Hunters of the Dusk

by Darren Shan

  "That 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 travelled 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 calibre of those to whom your future is tied."

  "Can anyone make sense of this?" Vancha asked.

  Evanna smirked, 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 grunted.

  "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 applauded. "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

  UNDER ORDERS from Evanna - 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 towards 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 have 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 travelling 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 saw to 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 colour, 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 of 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 could 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.

  "Aye," he chuckled.

  "You're a coward," I sneered.

  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 which 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?"

  Mr Tall shared an uneasy glance with Evanna. She hesitated, then said grudgingly, "He has the power to influence the quest."

  "But I failed," Vancha said, bewildered.

  "Once," I agreed. "But who's to say you won't have another chance? Nobody said we'd have one chance each. For all we know, all four opportunities are destined to fall to you!"

  Vancha blinked, and his mouth slowly opened.

  "Even if the chances are to be shared evenly," Mr Crepsley chipped in, "there are a further three to go, and Darren and I are only two — therefore one of us must be destined to face the Vampaneze Lord twice if it goes down to the final encounter."

  Vancha wavered on his feet, considering our words, then dropped the bottle and stumbled towards me. I caught and steadied him. "I've been an idiot, haven't I?" he groaned.

  "Yes," I agreed, smiling, then led him back into the shade, where he joined us in slumber until the darkening of night.

  We arose with the sinking of the sun and gathered in Mr Tall's van. As dusk deepened, and Vancha drank mug after mug of steaming hot coffee to cure his hangover, we debated our next move and decided it would be for the best if we left the Cirque Du Freak. I would have liked to stay on longer, and so would Mr Crepsley, but our destiny lay elsewhere. Besides, Gannen Harst might return with an army of vampaneze, and we didn't want to find ourselves boxed in, or bring the wrath of our foes down upon the circus folk.

  Evanna would not be travelling with us. The witch told us she was returning to her cave and frogs, to prepare for the tragedies to come. "And there will be tragedies," she said, a sparkle in her brown and green eyes. "Whether for the vampires or vampaneze, I don't yet know. But it must end in tears for one set, that much is certain."

  I can't say I missed the short, hairy, ugly witch when she left — her dark predictions had brought nothing but gloom into our lives, and I thought we were better off without her.

  Vancha would also be departing by himself. We'd agreed that he should return to Vampire Mountain and tell the others of our encounter with the Lord of the Vampaneze. They needed to know about Gannen Harst. Vancha would link up with us again later, by tracking Mr Crepsley's mental waves.

  We bid short farewells to our friends at the Cirque Du Freak. Evra was sad that I had to leave so soon, but he knew my life was complicated. Shancus was even sadder — it would be his birthday soon and he'd been anticipating a wonderful present. I told the snake-boy I'd find something exciting on the road and send it to him — although I couldn't guarantee it would reach him in time for his birthday — and that cheered him up.

  Truska asked if I wanted to take my newly tailored pirate costume with me. I told her to hang on to it — it would only get stained and torn during my travels. I swore I'd be back to try it out. She said I'd better, then treated me to a long goodbye kiss which had Vancha seething with jealousy.

  Mr Tall met us at the edge of camp as we were about to leave. "Sorry I couldn't come earlier," he said. "Business to deal with. The show must go on."

  "Take care, Hibernius," Mr Crepsley said, shaking the tall man's hand. For once Mr Tall didn't shirk away from the contact.

  "You too, Larten," he replied, a grave expression on his face. Looking around at us, he said, "Dark times lie ahead, regardless of the outcome of your quest. I want you to know that there will always be a home for you — all of you — here at the Cirque Du Freak. I can't play as active a part in the deciding of the future as I wish, but I can offer sanctuary."

  We thanked him for his offer, then watched as he walked away and was swallowed by the shadows of his beloved circus camp.

  Facing each other, we hesitated, reluctant to part.

  "Well!" Vancha boomed eventually. "Time I was off. It's a long trek to Vampire Mountain, even when flitting." Vampires weren't supposed to flit on the way to the mountain fortress, but the rules had been relaxed during wartime to allow for quicker communication between Generals and Princes.

  Each of us shook Vancha's hand. I felt miserable at the thought of parting with the red-skinned, sun-fighting Prince. "Cheer up," he laughed at my gloomy expression. "I'll be back in time to lead the second charge against the Vampaneze Lord. You have my word, and Vancha March never broke…" He paused. "'March' or 'Harst'?" he mused aloud, then spat into the dirt at his feet. "Charna's guts! I've gone this long as Vancha March — I'll stick with it."

  Saluting, he turned abruptly and jogged away. Soon he was running. Then, in a flash, he hit flitting speed and was lost to sight.

  "And then there were three," Mr Crepsley muttered, gazing at Harkat and me.

  "Back where we started six years ago," I said.

  "But we had a destination then," Harkat noted. "Where are we going… this time?"

  I looked to Mr Crepsley for an answer.

  He shrugged. "We can decide later. For now, let us simply walk."

  Hoisting our bags on to our backs, we spared the Cirque Du Freak one last, lingering glimpse, then faced the cold, unwelcoming darkness and set forth, surrendering ourselves to the forces of destiny and future terrors of the night.

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  * * *

  JOIN THE HUNTERS AS THEY PURSUE THEIR FOE.

  ALLIES

  OF THE NIGHT

  November 2002

  SOMETHING STRUCK the back of my head, hard, from behind, and I went toppling into the rubbish. I cried out as I fell, then rolled away defensively, clutching the back of my head between my hands. As I rolled, a silver object came crashing down on the ground where my head had been, and sparks flew.

  Ignoring my wounded head, I scrambled to my knees and looked for something to defend myself with. The plastic top of a dustbin lay nearby. It wouldn't be much good but it was all I could find. Stooping swiftly, I snatched it up and held it in front of me like a shield, turning to meet the charge of my assailant, who was streaking towards me at a speed no human could have matched.

  Something gold flashed and swung down upon my makeshift shield, cutting the dustbin lid in half. Somebody chuckled, and it was the sound of pure, insane evil.

  "I'll cut you to pieces!" my attacker boasted, circling me warily. There was something familiar about his voice, but try as I might, I couldn't place it.

  I studied his outline as he swung around me. He was wearing dark clothes and his face was masked by a balaclava. The ends of a beard jutted out from underneath it. He was large and chunky and I could see two blood-red eyes glinting above his snarling teeth. He had no hands, just two metallic attachments — one of gold, the other of silver — at the ends of his arms. There were three hooks on each, sharp, curved, deadly.

  The vampaneze — the eyes and speed were the giveaway — struck. He was fast, but I avoided the killer hooks, which dug into the wall behind me and gouged out a sizeable
crater when he pulled free. It took less than a second for my attacker to free his hand, but I used that time to strike, kicking him in the chest. But he'd been expecting it and brought his other arm down upon my shin, cruelly knocking my leg aside.

  I yelped as pain shot up the length of my leg. Hopping madly, I threw the two halves of the useless dustbin lid at the vampaneze. He ducked out of the way, laughing. I tried to run — no good. My injured leg wouldn't support me, and after a couple of strides I collapsed to the floor, helpless.

  I whirled over on to my back and stared up at the hook-handed vampaneze as he took his time approaching. He swung his arms back and forth as he got closer, the hooks making horrible screeching noises as they scraped together. "Going to cut you," the vampaneze hissed. "Slow and painful. I'll start on your fingers. Slice them off, one at a time. Then your hands. Then your toes. Then—"

  There was a dull boom, followed by the hiss of parted air. Something shot by the vampaneze's head, only narrowly missing. It struck the wall and stuck — a short, thick, steel-tipped arrow. The vampaneze cursed and crouched, hiding in the shadows of the alley.

  Moments ticked by like spiders scuttling up my spine. The vampaneze's angry breath and my gasping sobs filled the air. There was no sight or sound of the person who'd fired the arrow. Shuffling backwards, the vampaneze locked gazes with me and bared his teeth. "I'll get you later," he vowed. "You'll die slowly, in great agony. I'll cut you. Fingers first. One at a time." Then he turned and sprinted. A second arrow was fired after him, but he ducked low and again it missed, burying itself in a large bag of rubbish. The vampaneze exploded out of the end of the alley and vanished quickly into the night.