at him, the laughter following him as he limped away, and his head dropped ever lower.
One of the female vampires shouted at Larten and held out a long staff, asking him to duel with her. But the thought of being laid low by a woman was too much for him. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t meant to deny a challenge during the Festival of the Undead. He wanted out. Blushing furiously, Larten hurried to the exit and slipped out of the Hall, feeling smaller and more alone than he had at any time since he’d fled from the factory of silk worms as a scared young boy.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The tunnels were littered with wounded or resting vampires. Larten didn’t see any fatalities, but he was sure there would be several by the end of the Festival. No vampire would feel pity for those who fell. Humans might consider it a waste of life, but for vampires death in combat was the noblest way to die.
Larten didn’t quite wish for death, but at least it would have spared him this indignity. He knew he was making things worse by hopping away – he’d now be seen not just as a weak new-blood, but one who ran when the going got tough – but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to find a quiet spot for himself, so he could hide and nurse his injured leg and wounded pride.
“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.