Hunters of the Dusk (3 page)

“We can deal with humans,” a General snarled, and there were shouts of agreement.

“Normally,” Mika agreed. “But we must be wary of these vampets. While they lack the powers of the vampaneze, they’re learning to fight like them. Also, since they aren’t blooded, they don’t have to abide by the more restrictive vampaneze laws. They aren’t honor-bound to tell the truth, they don’t have to follow ancient customs — and they don’t have to limit themselves to hand-to-hand weapons.”

Angry mutters swept through the Hall.

“The vampaneze are using
guns?
” Paris asked, shocked. The vampaneze were even stricter than vampires where weapons were involved. We could use boomerangs and spears, but most vampaneze wouldn’t touch them.

“The vampets aren’t vampaneze,” Mika said with a grunt. “There’s no reason why a non-blooded vampet shouldn’t use a gun. I don’t think all their masters approve, but under orders from their Lord, they allow it.

“But the vampets are a problem for another night,” Mika continued. “I only mention them now because it’s relevant to how I found out about their Lord. A vampaneze would die screaming before betraying his clan, but the vampets aren’t so hardened. I captured one a few months ago and squeezed some interesting details out of him. First — the Vampaneze Lord doesn’t have a base. He’s traveling the world with a small band of guards, moving among the various fighting units, keeping up morale.”

The Generals received the news with great excitement — if the Vampaneze Lord was mobile and lightly protected, he was more vulnerable to attack.

“Did this
vampet
know where the Vampaneze Lord was?” Mr. Crepsley asked.

“No,” Mika said. “He’d seen him, but that had been more than a year ago. Only those who accompany him know of his travel patterns.”

“What else did he tell you?” Paris inquired. “That their Lord still hasn’t been blooded. And that despite his efforts, morale is low. Vampaneze losses are high, and many don’t believe they can win the war. There has been talk of a peace treaty — even outright surrender.”

Loud cheering broke out. Some Generals were so elated by Mika’s words that a group swept forward, picked him up, and carried him from the Hall. They could be heard singing and shouting as they headed for the crates of ale and wine stored below. The other, more sober Generals looked to Paris for guidance.

“Go on,” the elderly Prince smiled. “It would be impolite to let Mika and his overeager companions drink alone.”

The remaining Generals applauded the announcement and hurried away, leaving only a few Hall attendants, myself, Mr. Crepsley, and Paris behind.

“This is foolish,” Mr. Crepsley grumbled. “If the vampaneze are truly considering surrender, we should push hard after them, not waste time —”

“Larten,” Paris interrupted. “Follow the others, find the largest barrel of ale you can, and get good and steaming drunk.”

Mr. Crepsley stared at the Prince, his mouth wide open. “Paris!” he gasped.

“You have been caged in here too long,” Paris said. “Go and unwind, and do not return without a hangover.”

“But —” Mr. Crepsley began.

“That is an order, Larten,” Paris growled.

Mr. Crepsley looked as though he’d swallowed a live eel, but he was never one to disobey an order from a superior, so he clicked his heels together, muttered, “Aye, sire,” and stormed off to the storerooms in a huff.

“I’ve never seen Mr. Crepsley with a hangover,” I said, laughing. “What’s he like?”

“Like a . . . what do the humans say? A gorilla with a sore head?” Paris coughed into a fist — he’d been coughing a lot lately — then smiled. “But it will do him good. Larten takes life too seriously sometimes.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Do you want to go?” Paris pulled a sour face. “A mug of ale would prove the end of me. I shall take advantage of the break by lying in my coffin at the back of the Hall and getting a full day’s sleep.”

“Are you sure? I can stay if you want.”

“No. Go and enjoy yourself. I will be fine.”

“OK.” I hopped off my throne and made for the door.

“Darren,” Paris said, calling me back. “An excessive amount of alcohol is as bad for the young as for the old. If you are wise, you will drink in moderation.”

“Remember what you told me about wisdom a few years ago, Paris?” I replied.

“What?”

“You said the only way to get wise was to get experienced.” Winking, I rushed out of the Hall and was soon sharing a barrel of ale with a grumpy, orange-haired vampire. Mr. Crepsley gradually cheered up as the night progressed, and was singing loudly by the time he reeled back to his coffin late the following morning.

CHAPTER FIVE

I
COULDN’T UNDERSTAND WHY
there were two moons in the sky when I awoke, or why they were green. Groaning, I rubbed the back of a hand over my eyes, then looked again. I realized I was lying on the floor, staring up at the green eyes of a chuckling Harkat Mulds. “Have fun last night?” he asked.

“I’ve been poisoned,” I moaned, rolling over onto my stomach, feeling as though I was on the deck of a ship during a fierce storm.

“You won’t be wanting boar guts and . . . bat broth then?”

“Don’t!” I winced, weak at the very thought of food.

“You and the others must have drained . . . half the mountain’s supply of ale last night,” Harkat remarked, helping me to my feet.

“Is there an earthquake?” I asked as he let go of me. “No,” he said, puzzled.

“Then why’s the floor shaking?”

He laughed and steered me to my hammock. I’d been sleeping inside the door of our cell. I had vague memories of falling off the hammock every time I tried to get on. “I’ll just sit on the floor a while,” I said.

“As you wish.” Harkat chortled. “Would you like some ale?”

“Go away or I’ll hit you,” I growled.

“Is ale no longer to your liking?”

“No!”

“That’s funny. You were singing about how much you . . . loved it earlier. ‘Ale, ale, I drink like a whale, I am the . . . Prince, the Prince of ale.’”

“I could have you tortured,” I warned him. “Never mind,” Harkat said. “The whole clan went crazy . . . last night. It takes a lot to get a vampire drunk, but . . . most managed. I’ve seen some wandering the tunnels, looking like —”

“Please,” I begged, “don’t describe them.” Harkat laughed again, pulled me to my feet, and led me out of the cell into the maze of tunnels. “Where are we going?” I asked.

“The Hall of Perta Vin Grahl. I asked Seba about cures . . . for hangovers — I had a feeling you’d have one — and he said . . . a shower usually did the trick.”

“No!” I moaned. “Not the showers! Have mercy!” Harkat took no notice of my pleas, and soon he was shoving me under the icy cold waters of the internal waterfalls in the Hall of Perta Vin Grahl. I thought my head was going to explode when the water first struck, but after a few minutes the worst of my headache had passed and my stomach had settled. By the time I was toweling myself dry, I felt a hundred times better.

We passed a green-faced Mr. Crepsley on our way back to our cell. I bid him a good evening, but he only snarled in reply.

“I’ll never understand the appeal of . . . alcohol,” Harkat said as I was dressing.

“Haven’t you ever gotten drunk?” I replied. “Perhaps in my past life, but not since . . . becoming a Little Person. I don’t have taste buds, and alcohol doesn’t . . . affect me.”

“Lucky you,” I muttered sourly.

Once I’d dressed, we strolled up to the Hall of Princes to see if Paris needed me, but it was largely deserted and Paris was still in his coffin.

“Let’s go on a tour of the tunnels . . . beneath the Halls,” Harkat suggested. We’d done a lot of exploring when we first came to the mountain, but it had been two or three years since we’d last gone off on an adventure.

“Don’t you have work to do?” I asked.

“Yes, but . . .” He frowned. It took a while to get used to Harkat’s expressions — it was hard to know whether someone without eyelids and a nose was frowning or grinning — but I’d learned to read them. “It will hold. I feel strange. I need to be on the move.”

“OK,” I said. “Let’s go walk around.”

We started in the Hall of Corza Jarn, where trainee Generals were taught how to fight. I’d spent many hours here, mastering the use of swords, knives, axes, and spears. Most of the weapons were designed for adults, and were too large for me to master, but I’d picked up the basics.

The highest-ranking tutor was a blind vampire called Vanez Blane. He’d been my Trials Master during both my Trials of Initiation. He’d lost his left eye in a fight with a lion many decades before, and lost the second six years ago in a fight with the vampaneze.

Vanez was wrestling with three young Generals. Though he was blind, he’d lost none of his sharpness, and the trio quickly ended up flat on their backs at the hands of the ginger-haired games master. “You’ll have to learn to do better than that,” he told them. Then, with his back to us, he said, “Hello, Darren. Greetings, Harkat Mulds.”

“Hi, Vanez,” we replied, not surprised that he knew who we were — vampires have very keen senses of smell and hearing.

“I heard you singing last night, Darren,” Vanez said, leaving his three students to recover and regroup.

“No!” I gasped, crestfallen. I’d thought Harkat was joking about that.

“Very enlightening,” Vanez said with a smile.

“I didn’t!” I groaned. “Tell me I didn’t!”

Vanez’s smile spread. “I shouldn’t worry. Plenty of others made asses of themselves, too.”

“Ale should be banned,” I growled.

“Nothing wrong with ale,” Vanez disagreed. “It’s the ale-
drinkers
who need to be controlled.”

We told Vanez we were going on a tour of the lower tunnels and asked if he’d like to come. “Not much point,” he said. “I can’t see anything. Besides . . .” Lowering his voice, he told us the three Generals he was training were due to be sent into action soon. “Between ourselves, they’re as poor a trio as I’ve ever passed.” He sighed. Many vampires were being rushed into the field, to replace casualties in the War of the Scars. It was a point of disagreement among the clan — it usually took a minimum of twenty years to be declared a General of good standing — but Paris said that desperate times called for desperate measures.

Leaving Vanez, we made for the storerooms to see Mr. Crepsley’s old mentor, Seba Nile. At seven hundred, Seba was the second-oldest vampire. He dressed in red like Mr. Crepsley and spoke in the same precise way. He was wrinkled and shrunken with age, and limped badly — like Harkat — from a wound to his left leg gained in the same fight that had claimed Vanez’s eye.

Seba was delighted to see us. When he heard we were going exploring, he insisted on coming with us. “There is something I wish to show you,” he said.

As we left the Halls and entered the vast warren of lower connecting tunnels, I scratched my bald head with my fingernails.

“Ticks?” Seba asked.

“No,” I said. “My head’s been itching like mad lately. My arms and legs too, and my armpits. I think I have an allergy.”

“Allergies are rare among vampires,” Seba said. “Let me examine you.” Luminous lichen grew along many of the walls and he was able to study me by the light of a thick patch. “Hmmm.” He smiled briefly, then released me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You are coming of age, Master Shan.”

“What does that have to do with itching?”

“You will find out,” he said mysteriously.

Seba kept stopping at webs to check on spiders. The old quartermaster was strangely fond of the eight-legged predators. He didn’t keep them as pets, but he spent a lot of time studying their habits. He was able to communicate with them using his thoughts. Mr. Crepsley could too, and so could I.

“Ah!” he said eventually, stopping at a large cobweb. “Here we are.” Putting his lips together, he whistled softly, and moments later a big grey spider with strange green spots scuttled down the cobweb and onto Seba’s upturned hand.

“Where did that come from?” I asked, stepping forward for a closer look. It was larger than the normal mountain spiders, and different in color.

“Do you like it?” Seba asked. “I call them Ba’Shan’s spiders. I hope you do not object — the name seemed appropriate.”

“Ba’Shan’s spiders?” I repeated. “Why would —” I stopped. Fourteen years ago, I’d stolen a poisonous spider from Mr. Crepsley — Madam Octa. Eight years later, I’d released her — on Seba’s advice — to make a new home with the mountain spiders. Seba said she wouldn’t be able to mate with the others. I hadn’t seen her since I set her free, and had almost forgotten about her. But now the memory snapped into place, and I knew where this new spider had come from.

“It’s one of Madam Octa’s, isn’t it?” I groaned. “Yes,” Seba said. “She mated with Ba’Halen’s spiders. I noticed this new strain three years ago, although it is only this last year that they have multiplied. They are taking over. I think they will become the dominant mountain spider, perhaps within ten or fifteen years.”

“Seba!” I snapped. “I only released Madam Octa because you told me she couldn’t have offspring. Are they poisonous?”

The quartermaster shrugged. “Yes, but not as deadly as their mother. If four or five attacked together, they could kill, but not one by itself.”

“What if they go on a rampage?” I yelled.

“They will not,” Seba said stiffly.

“How do you know?”

“I have asked them not to. They are incredibly intelligent, like Madame Octa. They have almost the same mental abilities as rats. I am thinking of training them.”

“To do
what?
” I said, laughing.

“Fight,” he said darkly. “Imagine if we could send armies of trained spiders out into the world, with orders to find vampaneze and kill them.”

I turned appealingly to Harkat. “Tell him he’s crazy. Make him see sense.”

Harkat smiled. “It sounds like a good idea . . . to me,” he said.

“Ridiculous!” I snorted. “I’ll tell Mika. He hates spiders. He’ll send troops down here to stamp them out.”

“Please do not,” Seba said quietly. “Even if they cannot be trained, I enjoy watching them develop. Please do not rid me of one of my few remaining pleasures.”