Larten had a fine time that day. As Tanish had predicted, the armies fought with a vengeance. Whatever they were warring over, the troops clearly hated their opponents and were determined to shed as much blood as possible before a truce was declared. They didn’t just stab one another and move on. When a soldier knocked down a foe, he paused to strike again, gutting his opponent, smashing his face to pieces, often maiming him even after he was dead. It was a savage, bloodthirsty display, very much to Larten’s liking.
Occasionally, when straddling corpses and wading through puddles of blood, Larten would remember that he had once been human. If his life hadn’t taken the turn it did, he might have wound up on a field like this, fighting to the death, killing because he had to. He’d wonder how he would have felt in that position if he had looked up and seen a vampire studying him like an insect.
Larten always pushed such thoughts swiftly from his head. One of the hardest things about being a vampire was separating yourself from your origins. You had to leave behind your old ways to truly fit into the clan. There was no room for pity if you wanted to become a vampire of good standing. You had to force yourself to see humans as a different, lesser species.
A young man was shot in the shoulder and spun around from the force of it. He fell against Larten, who steadied him with one hand, keeping his umbrella straight with the other. The man’s eyes widened with fear and wonder. Then the pain kicked in and he doubled over. Larten nearly bent to help him, but if he showed favouritism the soldiers of the other army might fire on him. Both sets ignored the vampires because they were neutral. If they interfered, they risked drawing fire. So Larten left the young man to writhe in the dirt, lonely and untended, and strolled along.
The battle lasted most of the afternoon. The war pack withdrew in the evening to rest. They debated the highlights, each reporting on what he had witnessed. A few had been cut or struck, and Jordan had been shot in his left arm. But the wounds weren’t serious and they laughed about them as they relaxed beneath a tree, comparing scratches.
The vampires dozed, letting the sun drop. When darkness had settled on the world, they returned to the killing zone. There were no smiles this time, or if there were, they were tight, vicious, inhuman sneers. No banter either. They proceeded smoothly and silently. The umbrellas were left behind and when they reached the edge of the battlefield they shed their coats, cloaks and boots. A couple even stripped naked, baring all beneath the moon.
For a minute they stood on the flanks, drinking in the sight of the corpses and mouthwatering pools of blood. No humans moved. Even those who’d never heard of vampires had sensed menace in the night air and withdrawn to the safety of camp. In the morning they would return to bury the bodies of their fallen allies and pick weapons, shoes and other items from the dead. But the night belonged to the Cubs.
When the vampires were satisfied that the field was theirs, they closed in. Each trod softly, barely trampling the grass as they advanced on the corpses. Their nostrils and eyes were wide. Drool dripped from the lips of many. Some trembled with expectation. Others growled softly.
They held as a pack until they were in the middle of the slaughter. Then all eyes settled on Tanish. Though they had scorned his claims of leadership earlier, in this situation they acknowledged his right to command. If he hesitated, they would ignore him and press on, but they gave him the chance to unleash them, as was the vampire way.
Tanish beamed wolfishly, then snapped his teeth and threw himself on to all fours. Around him the others did the same. Breaking away from one another, they dug into the bodies of the slain, slicing flesh from bone, gulping blood as it gushed into the air, wallowing in the thick, red liquid.
After a while they started to howl and beat the ground with bones which they had snapped loose. Some fought with each other, wrestling clumsily, but the fights didn’t last long. They could challenge one another for real any time. These ripe nights were reserved for pleasures more savage than battle.
Like the rest of his pack, Larten soon lost himself in the feeding frenzy. For an hour or more he was neither human nor vampire, just a howling, hungry creature of dark delights. At times he slithered across the cool, sticky bodies like a ravenous worm, cutting, chewing, drinking. And all he knew… all any of them knew… all that their world consisted of in that intense, vicious, darkly delicious time… was blood.
CHAPTER FIVE
The vampires slept late the following day. A couple rose to observe the fighting in the afternoon, but most had seen enough and preferred to rest, digest their feast and dream of future feeding frenzies.
“Wake up,” Tanish grunted in the evening, digging Larten in the ribs.
“Leave me alone,” Larten growled.
“You’ve slept enough,” Tanish said. “I’m bored. I want you to teach me some new tricks.”
“Have you mastered the ones I taught you last time?”
“Some of them.” Tanish laughed. “I’m quite good at those that I can use when playing poker.”
“You cheat when you gamble?” Larten frowned, sitting up.
“If I need money.” Tanish shrugged. “I don’t like to steal. I’d rather work for my ill-gotten gains.”
“You think cheating is work?”
“We’re only talking about humans,” Tanish said. “I’d never scheme against one of our own. Come on, Quicksilver, you love to show off. You’ve the fastest hands I’ve ever seen. Teach me, o wise and nimble-fingered one.”
Larten smiled and took a pack of cards from a small, leather bag. He shuffled for a couple of minutes to limber up, then taught Tanish a few new ways to make the cards do whatever he wished. He had to slow down his movements so that his friend could follow.
“You’re unnatural,” Tanish said admiringly. “Are you this fast in a fight?”
“You’ve seen me fight many times,” Larten said.
“Drunken skirmishes, yes, but never in a real battle. Have you ever fought to the death?”
Larten shook his head. “Not since I was blooded.”
“You mean you killed before?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh-ho! Quicksilver’s hiding a secret. Tell me. I won’t leave you in peace until you do.”
“This is not a topic for discussion,” Larten said softly, and although there was no menace in his tone, Tanish knew immediately that the orange-haired vampire was serious. He snorted as if he didn’t care, then focused on the cards.
As they played and the others stirred around them, a man approached across one of the fields of carnage. He was moving faster than a human, sheltered beneath a heavy cloak. Larten assumed it was another Cub coming to join the pack. The newcomer would be disappointed — by the diminished sounds of battle, it seemed that the soldiers had spent the worst of their anger. The war was winding down.
The man slowed when he spotted the vampires under the tree. He studied them, his face masked by the shadows cast by his cloak. Then he came forward. When he was at the edge of the tree’s reach, he let his cloak drop.
“By the black blood of Harnon Oan!” Wester roared, leaping to his feet, gawping at the stranger with disbelief.
The newcomer was no human, but he wasn’t a vampire either. He had light red hair