twirled so fast that he lost his balance and fell. As he landed on his backside, his gaze settled on a grinning Vancha March.
‘What are you doing here?” Larten barked.
“Just happened to be passing,” Vancha sniffed. “I caught your smell — couldn’t really miss it — and thought I’d come see what you were up to.”
Vancha spent the next couple of nights roaming with Larten, letting him tell his sorry story. The General made no comment, just listened quietly. When Larten finally ran out of words to express his miserable state, Vancha said that the younger vampire could travel with him if he wished.
“I’m going through a bit of an aimless period myself,” he said. “I went on a quest to find the palace of Perta Vin-Grahl a few years ago.” Vin-Grahl had led a group of vampires off into a frozen wilderness to die not long after the war with the vampaneze.
According to legends, they’d built a castle of ice and turned it into a mass burial tomb. Many vampires had searched for the last resting place of the doomed group overthe centuries.
“Any luck?” Larten asked.
“No,” Vancha sighed. “I really thought I’d find it, but all I got in the end was frostbite. Almost lost a few toes. I’ve been too ashamed to report back to the clan. I can’t avoid them indefinitely, but I’d like to wait a bit longer before subjecting myself to their laughter. Paris will be especially tickled — he bet me my favorite shuriken that I wouldn’t find the palace.”
The pairwandered purposelessly but pleasantly for the next year. They hunted and told each other stories. They regularly sparred to pass the time and Larten unwittinglyfound himself completing many of the tasks he would have had to pass to become a General. Vancha would always swear over the decades to come that he hadn’t meant to play the part of a mentor, but Larten had his doubts. Like Seba, Vancha could be a sly operator when slyness was called for.
Most nights they slept beneath a tree or a bush. Vancha didn’t believe in creature comforts like coffins. He was never happier than when sleeping on a cold, rocky floor, covered in nothing more than his purple animal hides. Larten didn’t enjoy such lean living, but he got used to it. In any case, it was better to sleep rough with a friend than in the lap of luxury by himself.
One night, while resting, Vancha decided to show off his spitting prowess. He spat high into the air, kept his mouth open and caught the spit as it dropped back down. Gulping, he chortled and said, “I bet you can’t do that.”
‘Why in the name of all the gods would I want to?” Larten muttered.
“It’s a talent,” Vancha said.
“So is picking your nose with your tongue.”
“Can you?” Vancha asked eagerly.
“I have never tried and I do not intend to,” Larten said.
Vancha stuck out his tongue and explored, but although he could touch the tip of his nose if he pushed it down with a finger, his tongue wouldn’t reach as far as his nostril of its own accord. In the end he grunted and settled for spitting high and catching it again.
“Come on,” he urged Larten. “Try it. It’s fun.”
“I have no intention of spitting on myself,” Larten said stiffly, smothering a smile. “Now leave me alone or you will be swallowing one of your shurikens instead of a gobful of spit.”
“Leave my shurikens alone,” Vancha growled, caressing the throwing stars that were attached to belts looped around his body. Vancha preferred to fight with his hands — he believed weapons were a sign of weakness — but the shurikens were an exception. “Some of these are hundreds of years old. They’re historical.”
Larten frowned. “I thought you made them yourself.”
“Most of them, aye. But I’ve got a few from the Edo period, even one that I think goes back to the Kamakuras.”
‘What are you talking about?” Larten asked.
“The great Japanese dynasties. Don’t you know anything of history?”
“Not a lot,” Larten said. “I spent the last thirty or so years trying to memorize all of the vampire milestones. I had no time to research human history too.”
‘You should have made time,” Vancha tutted. “Only a fool forgets where he comes from. I don’t have much to do with the human world, but we all started off there and we can learn much about ourselves by studying the highs and lows of mankind overthe centuries.”
“Then tell me, good master,” Larten simpered. Although he was being sarcastic, Vancha took the request seriously. For the next few nights Larten was treated to a full rundown of the Japanese dynasties from the Asuka up to the Edo, with special emphasis on the weapons each favored, particularly those ofthe small, pointed, throwing kind. By the end of his lessons, he almost wished he had followed through on his threat and rammed a shuriken down Vancha’s throat. The shabby, smelly General was a fine friend but a truly boring historian!
Chapter Sixteen
Eventually Vancha had to resume his duties. As a General he had to sit in on various meetings, keep an eye on the Cubs, monitor the movements of the vampaneze, investigate rogue vampires. He invited Larten to join him on a few assignments. Since he had nothing better to do, Larten accepted.
Having checked on a few ofthe rowdier Cubs and admonished them — even the tearaway youngsters were expected to obey certain rules — Vancha and Larten set off in pursuit of a vampire called Arrow who had severed contact with the clan. The Princes wanted to know why he had cut himself off.
Vancha found their target by a process known as triangulation. Like almost every vampire, Arrow had placed his hands on the Stone of Blood in Vampire Mountain when he’d pledged himself to the clan, allowing it to draw blood from him. One ofthe Princes in the mountain checked with the magical Stone and located Arrow’s position. The Prince then communicated telepathically with Vancha and directed him.
Vancha followed his directions until they came to a house in a forest. They arrived late at night and made camp without approaching the house. After a short sleep, they lurked behind a couple of trees and kept watch throughout the day. They saw a red-haired woman at work within and around the house overthe course ofthe day, but there was no sign of Arrow.
He appeared as the sun was setting. He came out, squinted at the sky, kissed the woman, then went to get water as she slipped inside the house. Arrow was a large, bald, thickly built man. There were tattoos of arrows on both sides of his head and down his forearms. He didn’t look like someone who would walk away the worse for wear from most fights. His scowl as he drew a bucket of water from a well to the side of the house did nothing to soften his tough impression.
Arrow set the full bucket on the ground beside the well, then growled without looking up. “Come forward if you’re coming. I don’t like peeping Thomases.”
“Apologies,” Vancha said airily, stepping out into sight. “I wasn’t sure what the state of play was. Didn’t want to barge in and create any difficulties.”
Arrow nodded gruffly at Vancha, ran a cold eye over Larten, then sniffed. “Sarah will have dinner ready soon. You’re welcome to share it with us.”
Larten and Vancha exchanged a glance, then moved forward. Vancha looked relaxed, but Larten noted the way his fingers stayed by his shurikens. He made sure his knives were within easy reach and kept close to Vancha, ready to back him up if they were attacked.
The woman inside the house — Sarah — looked up with surprise when Arrow stomped in and said, “We have visitors.” She started to smile curiously when the odd pair entered. Then Arrow said, “They’re vampires.” Her smile vanished in an instant and she set the table in silence.
Arrow laid the bucket close to the fire, kissed Sarah again, then sat and nodded for Vancha and Larten to join him. “Sarah’s my wife,” he said quietly, his hands clenched into fists. ‘Where does the clan stand on such issues these nights?”
