Brothers to the Death (The Saga of Larten Crepsley) by Darren Shan Page B

while. And don’t let me hear you talking up war with the vampaneze again, at least not during Council. You can say what you like when I’m not around, but while I’m here, I expect silence from you on this matter.”
    “I will… always… obey… the wishes… of a… Prince,” Larten groaned.
    Vancha nodded, then hobbled out of the Hall. Vampires crowded around him to offer their congratulations, but he waved them away with a snap of his hand. He wasn’t proud of himself. He should have handled this discreetly. He had lost his temper and forced a duel, where a carefully phrased warning might have sufficed. Paris would give him a sterndressing-down for this, and the ancient Prince would be right to chastise him.
    In the Hall of Oceen Pird, Wester hurried to his wounded friend and asked if he needed help. Larten shook his head. He just wanted to lie there and mull over Vancha’s aggressive motives. He didn’t feel any shame in losing to a vampire like Vancha March. But as he lay on the floor, breathing shallowly, a mess of broken bones, cuts, and bruises, he was troubled that Vancha had felt the need to pick a fight with him in the first place. He must have done something truly unpardonable to enrage the Prince, whom he had always counted as one of his closest friends.
    As Larten’s blood seeped into the cracks between the stones, and as pain drove him to the point of unconsciousness, he forced himself to stay awake and strained to judge his actions over the past few years, in an effort to understand what he’d done that could be considered so terribly wrong.

Chapter
Ten
    Larten recovered slowly, nursed by Wester and Seba. The old quartermaster insisted Larten be brought to his quarters, where he could keep an eye on him. Seba laid Larten in an oversized coffin and stood watch over him for the next forty-eight hours. He knew from experience that this was the most dangerous period. If any of Larten’s internal organs had been seriously damaged, it should show within the first couple of nights.
    Larten was unconscious for most of that time. He didn’t fight sleep when it tried to claim him. He was in agony every moment that he was awake. His only comfort came when he drifted off into the land of dreams.
    The vampires who had seen the fight were still talking about it. Though there would be many duels to look forward to during Council, none would be fought as passionately as this one. Those who hadn’t been present were jealous and eagerly pried more details from the lucky few who’d borne witness.
    Larten’s defeat hadn’t shamed him in any way. It was widely acknowledged that Vancha was probably the most accomplished fighter in the clan. The Generals who had seen them duel were impressed by how close Larten had come to victory, how he’d absorbed so many blows without flinching, how he’d almost been able to match the Prince. His star continued to rise even in defeat, and for that Wester was grateful.
    As the nights passed, Larten improved and Seba and Wester left him to his own devices—both were manically busy in the run-up to the Festival of the Undead. Larten spent his solitary time thinking about Vancha’s reasons for challenging him and how he should respond. He had rarely devoted much time to considering the future. He usually just reacted to whatever destiny placed in his path.
    Now that he was incapacitated, he analyzed his recent behavior, trying to see himself as Vancha had seen him. He began to understand what he shoulddo, the cause to which he needed to dedicate himself. He didn’t discuss the issue with Seba or Wester. He wasn’t sure either would agree with his assessment or approve of his plans, and he didn’t wish to engage in a heated debate with them. But he needed to discuss it with
someone
. Gavner Purl would have been his first choice, but the young vampire still hadn’t shown up for Council and Larten now doubted that his assistant would come—he had the feeling that Gavner was