by Darren Shan
“What if they gather more support?” Larten asked. “If members of their group get invested as Princes, they could lead us to war.”
“I think we’re a long way from that,” Vancha said, but he looked doubtful.
“Maybe we should leave Arrow behind,” Larten suggested. “The clan might be better off without him.”
Vancha shook his head. “We can’t hide from our fears. If we don’t openly engage with the likes of Arrow and Wester, they’ll scheme in secret and that will be even worse. I don’t think this is the true Arrow — he’s still grieving, in shock after Sarah’s death. I believe I can draw him back to his senses over the coming months, turn him from the path of hatred.”
“But if you cannot?” Larten asked.
Vancha shrugged. “We’ll deal with that later if we have to.” Vancha was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, he surprised Larten. “You’re not coming back to Vampire Mountain, are you?”
“How did you know?” Larten gasped.
Vancha chuckled. “You can always read a man’s intentions in his eyes. I’ve seen your gaze stray to the horizon in recent nights.”
Larten nodded. “There are some people I wish to check on. They live – or lived – not far from here, so it should not take long. Of course, I will come with you if you prefer.”
“No,” Vancha said. “You’re a General now. You can come and go as you please. I brought you along to reason with Arrow, but I don’t think he’d listen in his current state. Your mission is at an end. See to your other business.” Vancha glanced at Wester and Arrow then lowered his voice. “Will you invite Wester to travel with you? I’d like to separate him from Arrow. If we’re lucky, by the time they meet again, Arrow might no longer be interested in what Wester has to say.”
Larten hesitated. He hadn’t liked what he’d seen of Wester tonight and he felt strangely nervous. They had travelled together since they were youths and shared everything. Apart from Seba, he was closer to Wester than anyone. Yet he felt now as if he didn’t truly know the man he thought of as a brother. Larten was half afraid that Wester would weave a spell and turn him into a rabid, vampaneze-hating zealot.
As soon as that ridiculous thought crossed his mind, Larten dismissed it. “I will gladly invite Wester to travel with me,” he told Vancha. “He might not choose to come, but if he does, I will welcome his company.”
“Well said,” Vancha smiled and they returned to sit with the conspirators — their friends.
Wester was happy to travel on with Larten. He wasn’t ready to return to Vampire Mountain and didn’t feel like he needed to babysit Arrow. He had planted his seed in Arrow’s mind and was confident that it would grow over the coming years. Vampires were more patient than humans. Change rarely happened quickly in their world. Wester was in no rush to lead the clan into war. He believed it would happen in its own good time and he didn’t mind waiting.
Arrow wasn’t so sure about his direction. He had parted ways with the clan when he’d married a human and thought he might not be welcomed back. Vancha told him that some would undoubtedly hold him in low esteem, and he’d have to work hard to prove himself again. But if he was true and brave, he would be accepted.
As the Prince and Arrow circled the trenches and warring humans, Larten headed deeper into the heart of the conflict. His ultimate destination lay beyond the ranks of soldiers, but he had a stop to make first. He’d sensed the witch’s presence a few weeks earlier, a tickle at the back of his mind. He wasn’t sure if she’d greet him warmly or carve open his other cheek and kill him, but Evanna was in the vicinity and it was time he faced her again.
Larten didn’t talk much with Wester while they made their way through the war-ravaged land. Partly this was because they had to concentrate to stay alive and there wasn’t time for long conversations. But mostly he didn’t know what to say. He still loved his blood-brother, but he feared what Wester was becoming. Larten had no doubts that a war with the vampaneze would be catastrophic. The two night clans had held the peace for hundreds of years. There was room enough in this world for both of them. War was the last thing anyone should wish for.
But he knew he couldn’t convince Wester to reconsider, just as Wester knew he couldn’t persuade Larten to join his cause. It was better, Larten figured, that they say nothing to one another for a while. He still didn’t think that Wester and his group could find enough supporters to change the position of the Princes. If Larten ignored Wester’s crazy campaign, he hoped it would eventually run out of steam and fade away to nothing. For the sake of the clan, he prayed that it would.
A few nights later, the pair came to a tent in the middle of no-man’s-land. It was in plain sight of the trenches of both armies, but no soldier fired on them as they approached and no shells were launched at the tent. The humans might not be familiar with the infamous Lady of the Wilds, but she could cast her spell over them as surely as over any vampire or vampaneze.
Larten hesitated as he drew close, wondering how to announce himself. He was on the point of losing his nerve and retreating when the flap of the tent was thrown back and Evanna stepped out, hands on her hips, ugly as ever, clad in the ropes she almost always wore. “Larten Crepsley,” she purred dangerously, eyes narrow. “Or is it Vur Horston or Quicksilver these times?”
“Larten,” he said, dropping to one knee. It didn’t surprise him that she knew about his other names. Evanna’s powers were legendary.
“And Wester Flack,” Evanna said, smiling thinly. “Have you come to court me too? Do you think you can succeed where this one failed?”
“Lady?” Wester blinked. Larten had never told him how he came by his scar.
“I do not come to court you,” Larten said humbly. “Merely to apologise.”
Evanna glared at him, then laughed warmly. “You don’t need to say sorry. If anything, I should beg pardon for overreacting.”
“You were entirely justified,” Larten said.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Evanna sniffed. “Why don’t we discuss it inside, where it’s warmer?” And she held the flap open and gestured for them to enter. As Larten passed, she stroked his scar softly with a finger, then shuffled in after him, firmly closing the flap on the world and the war outside.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Evanna laid on a feast for the hungry vampires. There was no meat or fish, but the vegetables were delicious and the pair tucked in heartily. Afterwards they filled her in on all the latest clan-related news. Larten suspected that the witch already knew most of what they told her, but she listened politely and reacted with what seemed like genuine surprise when they talked about Vancha becoming a Prince and Arrow returning to the fold.
“It’s been a long time since Arrow came to visit me,” she purred. “I always thought he was one of the more charming vampires. Does he still have that deep, smouldering gaze?”
Larten and Wester looked at each other blankly. They’d never noticed a deep, smouldering gaze in any man. Evanna laughed and passed them another dish.
“What about your other friends?” she asked Wester. “Are they as determined as ever to bring down the dreaded vampaneze?”
“We aren’t afraid of them, Lady,” Wester said stiffly. “We just hate them.”
Evanna smiled icily. Larten was reminded of an impression he’d formed when they’d first met, that the Lady of the Wilds didn’t actually like Wester Flack.
“In my experience,” Evanna said, “those who hate are doomed to become slaves of their hatred. It consumes them like a disease, but it is an illness they cannot – or do not want to – live without. Tell me, Wester, if you kill all of the vampaneze, who will you hate then?” Wester frowned. “Nobody.”
“No?” Evanna widened her eyes. “Then what will give your life purpose?”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” Wester snapped.
Evanna waved it away. “Hopefully you’ll never find out. If destiny is gracious, the tribes of the night will settle their differenc
es and put the ways of hatred and war behind them forever.”
Larten leant forward. He had a hidden reason for visiting Evanna and this seemed like the perfect moment to raise it. (He would think later that perhaps she had mentioned destiny in order to give him the excuse to speak.) “I found the tomb of Perta Vin-Grahl some years ago,” he said.
“That must have been exciting,” Evanna replied lightly and Larten was sure she already knew that he’d discovered it and what he was going to say next.
“I met your father there,” Larten went on, not mentioning the fact that Mr Tiny had saved him from suicide — he didn’t want to tell Wester how close he had come to ending it all.
“Desmond has a habit of cropping up in the strangest of places,” Evanna said.
“I was… in trouble.” He chose his words with care. “I almost fell into a chasm. He saved me.”
“You never told me about that,” Wester said, staring at Larten.
Larten shrugged without glancing away from Evanna. “I wondered if you knew why he pulled me back when it would have been easier to let me perish.”
Evanna tugged at one of her pointed ears. Her miscoloured eyes were cloudy. “My father and I see certain facets of the future,” she murmured. “He sees more than I do, and can influence the dice of destiny in ways that I cannot. But the future is rarely set in stone. Many paths twist into it from the present and it isn’t always possible to tell which an individual will tread.”
“But you have an idea in my case.” Larten didn’t phrase it as a question.
“I might,” she said grudgingly. “But I can’t share that insight with you. I am bound by laws that exceed all others. And you wouldn’t want to know, even if I was free to tell you. Who wishes to be made aware in advance of the manner or hour of their death?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Wester chuckled. “I could hold my wake before I died.” But he was ignored. Neither Larten nor Evanna was in the mood for jokes.
“Can you tell me anything?” Larten pressed. “I would not ask under other circumstances, but the meddling of Desmond Tiny worries me. He is known for his interference and cruelty. He plays with people, twists their lives and wrings foul pleasure from their torment. If he has such plans for me, I wish to know, so that I can at least mount a fair fight.”
Evanna glanced aside. “You shouldn’t criticise my father in front of me,” she said sullenly.
“Truth is not a criticism,” Larten replied. “I said nothing about him that is not true.”
Evanna scowled then straightened. “I’ll tell you this and no more. If you die the way I suspect – and that’s by no means guaranteed – you’ll die having led a good life in service to the clan and content that your death has made a difference. It will be a noble end and your soul will surely find Paradise.”
“Paradise!” Larten gasped. He had long given up on the possibility of going to Paradise when his soul passed on.
“You shouldn’t be surprised,” Evanna said. “You’ve made mistakes and you’ll make more if you live long enough. But you have tried to put them right. If you continue to do that, you’ll be able to hold your head up proudly when your hour comes, and I don’t believe any higher force will deny you the reward that awaits beyond.
“Now enough of such ponderous matters,” she said with a smile. “Tell me about my old assistant Arra and how she’s faring among the chauvinistic warriors of the clan.”
They spent the day in Evanna’s tent, resting in comfort. Several humans came to visit her. The soldiers seemed to wander in by accident, but Larten was sure they had been summoned. Evanna greeted each man differently and with a variety of faces. She could change shape and did so many times, depending on her visitor. Larten didn’t know if these were men doomed to die, whom she wished to comfort, or soldiers she hoped to influence, to help bring the dirty war to an end.
At dusk, as they prepared to take their leave, Evanna gave Larten a set of flat, metal discs. He studied them uncertainly. Evanna smirked and pressed the middle of one. At her touch it sprang into the shape of a small pan. “I know how difficult it is to cook without pots or pans,” she said. “You can’t carry normal kitchenware when you travel, but these will fit neatly into any bag or sack. Consider them repayment for the scar that I inflicted on you.”
“There was no need for this,” Larten said. “But I accept your gift with heartfelt thanks.”
Evanna smiled and took hold of Larten’s chin, tilting his head back so that she could study the scar. She was wearing her regular face, ugly and withered, but Larten thought she was beautiful. He couldn’t resist whispering, “If you get lonely any night soon, I could return and keep you company.”
Evanna laughed and tweaked his chin. “I see why you caught Arra’s eye, you cunning lothario. And poor Malora’s too.”
It was the first time she’d mentioned her other assistant. Larten’s smile faded and he thought for a moment that Evanna was blaming him. When she saw what he was thinking, she shook her head briskly. “That wasn’t your fault. It was her destiny. Malora had a touch of foresight — that’s why I chose her to serve me. She could have been a powerful sorceress if she’d completed her training, but that was not her wish. She had a feeling her time would be short if she went with you, but she didn’t care. You were the one she wanted and I think the months she spent by your side meant more to her than any of the years she might have otherwise lived.”
Larten blinked back tears. “Will my life always be this dark and twisted?” he croaked. “Is it my destiny to forever cross paths with the damned or hurt those who would have been better off without me?”
“Only time will tell,” Evanna said. “But remember this, Larten — the damned can sometimes be saved. And it is better to be hurt by one you love than never know love at all. You’re a better man than you think and many would consider this world a lesser place without you. I am one of them.”
Then, to Larten’s astonishment, Evanna stood on her tiptoes and kissed his scar. As he gawped, she giggled and threw him out of her tent. He sailed through the air and landed in a heap several feet away. By the time he recovered, the flap had snapped shut. He and Wester had been dismissed.
“She’s a strange fish,” Wester remarked drily.
“Weird but wonderful,” Larten agreed. A soldier passed them, eyes unfocused, heading for reasons he couldn’t comprehend to the tent in the middle of no-man’s-land.
“Where next?” Wester asked, looking around edgily — he wasn’t sure that they were protected any longer.
“Paris,” Larten said softly.
“To see the Eiffel Tower?” Wester beamed.
“No,” Larten sighed. “To try and find a woman I once loved.”
PART FIVE
“let your hand rise or fall as destiny decides it must”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Alicia no longer lived in the apartment that they had once shared. That didn’t surprise Larten, since he had been gone for more than a decade. He wasn’t even sure she still lived in the city — she wasn’t a native and might have moved since he’d last seen her. Maybe she fled Europe like so many others when the war began. But Larten doubted it. Alicia wasn’t the sort to run away from a problem.
The city had changed dramatically and the horrors of the war were reflected in the eyes of the people on the streets. Paris no longer felt like a gay, bubbly city, but a place where death had set up shop.
Larten spent a couple of nights hanging around the old neighbourhood, hoping to spot Alicia or one of her friends. When that failed, he visited the casinos that he had once frequented with Tanish Eul.
Some of the casinos had closed down, but others were going strong under new management. Soldiers thronged to the dimly lit rooms at night, eager to enjoy themselves before heading for the trenches and most probably death. Money was gambled recklessly. Women flitted from one desperate man to another. They were lonely, pitiful places and Larten wondered how he’d ever felt at home in dens like these.<
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While most of the people in the casinos were strangers to him, there were a few familiar faces, croupiers, waiters, some of Tanish’s pretty things. Larten was sure they’d remember him – his orange crop of hair and long scar marked him in the memories of most people – and that was a worry. He had left Paris having been framed for murder. If he was recognised, it would mean trouble. So he hid behind a cap and scarf whenever he went out, and let Wester do all the talking.
Wester spread a story that Larten was a friend of one of Alicia’s relatives and had been given a valuable keepsake to pass to her when the man was killed in battle. He also said that Larten had been wounded in the trenches and was covering his injuries, which was why he never showed his face. There were lots of men in that sad position, so nobody had reason to doubt him.
It took them a long time to find anyone who knew of Alicia – she’d never had much to do with Tanish’s business associates – but finally they received word that she was living in the suburbs, where she had moved with her husband and child.
When Larten heard that Alicia had married, he felt both jealousy and delight. A selfish part of him had hoped she’d mourn for him the rest of her life. But mostly he was happy that she’d found someone who could give her all that he had failed to provide. He almost departed Paris when he heard that she had settled down and started a family, but he wanted to make sure that all was well with her and Gavner before he went. He had no intention of letting them see him. He planned to observe them from afar, satisfy himself that they were content, then slip out of their lives forever.
They hadn’t been given an exact address, but it was easy enough to track down Alicia once they located the suburb. Wester went from shop to shop, asking about her. He said nothing of a keepsake now, in case she heard and grew wary. He just claimed to be an old friend who was passing through.
