Krov scowled. He sat down on a small oak chair in the corner, and slipped a small brown book out of a large pocket in his thick fur coat. It was The Art of War, by Sun Tzu. It was given to him by a fellow soldier back in the war. He opened the book to a random page, and began to silently read.

"2
When you engage in actual fighting, if victory is long in coming, then men's weapons will grow dull and their ardor will be damped. If you lay siege to a town, you will exhaust your strength. 
3
Again, if the campaign is protracted, the resources of the State will not be equal to the strain. 
4
Now, when your weapons are dulled, your ardor damped, your strength exhausted and your treasure spent, other chieftains will spring up to take advantage of your extremity. Then no man, however wise, will be able to avert the consequences that must ensue."

Krov, when he was reading, thought about what the other vampire had said. Black swords could easily get in here. What if they wanted revenge? What if they were the friends of the one who he had turned to a vampire, or killed. What if they were coming, to kill the one they called "The Tsar". Krov felt a little proud of himself, to gain a reputation among the black swords as a dangerous vampire with a nickname gave him some respect, he hoped. But this older vampire didn't seem to notice. 

Krov had not escaped unharmed from the one he killed, however. The man had dropped some holy water and it had splashed against an exposed spot on his ankle. He pulled his sock down slightly, revealing a small red patch, with some of the skin hanging off. He had never told anyone about this wound, not even his closest friends in the uprising knew about the little red patch on his ankle.

He had been around the block, Krov, much more than the average lesser vampire.