The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4

“Hey!” someone called. Larten paused and looked around. Three young men were seated at a table in a niche in the tunnel, playing cards. The tallest of them was smiling invitingly. “Do you play?”

Larten blinked. “Why aren’t you fighting?” he asked.

“Challenges are so eighteenth century,” the vampire laughed, then extended a hand. “I’m Tanish Eul. Come and join us. Gambling is a far more civilised way to pass the time.”

Larten stared at Tanish Eul and his companions. A bottle of wine stood on the table and another couple of bottles rested nearby. The men were dressed in the modern human fashion, hair carefully swept back. One even sported a monocle. They looked unlike any other vampire he’d seen.

Tanish Eul wiggled his fingers. “I won’t hold out my hand forever.”

Larten felt a great urge to join them, to share their wine and show off his card skills. He had a feeling they wouldn’t care about his humiliation in the gaming Hall, that they’d laugh and make him feel like it wasn’t important. He took a step towards the trio, then stopped. If Seba found him here, drinking and gambling when he should be fighting, Larten knew his master would be disappointed.

“Thank you,” Larten mumbled, “but I have to go.”

“As you wish.” Tanish lowered his hand. “But feel free to drop in on us another time. You’ll always find a welcome here.”

Larten half-waved to the strangely dressed vampires and staggered away with a frown. After a while he stopped thinking about Tanish Eul and focused again on his battered ego. He had meant to rest in one of the more remote Halls, but as he limped down the tunnels, he just kept going. His feet almost had a will of their own. He came to a gate, ignored the stares of the disgruntled vampires who had been stuck with guard duty, and carried on down the maze of lower tunnels.

There were marks on the walls to show the way. He read them by the light of the glowing lichen that grew in most places here. At a fork he paused and considered taking a turn that wasn’t marked, to lose himself and perish in a godsforsaken corner of the mountain. But as bad as he felt, he hadn’t hit that low a point, or even anywhere near.

Finally he came to an opening and crawled out on to the face of the mountain. It was a gloomy night, the moon a thin arc in the sky, only a scattering of stars on display. Snow whipped around him and soon his orange hair was covered by a soft white cap. Ignoring the elements, he hopped down the mountain, wincing from the pain in his leg, but determined not to let it slow him.

After a while, Larten sought the shelter of a small copse of trees. He was shivering and his clothes were soaked from the snow. Once he’d propped himself against a mossy log, he rolled up the leg of his trousers and examined the area around his knee. He thought a bone might have splintered, but he couldn’t be sure. He wished this had happened to him on the way here. He would have had to miss Council if he’d broken a leg, as Seba had twenty-four years earlier. That would have been for the best.

There was a panting noise. Larten looked up sharply, eyes narrowing. His sense of vision had improved dramatically since he was blooded and he could see almost as clearly at night as he had in the daytime when he was human. Now he saw two wolves approaching, teeth bared, hackles raised. They looked like they might be getting ready to attack, but Larten knew it was just for show. They would bolt in a second if he made an aggressive move.

Larten whistled to the wolves. Their ears pricked and they whined softly, then came to him and lay by his side. He hugged the hairy creatures, absorbing warmth from their bodies. There was a bond between vampires and wolves – some thought that the clan had originally evolved from the beasts – but Larten felt especially close to them and most wolves responded to him eagerly.

The wolves, like the vampires, had come for the Council. They’d learnt long ago that there were rich pickings to be had – delicious scraps thrown out for them to devour – and dozens made the pilgrimage every time.

“I bet it’s easier for you,” Larten murmured. “If another wolf gets the better of you in battle, you just roll over and show your throat. He leaves you alone after that. A brief moment of humiliation, then you get on with things. You don’t have to deal with scornful looks or jeers.”

The wolves simply panted and lay at rest. Words didn’t matter to them. They were accustomed to the prattle of the two-legged beings and coolly ignored it.

Larten lay with the wolves, silently brooding. Perhaps he would stay here for the day, then set off for the human world at sunset. Never return to Vampire Mountain or the clan. He could be a highly respected man in the normal world. His strength and speed would stand him in good stead. As long as he didn’t seek too much power, the Generals would leave him alone.

As Larten considered a life of exile, the wolves raised their heads and snarled. Moments later Seba appeared, thrusting through the trees. One of the wolves rose warningly, then Seba whistled to it and the beast relaxed. Like his assistant, Seba had a special way with animals. Wester wasn’t fond of the four-legged creatures, but Seba and Larten had often run and hunted with wolfen packs.

The wolves parted to allow Seba to sit beside his student, then shuffled up to him. Seba scratched behind their ears and told them how fine they looked. They panted happily and even let him examine their teeth.

Larten sat stiffly while his mentor was playing with the wolves. He feared a tongue-lashing from his master, but when Seba finally looked up, his eyes were clear and calm.

“I have been told of your defeats and how you stormed off.”

“I didn’t–” Larten started to retort.

“Did not,” Seba stopped him.

Larten managed a weak smile. A few years ago he had told Seba that he wished he could speak like him — the elderly vampire always sounded very authoritative when he spoke. Seba had nodded seriously and said that he would train him.

“I did not…” Larten began again, but this time stopped of his own accord. The truth was that he had stormed off in a sulk. To deny it would be foolish. “You were right,” Larten scowled. “Wester and I should not have come to Council. We were not ready.”

“Of course you were,” Seba said. “I never planned to leave you behind. I simply wanted the pair of you to think that coming here was your idea, not mine.”

Larten blinked dumbly. “Why would you do that?”

Seba chuckled. “If you ever take an assistant of your own, you will find that they need careful handling. You and Wester often make free decisions that are actually entirely of my bidding. It is good for the young to think that they are in control of their choices, even when they are not.”

Seba sighed and his smile faded. “But I am not the fine judge that I believed. I am to blame for your reaction tonight. I should have been harder on you in the past and made little of your successes in order to prepare you for your failures.

“I expect more of you than of Wester,” Seba said quietly. “Wester will make a fine vampire if he does not die young in his pursuit of the vampaneze, but he lacks your potential. You have the capacity to become a vampire of great standing. Or so I believe.

“I have always tried to treat you the same as Wester, but I think I failed to hide my high opinion. You read my thoughts and, being young and impressionable, assumed that you were as noble and capable as I hoped you might become.

“I have been soft on you. Instead of setting you tasks you could not complete, I played to your strengths and let you forge ahead. It is not a bad policy – most people need to build on a series of small successes, to increase their skills and give them a sense of self-belief – but it was the wrong approach in your case. You have grown headstrong and overly confident. Again,” he said as Larten tried to object, “that was my fault, not yours. I let it happen because I was proud of you.”

Seba leant against the tree and gazed at his student. “You thought you would crack many heads tonight, beat champions, set records, make a name for yourself, aye?”

“Aye,” Larten said, smiling bitterly. “I know how foolish that was, but–”

“–you believed it anyway,” Seba finished. “In my heart, part of me believed it too. I secretly hoped that you would take the clan by storm. That hope led me to misdirect you. I should have told you to expect the worst. You had never fought a vampire before. It takes time, practice and many losses before a new-blood can get the better of his peers. But because I believed that you could thwart those odds, I said nothing. That is why you have been hurt.”

Seba got to his feet and rubbed his arms up and down. “I feel the cold these nights,” he muttered. “Perhaps I am not much longer for this world. In my youth I could sit through a freezing blizzard. Now…” The snow triggered a memory and Seba changed tack. “Do you know the story of Perta Vin-Grahl?”

“No. But Wester told me about the bathing Hall named after him.”

“Perta was not much older than I when I became a vampire,” Seba said, “but he was already an incredible warrior, destined for greatness. We all thought that he would become one of the youngest ever Princes.

“Perta passed into legend when peace was agreed between the vampires and vampaneze.” Seba had a faraway, sad look in his eyes. “That was a terrible time. A lot of those who perished in battle were our bravest and best. For centuries arguments had raged. Vampires were once poised to become the dominant force of this world. There were tens of thousands of us, at a time when humanity was far less widespread and powerful than it is now. We could have taken control, made slaves of humans everywhere, become lords of all.

“The Princes led us away from that. They saw the perils of absolute power and convinced the clan that we would become dark beasts if we sought dominion. They urged us to withdraw from the affairs of man. We made our base in lands no human would ever come to, and created laws to limit the influence we could exert over those who were weaker than us. Back then, vampires always killed when they fed, but the Princes outlawed those murderous habits.

“Many vampires disagreed with the new direction that we had taken. They felt that we had become vermin, sneaking around, stealing drops of blood here and there like leeches. Our numbers dwindled over the years. We no longer blooded as many assistants as we once did – there were new laws against it – and humans came to see us as prey. When we walked the world proudly and openly, no one hunted us, aware of the dire consequences if they killed a vampire. As we became more secretive, humans grew scornful of us, thinking us weak and cowardly. Vampire-hunting became a sport in many corners of the world.”

“You think the Princes were wrong,” Larten whispered, “that we should have stayed true to our original course.”

Seba nodded slowly. “It was our natural way. We were predators, but we were not vicious. We killed when we drank, but we absorbed part of the human’s spirit, so they lived on in a fashion. We were like lions — they are not evil when they kill, merely noble creatures of the wild obeying their fierce instincts.”

Seba held up a hand as Larten tried to object. “Hold, Master Crepsley. I do not claim we should return to the old ways. We cannot. Too much has changed. I think we took the wrong turn at a key time, but now that we are on this path, we must go where it leads. I would like to make certain alterations and adjustments, but the vampaneze went too far and I would hate to see the clan follow suit.

“All of that is beside the point. I was telling you about Perta Vin-Grahl. He fought heatedly against the vampaneze when they broke away. Before they left, he was in favour of returning to the old ways. In arguments, he took the side of those who would go on to become the vampaneze. But he believed above all else in the need to remain united. He felt that change should come from within. He savagely opposed any move to split the clan.

“Perta despised the seventy vampires who turned their backs on us to establish their own order. He led the hunt to kill them. Many wanted to debate the matter with the newly formed vampaneze. They felt it was no more than a provocative gesture, designed to spark a response. They thought that the vampaneze could be tempted back into the fold.

“Perta knew that we had passed that point. He was determined to slay them all. He said that was the only way true peace could be achieved. If we let them live, they would return to haunt us. This was even before Desmond Tiny gave us the Stone of Blood and cast his dire prophecy.”

“Who is Desmond Tiny?” Larten asked. “And what is the Stone of Blood?”

Seba waved a dismissive hand. “You will find out soon. You must go to the Hall of Princes before we leave, clasp the Stone and add your blood to that of the clan. I will explain it to you then.

“Perta killed many vampaneze. He lost a hand and half his lower jaw in battle – he could not eat solid food afterwards – but he kept going. He was the most accomplished, determined fighter I have ever seen.

“When a truce was declared, Perta could not accept it. There were others in his position, a group of angry, hateful Generals. They had lost friends and loved ones in the battles. They wanted to wage war against the vampaneze to the very end, even if it meant our end too. It looked as if there might be another split. We thought that Perta and his followers would break from us as the vampaneze had, to create a third brand of night-walkers and further weaken our position.

“But Perta did not wish to harm the clan. When he realised that he could not convince the majority to continue our war with the vampaneze, he gathered his followers and led them away. He took them to a place of ice and savage isolation. Some say it was Greenland, others the South Pole or somewhere equally remote. According to one of his followers who came back years later, they built a palace out of ice, dug tombs, finished off the blood they had taken with them, then lay in their frozen coffins and calmly waited to die.”

Seba fell silent, thinking of the lost vampires he had known in his youth, recalling Perta’s laugh and the flash of his blade. Once Seba had fought by Perta’s side and killed three vampaneze, including the General who had blooded him when he was a youth, the one who had taught him as he taught Larten, whom he loved and respected above all others. That was the darkest night of Seba’s life and he would never speak of it, not even now.

“The vampire who returned was insane,” Seba sighed. “Lack of blood and the harsh elements drove him crazy. Who knows if his story of ice castles and tombs was true? Many vampires have searched for the burial place of Perta Vin-Grahl, but it has never been found and, even if it exists, I doubt it ever will be.

“But we know that Perta and his followers chose death instead of harm to the clan. Rather than lead his supporters to war with us, Perta led them away so that the clan could flourish. It was the ultimate sacrifice, made by a vampire of true greatness, one who put the wishes and needs of the clan before his own.

“There is a reason why I am telling you this,” Seba said, eyes coming back into focus. “Perta was the finest fighter I have seen, beyond compare. He set many records at Council, defeating one challenger after another at wrestling, fencing, the bars. Everyone wanted a slice of Perta Vin-Grahl, to be able to say in years to come that they had faced him in his prime. He did not win every fight – nobody does – but he won far more than any other vampire in recent centuries.

“I remember the first time Perta came to Vampire Mountain.” Seba smiled at the ancient memory. “He was skinny and dirty — Vancha March is a dandy compared to the young Perta Vin-Grahl! He had been blooded as a child but, like you, had never had much contact with other vampires until he came here. He challenged just about every General at Council that year.”

“Let me guess,” Larten sniffed. “He lost every fight, like I did.”

“No,” Seba said. “He was a tiger even then. He won most of the contests in which he took part. And those that he lost, he only lost narrowly, after a long, bloody fight.

“I mentioned that first Council to Perta many years later. I thought he would recall it with pride. But his face grew dark and he said he wished he had been beaten to a pulp. He said triumphing in so many challenges was the worst thing that ever happened to him.”

Larten frowned. “Winning was bad?”

Seba nodded. “I was bewildered too, until he explained. A few years later, Perta was travelling with five young vampires. They looked to him as their leader and teacher, even though he had not blooded them. One of them hatched a plan to kidnap Lady Evanna and force her to bear children.” He noted Larten’s confusion and gestured impatiently. “That is a story for another time. Suffice it to say, the Lady of the Wilds is a great sorceress. You cross her at your peril.

“Perta was fearless and led his group against her. She fought back and killed all five of his companions. Perta escaped only because he was stronger and faster than the rest. She chased him for six months before one of the Princes begged for mercy on his behalf and convinced her to leave him be.

“Perta felt that he had the blood of those vampires on his hands. He had failed to consider their weaknesses. Having never tasted real defeat, he assumed nothing bad could happen to him or those who put their trust in him. That deadly encounter with Evanna taught him a costly lesson. But if he had tasted defeat earlier in his life, he would never have followed such a fatal course. Those five vampires might still be alive.

“It is good to be taught humility when we are young,” Seba said softly. “If we do not experience pain as children, we will cause pain as adults. You have to learn from your beatings. Accept your shortcomings and work on correcting them, but welcome them too. You might one night be asked to lead others. If so, you must be able to see people as they are, not as you yourself might be. A true champion must know not only his own mind and heart — he must know the minds and hearts of those weaker than himself. You can only do that if you have stood where they stand.”

Seba patted the wolves and smiled. “They are not so fast, these beasts, but they are strong. They can run for many miles and endure. We are not so different. It is hard for one so young as you to peer forward and focus on the centuries ahead of us, but I ask you to accept the word of one much older than you. Your losses now will profit you in the long run, if you learn from them, if you accept them and seek to rise above them for the right reasons.”

“The right reasons?” Larten echoed.

“Come back and face Staffen Irve again,” Seba said. “Ignore the jeers of those who mocked you. Wounded as you are, weaker and slower than Staffen, you should still challenge him and be defeated again, so that you can learn and grow.”

Larten thought about that, then hobbled to his feet. “How long do you think it will take?” he asked. “How many losses must I endure before I can be a great warrior like Perta Vin-Grahl?”

Seba sighed — his assistant hadn’t understood. This wasn’t about overcoming one’s limits, but acknowledging and living with them. He thought about trying again, but he felt either he lacked the right words, or else Larten was not yet ready to hear. Perhaps the young vampire had to learn his lessons the hard way, as Perta Vin-Grahl had.

“More losses than your ego can bear, less than your body can endure,” Seba answered. As Larten puzzled over that, the elderly vampire clapped his assistant’s back and offered his arm for support. With Larten leaning on his master, the wolves trailing close behind, the pair commenced the long climb back to the Halls of Vampire Mountain.

PART FOUR

“Now there’s a man with style!”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Do it again.”

Larten scowled and picked himself up off the forest floor. Flicking twigs and moss from his hair and clothes, he climbed the tall tree and edged out along a branch the width of his wrist. When he got as far as he could standing up, he bent, gripped the branch with his hands and kicked his feet into the air. It took him a few seconds to find his balance. Once he was steady, he walked out further on his hands.

“Stop,” Seba said as the branch creaked and bowed from the weight. He was sitting higher up in the tree, chewing a bone. Wester was at the end of another branch, balanced on his hands like Larten.

Larten stared at the ground, feeling sweat trickle along his neck. Seba watched for a while, still chewing. Then, without warning, he tossed the bone in Larten’s direction, but a couple of feet beyond the branch on which the young vampire was precariously perched.

“Catch it!” Seba barked.

Larten’s left hand shot out and his fingers clutched for the bone. He almost made contact, but as had happened sixteen times already, his right hand shook wildly, he lost his balance and fell with a startled cry, hitting the earth not long after the bone.

Seba tutted, then said, “Do it again.”

As Larten muttered angrily and climbed back up the tree, Seba dug another bone out of the bag in his lap, then threw it at Wester. His other assistant enjoyed no more success than Larten had and was soon picking himself up from the floor and wincing.

“This is ridiculous,” Larten grumbled, staring at the branch with something close to hatred. “It is an impossible task.”

“Not at all,” Seba said. “Every vampire learns to do this. It is a basic test.”

Larten squinted suspiciously at his master. There had been a lot of basic tests in recent years, ever since their visit to Vampire Mountain. Larten and Wester had failed most of them. He was starting to think that Seba was playing with them, setting goals that they couldn’t possibly achieve. But why would he humiliate them in such a fashion? Maybe the tests were genuine and his assistants simply weren’t up to the standards required of trainee Generals.

“I almost caught it that time,” Wester said, joining them in the branches.

“No,” Larten grunted. “You were nowhere close.”

“Thanks for the confidence boost,” Wester pouted.

“Are you sure this is necessary?” Larten asked Seba.

The elderly vampire shrugged. “The Generals are very demanding. They will test you in many ways. You must be flexible and experienced in a variety of skills. If you cannot do this, there is no point going any further with your lessons.”

Larten sighed, shared a resigned look with Wester, then edged out along the branch for the eighteenth time.

Seba chewed a bone and watched neutrally. He waited until Larten was in position, then lobbed the bone at him, closed his eyes and waited for the thud. When it came, his lips twitched and he almost smiled. But when he opened his eyes again, there was no hint of a grin on his carefully composed face.

“Do it again.”

Larten was in a foul mood when they made camp for the day. It had been a long, tiring night, but there was to be no rest for him.

“I would like a loaf of bread when I wake,” Seba said as he yawned and made himself comfortable. “Will you fetch one for me, Larten?”

“We are miles from the nearest village,” Larten noted.

“I know,” Seba said.

“I will not be able to catch much sleep by the time I travel there and back.”

“You are young,” Seba said. “You do not need a lot of sleep.”

Wester wanted to volunteer to go instead, but Seba would be furious if he said anything. Assistants were never supposed to contradict their master.

“Do you want any particular type of bread?” Larten growled.

“Of course not,” Seba said, settling back and closing his eyes. “You know that I am not particular.”

“How about you?” Larten snapped at Wester.

“I’m fine,” Wester said quickly.