Brothers to the Death

“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.”