The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4. Darren Shan

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      “Perta knew that we had passed that point. He was determined to slay them all. He said that was the only way true peace could be achieved. If we let them live, they would return to haunt us. This was even before Desmond Tiny gave us the Stone of Blood and cast his dire prophecy.”

      “Who is Desmond Tiny?” Larten asked. “And what is the Stone of Blood?”

      Seba waved a dismissive hand. “You will find out soon. You must go to the Hall of Princes before we leave, clasp the Stone and add your blood to that of the clan. I will explain it to you then.

      “Perta killed many vampaneze. He lost a hand and half his lower jaw in battle – he could not eat solid food afterwards – but he kept going. He was the most accomplished, determined fighter I have ever seen.

      “When a truce was declared, Perta could not accept it. There were others in his position, a group of angry, hateful Generals. They had lost friends and loved ones in the battles. They wanted to wage war against the vampaneze to the very end, even if it meant our end too. It looked as if there might be another split. We thought that Perta and his followers would break from us as the vampaneze had, to create a third brand of night-walkers and further weaken our position.

      “But Perta did not wish to harm the clan. When he realised that he could not convince the majority to continue our war with the vampaneze, he gathered his followers and led them away. He took them to a place of ice and savage isolation. Some say it was Greenland, others the South Pole or somewhere equally remote. According to one of his followers who came back years later, they built a palace out of ice, dug tombs, finished off the blood they had taken with them, then lay in their frozen coffins and calmly waited to die.”

      Seba fell silent, thinking of the lost vampires he had known in his youth, recalling Perta’s laugh and the flash of his blade. Once Seba had fought by Perta’s side and killed three vampaneze, including the General who had blooded him when he was a youth, the one who had taught him as he taught Larten, whom he loved and respected above all others. That was the darkest night of Seba’s life and he would never speak of it, not even now.

      “The vampire who returned was insane,” Seba sighed. “Lack of blood and the harsh elements drove him crazy. Who knows if his story of ice castles and tombs was true? Many vampires have searched for the burial place of Perta Vin-Grahl, but it has never been found and, even if it exists, I doubt it ever will be.

      “But we know that Perta and his followers chose death instead of harm to the clan. Rather than lead his supporters to war with us, Perta led them away so that the clan could flourish. It was the ultimate sacrifice, made by a vampire of true greatness, one who put the wishes and needs of the clan before his own.

      “There is a reason why I am telling you this,” Seba said, eyes coming back into focus. “Perta was the finest fighter I have seen, beyond compare. He set many records at Council, defeating one challenger after another at wrestling, fencing, the bars. Everyone wanted a slice of Perta Vin-Grahl, to be able to say in years to come that they had faced him in his prime. He did not win every fight – nobody does – but he won far more than any other vampire in recent centuries.

      “I remember the first time Perta came to Vampire Mountain.” Seba smiled at the ancient memory. “He was skinny and dirty — Vancha March is a dandy compared to the young Perta Vin-Grahl! He had been blooded as a child but, like you, had never had much contact with other vampires until he came here. He challenged just about every General at Council that year.”

      “Let me guess,” Larten sniffed. “He lost every fight, like I did.”

      “No,” Seba said. “He was a tiger even then. He won most of the contests in which he took part. And those that he lost, he only lost narrowly, after a long, bloody fight.

      “I mentioned that first Council to Perta many years later. I thought he would recall it with pride. But his face grew dark and he said he wished he had been beaten to a pulp. He said triumphing in so many challenges was the worst thing that ever happened to him.”

      Larten frowned. “Winning was bad?”

      Seba nodded. “I was bewildered too, until he explained. A few years later, Perta was travelling with five young vampires. They looked to him as their leader and teacher, even though he had not blooded them. One of them hatched a plan to kidnap Lady Evanna and force her to bear children.” He noted Larten’s confusion and gestured impatiently. “That is a story for another time. Suffice it to say, the Lady of the Wilds is a great sorceress. You cross her at your peril.

      “Perta was fearless and led his group against her. She fought back and killed all five of his companions. Perta escaped only because he was stronger and faster than the rest. She chased him for six months before one of the Princes begged for mercy on his behalf and convinced her to leave him be.

      “Perta felt that he had the blood of those vampires on his hands. He had failed to consider their weaknesses. Having never tasted real defeat, he assumed nothing bad could happen to him or those who put their trust in him. That deadly encounter with Evanna taught him a costly lesson. But if he had tasted defeat earlier in his life, he would never have followed such a fatal course. Those five vampires might still be alive.

      “It is good to be taught humility when we are young,” Seba said softly. “If we do not experience pain as children, we will cause pain as adults. You have to learn from your beatings. Accept your shortcomings and work on correcting them, but welcome them too. You might one night be asked to lead others. If so, you must be able to see people as they are, not as you yourself might be. A true champion must know not only his own mind and heart — he must know the minds and hearts of those weaker than himself. You can only do that if you have stood where they stand.”

      Seba patted the wolves and smiled. “They are not so fast, these beasts, but they are strong. They can run for many miles and endure. We are not so different. It is hard for one so young as you to peer forward and focus on the centuries ahead of us, but I ask you to accept the word of one much older than you. Your losses now will profit you in the long run, if you learn from them, if you accept them and seek to rise above them for the right reasons.”

      “The right reasons?” Larten echoed.

      “Come back and face Staffen Irve again,” Seba said. “Ignore the jeers of those who mocked you. Wounded as you are, weaker and slower than Staffen, you should still challenge him and be defeated again, so that you can learn and grow.”

      Larten thought about that, then hobbled to his feet. “How long do you think it will take?” he asked. “How many losses must I endure before I can be a great warrior like Perta Vin-Grahl?”

      Seba sighed — his assistant hadn’t understood. This wasn’t about overcoming one’s limits, but acknowledging and living with them. He thought about trying again, but he felt either he lacked the right words, or else Larten was not yet ready to hear. Perhaps the young vampire had to learn his lessons the hard way, as Perta Vin-Grahl had.

      “More losses than your ego can bear, less than your body can endure,” Seba answered. As Larten puzzled over that, the elderly vampire clapped his assistant’s back and offered his arm for support. With Larten leaning on his master, the wolves trailing close behind, the pair commenced the long climb back to the Halls of Vampire Mountain.

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