Darren Shan - 02 Ocean of Blood

Wester was most interested in stories about the vampaneze. Many Generals would have happily made no mention of the breakaway group, but the war that had erupted subsequently was a crucial part of their heritage, so they reluctantly discussed the reasons behind the split and what the other night creatures had been doing since then.

Wester wanted to find out everything he could about the vampaneze, and he never seemed satisfied with what the Generals told him. He began sidetracking vampires in the Halls and tunnels, asking questions and learning more about their foes. He fell in with a group of vampaneze haters. Each of them thought that the purple-skinned traitors should be hunted to extinction. They respected the rule of the Princes — that went without question — but schemed on the sly, keeping abreast of vampaneze movements and activities, in case their leaders ever decided to sanction another war.

Wester tried to involve Larten with his new network of friends. He invited Larten to meetings and urged him to listen to their tales of vampaneze atrocities. Because Larten thought of Wester as a brother, he met with the disgruntled vampires and listened quietly as they spun wild stories of vampaneze drinking the blood of babies and targeting royals and politicians in human society. According to the rumors, they were establishing contacts around the globe, gathering an army of humans to support them in a strike on Vampire Mountain.

“They’ll kill us all if we don’t hit them first!” was the common rallying cry.

Larten dismissed the speculation and urged Wester to do the same. “They are mad, the lot of them,” he argued. Then, before Wester could refute that, he said, “No, not all. Some speak truly, those who simply report on what the vampaneze do and where they travel. But these tales of armies and master plans…” He snorted. “The vampaneze have nothing but scorn for humans. They see mankind as cattle to drain and discard. One of the reasons they broke away from us was because of our leniency. They mock us for not killing when we feed. To suggest that they are working in league with humans is a lie and one that can easily be exposed. Question the conspirators. Vampaneze always tel the truth. Ask them if they plot against us. They will answer honestly — and answer nay.”

“Don’t tel me you believe that old tale,” Wester sneered. “Of course they lie. They just want us to think that they don’t.”

Larten realized he and Wester would never see eye to eye on this matter. To avoid arguments — and maybe a fight, since Wester felt that strongly about it –

he stopped mingling with the dissidents. Whenever Wester invited him to a meeting, Larten made an excuse not to go. Wester soon acknowledged his friend’s wishes and cut Larten out of that part of his life. He cut out his master too, knowing in his heart that although Seba disliked those who had split from the clan, he would never urge war against them. The old vampire might welcome a war if it came to pass, but he wouldn’t try to provoke one or approve of those who did.

Seba would have been worried if he’d seen the vampires Wester was involved with. Maybe he would have urged his hotheaded ward to stay out of such complex, dangerous affairs. But the quartermaster was still adjusting to his new position and had little time to focus on his assistants. He kept up with reports of their development, but other than that he trusted them to the guiding hands of their tutors. By the time Seba settled into his job and was able to pay closer attention to his charges, Wester had learned not to discuss his feelings except with those who felt the same way he did.

Larten could have told Seba what was happening, but he didn’t think it was important. Wester and his allies respected the rule of the Princes, there was no doubt about that, so he saw no real threat in their angry mutterings. As long as the vampire leaders maintained the truce, dissenters like Wester could do nothing to cause trouble. They were bound by their sense of duty, the way every vampire was. At worst they could march off to perish in the wilderness, as Perta Vin-Grahl and his supporters once had.

But Larten was sure it wouldn’t come to that. They were just letting off steam, all talk and bluster. Nothing would come of their scaremongering. They’d need the backing of a Prince to move forward with their plans of war, but what vampire of high standing would ever support a crazy, bloodthirsty cause like theirs?

Larten’s mood had darkened steadily. He was growing more disillusioned with every passing night and had come to hate his training, Vampire Mountain, the hierarchy of Generals and Princes. It all seemed pointless. What could they achieve, cut off from the world, never interfering in the ways of humans, settling for the shadows instead of controlling the night?

He had been looking forward to Council — he’d spent long hours practicing one-armed combat in the months leading up to it, anticipating his rematch with the broken-nosed General — but even that proved disappointing. He enjoyed the fighting and games, but every vampire seemed full of disquieting tales. Mankind was making massive industrial advances. Cities were growing at a dizzying rate. Men were dominating the planet more than ever before. Vampires were having to withdraw deep into the wilds to roam freely.

There was an air of crisis about that Council. Two new Princes had been elected, but the clan felt as if they were at a crossroads and didn’t know which way to turn. There was no sense of direction from their leaders — the Princes were divided on the issue of how to respond to the changing world. Seba had seen indecision like this before, so he took little notice of the alarm, confident that time would iron out the creases, that vampires would adapt as they always had. But to Larten it seemed like the clan was unraveling, that he was wasting his time training to be a member of an outdated order.

While Larten flailed, Wester had found a new calling and was fully focused on it. After a long talk with Seba, he had realized the life of a General wasn’t for him. What he relished was life in Vampire Mountain. Abandoning his training, he instead started studying to become a guard. While they weren’t as highly respected as Generals — no guard had ever become a Prince — it was an important position and Larten was happy for his friend. He suspected Wester would make a fine guard and might one night replace Seba as quartermaster. He was pleased that Wester had chosen a suitable path and was forging ahead.

But it also made him more unsure of his own route. He couldn’t say with all honesty that he still wanted to be a General. He’d had doubts before Council, and they increased afterwards. Was he pursuing this course simply because it would make Seba happy? He had no idea what he would do if he quit — was uncertainty about his future the only reason he continued to study?

In the months and years after Council his unhappiness festered. Joy seeped from his life and he went about his training halfheartedly, taking no joy from his successes, learning nothing from his failures. Seba saw the gloom that the young vampire had succumbed to. He had more time for his assistants now, but Larten was distant around his master. Seba tried getting him to talk about his depression but Larten rebuffed all advances.

Seba desperately wanted to help his troubled charge. He would have done anything to bring a smile to Larten’s face. But he was helpless. Larten had to make the first move. Change was essential, but only the trainee General had the power to take his life by the scruff of the neck and shake it up.

Then, one night, thanks to a cluster of dead vampires, he did.

The Guardians of the Blood informed Seba of the problem, sending one of their pale members to track him down. Seba had been aware of the stench — most of the vampires in the mountain had caught a whiff of it — but there had been similar cases in the past and each time the issue had resolved itself. But the Guardian said that this was different. They needed to sort it out.