Brothers to the Death. Darren Shan
Larten hugged Wester when he arrived. The pair were like brothers and had been for most of their lives.
“It is a joy to see you,” Larten greeted him.
“You too,” Wester smiled, but he looked drawn and tired. He started to speak, but Larten shook his head and wiped rain from his face.
“Help us find a cave. We can talk when we are sheltered and dry.”
Wester scoured the mountain with the others. In the end they found a tiny cave – little more than a hole – and squeezed into it. At least the rain wouldn’t drench them here. There was no room to light a fire, but they generated enough body heat to warm the cramped space.
As they wrung the worst of the rain out of their clothes, Larten asked casually, “Why have you been consulting with Desmond Tiny?”
Wester stared at Larten, astonished. “How do you know that?”
“He paid us a visit recently.”
Wester looked worried. “What did he say about me?”
“Only that you would be joining us soon. He asked me to give you his regards.”
Wester scowled. “Damn his regards! He shocked the life out of me a couple of years ago. I was scouting around the base of Vampire Mountain – Seba had asked me to bring him some berries – and Mr Tiny hailed me from a tree.”
“Desmond Tiny has returned to Vampire Mountain?” Larten snapped.
“No. He didn’t enter. He said that he just happened to be passing, but I think he specifically came to see me.”
Larten frowned. “Did he say why?”
Wester sighed. There were dark rims around his eyes and the flesh of his cheeks was tight. He looked like he hadn’t slept much or eaten properly in a long time. “I’m losing support,” he said softly. “Those who stood by me in my campaign to alert the clan to the threat of the vampaneze are trickling away. The tide of opinion is turning. Many vampires see shades of our hatred for the vampaneze mirrored in the hatred of the Nazis for their enemies. They have begun to question our motives and goals.”
Wester despised the purple-skinned vampaneze. One of them had killed his family. His thirst for revenge had never ebbed. He’d linked up with others of his mindset and they had been trying to gather enough support to drive the vampires to war with their blood cousins. Larten was pleased to hear that they were losing momentum.
“Mr Tiny told me this would happen,” Wester went on. “He said he can see into the future, and that within a handful of years the anti-vampaneze movement will be a wreck. All but the most passionate will desert us and war with the vampaneze will never come to pass.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Gavner asked innocently.
“It is if you’re a vampaneze,” Wester spat.
Gavner blinked. He’d met Wester a couple of times, but had never seen this side of the guard. He glanced questioningly at Larten, but the General was focused on his drained-looking friend.
“Mr Tiny thrives on war,” Larten said softly. “He loves chaos, battle, death. Did he visit you in order to encourage you, to advise you on how you could rally the troops and relight the fires of hatred in the hearts of the clan?”
Wester nodded glumly. “He said you were the key.”
Larten’s features darkened. “I have never been one of your supporters. You know I do not agree with you on this point. How can I have any connection to your fortune in this regard?”
“We need a figurehead,” Wester said. “I thought Arrow could be our leader, but although he hates the vampaneze as much as I do, he doesn’t favour going to war. Several of our older, respected members have died in recent times, which has further weakened our cause. But they were never going to be strong enough to drive us forward. We need a youthful, talismanic figure. A Prince, ideally, or a General of high standing.”
“No Prince will back you,” Larten said.
“None of the current batch,” Wester agreed.
Larten’s eyes narrowed. “But you think you have found a future Prince who you can manipulate?”
“Not manipulate,” Wester said quickly. “I’m not looking to trick anyone into doing anything they don’t want to. But if I could persuade… reason with…” He trailed off and stared at the floor. “Mr Tiny said that you would become a Prince.”
“Nonsense,” Larten barked. “He was toying with you. He lied.”
“I don’t think so.” Wester looked up again. “You’re widely respected. Your reputation has been growing steadily since you returned from Greenland, having found the burial palace of Perta Vin-Grahl. Generals talk of you when they gather and debate your movements and deeds. Your recent criticism of the Nazis won you even more admirers. You put the feelings of the clan into a few clear, simple words. They liked that. Many who were initially in favour of a union with the Nazis changed their minds because of what you said.”
Larten stared at his blood-brother, worried by what he was hearing. He’d never seriously thought that he might be asked to become a Prince. He knew that he had earned the respect of many in the clan, but he’d no idea feelings ran this deeply. In his own eyes he was seriously flawed. He had made a lot of mistakes, some of which he bitterly regretted. He was astonished to hear that others regarded him so highly.
“I have never sought nomination,” Larten muttered. “Unlike Mika, I have no wish to become a Prince. It has never been my intention to impress.”
Wester chuckled. “That’s why they like you. Most Princes don’t want to be leaders. They’re chosen partly because of their lack of ambition, not because they desire power. Mika’s an exception, but you’re like the majority, a steadfast, pure-hearted, uncomplicated vampire. Generals prefer your sort.”
Larten shook his head with wonder, then shrugged. “I do not know if what you say is true or an exaggeration. Either way, it makes no difference. I will go about my business as I always have. I am not concerned with the politics of Vampire Mountain. If I am ever asked to lead, I shall accept with humility and honour. If not, I will serve no less fervently.
“But if they do ask… if I do become a Prince…” His face was hard. “What good would that be to you?”
Wester gulped and looked aside, unable to meet his best friend’s gaze. “I’ve never asked anything of you,” he croaked, cheeks flushing. “In the matter of the vampaneze, I left you to your conscience. I would have cherished your support, but I never sought it. I asked for no favours.”
“And I respect you for that,” Larten said, hoping that Wester would stop there. But the slender guard couldn’t.
“I need you to back me now.” Larten could see how much Wester hated having to beg, but he was desperate. That desperation struck Larten hard and he said nothing as Wester continued. “Without you, I’m lost. All the years I’ve devoted to this… the arguments, the winning of influential friends, the sacrifices… it will have all been for nothing. I’ve always believed the clan would rally and take the fight to the craven, purple traitors before they came looking for us. That belief keeps me going and defines who I am. Without it I’m nobody, a nothing.”
Wester’s eyes were brimming with tears and he had to pause. Larten wanted to say something, but he could think of nothing that would be of any help.
“I’m finding it hard to sustain that belief,” Wester sobbed. “Friends and allies are deserting the movement. Generals scowl when I speak ill of the vampaneze. I’ve been told to guard my tongue, that this isn’t the time for such sentiments. We were so close – closer than you can imagine – to winning over the clan. Now our dreams are unravelling. A golden opportunity is passing us by, and in a few more years the chance to strike will have been lost.”