Brothers to the Death (The Saga of Larten Crepsley) (7 page)

“As you wish,” Larten said stiffly, then strode to the door. He paused and spoke over his shoulder. “You should move to another house. The killer might return. Perhaps another city would be—”

“I’ve already thought of that,” Sylva snapped. “I’m leaving with Patrice soon. We would have gone earlier, but I was sure you’d return. Send Gavner to me before you go, with instructions on how we’re to keep in touch.”

Larten was struck by a sense of déjà vu, but it took him a few seconds to realize why. Then he remembered how Alicia had spoken to him the day she cast him out of her life. Sylva sounded like her mother had then, only Alicia had never despised him so violently.

“Come,” Larten said to Gavner, extending a hand to help him to his feet.

“Maybe I should…” Gavner looked towards Sylva uncertainly.

“No,” Larten said softly. “You can come back later. For now we must leave her to herself. It is perhaps not what she needs, but it is what she desires. We have no right to deny her the solitude she seeks.”

Gavner gulped, then shot Larten a look that was almost as spiteful as Sylva’s. “If you’d flitted…”

Larten had meant to hide his tears until he was alone, but he wasn’t able to stop them from trickling down his cheeks when Gavner cast the accusation at him. The younger vampire saw the tears and stopped, astonished and dismayed. Before he could apologize, Larten scowled and spun away.

“Hurry!” he snapped as he marched down the hallway. “We must ensure that Randel Chayne is not lying in wait. You can berate me later. For now we have Sylva to defend.” He smiled bitterly. “We must not neglect our
duty
.” Then he was gone, never to return to that room of blood and soul-destroying loss.

“So often alone”

Larten Crepsley sat by himself in the Hall of Osca Velm, staring at a long list of names on a large black stone. Although he still hadn’t learned to read, he could recognize certain words. He had seen Gavner Purl write his name many times and knew what the letters looked like. If the young vampire had made the trek to Vampire Mountain for Council, he would have been registered on this list by the guards.

Larten could have searched for Gavner mentally, which would have been quicker and easier, but he preferred this method. It gave him an excuse to be by himself for a while. He had been busier than ever since returning to the mountain some months earlier.
He was tired of the endless meetings, spouting the same messages over and over, arguing and cajoling, trying to convince others to join his cause. This would be his only opportunity to relax until he staggered back to his coffin at the end of the night.

He sipped from a bowl of bat broth as he slowly studied the list of names. There was a half-drained mug of ale by the bowl, and although he’d only been here for twenty minutes, this was his third helping. Larten wasn’t a natural spokesman. He found it hard to lecture for hours on end to an ever-changing array of vampires. The ale helped. It loosened his tongue and revived memories of Paris. The more he drank, the angrier he grew, and the words came readily then.

Eight years had passed since Alicia had been so cruelly taken from him. On the one hand they had been long, drawn-out years of suffering and torment, nightmares of Alicia’s murder, oppressive feelings of guilt. But at the same time they’d flown by. He had never been as active as he’d been since Paris. Sometimes, when he was drunk, it seemed like he’d walked in on the horror just a few weeks ago, and every awful detail would be fresh in his mind.

Larten had been desperate to kill Nazis when he left the house. Gavner blamed him for Alicia’s death,
and he in turn blamed the soldiers who were pursuing them. If not for the cat-and-mouse chase, he could have flitted and Alicia would be alive. Randel Chayne was the one he hated most, but the sly vampaneze was nowhere to be found. The Nazis, however, were close. They were evil, small-minded despots, only fit for butchery.

Larten once again experienced the cold hatred that he had felt twice before, as a boy when his friend Vur Horston was killed for no good reason, and on the ship when Malora was murdered, again without just cause. In that detached, dark state he wanted only to lash out at the world and crush those who had brought pain into his life. He was older and wiser than when he’d last felt this way, but that wasn’t why he was able to control his anger and spare the Nazis his wrath.

It was Gavner.

“I want to kill them.”

In the Hall of Osca Velm, as Larten lowered the bowl of broth and drank from the mug of ale again, it was as if Gavner were speaking now, face illuminated by the light of the open fires.

“I want to crush those damn Nazis like ants.”

Larten had turned to his assistant and squinted.
They’d scouted the area around the house and found no trace of Randel Chayne. Dawn was a few hours away. There was plenty of time to find and deal with the Germans. Larten had been thinking about them since he’d turned his back on the bloodstained wall, trying to decide which methods of murder to employ. But he was surprised to hear Gavner echoing his inner thoughts.

Gavner’s eyes were red and his lips were twisted as he faced Larten. “We could have saved her if we hadn’t been wasting our time on the Nazis. You said we had to—it was our duty—and maybe you were right. But everything’s changed. If we kill them, we can focus on Randel Chayne, hunt him down and make him pay for what he’s done.”

“We do not have to kill them to do that,” Larten said. “We could simply outrun them.”

“But they deserve to be killed,” Gavner snarled, fingers knotted into fists.

Larten felt the same way, but as he studied Gavner’s face, the tempest in his head died down. He saw shades of himself in his assistant. The young vampire was about to make the same mistakes that Larten had made in the past. If he did, he would have to
endure the guilt and shame that had tormented Larten for so many decades.

“It will not take the pain away,” Larten said softly. “Killing them will not bring Alicia back. It will only lower us to Randel Chayne’s level. The Nazis are without honor, but they have not harmed us. Some have wives, children, loved ones of their own. If we slaughter them, others will feel what we are feeling now.”

“Good,” Gavner snapped.

Larten held his gaze. “If we kill them, women will weep. Boys and girls will ask when their father is coming home and nobody will be able to answer. Innocents will suffer. We will bring misery into the lives of people who have done nothing amiss. Is that what you truly desire?”

Gavner blinked. “Of course not, but…”

“We would be doing it for ourselves,” Larten said, “not for Alicia. We would take their lives to make ourselves feel better. We would become mindless animals for a time, and in the heat of the slaughter we would not have to think about our loss or the future. It would be easy. It would be a relief. But it would also be wrong.”

Gavner stared at Larten miserably, fresh tears welling in his eyes. The killer’s sheen had disappeared from them and Larten was proud of the way Gavner could so swiftly turn his back on monstrous temptation. He was a better man than Larten had been at that age.

“You must leave with Sylva before daybreak,” Larten said, setting his dark desires behind him, triumphing over his baser instincts for the first time in his life. “She cannot stay, even for a couple of days. If Randel Chayne or the Nazis found her, they would use her to hurt us.

“Go to her by yourself. She will listen to you when I am not there. Rendezvous with her young beau and travel with them. Take them far away and stay with them until they are safe. I will continue to lead the Nazis astray.”

“And when Sylva’s safe, I’ll link up with you again and we’ll go after Randel Chayne.” Gavner nodded fiercely.

“No,” Larten said. “I must string out the game with the Nazis for as long as I can. It will be months, maybe years before I finish with them. We have to forget about the vampaneze for now.” Gavner’s face darkened again, but Larten chuckled bitterly. “Do
not misunderstand me. We
will
find Randel Chayne. There is nowhere he can hide from us. When time is our ally, we will track him down and kill him.

“Aye,” he growled. “And we might have a little
sport
with him before we tear his head from his neck. I never had much of a taste for torture, but there is a time and a place for everything.

“But not now,” he said firmly. “Our obligation to the clan comes first. We will not be reckless in this matter. We are better than Randel Chayne. We will honor those who have placed their faith in us. Then, when we have our freedom, we will find the bloodthirsty cur and exact a most terrible and fitting revenge.

“Do not return to me when you part company with Sylva,” Larten said, gripping Gavner’s arms. “Find another master. Learn new ways to kill. Push yourself hard. Become the finest vampire you can. When it is time, I will summon you and we will take the battle to Randel Chayne and any vampaneze who sides with him. We will kill a hundred to get to him if that is what it takes.”

“You won’t try to find him without me?” Gavner asked lowly.

“On Alicia’s blood, I swear I will not.”

And on that bleak, savage note they had parted.

Larten drained the mug of ale and called for another. He hadn’t drunk so much since his nights as a Cub. Back then he had enjoyed alcohol. Now he drank solely to numb his nerves and ready himself for what was to come.

A guard added a new name to the list. Larten studied the letters, but they didn’t spell
Gavner Purl
. He returned to the middle of the list—he was less than halfway through—and let his eyes scroll down again. He had gone through all of these names the night before, but he planned to recheck the whole list in case he’d missed Gavner’s the first time around. Of course he hadn’t—Gavner would have sought him out if he’d arrived—but he played along with the game. Anything to delay the moment when he must face a wave of Generals and address them like a prophet.

As he scanned the names, his thoughts wandered once more. He hadn’t seen Gavner for three years after Paris. He’d spent most of that time leading the Nazis on a merry dance. Then he’d been asked to rescue a few vampires who had been caught by them. Not all of the vampires in Europe had heard or heeded Mika’s warning to evacuate, and the Germans had managed to ensnare some strays.

The clashes with the Nazis might have continued if not for Vancha March. The Prince kept his nose out of the messy business for a long time. Like everybody else, he figured the likes of Mika Ver Leth and Paris Skyle were best suited to this delicate business. He thought he’d only stir things up if he got involved.

But eventually the scraggly Prince lost his temper. It was clear that the Nazis were going to carry on trapping unsuspecting vampires. They hoped to use the blood of the clan to build a regiment of superpowered soldiers. Vancha decided that the time for diplomacy had passed. Without discussing it with anyone, he took matters into his own hands.

Vancha flitted to Berlin and found the base of the Nazi leader. In the dead of night, he slipped through the arrogant Führer’s defenses and cornered him in his bedroom. With his nails pressed to the flesh of the trembling man’s throat, Vancha told him that if even one more vampire was targeted, he would return and finish the job.

A Vampire Prince would always put the needs of the clan before his own life. If self-sacrifice was required, no Prince would hesitate to offer his life for a cause he believed in. But Vancha thought the pompous Hitler was fonder of his neck than a Prince would
have been, and that proved to be the case. Having been threatened, he called off his troops, and no vampire had been bothered since.

Mika seethed when he heard of Vancha’s heavy-handed approach. When the Prince returned to Vampire Mountain, Mika confronted him and accused him of acting without regard for the consequences of his actions. The green-haired Sire March only sniffed and said, “You can’t argue with success.”

Once Larten was free to focus on his own affairs, he met up with Gavner and the pair set off in pursuit of Randel Chayne. They scoured the cities of Europe, asking after him, searching for other vampaneze who might know where he was. They came across five of the purple-skinned bloodsuckers over the next few years. Each denied knowledge of Randel’s whereabouts, and Larten believed them—when they were blooded, every vampaneze swore an oath never to lie. They would be driven out in disgrace by their colleagues if they broke that vow, even if it was to a vampire.

He knew it was irrational, but Larten hated every vampaneze now. He blamed them for Randel’s existence. If they hadn’t broken away from the clan, there would never have been a Randel Chayne, or any
inhuman monster like him. Alicia would be alive. Wester’s family wouldn’t have been killed. Tanish Eul might have never cut himself off from the clan. Larten came to believe that Wester had been right all along—the world
would
be better off without the purple scum, and Larten hoped to rid the planet of more than just a few of them.

But Randel was the one Larten hated most. If he fought with every vampaneze he met, he would be killed sooner rather than later—you couldn’t cheat the odds indefinitely. Since he didn’t want to die without avenging Alicia’s murder, he held his tongue when in the presence of those he despised. He treated them with respect and asked politely about Randel Chayne. He said that he wished to challenge Randel because he had heard noble things about him. He gave no hint of his real reason for wanting to face the killer.

Four of the vampaneze responded with cool respect to his inquiries and let him go about his business without interfering. Only one objected and told him he had no right to answers. That vampaneze had been young and headstrong. He was eager to kill a vampire and thought Larten was the perfect place to start.

He misjudged horribly. Their duel was a one-sided
contest and Larten killed the vampaneze, barely having to stretch himself. He didn’t celebrate the killing, but he did sleep with a sneering smile for a few nights afterwards.