by Darren Shan
Wester scowled. “Damn his regards! He shocked the life out of me a couple of years ago. I was scouting around the base of Vampire Mountain—Seba had asked me to bring him some berries—and Mr. Tiny hailed me from a tree.”
“Desmond Tiny has returned to Vampire Mountain?” Larten snapped.
“No. He didn’t enter. He said that he just happened to be passing, but I think he specifically came to see me.”
Larten frowned. “Did he say why?”
Wester sighed. There were dark rims around his eyes and the flesh of his cheeks was tight. He looked like he hadn’t slept much or eaten properly in a long time. “I’m losing support,” he said softly. “Those who stood by me in my campaign to alert the clan to the threat of the vampaneze are trickling away. The tide of opinion is turning. Many vampires see shades of our hatred for the vampaneze mirrored in the hatred of the Nazis for their enemies. They have begun to question our motives and goals.”
Wester despised the purple-skinned vampaneze. One of them had killed his family. His thirst for revenge had never ebbed. He’d linked up with others of his mind-set and they had been trying to gather enough support to drive the vampires to war with their blood cousins. Larten was pleased to hear that they were losing momentum.
“Mr. Tiny told me this would happen,” Wester went on. “He said he can see into the future, and that within a handful of years the anti-vampaneze movement will be a wreck. All but the most passionate will desert us and war with the vampaneze will never come to pass.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Gavner asked innocently.
“It is if you’re a vampaneze,” Wester spat.
Gavner blinked. He’d met Wester a couple of times but had never seen this side of the guard. He glanced questioningly at Larten, but the General was focused on his drained-looking friend.
“Mr. Tiny thrives on war,” Larten said softly. “He loves chaos, battle, death. Did he visit you in order to encourage you, to advise you on how you could rally the troops and relight the fires of hatred in the hearts of the clan?”
Wester nodded glumly. “He said you were the key.”
Larten’s features darkened. “I have never been one of your supporters. You know I do not agree with you on this point. How can I have any connection to your fortune in this regard?”
“We need a figurehead,” Wester said. “I thought Arrow could be our leader, but although he hates the vampaneze as much as I do, he doesn’t favor going to war. Several of our older, respected members have died in recent times, which has further weakened our cause. But they were never going to be strong enough to drive us forward. We need a youthful, talismanic figure. A Prince, ideally, or a General of high standing.”
“No Prince will back you,” Larten said.
“None of the current batch,” Wester agreed.
Larten’s eyes narrowed. “But you think you have found a future Prince who you can manipulate?”
“Not manipulate,” Wester said quickly. “I’m not looking to trick anyone into doing anything they don’t want to. But if I could persuade… reason with…” He trailed off and stared at the floor. “Mr. Tiny said that you would become a Prince.”
“Nonsense,” Larten barked. “He was toying with you. He lied.”
“I don’t think so.” Wester looked up again. “You’re widely respected. Your reputation has been growing steadily since you returned from Greenland, having found the burial palace of Perta Vin-Grahl. Generals talk of you when they gather, and debate your movements and deeds. Your recent criticism of the Nazis won you even more admirers. You put the feelings of the clan into a few clear, simple words. They liked that. Many who were initially in favor of a union with the Nazis changed their minds because of what you said.”
Larten stared at his blood brother, worried by what he was hearing. He’d never seriously thought that he might be asked to become a Prince. He knew that he had earned the respect of many in the clan, but he’d no idea feelings ran this deeply. In his own eyes he was seriously flawed. He had made a lot of mistakes, some of which he bitterly regretted. He was astonished to hear that others regarded him so highly.
“I have never sought nomination,” Larten muttered. “Unlike Mika, I have no wish to become a Prince. It has never been my intention to impress.”
Wester chuckled. “That’s why they like you. Most Princes don’t want to be leaders. They’re chosen partly because of their lack of ambition, not because they desire power. Mika’s an exception, but you’re like the majority, a steadfast, pure-hearted, uncomplicated vampire. Generals prefer your sort.”
Larten shook his head with wonder, then shrugged. “I do not know if what you say is true or an exaggeration. Either way, it makes no difference. I will go about my business as I always have. I am not concerned with the politics of Vampire Mountain. If I am ever asked to lead, I shall accept with humility and honor. If not, I will serve no less fervently.
“But if they do ask… if I do become a Prince…” His face was hard. “What good would that be to you?”
Wester gulped and looked aside, unable to meet his best friend’s gaze. “I’ve never asked anything of you,” he croaked, cheeks flushing. “In the matter of the vampaneze, I left you to your conscience. I would have cherished your support, but I never sought it. I asked for no favors.”
“And I respect you for that,” Larten said, hoping that Wester would stop there. But the slender guard couldn’t.
“I need you to back me now.” Larten could see how much Wester hated having to beg, but he was desperate. That desperation struck Larten hard and he said nothing as Wester continued. “Without you, I’m lost. All the years I’ve devoted to this… the arguments, the winning of influential friends, the sacrifices… it will have all been for nothing. I’ve always believed the clan would rally and take the fight to the craven, purple traitors before they came looking for us. That belief keeps me going and defines who I am. Without it I’m nobody, a nothing.”
Wester’s eyes were brimming with tears and he had to pause. Larten wanted to say something, but he could think of nothing that would be of any help.
“I’m finding it hard to sustain that belief,” Wester sobbed. “Friends and allies are deserting the movement. Generals scowl when I speak ill of the vampaneze. I’ve been told to guard my tongue, that this isn’t the time for such sentiments. We were so close—closer than you can imagine—to winning over the clan. Now our dreams are unraveling. A golden opportunity is passing us by, and in a few more years the chance to strike will have been lost.”
“That is for the best,” Larten said. “If the clan does not desire war, why push for one?”
“Because it’s going to come whether we want it or not!” Wester shouted. “The vampaneze have been promised ultimate victory over us. They’re simply waiting for their fabled Lord to arise. Once he does, all will be lost. Our only chance is to stamp them out now, before the prediction of Mr. Tiny’s comes to pass.”
“Mr. Tiny…” Larten growled. “Have you not thought that this might be part of his plan? He predicted war between the clans, but there has been no sign that either side yearns for battle. Maybe he is using you to start the war that he longs for. The vampaneze hate the idea of leadership. They believe in true equality, no Generals or Princes. If we threaten them, perhaps their opinion will change, and maybe that will lead to the emergence of the Lord of the Vampaneze whom you so fear.”
“Even if it does, he’ll only be a Lord of corpses,” Wester sneered. “If we act swiftly and brutally, we can kill them all. It will be an ugly war. Our losses will be severe. But if we can secure the future of the clan, won’t it be worthwhile?”
Larten sighed. “I can never agree with you on this. We view the issue from opposing sides. Do not ask me to meet you in the middle, for on this there is no point at which we can find common ground.”
“But you can change sides,” Wester pressed. “If I could only convince you that you’re wrong…”
“You cannot,” Larten said.
“You won’t even let me try?” Wester cried.
“No.” Larten was firm.
Wester started to spit a retort. Then he caught himself and grimaced. “So be it,” he said hoarsely. “I won’t threaten our friendship over this. It’s important to me, but nothing matters more than our relationship. You’re my brother, and I won’t risk driving a wedge between us.”
“Those are the wisest words I ever heard pass between your lips,” Larten said, smiling with relief.
Wester laughed sickly and cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll accept your position, but you’re wrong, you know. We should go to war with the vampaneze. Time will prove me right.”
“Perhaps it will,” Larten said. “But for now, let us have no more talk of dark matters. Rustle us up some food, Gavner, the finest game you can find.”
“On a mountain like this?” Gavner groaned. “In such foul weather?”
“A first-rate assistant always provides for his master,” Larten said stiffly.
“But only a second-rate master sends his assistant out to hunt in the rain,” Gavner grumbled. Nevertheless he shuffled towards the mouth of the tiny cave to do Larten’s bidding.
“Don’t bother,” Wester stopped him. “I can’t stay.”
Larten made a rumbling noise. “I hope you are not leaving because of what I said.”
“No.” Wester smiled wryly. “I guessed you would respond negatively. I asked out of hope, not expectation. I have business elsewhere and I’ve come far out of my way. I will have to flit to make up time.”
“It is odd that you detoured if you had a pressing appointment,” Larten noted. “Why the rush to speak with me if you did not expect a positive response?”
“You’re getting sharper with age,” Wester chuckled, then all of the humor drained from him. “Does Alicia still live in Paris?”
Larten felt his insides tighten. He had a good nose for danger, having had so much experience of it over the centuries, and he caught a strong whiff of it now.
“Yes,” Gavner answered when Larten was silent.
“The same place as when I last visited the city with you?” Wester pressed.
“No,” Larten said softly. “She has moved a couple of times since then.”
“Good,” Wester sniffed. “This might have nothing at all to do with her—I hope that it hasn’t—but I heard a rumor and felt it was vital that I inform you. That’s why I came, even though time was against me.” He looked around and dropped his voice, as if afraid of being overheard. “Randel Chayne has been making inquiries about you.”
“I’ve heard that name before.…” Gavner said, trying to remember where.
“He is the vampaneze who tormented Tanish Eul,” Larten said. “The one who killed people who were close to Tanish.”
Gavner’s breath caught in his throat. “Why is he asking about you?”
Larten shook his head uncertainly. “I have had no dealings with Randel since that night in Paris when Tanish blamed his murders on me. I have not even thought about him. The two of us had no quarrel with one another. It was Tanish he hated, not me.”
“From what I hear, Randel Chayne hates all vampires,” Wester said morosely. “But he had a special spot in his heart for Tanish, and if the rumor is true, he might have transferred his attention to you.”
“Tanish did not have any close friends in Paris until I came along,” Larten said, thinking aloud. “That is why Randel focused on business associates of his. But maybe he has decided to hurt me in order to punish Tanish—no one outside our small circle knows that Tanish is dead. Randel would find it hard to pinpoint my location, but if he knows about Alicia…”
“How could he?” Gavner snapped.
“It is no great secret,” Larten said. “We were open friends with Tanish when I lived in Paris. If Randel Chayne has been making inquiries about me, he will surely have heard of Alicia. If he also learns that I have been making trips to the city in recent years, he might correctly assume that I have been visiting Alicia and target her in the hope of discovering my whereabouts.”
“I’d have gone to warn her if I could,” Wester said, “but I didn’t know where she was living. Even if I knew, she’s never met me, so she would have had no reason to trust me. I thought it was better to bring the matter to you.”
“You did right,” Larten said. “We will return to Paris as soon as we can. Ideally I would like to flit, but as that is not possible, we must—”
“What are you talking about?” Gavner interrupted. “Of course you’ll flit. Her life might be in danger. Sylva’s too. I can’t flit yet, so you’ll have to go ahead of me.”
Larten shook his head. “We must continue to lead the Nazis astray.”
“To hell with the Nazis!” Gavner shouted. “I’ll take care of them. You have to warn Alicia and Sylva.”
“I cannot,” Larten snarled. “I am on a mission of vital importance to the clan. You are my assistant. I cannot leave such an important task in your hands.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to put your duty before Alicia and Sylva’s safety,” Gavner roared. He tried to square up to Larten, but the hole was too tight for him to do so.
“He must,” Wester said softly, laying a hand on Gavner’s broad shoulder. “I have to put my duties first too. We are tied by the vows we take when we pledge ourselves to the clan. You’ll come to understand that when you spend more time among us.”
Gavner stared at the vampires with disbelief. Then his face hardened. “And if Randel Chayne gets to them before we do?” he asked.
“Then I will loathe myself for the rest of my life,” Larten answered coolly. “But we are not human. We put the needs of the clan before all else. It took me a long time to accept that, but now I do. We surrender many liberties when we become Generals, but without that core allegiance our clan would be a tribe of Tanish Euls.
“We will get as much rest as we can,” Larten said. “When it is safe to leave, we will start for Paris. We will move swiftly, but let the Nazis stay in touch with us. We are not that far from the city. We can be there within a fortnight. Less if we are lucky.”
“That’s a long time to leave Alicia and Sylva unprotected,” Gavner muttered.
“We will send a telegram on our way,” Larten said, “telling them to move out of Paris and hide. With the luck of the vampires, that will be enough.”
“And if luck isn’t with us?” Gavner asked, but Larten ignored the question.
Wester and Larten clasped hands briefly, then Wester left without any words of farewell—there was nothing he could say to put Larten at his ease. The guard ran down the mountain and disappeared when he hit flitting speed. Larten wasn’t watching when Wester vanished. He had already curled up into a ball and shut his eyes. If he felt guilty or scared, he kept his emotions hidden from the distraught Gavner Purl. A General of good standing was never supposed to betray what he felt inside.
Chapter
Seven
The pair of vampires crossed Europe quickly, pushing the pace as much as they dared. Although Larten never gave Gavner any hint that he was thinking such things, he longed to give the Nazis the slip. He wanted to flit, ignore his promise to Mika, make sure Alicia and Sylva were safe. He thought about stealing away and leaving Gavner to deal with the Nazis by himself. He could be back in two or three nights and the Germans might never even be aware of his absence.
But if his plan backfired and they captured Gavner…
Larten trusted his assistant, but Gavner was young and inexperienced. The General had to stay with him, not only because of his duty to the clan, but because of Alicia’s love for her adopted son. She would curse him if he abandoned his charge and the once lonely, orphaned boy came to harm. Alicia would rather lose her own life than risk Gavner’s.
Larten knew that he was doing the right thing. The only thing. But he played with alternative options every night while they jogged across the countryside, and every day as
he struggled to get even a couple of hours of sleep. This was the only route open to them, yet he tried to find a way around it, a loophole that he could exploit. But there wasn’t one.
They sent three telegrams to Alicia, from different towns, but they didn’t dare wait for a reply, so they were not sure if she had received them. Larten didn’t know much about telegrams and he mistrusted the modern technology, but Gavner assured him that they were reliable. If Alicia was safe, their messages would be delivered to her.
If…
Larten worried about leading the Nazis to the woman he loved, but Randel Chayne was a more ominous, pressing threat. Once Alicia and Sylva were clear of imminent danger, they could move to another country, out of reach of the Germans. Alicia wouldn’t like moving, but Larten would convince her. She knew he wouldn’t ask it of her if it wasn’t essential.
Gavner didn’t say much while they traveled. He still thought that Larten had made the wrong call. Alicia had been a mother to him and Sylva was like a sister. He felt that the General should not have put the clan’s well-being before theirs. If anything happened to them, he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to forgive the orange-haired vampire.
They hit the outskirts of Paris shortly after eleven o’clock one dark, damp night. Both were dry-mouthed as they wound their way through the streets, drawing closer to the small house where Alicia and Sylva lived. They felt as if they were walking towards an area of great disaster. There was no reason for them to feel so negative, yet neither could shake the sense that they had arrived too late.
“We’ll laugh about this afterwards,” Gavner chuckled unconvincingly. “When they stare at us and ask why we look so frightened, we’ll seem like fools.”
“I hope so,” Larten muttered.
“Even if Randel Chayne found them,” Gavner went on, “he wouldn’t kill them unless you were present. From what you’ve said, he loved to torment Tanish, to see him cringe. If he was planning to hurt them, he’d wait until you were here.”
Larten considered that. “If you are right, he might be waiting for us. Perhaps he started the rumor that he was looking for me in order to draw me back to Paris.”
