Mr. Crepsley sighed. “And Evanna? What if she takes the side of the vampaneze against us?”
Vancha sniffed. “Then we fight her too,” he said. “You fancy your chances against her?” Mr. Crepsley smiled thinly.
“No. But I know my duty.” He stood, this time with certainty. “I’m going to kill vampaneze. If you want to come, you can. If not . . .” He shrugged.
Mr. Crepsley looked at me. “What do you say, Darren?”
“Vancha’s right,” I said slowly. “If we let them go, and they kill vampires later, we’d be to blame. Besides, there’s something we’re overlooking — the Lord of the Vampaneze.” Mr. Crepsley and Vancha stared at me. “We’re destined to cross paths with him, but I think we have to chase that destiny. Maybe these vampaneze know where he is or will be. I doubt it’s coincidence that we’re here at the same time as them. This might be fate’s way of leading us to him.”
“A solid argument,” Vancha said.
“Perhaps.” Mr. Crepsley didn’t sound convinced. “Remember Mr. Tiny’s words?” I said. “To follow our hearts? My heart says we should face these vampaneze.”
“Mine too,” Harkat said after a moment’s hesitation.
“And mine,” Vancha added.
“I thought you had no heart,” Mr. Crepsley muttered, then stood. “But my heart also demands confrontation, although my head disagrees. We will go.”
Vancha grinned bloodthirstily and clapped Mr. Crepsley on the back, then without further ado we stole away into the night.
At the copse we made our plans.
“We’ll close on them from four different angles,” Vancha said, taking charge. “That way we’ll make them think there are more of us.”
“There are nine of them in all,” Mr. Crepsley noted, “including Evanna. How do we divide them up?”
“Two vampaneze for you, two for me, two for Harkat. Darren takes the seventh and the servant — he’s probably a half-vampaneze or vampet, so he shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.”
“And Evanna?” Mr. Crepsley asked.
“We could all rush her at the end,” Vancha suggested.
“No,” Mr. Crepsley decided. “I will handle her.” “You’re sure?”
Mr. Crepsley nodded.
“Then all that’s left is to split up and move in. Get as close as you can. I’ll start by launching a couple of shurikens. I’ll aim for arms and legs. Once you hear screams and curses — hit them hard.”
“Things would go more smoothly if you aimed for throats and heads,” I noted.
“I don’t fight that way,” Vancha growled. “Only cowards kill a foe without facing him. If I have to — as when killing the vampet with the hand grenade — I will, but I prefer to fight cleanly.”
The four of us split up and circled the trees, entering the copse at different points. I felt vulnerable and small when I found myself alone in the woods, but quickly thrust such feelings aside and concentrated on my mission. “May the gods of the vampires guide and protect us,” I muttered under my breath, before advancing, sword drawn.
The vampaneze and Evanna were still in the clearing at the heart of the copse, talking softly. The moon had broken through the clouds, and although the overhanging branches kept most of the light out, the area was brighter than it had been when I was here before.
Easing forward, I got as close to the vampaneze as I dared, then pulled up behind a thick trunk and waited. All was silent around me. I’d thought Harkat might alert them to our presence — he couldn’t move as quietly as a vampire — but the Little Person was taking great care and made no sound.
I started to count, silently, inside my head. I was up to ninety-six when there was a sharp whistling hiss to my far left, followed by a startled shriek. Less than a second later, another whistle and another scream. Gripping my sword tight, I swung around the tree and darted forward, roaring wildly.
The vampaneze were quick to react, and were on their feet, weapons in hand, by the time I reached them. Fast as they were, Mr. Crepsley and Vancha were faster, and as I locked swords with a tall, muscular vampaneze, from whose left shin stuck a silver shuriken, I saw Mr. Crepsley cut open the stomach and chest of one of our opponents, killing him instantly, while Vancha’s thumb took out the left eye of another — he dropped to the ground, wailing.
I had just enough time to note that the man on the ground wasn’t purple-skinned like the rest — a vampet! — then I had to concentrate on the vampaneze in front of me. He was at least two heads taller than I, broader and stronger. But size, as I’d been taught in Vampire Mountain, wasn’t everything, and while he lashed out at me with savage strokes, I jabbed and feinted, nicking him here, poking him there, drawing blood, enraging him, ruining his aim and rhythm, causing him to swing erratically.
As I parried one of his blows, someone stumbled into my back and I fell to the ground. Rolling over swiftly, I jumped to my feet and saw a bloody-faced vampaneze fall, gasping for breath. Harkat Mulds stood over him, a red-stained axe in his left hand, an injured right arm hanging limp by his side.
The vampaneze who’d been attacking me now focused on Harkat. With a bellow he swung at the Little Person’s head. Harkat brought his axe up just in time, knocked the sword up high of its mark, then stepped back, tempting the vampaneze forward.
I looked around quickly, taking in the situation. Three of our foes were down, although the vampet who’d lost his eye was scrabbling for a sword and looked ready to rejoin the action. Mr. Crepsley was battling a vampaneze who favored knives, and the two were swinging around and slicing at each other like a pair of whirling dancers. Vancha had his hands full with a huge, axe-wielding brute. His axe was twice the size of Harkat’s, yet he rolled it about between his immense fingers as if it weighed nothing. Vancha was sweating, and bleeding from a cut to his waist, but he wasn’t giving up any ground.
Across from me, the seventh vampaneze — tall, slim, with a smooth face, long hair tied back, dressed in a light green suit — and the hooded servant were watching the fighting. Both clutched long swords and stood ready to flee if the battle seemed lost, or dive in and finish things off if they sensed victory. Such cynical tactics disgusted me, and drawing a knife, I sent it whizzing at the head of the servant, who wasn’t much bigger than me.
The small man in the robes saw the knife and twitched his head out of the path of its flight. By his swiftness, I knew he must be a blooded creature of the night — no human could have moved so quickly.
The vampaneze next to the servant scowled as I drew another knife. He paused a moment, then darted across the clearing before I could take aim. Dropping the knife, I raised my sword and turned his blow aside, but only barely managed to get it up in time to deflect his second strike. He was fast and well-trained in the ways of war. I was in trouble.
I backed away from the vampaneze, protecting myself as best I could. The tip of his sword became a blur as it struck, and though I defended myself ably, his blade soon bit. I felt a wound open on the top of my left arm . . . a deep gash to my right thigh . . . a jagged scratch across my chest.
I backed up against a tree and caught the sleeve of my right arm on a branch. The vampaneze thrust his sword at my face. I thought the end had come, but then my arm tore free and my sword came across to block his and drive it toward the ground. I pushed down with my sword, hoping to make my foe drop his weapon, but he was too strong and brought his sword up in a smooth reverse movement. His blade slid up the length of mine, creating a shower of sparks. It was moving so fast, and there was so much force behind it, that instead of being deflected by the hilt of my sword, it cut through the gold casing — and clean through the flesh and bone of my sticking-out right thumb!
I screamed as my thumb shot away into the darkness. My sword dropped from my fingers and I fell, defenseless. The vampaneze glanced around casually, dismissing me as a threat. Mr. Crepsley was winning the war of the knives — his opponent’s face had been slashed to ribbons. Harkat had defied the handicap of his injured arm and buried the tip of his axe deep in his vampaneze’s stomach — though the vampaneze bellowed and fought on, he was surely lost. Vancha was struggling with his opponent, but was holding his own, and when Mr. Crepsley or Harkat came to his aid, their combined force would be enough to make an end of the giant. The vampet who’d lost an eye was on his feet, sword in hand, but was swaying unsteadily and wouldn’t be much of a problem.
While all this was happening, Evanna had remained seated on the ground, a neutral look on her face, taking no part in the fighting.
We were going to win and the vampaneze in the green suit knew it. Snarling, he swung once more at my head — aiming to cut it clean off at the neck — but I rolled out of his way, into a pile of leaves. Rather than duck after me to finish me off, he turned, ran to where the robed servant was standing, grabbed a spare sword from the ground, then hurried through the trees, pushing the servant ahead of him.
Getting to my feet, I moaned loudly from the pain, then gritted my teeth against it, picked up the knife I’d dropped earlier, and moved in to help Harkat finish off his vampaneze. It wasn’t noble, sticking a knife into a warrior’s back, but all I cared about was ending the battle, and I felt no pity for the vampaneze when he stiffened and collapsed, my blade buried deep between his shoulder blades.
Mr. Crepsley had dispatched the vampaneze with the knives, and after taking care of the one-eyed vampet — a swift cut to his throat — he started forward to help Vancha. That’s when Evanna stood and called to him. “Will you raise your blades to
me
too, Larten?”
Mr. Crepsley hesitated, knives hovering in his hands, then dropped his guard and went on one knee before her. “Nay, lady.” He sighed. “I will not.”
“Then I will not raise a hand to you,” she said, and began walking from one dead vampaneze to another, kneeling beside them, making the death’s touch, whispering, “Even in death may you be triumphant.”
Mr. Crepsley got to his feet and studied Vancha as he battled the largest of the vampaneze. “A close call, sire,” he noted dryly as the giant barely missed the top of Vancha’s scalp with his huge war axe. Vancha honored Mr. Crepsley with one of his foulest curses in reply. “Would you be offended if I offered my assistance, sire?” Mr. Crepsley asked politely.
“Get over here quick!” Vancha snarled. “Two are getting away. We have to —
Charna’s guts!
” he yelled, again only barely dodging the head of the axe.
“Harkat, stay with me,” Mr. Crepsley said, moving forward to intercept the giant. “Darren, go with Vancha after the others.”
“Right,” I said. I didn’t mention the fact that I was missing a thumb — such considerations were nothing in the heat of life or death battle.
As Mr. Crepsley and Harkat fought the giant, Vancha swung away, paused for breath, then nodded for me to follow as he raced after the vampaneze and the servant. I kept close to him, sucking on the bloody stump where my thumb used to be, grabbing a knife from the belt with my left hand. As we broke from the trees, we saw the pair ahead. The servant was climbing onto the vampaneze’s back — it was clear that they were planning to flit.
“No you don’t!” Vancha growled, and sent a dark shuriken flying. It struck the servant high above the right shoulder blade. He cried out and toppled off the vampaneze’s back. The vampaneze spun around, stopped to pick up his fallen comrade, saw Vancha closing in, and jumped to his feet, pulling a sword and moving forward. I hung back, not wanting to get in Vancha’s way, keeping an eye on the fallen servant, waiting to see how the fight progressed.
Vancha was almost within striking distance of the vampaneze when he drew up short, as though injured. I thought he must have been hit with something — a knife or arrow — but he didn’t look hurt. He just stood, arms outstretched, staring at the vampaneze. The vampaneze was motionless too, his red eyes wide, his dark purple face incredulous. Then he lowered his sword, slid it into its scabbard, turned, and picked up the servant.
Vancha did nothing to stop him.
Behind me I heard Mr. Crepsley and Harkat break free of the trees. They raced forward, then stopped by my side when they saw the vampaneze escaping, Vancha standing by and watching.
“What the —” Mr. Crepsley began, but then the vampaneze hit flitting speed and disappeared.
Vancha looked back at us, then sank to the ground. Mr. Crepsley cursed — not quite as foul as Vancha’s earlier outburst, but close — and sheathed his knives in disgust. “You let them escape!” he shouted. Striding forward, he stood over Vancha and regarded him with undisguised contempt.
“Why?”
he growled, hands bunched into fists.
“I couldn’t stop him,” Vancha whispered, eyes downcast.
“You did not even try!” Mr. Crepsley roared.
“I couldn’t fight him,” Vancha said. “I always feared this night would come. I prayed it wouldn’t, but part of me knew it would.”
“You are not making sense!” Mr. Crepsley snapped. “Who was that vampaneze? Why did you let him escape?”
“His name is Gannen Harst,” Vancha said in a low, broken voice. He looked up and there were glittering tears in his eyes. “He’s my
brother.
”
F
OR A LONG TIME
nothing was said. Harkat, Mr. Crepsley, and I stared at Vancha, whose eyes were fixed on the ground. Overhead the moon had vanished behind thick banks of cloud. When they finally parted, Vancha began to talk, as though prompted by the moonbeams.
“My real name’s Vancha Harst,” he said. “I changed it when I became a vampire. Gannen’s a year or two younger than me — or is it the other way around? It’s been so long, I can’t remember. We were very close growing up. We did everything together — including joining the vampaneze.
“The vampaneze who blooded us was an honest man and a good teacher. He told us exactly what our lives would be like. He explained their ways and beliefs, how they looked upon themselves as the guardians of history by keeping alive the memories of those they drank from.” (If a vampire or vampaneze drains a person’s blood, he absorbs part of their spirit and memories.) “He said vampaneze killed when they drank, but did it swiftly and painlessly.”