by Darren Shan
In time they turned a bend and Larten caught sight of a tent. He might have dismissed it as the camp of a human officer, but Seba and Vancha were heading for it, so he adjusted the coffin on his shoulder and stole a closer look.
The tent was like none he’d seen so far. It was circular, tall and wide, adorned with beautiful, stitched patterns of water flowers and frogs. It looked a bit like the tent in which the Cirque Du Freak performed, but nowhere near the same size. There were three smaller tents around it and a clothesline stood behind them, hung with a variety of dresses and women’s undergarments.
A confused Wester nudged Larten, who frowned at the feminine clothes and said, “What sort of a woman would pitch her tent at the edge of a battlefield?” The answer came to both of them at the same time, but Wester was the one who exclaimed, “A woman of the wilds!”
Sharing a thrilled look, they bustled after their master and his foul-smelling ally, heading for the tent of the woman who — if they had guessed right — was as powerful and as crucial to the fate of the vampire clan as any goddess of legend.
Chapter Seven
Seba paused at the entrance to the tent and asked Larten and Wester to set aside his coffin. He tugged at his red shirt and cloak, straightened some creases, then examined the material for dirt.
“How do I look?” Vancha asked, spitting into his palm and using it to brush back his green hair.
“Like a cherub,” Seba murmured.
“Do you think —”
The flap over the entrance swished back, cutting short his question, and a woman stepped forward.
She was short and ugly — she reminded Larten of Zula Pone in some respects — and even filthier than Vancha. She wore no shoes or clothes. Instead there were ropes wrapped around her body. She had pointed ears, a tiny nose, one brown eye and one green. She was as muscular as a man and hairier than most, from a thin beard and mustache down to ten furry toes. Her fingers were stubby and the nails cut short on al of them except the two little fingers, where they grew long and sharp.
Larten thought this was a strange choice of servant for a witch as powerful as the Lady Evanna (if that was indeed who they were coming to meet). He had assumed that Evanna would have pretty, finely dressed maids to wait on her. Maybe she had taken pity on this unfortunate creature and given her a home because nobody else would.
Then, to Larten’s astonishment, the short, ugly woman squealed, darted forward and cried, “My little Vancha!” As the General tried to back away in a panic, she hoisted him off the ground and shook him in the air as if he was a large dol.
“Let me down!” Vancha yelled furiously.
“Not until you give me a kiss, you naughty boy,” she chortled.
“I’ll give you a kick up the —”
“Language, Vancha,” she stopped him, squeezing his ribs so hard that his eyes almost popped.
“Apologies… Lady,” he wheezed, then pecked her cheek before he suffocated.
The woman smiled and let him drop, then curtsied gracefully to Seba. “You are welcome as always, Master Nile,” she said in a soft, melodic voice.
“And grateful for that privilege, my Lady,” Seba said, bowing as he would have before a Prince.
“You’ve brought a couple of assistants,” she noted, turning her brown eye on Larten and her green eye on Wester. Both were gaping at her.
“This is Lar —” Seba began to introduce them.
“I know their names,” the woman interrupted. “And I believe they know mine. Don’t you, gentlemen?”
“Evanna?” Wester gasped, barely able to believe it.
“They expected someone more glamorous,” she said to Vancha.
“Many do,” he grinned.
“Perhaps this is more what they had in mind.” She shimmered and changed shape. She was now tall and lithe, with long blond hair and an angel’s features, clad in a flowing white dress. Larten stared at her, enamored. He reached out a hand to caress her, then let it drop. He didn’t feel he had the right to touch anyone this beautiful.
“Too easily impressed,” Evanna tutted, resuming her former appearance. “You shouldn’t judge by what’s on the outside. Only a fool falls for a pretty face. Are you fools?”
Larten was first to speak this time. “For you, Lady, I would be anything,” he said softly, the words springing to his lips.
Evanna raised an eyebrow and glared at him. But as he blinked, confused by her icy look, she realized he wasn’t being impudent. “I like this one, Seba,” she cooed. “Not the brightest vampire I’ve ever met, but he has a good heart.”
“Both my assistants have good hearts,” Seba said.
“But is Larten’s a heart you might wish to win?” Evanna laughed at the eagerness of the question.
“You’re here just a couple of minutes and already you want to pair me off with the nearest vampire at hand.” She brushed his cheek fondly and shook her head.
“Ask no favors of me yet, old friend. Let us simply enjoy each other’s company for a while. I would know all that you have been up to and how things go with the rest of the clan.”
Taking his arm, she led the gray-haired vampire inside. After a pause, Larten and Wester followed.
Vancha came last, having run another palmful of spit through his hair to make it extra stiff and shiny. “If that doesn’t impress her,” he said smugly to himself, “I don’t know what will!”
Evanna was Desmond Tiny’s daughter. He had created her a thousand years ago, mixing the blood of a vampire with that of a pregnant wolf. She was a powerful enchantress who could work many magical charms. But the night-walkers were most interested in one particular ability of hers.
Vampires couldn’t have children. That was the way it had always been. To keep the race alive, they needed to blood humans. The clan used to think that would always be the case, but Evanna had the power to bear a vampire’s child. If she chose, she could breed with a vampire and her offspring would be able to reproduce too.
Vampires had been wooing Evanna for hundreds of years. Mr. Tiny had warned that she and her young would have the power to wipe out the clan, but they cared nothing about the risks. The possibility of being able to rear children of their own was intoxicating.
But Evanna had so far shunned their advances. She had never taken a vampire as a mate, or given any hint that she intended to. Still they sought her out and tried to win her heart, fighting in her name, offering her gifts, doing all that they could to make her theirs. To no avail.
Larten secretly hoped to captivate the legendary Lady of the Wilds. He had a way with ladies — few had been able to resist his charms when he was a Cub — and he was confident that she would fall for him as many others had. If Evanna mated with him, he’d become the founding father of a new generation of vampires and his power and fame would be assured.
“I would have worn finer clothes if I had known we were coming here,” he whispered to Wester as they sat on a couch laden with feather pillows.
“Don’t worry,” Wester grinned. “If Vancha is your only opposition, you can’t fail.”
Though Wester had also dreamed of winning the hand of the famed Lady, now that he’d seen the intent in Larten’s eyes, he put such thoughts from his mind. He always gave way to his best friend. They had never fought over a woman or anything else that Larten set his sights on. Wester thought of Larten as his brother and he loved the orange-haired vampire totally. He never tried to take the things that Larten desired, even if he craved them himself.
The tent seemed larger inside than out. There was a plush bed in the center, paintings hanging from beams, statues set around the sides. Huge candles burned steadily, while bowls and jugs overflowed with fruit, vegetables, water and wine. There was no meat or fish, which surprised Larten until he recalled a rumor that Evanna didn’t eat anything that couldn’t be grown.
Three young women brought the bowls and jugs to the vampires once they were seated. Al were dressed in plain white shirts and beige trouser
s. Larten had only rarely seen a woman in trousers and his gaze kept flicking over the servants. One of them — she had long dark hair and sharp gray eyes — caught him looking and glared challengingly. He tried his infamous smile on her — it set most women’s legs wobbling — but her glare only deepened. Surprised and unsettled, Larten coughed and turned his head aside. Wester saw this and hid a smile.
“First things first,” Evanna said, lying on a chaise longue and plucking a grape from a tray. “How has my little Vancha been? Tel Mommy all.”
“Mommy?” Larten gasped.
“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” Vancha grimaced. “I don’t cal you a witch, do I?”
“With good reason,” Evanna snapped, eyes flashing. “I’ll cut out the tongue of anyone who calls me that. I’m the world’s most powerful sorceress, a priestess of dark arts, mother of the future and Lady of the Wilds. You, on the other hand, will always be my sweet, cuddly Vancha. I still remember feeding you and the way you used to burp when you were done.” She giggled. “That much hasn’t changed.”
“Evanna found me when I was a baby,” Vancha muttered to Larten and Wester. “My parents had been killed and I’d been left to die. She rescued me and carried me with her for a few years before handing me over to… someone else,” he finished vaguely.
Evanna’s smile faded. “You make it sound as if I carried you alone,” she said softly.
“As I remember it, Lady, you did,” Vancha said, and there was an edge to his tone now that surprised the younger pair of vampires.
Evanna held Vancha’s gaze for a few seconds, then shook her head and sighed. “A man should never turn his back on his — ”
“Please!” Vancha snapped. “Let the past lie.”
“The past never lies buried forever,” Evanna muttered. “We cannot hide from those to whom we are bound by nature. But if you wish to keep your silly secrets, so be it. You know that I only ever wished the best for you.”
“And I’m grateful to you for that,” Vancha said, his features softening. Then he spat and winked. “I just wish you didn’t treat me like a damn child.” Evanna laughed. “When you have a few more centuries under your belt, I will consider you an adult. Until then…” She pinched his cheek.
“Charna’s guts!” Vancha roared. “You go too far!” He threw himself at her and they rolled across the floor of the tent. He was punching and kicking at the witch, but she only laughed and tossed him clear. As he landed, he whipped a star from his belt and launched it at her head.
Evanna plucked the deadly throwing star from the air and calmly picked her teeth with one of the prongs. “Still playing with your shurikens?” she mumbled. “I thought you would have found a new toy by now.”
Vancha looked like he would attack again, but in the end he threw back his head and laughed. “By the gods of the vampires, you’re a piece of work! Come, let’s drink toasts to absent friends and sing songs of the old nights.”
“I will drink with you anytime, my dear,” Evanna said. “And with your companions too.” She clicked her fingers at the servants. “Milk for Master March.” Then she looked at the others. “Ale, I suppose?”
“Aye!” Larten and Wester exclaimed.
“Why not?” Seba added with a smile.
Barrels of the finest ale Larten had ever tasted were brought, and the rest of the night was a blur for him from that moment on.
Chapter Eight
Larten woke in the afternoon with a pounding head.
He was in a hammock, though he had no recollection of getting into it. As he rose, he saw that someone had painted a series of tattoos on his hand with a piece of charcoal or some similar marker. He frowned, thought about making investigations, then decided he was better not knowing. Groaning, he made his way to a barrel of rainwater outside and dunked his head.
When he came up for air, one of Evanna’s assistants — the one with the dark hair and gray eyes — was standing beside him, holding out a mug of something hot and steaming.
“Drink this,” she said.
“It’s not ale, is it?” Larten asked, his face whitening at the thought.
The assistant smiled briefly — she looked quite pretty when she smiled — then shook her head. “A cure of my mistress’s. You will feel better after you drink it.”
Larten had tried a number of hangover cures in the past, none of which had done much for him. But to be polite he took the mug from the woman — not much more than a girl when seen by daylight — and downed half of it. He finished off the rest a few moments later and almost immediately his headache began to lift.
“This is amazing,” he gasped. “What is in it?”
“You’d feel sick again if I told you,” the girl laughed.
She had crooked teeth, Larten noted, but a man could easily ignore a flaw like that.
“I do not think you told me your name,” Larten said smoothly.
“You think wrong,” she answered. “In fact you made up a song about it. Lovely Arra Sails, nectar to all males, how I’d like to spear you like a whaler spears a whale! There was more, but that, sadly, was the best line.”
Larten winced. “I have a habit of making up insulting rhymes when drunk. My apologies.”
“No need. Your songs about my two sisters were worse. But they were nearly as drunk as you, so I doubt they’ll remember.”
“Three sisters working for the same mistress? That is unusual.”
“They’re not my real sisters,” Arra sighed, as if explaining something obvious to an idiot. “That’s just how Evanna refers to us.” She shrugged. “They’re pleasant enough, though I don’t think of them as friends.” Arra squinted at Larten and pursed her lips.
“You’re a vampire, aren’t you?”
“Aye,” Larten said proudly.
“Don’t vampires perish in direct sunlight?”
“Not immediately. I would start to burn if I stayed out, but it would not kill me for a couple of hours. A lot of the myths are false or distortions of the truth.”
“Evanna doesn’t talk much about vampires, except to complain about how you follow her around like dogs.”
Larten scowled at that but said nothing. He headed back inside but Arra blocked his way. “That’s my tent over there.” She nodded at one of the three small tents that stood next to Evanna’s. “If you have no pressing business, I’d like to talk with you and learn more about vampires.”
Larten arched a merry eyebrow.
“When I say talk, I mean talk,” Arra growled, reading his mind. “You tried to kiss me last night.”
“How did you respond?” Larten asked.
Arra smiled. “Let’s just say the next verse of your song began with, Nasty Arra Sails, she has a vicious tongue. ”
Larten managed a laugh, then followed Arra into her tent. Like Evanna’s, it was larger than it looked from the outside, though it was plainly decorated and Arra didn’t have many personal belongings. The pair sat on her bed — Arra making sure there was a discreet distance between them — and Larten spoke for a long time about his life, the clan and Vampire Mountain. Arra listened with silent interest to everything. It was only when he spoke about flitting that she interrupted.
“My mistress can flit too. And she can breathe out a gas to make people faint, although she rarely needs to. Do you think the vampires inherited their magic from Evanna or her father?”
“Have you met Desmond Tiny?” Larten asked.
“No. But I have heard of him through visitors like yourself.”
Larten had always taken the magical talents of the clan for granted, such as their longevity, strength and speed. But now that he thought about it, he realized that such gifts were mysterious. Had their supernatural talents developed naturally, or were they the work of a meddler with more power? Larten made a mental note to ask Seba later, though he had a feeling his master wouldn’t be able to answer the question either.
“Tel me about yourself,” Larten said, changing the subject. �
�How did you come to work for Evanna? Are you the age you look or are you old like your mistress?”
“Old?” Arra screeched, chucking a pil ow at him.
“Manners, vampire, or I’ll stake you to the ground outside and leave you to burn.”
As Larten smiled, she relaxed and told him a bit about where she’d come from, how she’d run away from home in search of adventure and found Evanna. “Or was found by her,” Arra added suspiciously. “I’ve a feeling she sends for apprentices. We don’t just wander into her life, even if we seem to.”
Evanna had taught Arra a few spells, but mostly the girl was employed as a servant, to cater to her mistress’s guests and clean up after them. She wasn’t happy about that. She wanted to learn the secrets of Evanna’s world and become a mighty sorceress.
“It’s not as if she even needs us,” Arra complained. “I’ve seen her snap her fingers and conjure up a full meal, or wave a hand at a dirty room and suddenly it’s clean. She just likes having servants to boss around.”
“Why don’t you leave?” Larten asked.
“I will,” Arra said. “But I don’t want to move on until I have somewhere else to go. I fled without direction once, when I left home, but I’d rather not leave everything to chance a second time.”
Her eyes narrowed. She started to ask Larten something, but then somebody whistled in the distance and she grimaced. “My mistress wants me.”
“She whistles for you like a dog?” Larten grinned.
“If you laugh, I’ll poison your next drink,” Arra growled, then hurried to see what Evanna wanted. Larten followed, still smiling. It had been nice, chatting with Arra. She was a sharp little thing, and scowls came easier to her than smiles, but Larten liked her. He hoped they could be friends, at least for a while, before he moved on with Seba and Wester. After that he figured it was unlikely that he would ever see the surly-looking girl again.