Hunters of the Dusk (15 page)

I snorted. “That makes it OK?” I said.

“To the vampaneze, yes,” Vancha said.

“How can you —” I started to explode.

Mr. Crepsley stopped me with a soft wave of his hand. “This is not the time for a moral debate. Let Vancha talk.”

“There’s not a whole lot more to tell,” Vancha said. “Gannen and I were blooded as half-vampaneze. We served together for a few years as assistants. I couldn’t accustom myself to the killing. So I quit.”

“As simply as that?” Mr. Crepsley asked skeptically.

“No,” Vancha said. “The vampaneze normally don’t permit assistants to live if they choose to part company with the clan. No vampaneze will kill one of his own, but that law doesn’t apply to a half-vampaneze. My master should have killed me when I said I wanted out.

“Gannen saved me. He pleaded for my life. When that failed, he said our master would have to kill him also. In the end my life was spared, but I was warned to avoid all vampaneze in the future, including Gannen, whom I never saw again until tonight.

“For several years I lived miserably. I tried feeding as vampires do, not killing those I fed upon, but vampaneze blood exerts a powerful hold. I’d lose control when I fed, and kill in spite of myself. In the end I made up my mind not to feed at all, and die. It was then that I met Paris Skyle, who took me under his wing.”

“Paris blooded you?” Mr. Crepsley asked.

“Yes.”

“Even though he knew what you were?”

Vancha nodded.

“But how can you blood someone as a vampire if he’s already been blooded as a vampaneze?” I asked.

“It is possible for those who are not fully blooded,” Mr. Crepsley said. “A half-vampire can become a vampaneze, and vice versa, but it is dangerous and rarely attempted. I know of only three other cases — and twice it ended in death, for both the blooder and the blooded.”

“Paris knew the risks,” Vancha said, “but didn’t tell me about them until afterward. I wouldn’t have gone through with it if I’d known his life was in danger.”

“What did he have to do?” Harkat asked.

“Take my blood and give me his, the same as any ordinary blooding,” Vancha said. “The only difference was, half my blood was vampaneze, which is poisonous to vampires. Paris took my tainted blood, and his body’s natural defenses broke it down and rendered it harmless. But it could have easily killed him, just as his blood could have killed me. But the luck of the vampires was with us — we both survived, though our agonies were great.

“With my vampaneze blood transformed by Paris’s blood, I was able to control my feeding urges. I studied under Paris and in time trained to be a General. My vampaneze links were revealed to no one except the other Princes.”

“They approved of your blooding?” Mr. Crepsley asked.

“After I’d proven myself many times — yes. They worried about Gannen — they were afraid my loyalties would be divided if I met him again, as they have been tonight — but they accepted me and vowed to keep my true history a secret.”

“Why wasn’t
I
told about you?” I asked.

“Had I come to Vampire Mountain while you were there, you would have been told. But it’s impolite to speak of one when he’s absent.”

“This is damned frustrating,” Mr. Crepsley grumbled. “I understand why you did not speak of it before, but if we had known,
I
could have gone after your brother and left you to take care of that giant in the trees.”

“How was I to know?” Vancha smiled weakly. “I didn’t see his face until I was moving in for the kill. He was the last person I expected to run into.”

Behind us, Evanna emerged from between the trees. Her hands were red with the blood of dead vampaneze. She was carrying something. As she got closer, I realized it was my missing thumb. “Found this,” she said, tossing it to me. “Thought you might like it back.”

I caught the thumb, then looked down at the stump where it had been cut off. I hadn’t been aware of the pain while listening to Vancha talk, but now the throbbing intensified. “Can we stitch it back on?” I said, wincing.

“Possibly,” Mr. Crepsley said, examining the stump and thumb. “Lady Evanna — you have the power to connect it immediately and effortlessly, do you not?”

“I do,” Evanna agreed, “but I won’t. Snoops don’t deserve special favors.” She wagged a finger at me. “You should have been a spy, Darren.” It was hard to tell whether she was annoyed or amused.

Vancha had string and a needle made from fish bone, and while Mr. Crepsley held my thumb in place, the Prince stitched it back on, even though his thoughts were elsewhere. It hurt tremendously, but I just had to look away and grit my teeth. The stitching completed, the vampires rubbed their spit around the wound, to quicken the healing process, strapped the thumb tight to my fingers so that the bones could fuse, then let me be.

“This is the best we can do,” Mr. Crepsley said. “If it gets infected, we will chop it off again and you will have to make do without.”

“That’s right,” I growled. “Look on the bright side.” “It’s my head you should be chopping off,” Vancha said bitterly. “I should have put duty before kinship. I don’t deserve to live.”

“Nonsense!” Mr. Crepsley huffed. “Any man who would strike a brother is no man at all. You did what any of us would have done. It is unfortunate that you ran into him now, but we have not been harmed by your slip, and I think —”

He stopped at a sudden burst of laughter from Evanna. The witch was giggling wildly, as if he’d cracked a great joke.

“Did I say something funny?” Mr. Crepsley asked, bemused.

“Oh, Larten, if only you knew!” she squealed.

He raised an eyebrow at Vancha, Harkat, and me. “What is she laughing at?”

None of us knew.

“Never mind why she’s laughing,” Vancha said, stepping forward to confront the witch. “
I
want to know what she was doing here in the first place, and why she was consorting with the enemy while pretending to be our ally.”

Evanna stopped laughing and faced Vancha. She grew magically, until she was towering over him like a coiled cobra, but the Prince didn’t flinch. Gradually the menace drained out of her and she resorted to her standard shape. “I never claimed to be your ally, Vancha,” she said. “I traveled with you, and broke bread with you — but I never said I was on your side.”

“Does that mean you’re on
theirs?
” he snarled.

“I take nobody’s side,” she replied coolly. “The divide between vampires and vampaneze is of no interest to me. I look upon you as silly, warring boys, who will one night come to their senses and stop spitting angrily at one another.”

“An interesting view,” Mr. Crepsley remarked ironically.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “If you aren’t on their side, what were you doing with them?”

“Conversing,” she said. “Taking their measure, as I did with you. I’ve sat with the hunters and studied them. Now I’ve done likewise with the hunted. Whichever way the War of the Scars goes, I’ll have to deal with the victors. It’s good to know in advance the quality of those to whom your future is tied.”

“Can anyone make sense of this?” Vancha asked. Evanna grinned, delighted by our confusion. “Do you fine, fighting gentlemen read mystery novels?” she asked. We stared at her blankly. “If you did, you’d have guessed by now what’s going on.”

“Have you ever hit a woman?” Vancha asked Mr. Crepsley.

“No,” he said.

“
I
have,” Vancha grumbled.

“Temper,” the witch giggled, then grew serious. “If you have something that is precious, and others are looking for it, where is the best place to hide it?”

“If this rubbish continues . . .” Vancha warned. “It’s not rubbish,” Evanna said. “Even humans know the answer to this one.”

We thought about it in silence. Then I raised a hand, as though in school, and said, “Out in the open, in front of everyone?”

“Exactly,” Evanna said, applauding. “People searching — or hunting — rarely find what they seek if it’s placed directly before them. It’s common to overlook that which is most obvious.”

“What does any of this have to do with —” Mr. Crepsley began.

“The man in the robes . . . was no servant,” Harkat interrupted grimly. Our heads turned questioningly. “That’s what we overlooked . . . wasn’t it?”

“Precisely,” the witch said, and now there was a touch of sympathy to her tone. “By dressing and treating him as a servant — as they have since they took to the road — the vampaneze knew he’d be the last target anyone would focus on in the event of an attack.” Holding up four fingers, Evanna slowly bent the index one over, and said, “Your brother didn’t run because he was afraid, Vancha. He fled to save the life of the man he was protecting — the fake servant — the
Lord of the Vampaneze!
”

CHAPTER TWENTY

U
NDER ORDERS FROM
E
VANNA
— she threatened to blind and deafen us if we disobeyed — we buried the dead vampaneze and vampet in the copse, digging deep graves and placing them on their backs, facing toward the sky and Paradise, before covering them over.

Vancha was inconsolable. On our return to the Cirque Du Freak, he demanded a bottle of brandy, then locked himself away in a small trailer and refused to answer our calls. He blamed himself for the escape of the Vampaneze Lord. If he’d tackled his brother, the Vampaneze Lord would have been at our mercy. It was the first of our four promised chances to kill him, and it was hard to imagine a simpler opportunity falling into our laps.

Mr. Tall already knew what had happened. He’d been expecting the confrontation and told us that the vampaneze had been trailing the Cirque Du Freak for more than a month.

“They knew we were coming?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “They were following us for other reasons.”

“But
you
knew we were coming . . . didn’t you?” Harkat challenged him.

Mr. Tall nodded sadly. “I’d have warned you, but the consequences would have been dire. Those with insight into the future are forbidden to influence it. Only Desmond Tiny can meddle directly in the affairs of time.”

“Do you know where they’ve gone,” Mr. Crepsley asked, “or when we are due to clash with them again?”

“No,” Mr. Tall said. “I could find out, but I read the future as little as possible. What I
can
tell you is that Gannen Harst is prime protector of the Lord of the Vampaneze. The six you killed were normal guards who can be replaced. Harst is the key guardian. Where the Lord goes, he goes too. Had he been killed, the odds of future success would have weighed heavily on your side.”

“If only I had gone after Harst instead of Vancha,” Mr. Crepsley sighed.

Evanna, who’d said nothing since we returned, shook her head. “Don’t waste time regretting lost chances,” she said. “You weren’t destined to face Gannen Harst at this stage of the hunt. Vancha was. It was fate.”

“Let’s be positive,” I said. “We now know who the Vampaneze Lord is traveling with. We can spread Gannen Harst’s description and tell our people to look out for him. And they won’t be able to pull that servant disguise again — next time we’ll be ready and know who to look for.”

“This is true,” Mr. Crepsley agreed. “Plus we have suffered no losses. We are as strong as we were at the start of our quest, we are wiser, and we still have three chances to kill him.”

“Then why do we feel . . . so terrible?” Harkat asked glumly.

“Failure is always a bitter pill to swallow,” Mr. Crepsley said.

We tended our wounds after that. Harkat’s arm was badly cut but no bones were broken. We set it in a sling, and Mr. Crepsley said it would be fine in a couple of nights. My right thumb was turning an ugly color, but Mr. Tall said it wasn’t infected and would be OK if I rested it.

We were preparing for sleep when we heard angry bellows. Hurrying through the camp — Mr. Crepsley with a heavy cloak tossed over his head to protect him from the morning sun — we found Vancha on the outskirts, tearing off his clothes, an empty bottle of brandy on the ground beside him, screaming at the sun. “Roast me!” he challenged it. “I don’t care! Do your worst! See if I give a —”

“Vancha!” Mr. Crepsley snapped. “What are you doing?”

Vancha whirled, snatched up the bottle, and pointed it at Mr. Crepsley as though it was a knife. “Stay away!” he hissed. “I’ll kill you if you try to stop me!”

Mr. Crepsley came to a halt. He knew better than to mess with a drunken vampire, especially one with Vancha’s powers. “This is stupid, sire,” he said. “Come inside. We will find another bottle of brandy and help you drink —”

“— to the health of the Vampaneze Lord!” Vancha shrieked crazily.

“Sire, this is madness,” Mr. Crepsley said.

“Aye,” Vancha agreed in a sadder, sober tone. “But this is a mad world, Larten. Because I spared the life of my brother — who once saved mine — our greatest enemy has escaped and our people face defeat. What sort of a world is it where evil is born of an act of goodness?”

Mr. Crepsley had no answer for that.

“Dying will not help, Vancha,” Harkat said. “
I
should know.”

“It won’t help,” Vancha agreed, “but it will punish, and I deserve to be punished. How can I face my fellow Princes and Generals after this? My chance to kill the Lord of the Vampaneze has passed. Better I pass with it than linger and shame us all.”

“So you plan on staying out here and letting the sun kill you?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Aye,” he said.

“You’re a coward,” I said, sneering.

His expression hardened. “Take heed, Darren Shan — I’m in the mood to crack a few skulls before I die!”

“And a fool,” I pressed on, regardless. I stormed past Mr. Crepsley and pointed accusingly at Vancha with my good left hand. “Who gave you the right to quit? What makes you think you can abandon the quest and damn us all?”

“What are you talking about?” he stammered, confused. “I’m no longer part of the quest. It’s up to you and Larten now.”

“Is it?” Turning, I searched for Evanna and Mr. Tall. I found them together, behind the crowd of circus performers and assistants that had been attracted by the howls of the Prince. “Lady Evanna. Mr. Tall. Answer if you may — does Vancha still have a part to play in the hunt for the Vampaneze Lord?”