Brothers to the Death (The Saga of Larten Crepsley) (12 page)

“Surely you can’t crave war,” Kurda groaned. “After everything you must have seen these past few years?”

“I have observed many wars over the decades,” Larten replied. “Sometimes, I admit, for sport, although that was long ago when I was young and even more
foolish than I am now. This war is nastier than most, but they are all brutal at the core. That is the nature of warfare.”

“Yet you still believe in it?” Kurda pressed.

“It is sometimes necessary,” Larten said. “It is better to defend yourself against an enemy than cave in to them. The British, the French, and their allies have suffered, but this was a war they had to fight.”

“No,” Kurda grunted. “They could have negotiated, reasoned, sought peaceful solutions to their problems.”

“Reasoned with the Nazis?” Larten jeered. “You do not know these people if you think that they were ever open to
reason
.”

“The Nazis didn’t spring to power overnight,” Kurda argued. “If the people of other countries had paid more attention and dealt with Germany’s problems in the early 1920s, before the Nazis came to prominence…”

“That is easy to say now,” Larten noted. “But by the time people realized that the Nazis were a threat, it was too late for diplomacy.”

“I don’t agree,” Kurda said. “But even if that was true, it doesn’t change
our
circumstances. We know that the vampaneze are a threat, but they don’t
currently scheme against us. We’re at peace with them and we should use that lull to secure the long-term security of both clans. This is our chance to stop the threat of war at its source and ensure that we never face what these humans have had to endure.”

Larten shook his head. “It sounds like a solid argument. But so does Wester’s. If we go to war while the vampaneze are weak, we can slaughter them all. If, on the other hand, we allow them to flourish, they will always be a threat. There can be no real truce since we both hate what the other clan stands for.”

“We can work on that,” Kurda insisted. “We might find we’re not so different if we sit down and talk.”

“But what if we find that we are?” Larten countered. “What if those talks make us realize that there can never be a union, if your search for peace proves to be the catalyst that drives the clans to war?”

Kurda frowned. “You’re a dangerous one, Crepsley. I see now why Wester tried to make you his spokesman. You have a sly tongue. I think you could convince me to change my opinions if you had long enough to work on me.”

“Maybe I will,” Larten smiled.

“You plan to stick around?” Kurda asked.

“No,” Arra cut in, then glanced at Larten. “We’re not staying, are we?”

“Actually, we are,” Larten said softly. “There are people to help and a doubter to convert.”

Arra blinked. “What about Randel Chayne?”

Larten considered that, then said firmly and with great satisfaction at being able to say such a thing after all these years, “Randel Chayne can damn well wait.”

Larten and Arra stayed with Kurda for the remainder of the war in Europe, then for several months afterwards. While humans were celebrating the end of the hostilities and looking forward to a more hopeful future, the vampires were busy crisscrossing the continent, helping wherever they could. They went to places where human medics were slow to visit, areas where anarchy was rife and bullets still flew.

When they heard of the terrible bombs that had been dropped on two cities in Japan, they flitted East. There, in the ashen ruins of Hiroshima, Larten discovered a new breed of horror. His many decades had never prepared him for such total destruction. He
and the others worked feverishly, as if caught in a nightmare. They couldn’t do much to ease the pain of those who had been burned and warped by the lethal bomb, but they did what little good that they could.

Larten hardly slept while in Japan. Every time he tried, his head filled with the cries of the suffering and he was unable to block out the awful things that he’d seen. Even when he closed his eyes he saw them, faces stripped of everything that made them human, charred bodies floating in the putrid water of the rivers and streams, children choking on the poisoned air.

Larten felt old and tired when they departed, as if he was a man who had lived too long. The world had changed beyond recognition and he didn’t want to be part of this new, barbaric place. In his mind’s eye he was still a citizen of the nineteenth century, hailing from a period when war could be noble. This was the first time he had noted a cultural chasm between the people he’d known then and those of this modern era. He now understood why older vampires like Seba and Paris Skyle tried to withdraw from the human world entirely. It wasn’t just that vampires and humans were different. If you lived long enough, it began to seem as if you were part of a separate species.

Arra was eager to resume the hunt for Randel Chayne. She wanted to explore the world, hunt vampaneze, embrace the night. Though she hadn’t said anything, she felt they’d been wasting their time helping humans and was keen to return to proper vampire work.

Larten’s heart was no longer in his quest. He still wished to bring Alicia’s killer to justice, but the thought of searching for the elusive, probably deceased vampaneze for decades to come filled him with gloom. He had enjoyed being able to make an impact while helping Kurda. Life was easy when he had direct and pressing problems to solve. Part of him was sorry that the war had ended. He missed waking with a definite agenda, never needing to look any further ahead than the next few hours.

“Where will you go?” Kurda asked as they prepared to part ways.

“Wherever the vampaneze are,” Arra sniffed.

Larten said nothing and Kurda caught an uncertain look in the vampire’s eyes. “You could stay with me,” he offered.

“And help you make peace with our foes?” Arra laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Kurda said patiently. “I
received a message from Vancha. He’s going to a wedding of a friend of ours. It will be a highly unusual ceremony. If you like, you can come. If nothing else, it would be a good opportunity for you to make your peace with Vancha.”

Larten wasn’t sure he wanted to face the Prince so soon after their fight. But it wasn’t a vampire’s way to run from his fears, so he nodded gruffly and said, “Very well. We will travel with you awhile longer. But tell me, what is so unusual about this wedding?”

Kurda grinned. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me!”

The wedding was scheduled to take place in a small, isolated cove. Larten, Kurda, and Arra arrived a few nights before the ceremony to find Vancha March and another vampire sitting alone in the middle of a beach, eating raw crabs.

Larten recognized the other vampire even from a distance and felt a stab of pleasure shoot through him. He almost broke into a trot, but that wouldn’t have been dignified, so he kept to the same deliberate pace and made sure he looked suitably serious.

Vancha heard them coming and rose to greet them. The other vampire’s senses weren’t as sharp
and he carried on eating, poking bits of flesh out of the shells, swallowing them with evident disgust.

“I don’t understand how anyone can enjoy this,” the vampire grunted.

“Perhaps your senses would not be so dull if you ate more seafood,” Larten said drily.

The vampire jolted with surprise, then surged to his feet. “Larten!” he cried.

“It is good to see you again, Gavner,” Larten said politely, bowing to his ex-assistant.

Gavner Purl ignored the bow and hugged the orange-haired vampire. Larten looked startled. Then, with a shy smile, he patted Gavner’s back.

“I’ve missed you,” Gavner said, letting go and beaming.

“I do not know why,” Larten said. “I have not missed you.” But there was a twinkle to his eyes and Gavner knew that he was being teased.

Larten faced Vancha March and bowed again. “Sire,” he said quietly.

“Larten,” Vancha grunted, casting a critical eye over the General. “How are your ribs?”

“All healed.”

“I thought you’d still be hobbling after the beating I gave you.”

“I have sustained worse injuries stumbling down stairs,” Larten said.

Vancha scowled. “Be careful or I’ll knock you about again.”

“I had been drinking when we fought,” Larten said. “Sober, I do not think you would fare so well against me.”

Vancha’s eyes narrowed. Then he laughed and Larten chuckled too. The pair smiled at each other, their differences put behind them.

“No more nonsense about going to war with the vampaneze?” Vancha asked.

“Not for the time being,” Larten replied.

“Good.” Vancha bowed low to Arra. “Mistress Sails, it’s a pleasure as always. You grow more radiant with every passing night.”

“Save it for the fools who believe your flattery,” Arra sniffed.

“She likes me really,” Vancha said, nudging Gavner. “When she sees sense and abandons this orange-haired buffoon, she’ll be mine.”

“I’d rather mate with the frozen remains of Perta Vin-Grahl,” Arra said icily.

Vancha cackled and bid Kurda welcome, then the five vampires squatted around the remains of the crabs
and spent the rest of the night catching up. They slept in a cave when the sun rose. Vancha sneaked out in the middle of the day and returned with a fresh load of live crabs, which he tipped onto the sleeping Gavner. When the young vampire shot awake, yelping as the crabs pinched him, Vancha laughed until his face turned as purple as the animal skins he always wore.

“You are a cruel master,” Larten tutted when the Prince had recovered.

“Gavner’s no assistant of mine,” Vancha responded. “We’ve traveled together for several months, but I’ve no wish to mentor any Cub right now. I keep telling him to get lost, that he’s a like a thorn in my side. I’m hoping he’ll take the subtle hints and go his own way after the wedding.”

“He is more persistent than you might imagine,” Larten said.

“Maybe,” Vancha said with a wicked laugh. “But I can find even bigger crabs tomorrow!”

Shortly after dusk, a man in dark brown robes made his way down to the cove and met with the vampires. His name was Laurence and he lived in a nearby monastery. He was due to wed the engaged couple and had come to check that everything was in order and ask if the guests needed anything.

“We don’t have much,” Laurence said, “but we keep bees and goats, so we have honey and milk. We make our own bread too, and grow a variety of herbs and vegetables. You are more than welcome to dine with us.”

Not wishing to appear ungrateful, the vampires accepted Laurence’s invitation and followed him to the monastery, which nestled close to the top of the cliff a bit farther along the coastline. It was a small, humble building that had been battered by the elements. About thirty monks were present.

The vampires ate with the monks. It was a plain meal but carefully prepared. Larten thought that the monks would be fascinated by their visitors—they knew that the five were vampires, and in Larten’s experience, humans always wanted to learn more about the legendary creatures of the night. But the monks only made polite inquiries and didn’t bother the vampires with an endless string of questions. When Larten asked Laurence about this lack of interest, he smiled.

“We don’t pay much attention to the outside world,” Laurence explained. “We have devoted our lives to prayer and inward reflection. To us there is little difference between your nocturnal clan and any other group.”

Laurence took the vampires on a tour of the monastery after dinner and told them how the monks lived, outlining their daily routines. It was a simple but satisfying life, and Larten found himself envying them. After the horrors of the war and his brutal quest to find Randel Chayne, this seemed like an idyllic existence.

Larten noticed two men who weren’t dressed in robes scaring bats away from the fruit trees that grew in one of the monastery’s plots. He asked if they were local gardeners who had been hired to help with the tasks.

“No,” Laurence said. “They are part of our community but not our order. We rarely turn anyone away. If laypeople wish to come stay with us, to escape the breakneck pace of the world, find inner peace or just relax for a time, we welcome them. We ask that they work to help pay towards their upkeep, but they’re not compelled to. Most only stay for a few weeks or months, but a couple have been with us for years.”

“Why don’t they become monks if they’re here that long?” Kurda asked.

Laurence shrugged. “They enjoy our way of life but do not necessarily share our beliefs.”

“But you accept them even if their beliefs are different?” Kurda pressed.

“Of course,” Laurence said. “There is room in this world for all sorts of beliefs. The most important thing is that we respect one another and create a community where all are welcome and treated equally.”

“That’s a nice way of looking at the world,” Kurda murmured. “I wish we could all see it that way.” He caught Larten’s eye and raised an eyebrow.

Larten scowled, but it was an automatic response. Though he would never admit it to Kurda, he too wished the world was that way, and the more he explored the monastery, the more he yearned to leave the duties and worries of the clan behind and find the peace here that had so far eluded him for most of his life.

Laurence asked the vampires to stay with them the following day. Vancha didn’t want to sleep in the relative opulence of the monastery, but he accepted the monk’s offer so as not to offend him, then searched for the roughest, coldest floor he could find. Arra and Larten shared a room next to Kurda and Gavner on the upper floor of the building. Arra fell asleep and was soon snoring lightly. Larten dozed for a few hours, but he kept waking, thinking about the war, Randel Chayne, the monks. He had a lot on his mind and eventually he walked out onto the balcony to squint at the sea.

“Can’t sleep either?” someone said from the
balcony next to his. He turned to find Gavner sitting in a chair, covered by a blanket to protect him from the sun.

“I wish that I could,” Larten sighed. “I have not had a good day’s sleep in a
long
time.”