“Where does she live?” Wester asked.
Seba shook his head. “If she wants you to know, she will tell you.”
“So you brought us here for her to have a look at us, in case she liked our faces?” Larten asked.
“Aye.” Seba rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “We believe Evanna will choose a mate one night, either a vampire or a vampaneze, but –”
“A vampaneze?” Wester barked. “She consorts with them too?”
“She meets with all creatures of the night,” Seba said calmly. “Evanna makes no distinction between us. The vampaneze are as dear to her as we are. She tries to keep us apart – she will move to a new site soon, I think, where she will meet with our blood-cousins – but if a vampaneze came here we would have to treat him with respect.”
“I wouldn’t,” Wester snarled. “If I spot any of those scum, I’ll –”
“– do nothing but bid him a good night,” Seba said bluntly and there was an edge to his voice that his assistants rarely heard. “If you anger Evanna, she will crush you. Never let her charm blind you to the fact that she is Desmond Tiny’s daughter. Respect her wishes when in her presence, Wester, or no words of mine will be enough to save you.”
Wester glowered at his master. To ease the tension, Larten asked how Seba had known that Evanna would be here.
“She led me here,” Seba answered vaguely. “Those who seek Evanna simply follow their feet. I did not know this was where we would end up when we set out. All I knew was that we would find her wherever she wanted to be found.”
“And you really hoped that one of us would seduce her?” Larten pressed.
Seba chuckled. “I doubt if anyone will ever seduce Evanna. But you made a good attempt, Larten. I did not know you were so smooth with the ladies.”
“I am usually more successful,” Larten grunted sourly. All of his flattering words, sideways looks and tricks had fallen flat on the witch. She had been kind to him and laughed at his jokes, but never gave the least hint that she might consider him as a mate.
“Do not be too hard on yourself,” Seba said. “Many fine vampires have been rejected before you, and many will be in the future too, I am sure. As I was about to say before Wester interrupted, we believe she will choose a mate eventually, but we do not know which qualities she is looking for, or even if she is looking—maybe she is waiting for a certain time or event.
“Since we know so little of her heart, many of us come to see her from time to time, and bring our assistants when they are ready for such a meeting. We continue to hope that one night she will claim one of us as her own. But so far, no luck.”
“What if she takes a vampaneze?” Wester growled.
“We fear that more than anything,” Seba said. “Evanna has the power to destroy the clan. If she chooses to mate with a vampaneze, their children will certainly gain some of her magical powers. Maybe the dreaded Lord of the Vampaneze will be a child of Evanna’s.”
“Then why don’t we strike?” Wester hissed. “Kill her or abduct her and make her do as we wish?”
“If this foolishness continues, I will whip you until the flesh of your back peels from your spine like a snake’s shedded skin,” Seba rumbled.
Wester blinked with shock. The old vampire had never threatened either of them like this before. There had been many cuffs and kicks over the years, but never a savage, brutal vow.
Seba saw the hurt in his assistant’s eyes and softened. “Understand me,” he said gently. “She is much stronger than any of us—than all of us. If the entire clan stood against her, we would fall.”
“Surely no one is that powerful,” Larten said dubiously.
“I do not exaggerate,” Seba insisted. “Her power is not of this world. There are myths of gods raising countries, leveling mountains, making the seas churn. I do not know if those stories are true, but I believe Evanna could do all that and more. So let me never hear either of you plotting against her. She would be an enemy far greater than any other, with the exception of her meddling father.”
Seba looked into the eyes of his assistants, trying to make sure his words had sunk in. He saw that he had made an impact and hoped it would be enough to prevent future follies.
“Now,” he said, forcing a smile. “Let us return and say nothing more about this. Only, if she should at any time bat her eyelids at you, do not bother with a long courtship!”
Larten and Wester laughed weakly, then trailed Seba back to the tent, all three silent and immersed in thought.
The tent had been dismantled when they returned. Evanna’s apprentices were standing behind a cart, glumly preparing to push. There was no way everything from inside the tent could fit onto the cart – the canvas itself would have required a wagon – but Larten wasn’t surprised. The Lady of the Wilds could work many wonders.
“Time to be off,” Evanna said cheerfully. “I’ve had fewer visitors than normal. The clan must be losing interest in me.”
“Have you far to travel, Lady?” Seba asked, kissing her cheeks.
“You know very well that I go to greet my other admirers nearby,” Evanna said.
Seba smiled. “Aye, but I would rather not admit it.”
“Foolish children,” Evanna snapped. “Why don’t you put your squabbles behind you and reunite? Life would be much easier if you did.”
“It is not that simple,” Seba sighed. “We are bound by strings of destiny.”
“We’re all bound by those,” Evanna said hollowly, a sad look crossing her face. Then she shook her head and picked up Vancha, who had stayed behind while the others hunted. “Farewell, my little baby.”
“Let me go!” he roared, clubbing her ears.
She laughed and kissed his nose. As he struggled and swore, she kissed his lips. His arms and legs relaxed and he was smiling shyly when she set him down again.
Evanna turned to Wester and Larten. The witch was no fairer than she had been when he first saw her, but Larten no longer noticed her ugliness.
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said.
“It was our honor, my Lady,” Wester replied, bowing.
“An honor,” Larten echoed, then knelt on one knee and took her dirty hand. “I would like to visit you again sometime, if you can find it in your heart to grant me permission.”
“He’s bold, this one,” Evanna chuckled. She slipped her hand out of Larten’s and gripped his chin. Tilting his head back, she gazed down at him. He thought for a moment that her eyes had traded places – hadn’t the blue one been on the right before? – but then she spoke and he lost interest in such trivialities.
“My home is my refuge from the world. I invite only a select handful of my closest friends to visit me there. Why should I welcome a snip of a vampire like you?”
He had the feeling that if he gave the wrong answer, he would never see the Lady of the Wilds again. Trying not to worry about that, he grinned shakily and said, “I am good with a flannel. If you ever cared to take a bath, I could scrub your back.”
Evanna blinked slowly. Larten could see her pondering whether to laugh or rip his head off. Fortunately for the young vampire, she chose to see the funny side of his proposition.
“Bold as a monkey,” Evanna chortled, releasing Larten’s chin and thumbing his nose. “A strange choice of assistant, Seba, but I like him. Aye, Larten Crepsley, you may visit anytime the fancy takes you.” She pressed a finger to his forehead and he felt something buzz deep inside his brain. “You will be able to find me whenever you wish.”
Evanna nodded at Wester politely, and although he couldn’t suppress a stab of jealousy, he managed a genuine smile. This confirmed what he had always thought—Larten was in some way superior to him, destined for greater things. Wester would have liked to be a vampire of import, but the world needed its secondary players too. There was no point wishing he could be more than he was. He was happy to make the most of whatever life had set aside for him.
Then the witch was off, sl
ouching away, looking like a crazy woman who had escaped from bedlam. Arra Sails and the other apprentices shuffled after her, groaning as they pushed the cart. Arra rolled her eyes at Larten and he smiled sympathetically.
“Very well, gentlemen,” Seba exclaimed before the women had moved out of sight. “We have wasted enough years. It is time to return to more pressing matters. Grab your belongings and prepare for a hard trek. We make for Vampire Mountain immediately.”
Part Three
“It means respect.”
Chapter Ten
It was time for another Council at Vampire Mountain. Vampires traveled from all over the world to meet old friends, challenge one another, debate laws, tell tall tales and have a grand time. Larten and Wester were kept busy in advance, helping out in the gaming halls, preparing the rooms for the chaos of the Festival of the Undead.
The pair had been permanent fixtures in the mountain for the past few years. Both had passed their Trials of Initiation – five perilous tasks that all vampires had to overcome – not long after they’d returned with Seba. Larten took his Trials several months before Wester and sailed through, but Wester almost failed. In his second trial he’d faced two wild boars that had been driven insane with vampire blood. He managed to kill them, but one speared him with its tusks before it died and he had struggled to complete his last three trials.
Seba had visited Wester before his third trial and asked if he’d made peace with the vampire gods. Death was nothing to be afraid of as long as one was ready for it. Wester had nodded soberly and said he could die with no regrets if that was his fate.
Wester had summoned Larten a while later and told him what their master had said. Then, in a soft voice, he’d said, “I lied. I want you to make me a promise. It’s a lot to ask, and I’ll understand if you refuse, but if I die, I want you to track down and kill Murlough for me.”
Larten had almost made the promise – even though the vampaneze had spared their lives when they were his to take – but something in Wester’s expression stopped him. The Trials of Initiation were as much a mental as a physical obstacle. If you lost belief in yourself, it could prove as fatal as losing an arm or leg.
“Murlough is your nemesis, not mine,” Larten had said icily. “If you die, I will not pursue him on your behalf. I would not ask you to take my enemies as your own, and you should not ask it of me.”
Wester had been surprised and hurt, but he’d accepted Larten’s decision and grimly battled through the rest of his Trials, spurred on by his desire to survive and gain revenge for the slaughter of his family.
The pair had been studying hard under Seba and others since then, taking the first steps on the long road to becoming vampire Generals. Much of their time was spent learning the intricacies of combat. They would often pass entire nights in a gaming hall, sparring with each other, overseen by a tutor.
One of their tutors now bellowed at them to empty a chest full of axes. “What are you waiting for? The last vampire arrived three hours ago. The Festival starts at sunset. Perhaps you want them to hunt for the axes, to make a game of it?”
“Sorry, Vanez!” they roared, speeding up even though they had been working fast already.
Vanez Blane glared at the assistants, then moved on. He was in a foul mood. This was his first time working in the gaming Halls ahead of Council. The guards normally took care of such matters, but they’d been understaffed this year and he had volunteered to help. He regretted his offer now. So much to think about and take care of. He was determined not to fall into this trap again. As soon as Council finished he’d be off, and he would make sure he never got caught for duty like this a second time. He belonged in the wilds, not cooped up inside a mountain!
As busy and stressed as he was, Larten was looking forward to Council. The last few years had been dull and strenuous. While he didn’t regret his choice to join Seba again and devote himself to his studies, he missed the outside world, the travel, the nights spent drinking, gambling and flattering ladies, the thrill of warfare.
Larten was pleased with how he was developing. He learned swiftly and improved quickly. He wasn’t the biggest of vampires, but his speed and skills helped him get the better of most opponents. The nights of Larten being a punching bag for others were long gone.
Yet he wasn’t truly happy. He couldn’t put his finger on the reason for his discontent. He just felt as if he’d come here before he was finished with the world. He had no desire to be a Cub again or to run with a war pack, but he felt like he was missing out on something.
He often thought about Vur Horston and the plans they had made as children to explore every last inch of the world. Even though Larten had traveled the globe widely, he wanted to see more of it, to honor the memory of his lost cousin. Of course he would be able to do that once he became a General – he could spend the rest of his life roaming if he wished – but Larten was impatient. He wanted to do it all and see it all now.
Still, he wouldn’t have to endure life inside the mountain much longer. Every vampire was forced to undergo a degree of training here if they wished to become a General, but the majority of their lessons could be learned on the road. Seba would take Larten and Wester away from here soon, perhaps at the end of Council, and they could study at a more relaxed pace while traveling far and wide as they had in the past.
When they’d finished setting out the axes, Larten and Wester reported to Vanez for further instructions. He kept them darting around the Halls and tunnels for the next few hours, yelling at them even when they worked speedily and efficiently. Larten was on the point of snapping back when Vanez suddenly smiled at the pair.
“You’ve done well,” he said. “Go get ready for the Festival. And please forgive me if I vented my frustrations on you.”
“Nothing to forgive,” Larten grinned, then shared an excited look with Wester. They hurried down to the Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl for a quick wash, then to the cave they shared with Seba and five others, to pull on their finest clothes and make sure they looked their best for the opening ceremony.
The first few hours of the Festival were crazy as usual, vampires fighting as if the clan was on the point of extinction and there would be nobody left for them to battle the following night. Bones were shattered, limbs were severed and four vampires made a premature journey to Paradise, their friends cheering them on—dying in combat was a noble way to perish.
Larten let himself be washed along with the tide of warring vampires – there was no point trying to fight it – but as soon as things calmed down a little he went in search of a particular opponent. He didn’t know the vampire’s name, only that he was tall and burly, with a nose that had been broken many times. The General had mocked Larten when easily defeating him in a challenge the first time he’d come to Council. Larten had been looking forward to facing him again ever since.
Larten was challenged a few times while searching for the General and he had to respond to each – you weren’t supposed to avoid a contest during the Festival – but finally he found his man standing by the bars in the Hall of Oceen Pird, watching two vampires with round-ended staffs trying to knock each other flying.
“You!” Larten shouted, pounding the vampire’s back.
The General looked around and scowled. He didn’t remember this young pup, but something about the orange hair struck a chord.
“Wrestle with me,” Larten growled.
The vampire smiled bitterly and turned. Larten’s heart sank—the General’s right arm was missing from just beneath the shoulder.
“Why the long face?” the General snapped, then glanced at the space where his arm should be. “Surely this won’t deter you? It’s just a flesh wound.”
“I…” Larten hesitated.
“… don’t want to fight a cripple?” the General asked softly, fire burning in his eyes.
Larten stiffened. “I have no intention of offending you with pity. I was merely going to say that I did not want to have an unfair advantage.
So…” He pulled his right arm inside his shirt, tucking it in tight.
The General gaped at Larten, then laughed. “That’s a first! Have at me, then, youngster, and may the luck of the vampires be with you.”
Larten moved in on the General and tried to get a grip with his left arm. But he wasn’t used to fighting one-handed. The General, who’d had years to adapt, threw the younger vampire to the floor and pinned him with his legs.
“One to me,” he grinned as Larten rose and dusted himself off, then went on to throw his challenger two more times in quick succession.
Larten hadn’t imagined the fight going this way, but then again he’d planned to use both arms. As he picked himself up for a third time, all he could do was laugh at the unexpected direction the bout had taken.
Many years ago the General had mocked Larten and walked off contemptuously after defeating him. But this time he helped the orange-haired vampire to his feet and embraced him warmly.
“I might have beaten you with ease, but you’ve earned my respect, young one. It’s not easy fighting one-handed. You didn’t have to challenge me on my own terms. By doing so, you proved you have courage and dignity, as well as something even more elusive—style! We’ll fight again sometime, when you’ve had more practice with a single arm, aye?”
“Aye,” Larten chuckled.
They drank much and spoke of many things that night. The General told Larten about some of the times his nose had been broken and the great vampires he had faced in challenges over the years. But he never mentioned his name, or if he did, Larten failed to note it.
Over the coming years Larten often trained with an arm tied behind his back. But he never got to test himself against the broken-nosed General again, for he died soon after Council in a fight with a panther. He was alone and his passage went unmarked, but if anyone had been present, they would have seen him smile just before his throat was ripped open. They wouldn’t have known what he was grinning about, but he was fondly remembering the night when a young orange-haired assistant had challenged him to a one-armed wrestling match in the Hall of Oceen Pird.