Lord of the Shadows

by Darren Shan

  A small man waddled forward, smiling glibly. He was dressed in a sharp yellow suit and green rain boots. He had white hair, thick glasses, and a heart-shaped watch that he was twirling in his left hand. Desmond Tiny! Behind him came his daughter, the witch Evanna — short, muscular, hairy, clad in ropes instead of clothes. She had a small nose, pointed ears, a thin beard, and mismatched eyes, one brown, one green.

  We gaped at the strange pair as they stopped beside the gasping Mr. Tall and gazed down at him. Evanna’s face was strained. Mr. Tiny looked only curious. With his right foot, he nudged Mr. Tall where he’d been shot. Mr. Tall hissed with pain.

  “Leave him alone!” Debbie shouted.

  “Shut up, please, or I’ll kill you,” Mr. Tiny replied. Though he said it sweetly, I’ve no doubt he would have struck Debbie down dead if she’d said another word. Fortunately, she realized that too, and she held her tongue, trembling.

  “So, Hibernius,” Mr. Tiny said. “Your time here comes to an end.”

  “You knew it would,” Mr. Tall replied, and his voice was remarkably firm.

  “Yes.” Mr. Tiny nodded. “But did you know?”

  “I guessed.”

  “You could have turned aside from it. Your fate was never directly linked to these mortals.”

  “For me, it was,” Mr. Tall said. He was shivering badly, a dark pool of blood spreading out around him. Evanna took a step aside to avoid the blood, but Mr. Tiny let it flow around his boots, staining the soles.

  “Tiny!” Vancha snapped. “Can you save him?” “No,” Mr. Tiny replied simply. Then he bent over Mr. Tall and spread the fingers of his right hand. He placed his middle finger in the center of Mr. Tall’s forehead, the adjoining fingers over his eyes, and held the thumb and little finger out at the sides. “Even in death, may you be triumphant,” he said with surprising softness, then removed his fingers.

  “Thank you, father,” Mr. Tall said. He glanced up at Evanna. “Goodbye, sister.”

  “I will remember you,” the witch answered as the rest of us looked on, stunned by the revelation. I’d known about Evanna’s twin brother, born, as she was, of a union between Mr. Tiny and a wolf. I’d just never guessed it was Mr. Tall.

  Evanna bent and kissed her brother’s forehead. Mr. Tall smiled, then his body shook, his eyes went wide, his neck stiffened — and he died.

  Mr. Tiny stood and turned. There was one round tear of blood in the corner of each eye. “My son is dead,” he said, in the same tone he’d have used to comment on the weather.

  “We didn’t know!” Vancha gasped.

  “He never cared to speak of his parentage.” Mr. Tiny chuckled and kicked the dead Mr. Tall’s head aside with the heel of his left foot. “I don’t know why.”

  I growled when he kicked Mr. Tall, and started towards him angrily. Harkat and Vancha did the same.

  “Gentlemen,” Evanna said quietly. “If you waste time picking a fight with my father, the killers will escape with the young Von boy.”

  We stopped short. I’d momentarily forgotten about Shancus and the danger he was in. The others had too. Now that we’d been reminded, we shook our heads and snapped out of our daze.

  “We have to chase them,” Vancha said.

  “But what about Mr. Tall?” Debbie cried.

  “He’s dead,” Vancha sniffed. “Let his family care for him.”

  Mr. Tiny laughed at that, but we couldn’t afford to pay him any further heed. Grouping together without discussing it, the five of us set off. “Wait!” Evra shouted. I looked back and saw him exchange a wordless look with Merla. She half-nodded and he ran after us. “I’m coming too,” he said.

  Nobody argued. Accepting Evra into our ranks, we raced away from Merla, Urcha, Mr. Tiny, Evanna, and the dead Mr. Tall, and hurried through the campsite in pursuit of Shancus and his kidnappers.

  As soon as we cleared the tunnel leading out of the stadium, we saw that our quarry had split. To our right, R.V. was running away with Shancus, headed into the heart of town. To our left, Morgan James and Darius fled down the hill towards a river that flowed close by the stadium.

  Vancha took charge and made a swift decision. “Alice and Evra — with me. We’ll go after R.V. and Shancus. Darren, Harkat, and Debbie — take Morgan James and the boy.”

  I’d rather have gone to Shancus’s rescue, but Vancha was more experienced than me. Nodding obediently, I swung left with Harkat and Debbie and we set off after the killer and his apprentice. My headache had flared up savagely and I was half-blind as I flailed down the hill. Also, the sounds of my feet on the pavement as I ran were torture on my ears. Still, as a half-vampire I could run faster than Harkat or Debbie, and I’d soon pulled ahead and was rapidly closing the gap on Morgan James and Darius.

  James and Darius stopped when they heard me coming and spun to face my charge. I should have waited for Harkat and Debbie, rather than face them on my own, armed only with a knife. But rage had taken hold of me. I forged on heedlessly as they fired, James with his rifle, Darius with his arrow-gun. By the luck of the vampires, their bullets and arrows missed, and seconds later I was upon them, wild with fury, intent on revenge.

  James swung at me with the butt of his rifle. It struck my right shoulder, where I’d been shot by Darius. I roared with pain but didn’t falter. I stabbed at James with my knife, aiming for his half-mangled face. He ducked, and Darius punched me in the ribs as I slid past. I swatted the boy aside and stabbed at James again. He laughed and grabbed me tight, wrestling me to the ground.

  My face was pressed up close to the left side of Morgan James’s head. The skin was wrinkled and red, his teeth exposed behind the thin flesh of his lips, his eye a horrible glob in the middle of a ruined, scarred mess.

  “Lyhk iht?” James gurgled.

  “Lovely!” I sneered, rolling on top of him, poking for his eyes with my thumbs.

  “Uh’m gonna duh the shahm tuh yuh!” James vowed, breaking my grip and driving his knee up into my stomach.

  “We’ll see!” I grunted, falling away slightly, then coming back at him. I managed to stick my knife in, but only into his arm. I was aware of the boy battering me with his arrow-gun, trying to beat me off. I ignored him and focused on Morgan James. I was stronger than the vampet, but he was larger and a seasoned fighter. He wriggled beneath me, digging his knees and elbows into the flesh of my stomach and groin, spitting into my eyes. There was a painful white light building inside my head. I felt like screaming and clapping my hands over my ears. But instead I bit into the flesh of James’s upper left arm and ripped a chunk away.

  James screeched like a cat and shoved me off, lent strength by his pain. As I fell aside, Darius kicked me hard in the head and I lost my bearings for a second or two. When I recovered, James was on top of me. He pushed my head back with his left hand and brought up my own knife — which I’d dropped in the fight — with his right, meaning to slit my throat.

  I grabbed for the knife. Missed. Grabbed again. Knocked it aside. Grabbed a third time — then stopped, tensed my muscles, and shut my eyes. James gave a little shiver of delight. He thought I’d given up. What he didn’t realize was that I’d caught sight of Harkat behind him, swinging his axe.

  There was a whishing sound — Darius started to shout a warning — then a heavy thud. My eyes opened. I caught a glimpse of Morgan James’s head rolling away into darkness, severed from its body by one powerful blow of Harkat’s axe. Then blood gushed from the stump of James’s neck. I shut my eyes again as I was drenched in a burst of hot red liquid. James fell over lifelessly. I pushed myself up, opened my eyes, wiped blood from my face, and slid out from beneath the beheaded body of Morgan James.

  Darius was standing next to me, staring numbly at his felled companion. Blood had hit the boy also, drenching his pants. I stood. My legs were trembling. My head was filled with white noise. Blood congealed in my hair and dripped from my face. I wanted to be sick. But I knew what I must do. Hatred motivated me.

  Snatching my kn
ife from Morgan James’s lifeless hand, I pressed the blade to the flesh of Darius’s throat and grabbed his hair with my free hand. I was snarling as I pressed down hard on the knife, neither human nor vampire. I’d become a savage animal set on taking a young boy’s life.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  DEBBIE STOPPED ME.“No!” she screamed, racing up behind me. There was such terror in her voice that even in the midst of my bloodlust, I paused. She pulled up beside me, panting hard, eyes wide with horror. “No!” she wheezed, shaking her head desperately.

  “Why not?” I snarled.

  “He’s a child!” she cried.

  “No — he’s Steve Leopard’s son,” I contradicted her. “A killer, like his father.”

  “He hasn’t killed anyone,” Debbie objected. “Morgan James killed Mr. Tall. Now he’s dead, you’re even. You don’t have to kill the boy too.”

  “I’ll kill them all!” I screamed madly. It was like I’d become a different person, a bloodthirsty reaper. “Every vampaneze must die! Every vampet! Everyone who aids them!”

  “Even the children?” Debbie asked sickly.

  “Yes!” I roared. My headache was the worst it had ever been. It was like red-hot pins were being pushed through my skull from the inside out. Part of me knew this was wrong, but a larger part had seized on the hatred and urge to kill. That merciless part was screaming for revenge.

  “Harkat,” Debbie appealed to the Little Person. “Make him see sense!”

  Harkat shook his neckless head. “I don’t think I can stop him,” he said, staring at me as if he didn’t know me.

  “You have to try!” Debbie shrieked.

  “I don’t know if I . . . have the right,” Harkat muttered.

  Debbie turned to me again. She was crying. “You mustn’t do this,” she wept.

  “It’s my duty,” I said stiffly.

  She spat at my feet. “That’s what I think of your duty! You’ll become a monster if you kill that boy. You’ll be no better than Steve.”

  I stopped. Her words had sparked a memory deep within me. I found myself thinking about Mr. Crepsley and his last words to me before he died. He warned me not to devote my life to hatred. Kill Steve Leopard if the chance presented itself — but don’t give myself over to some insane revenge quest.

  What would he have done in my place? Kill the boy? Yes, if necessary. But was it? Did I want to kill Darius because I feared him and felt he had to be eliminated for the good of us all — or because I wanted to hurt Steve?

  I gazed into the boy’s eyes. They were fearful, but behind the fear there was . . . sorrow. In Steve’s eyes, evil lurked deep down. Not in Darius. He was more human than his father.

  My knife was still pressed to his throat. It had sliced thinly into his flesh. Little rivulets of blood trickled down his neck.

  “You’ll destroy yourself,” Debbie whispered hoarsely. “You’ll be worse than Steve. He can’t tell the difference between right and wrong. You can. He can live with his wickedness because he doesn’t know any better, but it will eat you away. Don’t do it, Darren. We don’t wage war on children.”

  I stared at her, tears in my eyes. I knew she was right. I wanted to take the knife away. I couldn’t believe I’d even tried to kill the boy. But still there was part of me that wanted to take his life. Something had awoken within me, a Darren Shan I’d never known existed, and he wasn’t going to lie down without a fight. My fingers shook as they held the knife, but the furious angel of revenge inside me wouldn’t let me lower them.

  “Go ahead and kill me,” Darius snarled suddenly. “It’s what your kind does. You’re murderers. I know all about you, so stop pretending you give a damn.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said. He only smiled sickly in reply.

  “He’s Steve’s son,” Debbie said softly. “He’s been raised on lies. That’s not his fault.”

  “My father doesn’t lie!” Darius shouted.

  Debbie moved around behind Darius so she could look me straight in the eye. “He doesn’t know the truth. He’s innocent, in spite of anything he’s been tricked into doing. Don’t kill an innocent, Darren. Don’t become what you despise.”

  I groaned deeply. More than ever I wanted to take the knife away, but still I wavered, fighting an inner battle that I didn’t completely understand. “I don’t know what to do!” I moaned.

  “Then think of this,” Harkat said. “We might need the boy to swap . . . for Shancus. It makes sense not to kill him.”

  The fire within me died away. I lowered my knife, feeling a great weight lift from my heart. I smiled crookedly. “Thanks, Harkat.”

  “You shouldn’t have needed that,” Debbie said as I spun Darius around and tied his hands behind him with a strip of cloth that Harkat had ripped from his robes. “You should have spared him because it was the right thing to do — not because you might need him.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed, ashamed of my reaction but not wanting to admit it. “But it doesn’t matter. We can debate it later. First, let’s find out what’s happening with Shancus. Where’s your phone?”

  A minute later she was deep in conversation with Alice Burgess. They were still in pursuit of R.V. and Shancus. Vancha asked to speak to me. “We have a choice to make,” he said. “I have R.V. in my sights. I can cut him down with a shuriken and rescue Shancus.”

  “Then why don’t you?” I frowned.

  “I think he’s leading us to Steve Leonard,” Vancha said.

  I groaned softly and gripped the phone tightly. “What does Evra say?” I asked.

  “This is our call, not his,” Vancha responded with a whisper. “He’s thinking only of his son. We have other concerns to consider.”

  “I’m not prepared to sacrifice Shancus to get to Steve,” I said.

  “I am,” Vancha said quietly. “But I doubt it will come to that. I think we can retrieve the boy and get a shot at Leonard. But it’s a risk. If you want me to play it safe and kill R.V. now, I will. But I believe we should chance it, let him lead us to Leonard, and take it from there.”

  “You’re the senior Prince,” I said. “You decide.” “No,” Vancha retorted. “We’re equals. Shancus means more to you than he does to me. I’ll follow your lead on this one.”

  “Thanks,” I said bitterly.

  “Sorry,” Vancha said, and even over the phone I could tell his regret was genuine. “I’d take responsibility if I could, but on this occasion I can’t. Do I kill R.V. or follow?”

  My eyes flicked to Darius. If I’d killed him, I’d have told Vancha to bring R.V. down and save Shancus — otherwise Steve would surely slaughter the snake-boy in revenge. But if I turned up with Darius captive, Steve would have to trade. Once we had Shancus back, we’d be free to pursue Steve later.

  “OK,” I said. “Let him run. Tell me where you are and we’ll catch up.”

  A few minutes later we were on the move again, cutting across town, Debbie on the phone to Alice, taking directions. I could feel her eyes burning into my back — she didn’t approve of the risk we were taking — but I didn’t look around. As I ran, I kept reminding myself, “I’m a Prince. I have a duty to my people. The Lord of the Vampaneze takes priority over all.” But it was a slim comfort, and I knew my sense of guilt and shame would be overwhelming if the gamble backfired.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  WE WERE HURRYING through the streets with Darius, taking back alleys to avoid the police patrols, when Harkat slowed, came to a stop, and turned. He cocked his head sideways, raising one of the ears stitched beneath his grey skin.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Footsteps . . . behind us. Can’t you hear?”

  “My ears are plugged up,” I reminded him. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. I think it’s just one person, but I . . . could be wrong.”

  “We can’t fight and hold on to Darius at the same time,” Debbie said. “If we’re to make a stand, we should either tie him up or let him go.”

&
nbsp; “I’m not letting him go anywhere,” I muttered. “You two proceed. If R.V. leads the others to Steve, you need to be there with Darius, to trade for Shancus. I’ll stay and deal with this. If I can, I’ll catch up.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Debbie hissed. “We’ve got to stick together.”

  “Do what I say!” I snapped, harsher than necessary. I was very confused — hatred for Steve, fear that I might become the monstrous Lord of the Shadows, the pain of the purge — and in no mood to argue.

  “Come on,” Harkat said to Debbie. “We can’t talk to him when he’s . . . like this. Besides, he’s right. It makes more sense this way.”

  “But the danger —” Debbie began.

  “He’s a Vampire Prince,” Harkat said. “He knows all about danger.”

  Harkat jerked Darius ahead, limping forward as quickly as he could. Debbie had no choice but to follow, though she looked back imploringly at me before turning a corner out of sight. I felt sorry for the way I’d snapped at her, and hoped I’d have a chance to apologize later.

  I removed the cotton buds from my ears and nose and took a firm grip on my knife. By concentrating hard, I could dim the noise within my head and focus on the street sounds and scents. I heard footsteps approaching, soft, steady, coming straight towards me. I crouched low and readied myself for battle. Then a figure came into sight and I relaxed, stood, and lowered my knife arm.

  “Evanna,” I greeted the witch.

  “Darren,” she replied calmly, stopping close by, studying me with an unreadable expression.

  “Why aren’t you with your father?” I asked.

  “I will join him again presently,” she said. “My place is here now, with you and your allies. Let us hurry after them, for fear we miss the confrontation.”

  “I’m going nowhere,” I said, standing my ground. “Not until you give me some answers.”

  “Indeed?” Evanna purred archly. “I will need to hear some questions first.”

  “It’s about the Lord of the Shadows.”