Larten’s mood had darkened steadily. He was growing more disillusioned with every passing night and had come to hate his training, Vampire Mountain, the hierarchy of Generals and Princes. It all seemed pointless. What could they achieve, cut off from the world, never interfering in the ways of humans, settling for the shadows instead of controlling the night?
He had been looking forward to Council — he’d spent long hours practicing one-armed combat in the months leading up to it, anticipating his rematch with the broken-nosed General — but even that proved disappointing. He enjoyed the fighting and games, but every vampire seemed full of disquieting tales. Mankind was making massive industrial advances. Cities were growing at a dizzying rate. Men were dominating the planet more than ever before. Vampires were having to withdraw deep into the wilds to roam freely.
There was an air of crisis about that Council. Two new Princes had been elected, but the clan felt as if they were at a crossroads and didn’t know which way to turn. There was no sense of direction from their leaders — the Princes were divided on the issue of howto respond to the changing world. Seba had seen indecision like this before, so he took little notice of the alarm, confident that time would iron out the creases, that vampires would adapt as they always had. But to Larten it seemed like the clan was unraveling, that he was wasting his time training to be a member of an outdated order.
While Larten flailed, Wester had found a new calling and was fully focused on it. After a long talk with Seba, he had realized the life of a General wasn’t for him. What he relished was life in Vampire Mountain. Abandoning his training, he instead started studying to become a guard. While they weren’t as highly respected as Generals — no guard had ever become a Prince — it was an important position and
Larten was happy for his friend. He suspected Wester would make a fine guard and might one night replace Seba as quartermaster. He was pleased that Wester had chosen a suitable path and was forging ahead.
But it also made him more unsure of his own route. He couldn’t say with all honesty that he still wanted to be a General. He’d had doubts before Council, and they increased afterwards. Was he pursuing this course simply because it would make Seba happy? He had no idea what he would do if he quit — was uncertainty about his future the only reason he continued to study?
In the months and years after Council his unhappiness festered. Joy seeped from his life and he went about his training halfheartedly, taking no joy from his successes, learning nothing from his failures. Seba saw the gloom that the young vampire had succumbed to. He had more time for his assistants now, but Larten was distant around his master. Seba tried getting him to talk about his depression but Larten rebuffed all advances.
Seba desperately wanted to help his troubled charge. He would have done anything to bring a smile to Larten’s face. But he was helpless. Larten had to make the first move. Change was essential, but only the trainee General had the power to take his life by the scruff of the neck and shake it up.
Then, one night, thanks to a cluster of dead vampires, he did.
The Guardians of the Blood informed Seba of the problem, sending one of their pale members to track him down. Seba had been aware of the stench — most of the vampires in the mountain had caught a whiff of it — but there had been similar cases in the past and each time the issue had resolved itself. But the Guardian said that this was different. They needed to sort it out.
Seba summoned a team and had them meet him in the Hall of Final Voyage, a small cave with a stream flowing through it. This was where many vampires over the centuries had chosen to be cast off when they died. The stream would carry their bodies down through the hidden tunnels of the mountain, then wash them out into the world and far away. The custom was dying out — cremation was the current popular trend — but some of the elder vampires still preferred the more traditional method.
“I trust you can all smell that,” Seba said cheerfully once his crew was in place. He took a deep breath of the putrid air and smiled as if sniffing perfume.
“I thought it was Goulder,” someone laughed.
“Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you,” a vampire named Patrick Goulder snapped. Larten and the others covered their smiles. Patrick did have a problem with his odor, but it was nowhere near as bad as this.
“Bodies are stuck in the tunnel,” Seba said. “This is not the first time it has happened. Usually, when the water rises in winter, it washes them away. But the Guardians have told me that will not happen on this occasion. We have to go down there and free them.”
The vampires frowned, then a few looked to Larten with their eyebrows raised. Since he was Seba’s assistant, it was his place to ask the question going through all of their minds.
“Surely this is a job for the Guardians,” Larten muttered. “They are in charge of burials.”
“No,” Seba said. 'We are in charge. We let them take control of certain details because it suits our needs. But this is our problem, not theirs.
“Come now,” he chortled, trying to raise their spirits. “It is not that bad. I have brought pegs for your noses and you will be tied to one another with ropes to ensure that none of you gets washed away. The water is no colder than in the Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl. Our chefs have prepared a fine broth for when you return. It will be an adventure!”
“Are you going down the tunnel, Seba?” one of the team asked.
“I would love to,” Seba sighed. “But my back…” He winced and held his sides like an old woman.
The vampires laughed and started roping themselves together. Some would stay with Seba, to hold the ropes and pull back the others if the current proved too strong. But Larten was one of those charged with wading down the tunnel.
Larten shivered as he lowered himself into the fast-flowing water. Partly it was the chill, but mostly it was the eerie feeling of staring directly into the mouth of the funereal tunnel. Larten had never expected to pass through this opening alive. It was a journey only the dead were meant to take. It felt wrong, as if he and the others were trespassing, going where the living weren’t welcome.
“I know this is difficult,” Seba said seriously, “but you have nothing to fear. There are no ghosts. All of the vampires who passed through here were of good standing. Their souls flew directly to Paradise when they died.”
The team in the water hesitated despite Seba’s reassurances, staring down that awful hole at the blackness. Then Larten, since he knew that Seba would expect it of him, clapped loudly. “Move on, there!” he shouted atthe vampires ahead of him. “The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can be back in the Hall of Khledon Lurt, warming up with a bowl of broth and a mug of ale.”
Cheers greeted that and the vampires in the lead — there were two teams, set side by side — released their grip on the bank and let the current carry them out of the cave and into darkness.
Each team had a torch-carrier, but they came at the rear. So, when Larten entered the tunnel, he had to endure a minute of near-total gloom. He imagined lonely spirits drifting around him and was almost afraid of what the light of the torches would reveal. But, as Seba had said, there were no ghosts here. When the torch-bearers finally lit up the area, Larten saw nothing except rock and water. Offering up a quick prayer to the gods, he moved on in search of the blockage.
The stench worsened as they advanced and the pegs on their noses didn’t help much. It seemed to thicken in the air around them and soak into their pores. A couple of the vampires choked and were sick. The teams paused to let the vomit float ahead of them. Larten could feel his own insides rumbling, but he managed to keep his food down.
They inched their way along the tunnel, the team in the cave keeping a tight rein on them. Nobody knew what lay ahead. If the floor suddenly dropped into an underground waterfall, those on the ropes didn’t want the others being swept away. As impatient as the vampires in the tunnel were, Seba made sure that the team in the cave kept a firm grip on the rope and fed it out at a slow, steady rate. Larten had no idea if he’d been in the water ten minutes or an hour. All he knew was that it seemed like an age.
Eventually they came to where the bodies had stacked up, and it was far worse than anyone had imagined. Larten tried to count the corpses, but it was impossible. They were rammed tight, a wall of bones and rotting flesh. Some were skeletons — this had been building for a number of years — but most were dotted with scraps of skin and hair. Larten could probably have recognized some of the dead if he’d looked closely.
He didn’t.
Gagging and pale-faced, they closed in on the wall of the dead. One of the vampires near the front screamed and had to be released. Clinging to the rope, he scuttled back to the safety of the cave. Larten should have felt contempt, but all he could muster was envy. He wanted to follow the coward and it took all of
