The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4. Darren Shan
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Название: The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4

Автор: Darren Shan

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Детская проза

Серия:

isbn: 9780008126018

isbn:

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      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      “Do it again.”

      Larten scowled and picked himself up off the forest floor. Flicking twigs and moss from his hair and clothes, he climbed the tall tree and edged out along a branch the width of his wrist. When he got as far as he could standing up, he bent, gripped the branch with his hands and kicked his feet into the air. It took him a few seconds to find his balance. Once he was steady, he walked out further on his hands.

      “Stop,” Seba said as the branch creaked and bowed from the weight. He was sitting higher up in the tree, chewing a bone. Wester was at the end of another branch, balanced on his hands like Larten.

      Larten stared at the ground, feeling sweat trickle along his neck. Seba watched for a while, still chewing. Then, without warning, he tossed the bone in Larten’s direction, but a couple of feet beyond the branch on which the young vampire was precariously perched.

      “Catch it!” Seba barked.

      Larten’s left hand shot out and his fingers clutched for the bone. He almost made contact, but as had happened sixteen times already, his right hand shook wildly, he lost his balance and fell with a startled cry, hitting the earth not long after the bone.

      Seba tutted, then said, “Do it again.”

      As Larten muttered angrily and climbed back up the tree, Seba dug another bone out of the bag in his lap, then threw it at Wester. His other assistant enjoyed no more success than Larten had and was soon picking himself up from the floor and wincing.

      “This is ridiculous,” Larten grumbled, staring at the branch with something close to hatred. “It is an impossible task.”

      “Not at all,” Seba said. “Every vampire learns to do this. It is a basic test.”

      Larten squinted suspiciously at his master. There had been a lot of basic tests in recent years, ever since their visit to Vampire Mountain. Larten and Wester had failed most of them. He was starting to think that Seba was playing with them, setting goals that they couldn’t possibly achieve. But why would he humiliate them in such a fashion? Maybe the tests were genuine and his assistants simply weren’t up to the standards required of trainee Generals.

      “I almost caught it that time,” Wester said, joining them in the branches.

      “No,” Larten grunted. “You were nowhere close.”

      “Thanks for the confidence boost,” Wester pouted.

      “Are you sure this is necessary?” Larten asked Seba.

      The elderly vampire shrugged. “The Generals are very demanding. They will test you in many ways. You must be flexible and experienced in a variety of skills. If you cannot do this, there is no point going any further with your lessons.”

      Larten sighed, shared a resigned look with Wester, then edged out along the branch for the eighteenth time.

      Seba chewed a bone and watched neutrally. He waited until Larten was in position, then lobbed the bone at him, closed his eyes and waited for the thud. When it came, his lips twitched and he almost smiled. But when he opened his eyes again, there was no hint of a grin on his carefully composed face.

      “Do it again.”

      Larten was in a foul mood when they made camp for the day. It had been a long, tiring night, but there was to be no rest for him.

      “I would like a loaf of bread when I wake,” Seba said as he yawned and made himself comfortable. “Will you fetch one for me, Larten?”

      “We are miles from the nearest village,” Larten noted.

      “I know,” Seba said.

      “I will not be able to catch much sleep by the time I travel there and back.”

      “You are young,” Seba said. “You do not need a lot of sleep.”

      Wester wanted to volunteer to go instead, but Seba would be furious if he said anything. Assistants were never supposed to contradict their master.

      “Do you want any particular type of bread?” Larten growled.

      “Of course not,” Seba said, settling back and closing his eyes. “You know that I am not particular.”

      “How about you?” Larten snapped at Wester.

      “I’m fine,” Wester said quickly.

      Larten set off through the forest, grumbling and kicking any tree stump that got in his way. The last few years had been a frustrating drag. Endless tests, most of which he’d failed. No contact with other vampires. No adventures. Not much travel, and when they did go to a new country, Seba wouldn’t let them explore. “I have already seen that,” he would say whenever they asked to go sightseeing. “It is not worth the trek.”

      Wester was bored and irritable too, but he still had faith in their master. He believed Seba was doing this for a reason, that every vampire had to endure such treatment on their way to becoming a General.

      Larten wasn’t convinced. He thought maybe age had caught up with Seba, that his thoughts had become muddled. Maybe these weren’t real tests at all, just ways to make his assistants look foolish. Nothing they did in recent times satisfied the grouchy old vampire. He found flaws in everything. Larten couldn’t believe that other masters were this critical of their students.

      He took his time walking to the village. He kept to the gloom of the forest as best he could, avoiding the rays of the sun, which were painful for him now. But sometimes he had to pass through a clearing. When he did, he raised his cloak – a tattered grey thing he’d picked up during his travels – over his head and jogged, muttering darkly once he was safely back among the shadows.

      When Larten returned with the loaf – still warm, tucked away in the folds of his cloak – Seba stirred and called to him. “Is that you, Larten?”

      “Aye.”

      “What took you so long?”

      Larten bit down on his tongue to stop himself cursing. “You said you were going to eat later. I did not think there was any rush.”

      “I am too hungry to wait.” Seba beckoned impatiently for the bread. Larten resisted an urge to toss the loaf at his master’s head, and instead unwrapped it and handed it across. Seba’s eyebrows creased. “I wanted brown bread.”

      Larten trembled. “You said you didn’t mind,” he snarled through gritted teeth.

      “Did I?”

      “Aye.”

      “Oh.” Seba blinked innocently. “My apologies. I meant to ask for brown.”

      He held the loaf out to Larten and nodded in the direction of the village. Larten stared at the bread, wondering if it was possible to batter a person to death with it. Then he turned abruptly and headed back the way he’d come. He passed close by Wester, but his friend kept his head down, buried beneath a blanket, afraid Larten would vent his anger on him if he caught his eye.

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