Shortly after midday when the sun would be most harmful to a vampire the humans moved in for the kill. There were three of them, spread out in a semicircle. At first I could only hear the rustling of leaves as they approached, and the occasional snap of a twig. But as they closed upon us, I became aware of their heavy breathing, the creak of their tense bones, the pacy, panicked pounding of their hearts.
They came to a standstill ten or twelve metres away, tucked behind trees, preparing themselves to attack. There was a long, nervous pause then the sound of a gun being slowly cocked.
"Now!" Mr Crepsley roared, springing to his feet, launching himself at the human nearest him.
While Mr Crepsley closed in on his assailant at incredible speed, Harkat and me targeted the others. The one I'd set my sights on cursed loudly, stepped out from behind his tree, brought his rifle up and got a snap shot off. A bulletwhizzed past, missing me by several centimetres. Before he could fire again, I was upon him.
I wrenched the rifle from the human's hands and tossed it away. A gun went off behind me, but there was no time to check on my friends. The man in front of me had already drawn a long hunting knife, so I quickly slid my sword out.
The man's eyes widened when he saw the sword he'd painted the area around his eyes with red circles of what looked like blood then narrowed. "You're just a kid," he snarled, slashing at me with his knife.
"No," I disagreed, stepping out of range of his knife, jabbing at him with my sword. "I'm much more."
As the human slashed at me again, I brought my sword up and out in a smooth arcing slice, through the flesh, muscles and bones of his right hand, severing three of his fingers, disarming him in an instant.
The human cried out in agony and fell away from me. I took advantage of the moment to see how Mr Crepsley and Harkat were faring. Mr Crepsley had already despatched his human, and was striding towards Harkat, who was wrestling with his opponent. Harkat appeared to have the advantage of his foe, but Mr Crepsley was moving into place to back him up should the battle take a turn for the worse.
Satisfied that all was going in our favour, I switched my attention back to the man on the ground, psyching myself up for the unpleasant task of making an end of him. To my surprise, I found him grinning horribly at me.
"You should have taken my other hand too!" he growled.
My eyes fixed on the man's left hand and my breath caught in my throat he was clutching a hand grenade close to his chest!
"Don't move!" he shouted as I lurched towards him. He half-pressed down on the detonator with his thumb. "If this goes off, it takes you with me!"
"Easy," I sighed, backing off slightly, gazing fearfully at the primed grenade.
"I'll take it easy in hell," he chuckled sadistically. He'd shaved his head bald and there was a dark 'V' tattooed into either side of his skull, just above his ears. "Now, tell your foul vampire partner and that grey-skinned monster to let my companion go, or I'll"
There was a sharp whistling sound from the trees to my left. Something struck the grenade and sent it flying from the humans hand. He yelled and grabbed for another grenade (he had a string of them strapped around his chest). There was a second whistling sound and a glinting, multi-pointed object buried itself in the middle of the man's head.
The man slumped backwards with a grunt, shook crazily, then lay still. I stared at him, bewildered, automatically bending closer for a clearer look. The object in his head was a gold throwing star. Neither Mr Crepsley nor Harkat carried such a weapon so who'd thrown it?
In answer to my unvoiced question, someone jumped from a nearby tree and strode towards me. "Only ever turn your back on a corpse!" the stranger snapped as I whirled towards him. "Didn't Vanez Blane teach you that?"
"I forgot," I wheezed, too taken aback to say anything else. The vampire he had to be one of us was a burly man of medium height, with reddish skin and dyed green hair, dressed in purple animal hides which had been stitched together crudely. He had huge eyes almost as large as Harkat's and a surprisingly small mouth. Unlike Mr Crepsley, his eyes were uncovered, though he was squinting painfully in the sunlight. He wore no shoes and carried no weapons other than dozens of throwing stars strapped to several belts looped around his torso.
"I'll have my shuriken back, thank you," the vampire said to the dead human, prying the throwing star loose, wiping it clean of blood, and reattaching it to one of the belts. He turned the man's head left and right, taking in the shaved skull, tattoos and red circles around the eyes. "A vamped" he snorted. "I've clashed with them before. Miserable curs." He spat on the dead man, then used his bare foot to roll him over, so he was lying face down.
When the vampire turned to address me, I knew who he was I'd heard him described many times and greeted him with the respect he deserved. "Vancha March," I said, bowing my head. "It's an honour to meet you, Sire."
"Likewise," he replied blithely.
Vancha March was the Vampire Prince I'd never met, the wildest and most traditional of all the Princes.
"Vancha!" Mr Crepsley boomed, tearing the cloth away from around his eyes, crossing the space between us and clasping the Prince's shoulders. "What are you doing here, Sire? I thought you were further north."
"I was," Vancha sniffed, freeing his hands and wiping the knuckles of his left hand across his nose, then flicking something green and slimy away. "But there was nothing happening, so I cut south. I'm heading for Lady Evanna's."
"We are too," I said.
"I figured as much. I've been trailing you for the last couple of nights."
"You should have introduced yourself sooner, Sire," Mr Crepsley said.
"This is the first time I've seen the new Prince," Vancha replied. "I wanted to observe him from afar for a while." He studied me sternly. "On the basis of this fight, I have to say I'm not overly impressed!"
"I erred, Sire," I said stiffly. "I was worried about my friends and I made the mistake of pausing when I should have pushed ahead. I accept full responsibility, and I apologize most humbly."
"At least he knows how to make a good apology," Vancha laughed, clapping me on the back.
Vancha March was covered in grime and dirt and smelt like a wolf. It was his standard appearance. Vancha was a true being of the wilds. Even among vampires, he was considered an extremist. He only wore clothes that he'd made himself from wild animal skins, and he never ate cooked meat or drank anything other than fresh water, milk and blood.
As Harkat limped towards us having finished off his attacker Vancha sat and crossed his legs. Lifting his left foot, he lowered his head to it and started biting the nails!
"So this is the Little Person who talks," Vancha mumbled, eyeing Harkat over the nail of his left big toe. "Harkat Mulds, isn't it?"
"It is, Sire," Harkat replied, lowering his mask.
"I might as well tell you straight up, Mulds I don't trust Desmond Tiny or any of his stumpy disciples."
"And I don't trust vampires who chew their toenails," Harkat threw back at him, then paused and added slyly, "Sire!"
Vancha laughed at that and spat out a chunk of nail. "I think we're going to get along fine, Mulds!"
"Hard trek, Sire?" Mr Crepsley asked, sitting down beside the Prince, covering his eyes with cloth again.
"Not bad," Vancha grunted, uncrossing his legs. He then started in on his right toenails. "Yourselves?"
"The travelling has been good."
"Any news from Vampire Mountain?" Vancha asked.
"Lots," Mr Crepsley said.
"Save it for tonight." Vancha let go of his foot and lay back. He took off his purple cloak and draped it over himself. "Wake me when it's dusk," he yawned, rolled over, fell straight asleep and started to snore.
I stared, goggle-eyed, at the sleeping Prince, then at the nails he'd chewed off and spat out, then at his ragged clothes and dirty green hair, then at Harkat and Mr Crepsley. "He'sa Vampire Prince?" I whispered.
"He is," Mr Crepsley smiled.
"But he looks like " Harkat muttered uncertainly. "He acts like "
"Do not be fooled by appearances," Mr Crepsley said. "Vancha chooses to live roughly, but he is the finest of vampires."
"If you say so," I responded dubiously, and spent most of the day lying on my back, staring up at the cloudy sky, kept awake by the loud snoring of Vancha March.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WE LEFTthe vampets lying where we'd killed them (Vancha said they weren't worthy of burial) and set off at dusk. As we marched, Mr Crepsley told the Prince of Mr Tiny's visit to Vampire Mountain, and what he'd predicted. Vancha said little while Mr Crepsley was talking, and brooded upon his words in silence for a long time after he finished.
"I don't think it takes a genius to surmise that I'm the third hunter," he said in the end.
"I would be most surprised if you were not," Mr Crepsley agreed.
Vancha had been picking between his teeth with the tip of a sharp twig. Now he tossed it aside and spat into the dust of the trail. Vancha was a master spitter his spit was thick, globular and green, and he could hit an ant at twenty paces. "I don't trust that evil meddler, Tiny," he snapped. "I've run into him a couple of times, and I've made a habit of doing the opposite of anything he says."
Mr Crepsley nodded. "Generally speaking, I would agree with you. But these are dangerous times, Sire, and"
"Larten!" the Prince interrupted. "Its 'Vancha', 'March' or 'Hey, ugly!' while we're on the trail. I won't have you kowtowing to me."
"Very well" Mr Crepsley grinned " ugly." He grew serious again. "These are dangerous times, Vancha. The future of our race is at stake. Dare we ignore Mr Tiny's prophecy? If there is hope, we must seize it."
Vancha let out a long, unhappy sigh. "For hundreds of years, Tiny's let us think we were doomed to lose the war when the Vampaneze Lord arose. Why does he tell us now, after all this time, that itisn't cut and dried, but we canonly prevent it if we follow his instructions?" The Prince scratched the back of his neck and spat into the bush to our left. "It sounds like a load of guano to me!"
"Maybe Evanna can shed light on the subject," Mr Crepsley said. "She shares some of Mr Tiny's powers and can sense the paths of the future. She might be able to confirm or dismiss his predictions."
"If so, I'll believe her," Vancha said. "Evanna guards her tongue closely, but when she speaks, she speaks the truth. If she says our destiny lies on the road, I'll gladly pitch in with you. If not " He shrugged and let the matter rest.
Vancha March wasweird and that was putting it mildly! I'd never met anyone like him. He had a code all of his own.
As I already knew, he wouldn't eat cooked meat or drink anything but fresh water, milk and blood, and he made his clothes from the hides of animals he hunted. But I learnt much more about him during the six nights it took us to reach Lady Evanna's.
He followed the old ways of the vampires. Long ago, vampires believed that we were descended from wolves. If we lived good lives and stayed true to our beliefs, we'd become wolves again when we died and roam the wilds of Paradise as spirit creatures of the eternal night. To that end, they lived more like wolves than humans, avoiding civilization except when they had to drink blood, making their own clothes, following the laws of the wild.
Vancha wouldn't sleep in a coffin he said they were too comfortable! He thought a vampire should sleep on open ground, covering himself with no more than his cloak. He respected vampires who used coffins but had a very low opinion of those who slept in beds. I didn't dare tell him about my preference for hammocks!
He had a great interest in dreams, and often ate wild mushrooms which led to vibrant dreams and visions. He believed the future was mapped out in our dreams, and if we learnt to decipher them, we could control our destinies. He was fascinated by Harkat's nightmares and spent many long hours discussing them with the Little Person.
The only weapons he used were his shurikens (the throwing stars), which he carved himself from various metals and stones. He thought hand to hand combat should be exactly that fought with one's hands. He'd no time for swords, spears or axes and refused to touch them.
"But how can you fight someone who has a sword?" I asked one evening as we were getting ready to break camp. "Do you run?"
"I run from nothing!" he replied sharply. "Here let me show you." Rubbing his hands together, he stood opposite me and told me to draw my sword. When I hesitated, he slapped my left shoulder and jeered. "Afraid?"
"Of course not," I snapped. "I just don't want to hurt you."
He laughed out loud. "There's not much fear of that, is there, Larten?"
"I would not be so sure," Mr Crepsley demurred. "Darren is only a half-vampire but he is sharp. He could test you, Vancha."
"Good," the Prince said. "I relish worthy opponents."
I looked pleadingly at Mr Crepsley. "I don't want to draw on an unarmed man."
"Unarmed?" Vancha shouted. "I havetwo arms!" He waved them at me.
"Go ahead," Mr Crepsley said. "Vancha knows what he is doing."
Pulling out my sword, I faced Vancha and made a halfhearted lunge. He didn't move. Simply watched as I pulled the tip of my sword up short.
"Pathetic," he sniffed.
"This is stupid," I told him. "I'm not"
Before I could say anything else, he darted forward, seized me by the throat and made a small, painful cut across my neck with his nails.
"Ow!" I yelled, stumbling away from him.
"Next time I'll cut your nose off," he said pleasantly.
"No you won't!" I growled and swung at him with my sword, properly this time.
Vancha ducked clear of the arc of the blade. "Good," he grinned. "That's more like it."
He circled me, eyes on mine, fingers flexing slowly. I kept the tip of my sword low, until he came to a halt, then moved towards him and jabbed. I expected him to shift aside, but instead he brought the palm of his right hand up and swiped the blade away, as he would a flat stick. As I struggled to bring it back around, he stepped in, caught hold of my hand above the wrist, gave a sharp twist which caused me to release the sword and I was weaponless.