The next few years were difficult for Larten. Training to be a General was a hard time for any vampire. To start with, he had to master a variety of weapons, even though he would never use most of them. Larten looked forward to his knife and ax lessons but there were others — like the throwing stars Vancha favored, and a spiked, four-headed club — that he loathed. There was no such thing as an easy lesson. He was thrown in at the deep end every time and forced to defend himself in the face of a very real attack by his tutor. Larten spent many weeks nursing broken bones, and was concussed so often that he regularly couldn’t get to sleep because of the ringing in his ears.
What particularly depressed him was that Wester was making relatively smooth progress. His younger friend suffered a vast array of injuries, the same as every trainee, but nowhere near anything like Larten’s. And it didn’t seem to matter how hard the orangehaired assistant worked — he always came to more grief in his lessons than Wester or the others in their group.
What Larten didn’t know was that his tutors were working him harder than the rest. It wasn’t a conspiracy but simply the way they operated. When the taskmasters of Vampire Mountain trained someone with above- average ability, they gave him especially grueling tasks.
Vampires were ruthless. They had no time for weakness and weeded out those who would be of no benefit to the clan. This was widely known. But many of the trainees were unaware that their masters were as harsh with those who had the potential to become leaders. If a tutor thought a student had talent, he pushed the youth to his limit, to either exploit or exhaust his potential. If Larten stayed the course and proved himself worthy of the challenges he was given, he would find himself on the road to success. But if his tutors broke his spirit and he failed, they’d consider the clan well rid of him. More was always asked of those with more to offer.
Seba had no time to comfort or reassure his struggling assistant. The job of quartermaster was more demanding than he had imagined and his first few years were a hectic period of adjustment. There were so many details he had to stay on top of, from cultivating luminous lichen in tunnels where the glowing moss had died out, to maintaining the stocks of live animals, to ensuring coffins were kept clean for visitors, to dealing with the eerie Guardians of the Blood.
When Larten was injured and unable to train, he sometimes assisted Seba. It was while helping his master that he came to learn about the Guardians. He had always assumed that the blood in Vampire Mountain was shipped in and stored in vats, but now he found that most of it came from a tribe of humans living in the bowels of the mountain.
The Guardians were pale, strange creatures. In exchange for their blood, they took care of certain burial details when a vampire died, extracting each corpse’s inner organs and brains, draining its body dry. Many vampires chose to be sent down a mountain stream when they died. If their corpses weren’t fully cleaned out in advance, animals would feast on their poisonous organs and go insane.
Larten didn’t like the Guardians — they had an aloof air and seldom answered if spoken to — but he wanted to learn as much as he could about the clan and its workings, so he studied them as dispassionately as possible.
Memorizing facts about the clan was also part of his training. Vampires were expected to familiarize themselves with their history, leam the names of their past leaders, be able to recite the many legends of their gods. Most vampires were illiterate. Books were for humans, not children of the night. Their history was recorded in tales and legends, passed on by word of mouth, and all had to help sustain it. If a disease or war ever wiped out the majority of the clan, the few who were left could at least keep their origins, achievements and myths alive.
Larten learned much about his race. Those were the nights he looked forward to most, when he and the other trainees sat around and listened to their elders wax lyrical about the past or chant ancient songs. He had a keen memory and was able to recount most of what he heard. Wester was even smarter and stored away details that Larten couldn’t retain, but his friend had always been mentally sharper, so Larten didn’t mind lagging behind in that department.
Wester was most interested in stories about the vampaneze. Many Generals would have happily made no mention of the breakaway group, but the war that had erupted subsequently was a crucial part of their heritage, so they reluctantly discussed the reasons behind the split and what the other night creatures had been doing since then.
Wester wanted to find out everything he could about the vampaneze, and he never seemed satisfied with what the Generals told him. He began sidetracking vampires in the Halls and tunnels, asking questions and learning more about their foes. He fell in with a group of vampaneze haters. Each of them thought that the purple-skinned traitors should be hunted to extinction. They respected the rule of the Princes — that went without question — but schemed on the sly, keeping abreast of vampaneze movements and activities, in case their leaders ever decided to sanction another war.
Wester tried to involve Larten with his new network of friends. He invited Larten to meetings and urged him to listen to their tales of vampaneze atrocities. Because Larten thought of Wester as a brother, he met with the disgruntled vampires and listened quietly as they spun wild stories of vampaneze drinking the blood of babies and targeting royals and politicians in human society. According to the rumors, they were establishing contacts around the globe, gathering an army of humans to support them in a strike on Vampire Mountain.
“They’ll kill us all if we don’t hit them first!” was the common rallying cry.
Larten dismissed the speculation and urged Wester to do the same. “They are mad, the lot of them,” he argued. Then, before Wester could refute that, he said, “No, not all. Some speak truly, those who simply report on what the vampaneze do and where they travel. But these tales of armies and master plans…” He snorted. “The vampaneze have nothing but scorn for humans. They see mankind as cattle to drain and discard. One of the reasons they broke away from us was because of our leniency. They mock us for not killing when we feed. To suggest that they are working in league with humans is a lie and one that can easily be exposed. Question the conspirators. Vampaneze always tell the truth. Ask them if they plot against us. They will answer honestly — and answer nay.”
“Don’t tell me you believe that old tale,” Wester sneered. “Of course they lie. They just want us to think that they don’t.”
Larten realized he and Wester would never see eye to eye on this matter. To avoid arguments — and maybe a fight, since Wester felt that strongly about it-he stopped mingling with the dissidents. Whenever Wester invited him to a meeting, Larten made an excuse not to go. Wester soon acknowledged his friend’s wishes and cut Larten out of that part of his life. He cut out his master too, knowing in his heart that although Seba disliked those who had split from the clan, he would never urge war against them. The old vampire might welcome a war if it came to pass, but he would n’t try to provoke one or approve of those who did.
Seba would have been worried if he’d seen the vampires Wester was involved with. Maybe he would have urged his hotheaded ward to stay out of such complex, dangerous affairs. But the quartermaster was still adjusting to his new position and had little time to focus on his assistants. He kept up with reports of their development, but other than that he trusted them to the guiding hands of their tutors. By the time Seba settled into his job and was able to pay closer attention to his charges, Wester had learned not to discuss his feelings except with those who felt the same way he did.
Larten could have told Seba what was happening, but he didn’t think it was important. Wester and his allies respected the rule of the Princes, there was no doubt about that, so he saw no real threat in their angry mutterings. As long as the vampire leaders maintained the truce, dissenters like Wester could do nothing to cause trouble. They were bound by their sense of duty, the way every vampire was. At worst they could march off to perish in the wilderness, as Perta Vin-Grahl and his supporters once had.
But Larten was sure it wouldn’t come to that. They were just letting off steam, all talk and bluster. Nothing would come of their scaremongering. They’d need the backing of a Prince to move forward with their plans of war, but what vampire of high standing would ever support a crazy, bloodthirsty cause like theirs?
Chapter Thirteen
