pressed, but again Mika shook his head.
“You only wish to impress Arra,” Mika said. “You want to humiliate me in order to win her approval. Is that not so? Please think before you answer.”
Larten was about to snap a denial, but at Mika’s request he paused, considered his emotions, then nodded reluctantly.
“I hope to mate with the fierce Miss Sails,” Mika said. “You obviously wish to win her hand too. But heed this warning — we’ll both lose her if we scrap over her like dogs over a bone. Arra has no time for vain preeners.”
Mika stood and offered his hand. Larten grinned and shook it. “We’ll fight some other night,” Mika promised. “As friends.”
“Aye,” Larten agreed, then went in search of Arra, chuckling at his foolishness, glad that at least one of them had kept his head. Larten might be a General, but he realised after his showdown with the calmer Mika that he still had a lot to learn.
Larten finally found Arra on the bars, a series of connected wooden poles. Each combatant had to try to knock off their opponent, using a staff with rounded ends. Arra had already defeated a handful of Generals and was making quick work of the latest challenger. She had an eerie sense of balance and moved swiftly from one wooden bar to the next, her staff held loosely but d
angerously by her side. She darted towards and away from her hapless foe, confusing and tiring him, before coolly sweeping his feet from beneath him and sending him tumbling to the floor.
“Who’s next?” she barked with excitement, eyes alight. She caught Larten’s gaze and cocked an eyebrow.
“Why not?” he muttered and stepped up. He took a few seconds to find his feet, then another vampire handed him a staff. He twirled it over his head and narrowed his eyes. Arra danced from one bar to another, but he ignored that and advanced slowly, staff held low, forcing her back. She wasn’t to know, but he also had a fine sense of balance and had rarely lost on the bars at previous Councils. Arra was a natural, but Larten was confident he would get the better of her.
Before they could test one another, a burly vampire was catapulted from a nearby ring. He’d been swinging on a rope that had snapped near the top. He roared as he sailed over the heads of alarmed but laughing Generals, then smashed down on the bars, shattering several and bringing the entire system to the ground.
Larten and Arra were thrown clear. As they picked themselves up, the vampire plucked splinters from his cheeks, swore loudly then raced back to the ring to grab another rope. The General and the assistant stared at one another then burst out laughing.
“You had a lucky escape,” Arra taunted him.
“I would have had you on your back in a few more seconds,” Larten countered.
“That might have been fun,” Arra murmured.
Larten smiled at her, drew closer and tossed aside his staff. As he pushed in for a kiss, Arra raised her own staff and jabbed him back with the rounded tip. He chuckled, sure that she was playing with him, but she jabbed him harder when he tried to press forward again. “No,” she said.
“But I thought…” He felt his face flush. “Do you love Mika?”