Paris frowned. “You hope that he won’t.”
Seba pulled a face. “Larten could be a great General, maybe even a Prince. I will be delighted if that is his aim and he achieves it. But I will be just as pleased if he merely wants to lead a clean, honest life.
I have no desire to be a mentor of Princes. I simply hope that those I care about are content.”
“Do you worry about what power will do to him?” Paris asked, recalling a time when he had offered Seba the chance to become a Prince. “Do you think he is not suited to a position of authority?”
Seba shrugged. “Think it? No. Fear it? Aye. Whether my fears are well founded or not, I cannot say. He is much like I was at that age. Perhaps I see flaws that are not there, reflections of my own weaknesses. Only time will tell. Either way, there is no point worrying about the future. He could break his back tonight and that would be the end of the matter.”
“The gods give and the gods take away,” Paris agreed.
Across from them, Wester finally got the better of his opponent and the pair went to drink to each other’s health. Wester was beaming — he didn’t enjoy many victories. Seba was pleased for him. He worried about Wester too, but felt his weaker assistant might find his path sooner than Larten, and take to it with more ease. He suspected Larten didn’t yet understand his true desires, and there was nothing harder than chasing a dream if you didn’t know what it was.
As if reading his friend’s thoughts, Paris said, “Have you told them your good news?”
“No. I will wait until after the Ceremony of Conclusion.”
“Do you think that they will stay with you?”
‘Wester, aye. Larten… I do not know.” Quietly he added, “I hope not.”
“Come!” Paris boomed, taking his friend’s arm. “I’ve darkened your mood. Let me lighten it again with a glass ofwine.”
‘Wine?” Seba smiled. “I thought we only drank ale at Council.”
Paris winked. “Ale is fine for younger, less sophisticated palates, but it’s the juice of the grape for veterans like us, aye?”
“Aye,” Seba chuckled and went to try to drown his worries with the Prince.
The children of the clan began departing Vampire Mountain a few nights after the Ceremony of Conclusion, once their heads had cleared and they could stand without wobbling. It was an undramatic exodus. Most didn’t even bother to bid their friends farewell, especially the older vampires, since that wasn’t their custom. They simply slipped away, some heading off in specific directions, others wandering wherever their feet took them.
Larten and Wester helped clear up inside the Halls and tunnels. It was a mammoth task, even more involved than the preparations beforehand. But it was a calmer time and they went about their work in a merry mood. Even Vanez Blane was relaxed now, often stopping to joke with the pair and tell them not to work too hard. He had already forgotten the stressful lead-up to Council and was thinking about offering his services again in the future.
Seba let the dust settle before summoning his assistants to a meeting in the Hall of Khledon Lurt. Over a bowl of bat broth he told them of his exciting offer.
“The Princes have asked me to become the quartermaster of Vampire Mountain. I have accepted.”
Wester had expected the announcement — he had heard rumors during the Festival — but Larten was taken by complete surprise.
“Quartermaster?” he frowned, pushing his bowl aside. “I thought you did not yearn for power.”
“I do not want to become a Prince,” Seba corrected him. “Quartermaster is a very different proposition. I will wield no actual authority. In theory I will be responsible only for taking care of supplies and keeping the Halls tidy. But as you know, in reality the quartermaster has a huge say on everything that happens in Vampire Mountain, not just at Council but the rest of the time. Princes and Generals come and go as needs dictate, but the quartermaster is ever present. I will have the task of approving tutors and guards, determining how and what students are taught. I will have the ears of the Princes — the ear in Paris Skyle’s case — and they will listen carefully to my opinions.”
“They do that anyway,” Larten said.
“Perhaps,” Seba smiled. “But it is a different situation now. I cannot command as I could if I became a Prince. But if I live a long time — and the gods seem unwilling to take my soul, even though I am old and weary — I will be able to exert a strong influence for many decades to come. I can be a link between the old ways and the new. I think the clan needs someone like that right now.”
Seba studied his assistants, awaiting their reactions. As he had suspected, Wester responded enthusiastically. “Congratulations, master. You deserve this and I know you’ll be a credit to the clan.”
Larten wasn’t sure what to say. He already had an idea what this would mean for him and he was struggling with which path to take now that he had come to an unexpected fork in the road.
“Aye,” Larten muttered. “Congratulations. May the luck of the vampires be with you.”
Seba nodded, then said as lightly as he could, “What will the pair of you do now? I do not expect you to stay. I imagine you will want to leave and
“No!” Wester exclaimed. “I’ll stay. I still have much to learn and nobody can teach me better than you.”
“Are you certain?” Seba asked, ignoring the flattery. “It will be twenty orthirty years before you can become a General. That is a long time for a young vampire to spend caged inside a mountain.”
“I don’t care,” Wester said stubbornly. “I’m staying. You will too, won’t you, Larten?” There was a faint, desperate edge to Wester’s voice. He was trying to sound casual, but he knew Larten was eager to leave. He didn’t want to be forced to choose between his best friend and his mentor.
Larten didn’t reply immediately. His brow furrowed as he considered his options. Seba longed to advise Larten to leave, but thought it would be wrong of him to try to influence his uncertain assistant, so he held his tongue.
“Stay,” Wester hissed. “This place isn’t so bad. You’d have to look for a new master if you left.”
“There are many who would accept you,” Seba murmured, interceding only to counter the pressure that Wester was exerting. “You made a fine impression at Council and would have your choice of
tutors, perhaps even Paris Skyle or another Prince.”
Larten’s eyes narrowed. The Princes trained only those with great potential, the vampires who might become powerful Generals and replace them further down the line. This was the first indication he’d had that the path to the Hall of Princes might open up to him in the future. Mika Ver Leth would have jumped at such an opportunity, but Larten wasn’t Mika and he didn’t hunger for power. Yet it was tempting….
Larten glanced at Wester and saw both hope and fear in his blood brother’s eyes. It was ridiculous. The pair were in their sixties. They would have been greatgrandfathers with at least one foot in the grave if they hadn’t been blooded. Men of their age should have long outgrown the need fora best friend.
But they were young as vampires measured such things, and hadn’t been apart since facing Murlough in the ruins of the old house. The pair had gone through much together, blooding, training, running with war packs. Larten would be lonely if they parted, but it would be harder on Wester. In the long run it might be better for him — Westerthought of himself too much as a lesser brother and maybe he needed some time apart from Larten to grow. But in the short term it would hurt.
Larten tried to distance himself from Wester’s feelings, to decide what he wanted. But it was difficult. He felt-wrongly-that Seba would be disappointed if he left. The old vampire might think that Larten hoped to leam more from another master. He should have known better — Seba had made it clear on many occasions that the time would come when his assistants would need to establish their own lives — but his thoughts were jumbled up.
Finally Larten sighed and went with the easiest option. “I will stay,” he said glumly.
Wester cheered and hugged him. Seba smiled, but inside he was troubled. When he retired to his coffin the following morning he lay awake for a long time,
plagued by an uneasy feeling, wondering if he should have spoken up rather than let Larten make what he believed to be a potentially damaging call.
Chapter Twelve
