Palace of the Damned

by Darren Shan

  She pressed a finger to his lips. “No talk of gloomy matters,” she chided him, then asked him to give Sylva one last ride on his back before he went.

  The journey to Vampire Mountain passed uneventfully. Both vampires were looking forward to their return, especially Wester. He had meant to explore the world for a few more years, but when Larten said he had to go back, Wester agreed to accompany him without a moment’s hesitation. He had missed the Halls more than he’d thought he would. He felt out of place everywhere else. He didn’t think he’d ever again leave the mountain for a lengthy period of time, unless a Prince or close friend asked it of him.

  There were more vampires present than either had expected and there was a buzz of excitement in the cool air of the Halls and tunnels. They soon learnt that Mika Ver Leth had been summoned by Paris Skyle. According to the rumours, Paris was going to nominate the young General to become a Prince. If that was true, and a majority of the Princes approved, the rest of the clan would need to be consulted over the coming years before a vote could be tallied. But those who’d heard had come as fast as they could.

  Nominations were rare. Sometimes the clan could go hundreds of years without a new Prince being appointed. But the older Princes were dying off after a long reign and this was a time of great change. First Vancha had been invested, and now the even younger and less experienced Mika was in the frame. Nobody within easy travelling distance of Vampire Mountain wanted to miss what might prove to be a pivotal moment in the clan’s history.

  “You have a great sense of timing,” Vancha laughed when he found Wester and Larten in the Hall of Khledon Lurt. They were sitting with their old master, Seba Nile, and like everybody else they were talking about Mika Ver Leth. Vancha sat on the bench beside Wester. A subdued-looking Arrow – he had been walking with Vancha – sat next to Larten.

  “Who told you about Mika?” Vancha asked.

  “Nobody,” Larten said. “We only heard about it when we arrived. Is it true that Paris plans to nominate him?”

  Vancha shrugged, spat into a bowl of bat broth, then drained it with one long swallow. “Paris doesn’t need to discuss such matters with me.”

  “But I imagine that he would have,” Larten pressed.

  “Maybe,” Vancha grinned. “But if he did, I’m keeping it to myself. I don’t want to spoil the surprise for everyone.”

  “It will mean a huge adjustment for the clan if it is true,” Seba said. “Mika will be very different to any other Prince of recent times. You and he would make quite a contrasting pair, Sire.”

  “Contrast can be good,” Vancha grunted.

  “I think it can be very good,” Seba said approvingly.

  “But sometimes an even stronger contrast is required,” Wester muttered and the others looked at him with surprise.

  “You don’t like Mika?” Vancha frowned.

  Wester shrugged. “I don’t really know him. He seems like an honourable man from what I’ve seen. But we need a different type of Prince. Mika will serve the clan capably, I’m sure, but he won’t introduce sweeping changes.”

  “Do we need sweeping changes?” Vancha asked.

  “Yes.” Wester’s eyes had the hard look he got whenever talk swung round to the vampaneze and Larten knew where this was heading. “There’s a time for moderate leaders, but this isn’t it. Mika would have made a fine Prince a hundred years ago and maybe he’ll make a fine Prince a century from now. But at this moment we should be looking for revolutionary, innovative Princes.”

  “A Prince who’ll give you what you want,” Vancha said softly. “But not what you necessarily need.”

  “We’re not children,” Wester growled. “We should be given the chance to decide what we need.”

  “You’re given that chance every time a Prince is nominated,” Vancha argued. “If enough of you vote against Mika – assuming he gets nominated – the Princes will think long and hard about his rejection and perhaps put forward a General more likely to advocate war. That’s what you hunger for, isn’t it?”

  Wester said nothing, afraid that he might anger Vancha.

  “Princes are not chosen to bend to the wishes of the clan,” Seba said calmly. “We look for different qualities at different times, but the most important measures of a Prince are constant. They must be loyal, honest, brave, intelligent, true. They should embody all that a vampire of good standing wishes to be.

  “If Paris nominates Mika, it will be because he sees those qualities in him, not because he wishes to lead the clan in a certain direction.” Seba laid a hand on Wester’s arm. “I know you hate the vampaneze and would like to see us led into war with our blood-cousins. But you should not seek to have a General nominated simply because he shares your beliefs, or vote against one purely because he does not. Humans elect leaders on the basis of the promises they make. We try to elect ours based solely on the strength of their character.”

  “Of course.” Wester smiled, but his smile was strained and Larten could tell he didn’t agree with their old master. He thought about contributing to the debate, but before he could say anything a young vampire at the table next to theirs spoke up.

  “Forgive me for interrupting, but I overheard what you were saying and I’d like to know why you hate the vampaneze so much.”

  Larten looked round and found a thin, blond vampire in a light blue shirt. He was smiling warmly.

  “What’s not to hate?” Wester snapped. “They betrayed the clan and killed many of us in the war. They’re murderers.”

  “But we started the war,” the young vampire said, moving across to join them, not overawed by the fact that he was sharing a table with a Prince and the highly respected quartermaster of Vampire Mountain. “The vampaneze only wanted the freedom to lead their own lives. They never threatened the clan or undermined the rule of the Princes.”

  “You think so?” Wester hooted. His face lit up as he warmed to the challenge. He didn’t mind vampires who argued with him. There was always a chance you could swing a man’s opinion if you both talked freely. Wester was only frustrated by those who kept their own counsel, like the close-lipped Larten. “What’s your name, youngster?”

  “Kurda Smahlt,” the fresh-faced vampire said.

  “Well, listen closely, Kurda, while I tell you precisely why we have to be wary of the vampaneze.”

  Larten hid a smile as Wester launched into a long list of reasons, each one of which the younger vampire calmly refuted. After a while he began to think that Wester had met his match — Kurda was as set in his ways as Wester was, and Larten suspected that the pair would have many arguments like this over the years to come.

  Larten was pleased to note Arrow’s neutral position as Wester and Kurda batted the problem of the vampaneze back and forth. Arrow listened intently, but with a troubled expression. Vancha had obviously managed to soothe his friend since Larten had last seen him, and while Arrow would always despise their purple-skinned enemies, Larten didn’t think that hatred would consume him or drive him as it drove Wester.

  As the argument entered its third hour – more vampires had joined them and the table was getting overcrowded – Larten excused himself and cocked an eyebrow at Vancha, letting him know that he wanted to speak to the Prince in private. When they were out of earshot, he asked if Vancha would be staying until Mika arrived.

  “I planned to hang around a while,” Vancha said cautiously, not giving much away. “Why?”

  “I have need of a friend,” Larten replied. “I will be leaving Vampire Mountain tomorrow and I hoped you would come with me.”

  “Leaving already?” Vancha sniffed. “It’s not because of that girl, is it — Arra Sails, Mika’s assistant? You were sweet on her, aye?”

  Larten blinked. “How do you know that?”

  “They didn’t make me a Prince just because of my dashing good looks,” Vancha chuckled.

  Larten smiled, then grew serious. “This has nothing to do with Arra or Mika. I must attend to personal busi
ness. But it is the business of the Princes too, which is why I am asking for your help.”

  Vancha listened silently as Larten explained. When he was done, Vancha bowed and said, “You are a true vampire and it will be an honour to accompany you.”

  “What about Mika?” Larten asked.

  Vancha smiled. “Between you and me, Paris is going to nominate him, but I’ve already given my vote of confidence. I don’t need to be here. Let’s go and check the Stone of Blood and take to the road at sunset.” He spat on the floor and winked. “It will be good to be back in the open. This damn mountain isn’t big enough to hold the likes of Vancha March!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Petrograd was a volatile city. It had been the Russian capital until recently, the eye of the revolutionary storm that had torn apart the grand old country. There was an uncertain desperation in the air — nobody knew whether the state would flourish, what the future held, how safe their children would be. Murder, gambling and vice were rife. It was as if the city had been created especially for men of dark, self-serving greed. Men like Tanish Eul.

  They could have triangulated the search with Paris Skyle’s help, but Larten didn’t need the Stone of Blood for this section of the hunt. Once the Stone had revealed the prodigal’s approximate location, it was a simple matter to do the rounds of casinos and houses of ill-repute once they reached the city.

  They found Tanish on the second night. He was surrounded by scores of pretty things, women who had to smile at the obscene likes of Tanish Eul or starve. Larten could see loathing in the eyes of those who swarmed around Tanish, but the fat, finely dressed vampire didn’t seem to notice. He patted the women like pets, tipped the croupiers and doormen who sneered when his back was turned, and acted as if he was the most loved man in Petrograd.

  Only one person looked at Tanish with genuine fondness. That was a young, brown-haired man. He wasn’t very tall, but he was broad, with a wide smile and slightly yellow teeth. He tried to steer Tanish away from those who would happily stick a knife in his back. When the vampire dropped coins, the younger man scurried to beat the pretty things to them, and returned those he rescued from the floor. He watered down Tanish’s wine when the vampire was distracted. And at the end of the night he carefully guided the older man back to their hotel.

  “Whatever else, he’s a faithful assistant,” Vancha murmured as they watched the lights go out in the huge set of rooms that Tanish and Gavner shared.

  Larten didn’t respond. It had pained him to watch Gavner Purl play servant to so vile a master as Tanish Eul. Gavner had grown since Larten last saw him, but he was all too recognisable. There were dark rims round his eyes – evidence of too many parties and marathon gambling sessions – but his face hadn’t changed much. When Larten looked at him, he saw the boy he’d brought back from Greenland, and his heart ached to see that child come to such a wretched position as this.

  “Will we go in?” Vancha asked as the dawn sun rose behind them.

  “No,” Larten said. “I want him to be sober when I face him.”

  “That could be a long wait,” Vancha huffed, but retired along with Larten. This was the General’s quest, not his, and the Prince was content to follow the younger vampire’s lead.

  They waited for Tanish and Gavner on the roof of their hotel. When the pair emerged a few hours after sunset, the Prince and General trailed them from the rooftops. They kept their distance until Tanish turned down a long, narrow alley, then Vancha raced ahead to the far end. Larten let the pair on the ground advance halfway. Then, gathering his red cloak about him, he stepped forward and dropped.

  Tanish yelped as the red figure landed in the path ahead of him. Gavner was instantly in front of his master, a knife in his hand, protecting the man he thought of as a father.

  “Back!” Gavner barked.

  “Easy, my boy,” Tanish muttered. “It might be someone who accidentally fell. Let’s have a good look at…”

  Tanish’s eyes widened as Larten stood. The obese vampire had often dreamt of this moment. The first few years of exile had been awful. He was convinced that Larten would hunt him down and butcher him. Again, when he’d wheedled Gavner away from Alicia, he was sure that the orange-haired vampire would come seeking revenge. But as the years passed, he came to believe that Larten had either been killed or had lost interest in him. Now he saw what a fool he’d been.

  “Vur Horston!” Gavner gasped, his face whitening. He and Tanish had never discussed the scarred man of mystery who’d raised him — Vur was a forbidden topic of conversation as far as Tanish was concerned. Gavner had often wondered about the orange-haired, solemn man and what he’d do if they ever came face to face again. But now that the central figure from his past was in front of him, he didn’t know how to react.

  “Stand aside, Gavner Purl,” Larten said, addressing him in the same rough way he had when Gavner was a boy.

  “No!” Tanish squealed, clutching Gavner’s jacket. “Don’t leave me!”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Gavner growled, pointing his knife at their assailant. “Back off or I’ll–”

  Larten moved like a bolt of lightning. Gavner had been blooded, and his vision was sharper than any human’s, but even so he couldn’t follow the vampire’s movements. It was as if the red-cloaked man momentarily disappeared then reappeared in the same position as before. Gavner felt a stinging blow to his wrist and when he glanced down, his knife was gone.

  Gavner squinted and spotted his knife in Larten’s hand. The General dropped the blade and said, “Gavner. Please. Step aside. You have been misled and misinformed. This man is a charlatan. He has disobeyed the laws of the clan. You owe him no allegiance and it will go badly for you if you try to defend him.”

  “Clan?” Gavner muttered.

  “The vampire clan,” Larten said.

  “You’re a vampire too?” Gavner asked. “Aye.”

  “And there are more of you?”

  “Of course. You thought that you and Tanish were the only two?”

  “No. But he never said anything about the others. I thought maybe a handful or a few dozen…”

  “There are thousands of us,” Larten said. “And we live by strict laws. Tanish has broken those laws and must pay the price. Now step aside before–”

  “No!” Tanish screamed, grabbing Gavner’s arm, eyes bulging. “He’ll kill me!”

  “No, he won’t,” Gavner said savagely. “I won’t let him.”

  “You are loyal,” Larten noted. “That is admirable. But your loyalty has been misplaced. This piece of scum is not worthy of it.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Gavner snarled. “Tanish has been more of a father to me than you ever were. If you try to hurt him, you’ll have to fight me first.”

  Larten nodded, then looked over Gavner’s shoulder at the trembling Tanish Eul. “I think you took Gavner because you loved him,” Larten said softly. “If so, would you see him killed now?”

  “You won’t harm him,” Tanish moaned. “He’s your boy as much as he’s mine. You wouldn’t–”

  “I will do what a General must!” Larten thundered. “I am here for you, Tanish Eul, and if I have to kill Gavner to get to you, I will.” His face softened. “But I do not think you will force me to do that. There is not much goodness left in you, but I refuse to believe that you have sunk so low that you will see Gavner slaughtered just so that you can enjoy an extra few minutes of life. He can be spared, but only if you have the courage to face me on your own, as you swore you would when we last parted.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Gavner said. “I’ll stand by you, no matter what.”

  “No,” Tanish sighed and took a step away. Gavner frowned, confused. Tanish was sweating and shaking, but he moved ahead of his assistant and faced Larten directly. “This is between you and me. Gavner’s innocent. Will you give me your word that you won’t harm him?”

  “I will,” Larten said.

  “Master! No!” Gavner shouted.<
br />
  “Peace,” Tanish smiled, glancing over his shoulder. “There is much I never told you about myself and the clan, much that this good General will reveal when I am… indisposed.” He chuckled sickly, then glared at Gavner. “And he is good. Don’t hate him and don’t attack him, not until you’ve heard him out. You might not think so fondly of me once he informs you of all the facts.”

  “I don’t want to listen to him,” Gavner yelled. “I don’t care what he has to say. It won’t make any difference.”

  “Not even if he tells you that I’m a killer?” Tanish asked quietly.

  Gavner’s mouth fell open. “No…” he whispered.

  “Aye,” Tanish said grimly. “I’m a man of many weaknesses. You know that better than most, and you have overlooked them all, for which I will be eternally grateful. But I hid my vilest crimes from you. I murdered an innocent woman and allowed others to be butchered when I had the power to spare their lives. Not even you can forgive me that, can you?”

  Gavner gulped. “It can’t be true.”

  Tanish said, “It is.”

  “You would never have…” Gavner moaned.

  “I did.”

  “There must have been a reason,” Gavner whispered.

  “Only this — I sacrificed them to save my own life.”

  Tears of pain and frustration filled Gavner’s eyes. Tanish smiled lovingly at the young man and blinked back his own tears. “As weak and self-serving as I was,” Tanish mumbled, “I only ever wanted the best for you. I love you like a son and always will, even while my soul rots for all eternity, as it most surely shall.” Tanish half-saluted Gavner, then faced Larten again and steeled himself. “Go on. Get it over with. I won’t try to stop you.”

  “I did not come here to execute you,” Larten said. “I will afford you a fair opportunity to save yourself, which is more than you ever gave Ginette or any of the others. Fight me, Tanish, as you said you would, and if you get the better of me, you can live.”