Harkat’s speech had improved greatly since he’d first started speaking. In the beginning he’d had to pause for breath after every two or three words, but he’d learned to control his breathing and now only stalled during long sentences.
“Were the shadow men there?” I asked. Sometimes he dreamed of shadowy figures who chased and tormented him.
“Not this time,” he said, “though I think they’d have appeared if you . . . hadn’t woken me up.” Harkat was sweating — his sweat was a pale green color — and his shoulders shook slightly. He suffered greatly in his sleep, and stayed awake as long as he could, sleeping only four or five hours out of every seventy-two.
“Want something to eat or drink?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Not hungry.” He stood and stretched his burly arms. He was wearing only a cloth around his waist, so I could see his smooth stomach and chest — Harkat had no nipples or belly button.
“It’s good to see you,” he said, pulling on his blue robes, which he’d never grown out of the habit of wearing. “It’s been ages since . . . we got together.”
“I know,” I groaned. “This war business is killing me, but I can’t leave Paris to deal with it alone. He needs me.”
“How is Sire Skyle?” Harkat asked.
“Bearing up. But it’s hard. So many decisions to make, so many troops to organize, so many vampires to send to their deaths.”
We were silent a while, thinking about the War of the Scars and the vampires — including some very good friends of ours — who had died in it.
“How’ve you been?” I asked Harkat, shrugging off the morbid thoughts.
“Busy,” he said. “Seba’s working me harder all the time.” After a few months of milling around Vampire Mountain, Harkat had gone to work for the quarter-master, Seba Nile, who was in charge of stocking and maintaining the Mountain’s stores of food, clothes, and weapons. Harkat started out moving crates and sacks around, but he’d learned quickly about supplies and how to keep up with the needs of the vampires, and now served as Seba’s senior assistant.
“Do you have to return to the Hall of Princes soon?” Harkat asked. “Seba would like to see you. He wants to show you . . . some spiders.” The mountain was home to thousands of arachnids, known as Ba’Halen’s spiders.
“I have to go back,” I said regretfully, “but I’ll try to drop by soon.”
“Do,” Harkat said seriously. “You look exhausted. Paris is not the only one who . . . needs rest.”
Harkat had to leave shortly afterward to prepare for the arrival of a group of Generals. I lay in my hammock and stared at the dark rock ceiling, unable to get back to sleep. This was the cell Harkat and I had first shared when we came to Vampire Mountain. I liked this tiny cubbyhole — it was the closest thing I had to a bedroom — but rarely got to see much of it. Most of my nights were spent in the Hall of Princes, and the few free hours I had by day were normally passed eating or exercising.
I ran a hand over my bald head while I was resting and thought back over my Trials of Initiation. I’d sailed through them the second time. I didn’t have to take them — as a Prince, I was under no obligation — but I wouldn’t have felt right if I hadn’t. By passing the Trials, I’d proved myself worthy of being a vampire.
Apart from the scars and burns, I hadn’t changed much in the last six years. As a half-vampire, I aged only one year for every five that passed. I was a little taller than when I left the Cirque Du Freak with Mr. Crepsley, and my features had thickened and matured slightly. But I wasn’t a full-vampire and wouldn’t change much until I became one. As a full-vampire I’d be much stronger. I’d also be able to heal cuts with my spit, breathe out a gas that could knock people unconscious, and communicate telepathically with other vampires. Plus I’d be able to flit, which is a super-fast speed vampires can attain. On the downside, I’d be vulnerable to sunlight and couldn’t move around during the day.
But all that lay far ahead. Mr. Crepsley hadn’t said anything about when I’d be fully blooded, but I gathered it wouldn’t happen until I was an adult. That was ten or fifteen years away — my body was still that of a teenager — so I had lots of time to enjoy (or endure) my extended childhood.
I lay relaxing for another half hour, then got up and dressed. I’d taken to wearing light blue clothes, pants and a tunic, covered by a long, regal-looking robe. My right thumb snagged on the arm of the tunic as I was pulling it on, as it often did — I’d broken the thumb six years ago and it still stuck out at an awkward angle.
Taking care not to rip the fabric on my extra-tough nails — which could gouge holes in soft rock — I freed my thumb and finished dressing. I pulled on a pair of light shoes and ran a hand over my head to make sure I hadn’t been bitten by ticks. They’d appeared all over the mountain recently, annoying everyone. Then I made my way back to the Hall of Princes for another long night of tactics and debate.
T
HE DOORS TO THE
H
ALL
of Princes could be opened only by a Prince laying a hand on the doors or touching a panel on the thrones inside the Hall. Nothing could break through the walls of the Hall, which had been built by Mr. Tiny and his Little People centuries before.
The Stone of Blood was kept in the Hall, and was very important. It was a magical artifact. Any vampire who came to the mountain (most of the three thousand vampires in the world had made the trek at least once) laid their hands on the Stone and let it absorb some of their blood. The Stone could then be used to track that vampire down. So, if Mr. Crepsley wanted to know where Arrow was, he could lay his hands on the Stone and think about him, and within seconds he’d have a fix on the Prince. Or, if he thought of an area, the Stone would tell him how many vampires were there.
I couldn’t use the Stone of Blood to search for others — only full-vampires were able to do that — but I could be traced through it, since it had taken blood from me when I became a Prince.
If the Stone ever fell into the hands of the vampaneze, they could use it to track down all the vampires who’d bonded with it. Hiding from them would be impossible. They’d annihilate us. Because of this danger, some vampires wanted to destroy the Stone of Blood — but there was a legend that it could save us in our hour of greatest need.
I was thinking about all this while Paris used the Stone of Blood to maneuver troops in the field. As reports reached us of vampaneze positions, Paris used the Stone to check where his Generals were, then communicated telepathically with them, giving them orders to move from place to place. It was this that drained him so deeply. Others could have used the Stone, but as a Prince, Paris’s word was law, and it was quicker for him to deliver the orders himself.
While Paris focused on the Stone, Mr. Crepsley and me put field reports together and built up a clear picture of the movements of the vampaneze. Many other Generals were also doing this, but it was our job to take their findings, sort through them, pick out the more important ones, and make suggestions to Paris. We had lots of maps, with pins marking the positions of vampires and vampaneze.
Mr. Crepsley had been intently studying a map for ten minutes, and he looked worried. “Have you seen this?” he asked eventually, calling me over.
I stared at the map. There were three yellow flags and two red flags stuck close together around a city. We used five main colors to keep track of things. Blue flags for vampires. Yellow for vampaneze. Green for vampaneze strongholds — cities and towns that they defended like bases. White flags were stuck in places where we’d won fights. Red flags where we’d lost.
“What am I looking for?” I asked, staring at the yellow and red flags. My eyes were bleary from lack of sleep and too much concentrating on maps and poorly scrawled reports.
“The name of the city,” Mr. Crepsley said, running a fingernail over it.
The name meant nothing to me at first. Then my head cleared. “That’s your original home,” I muttered. It was the city where Mr. Crepsley had lived when he was human. Twelve years ago, he’d returned, taking me and Evra Von — a snake-boy from the Cirque Du Freak — with him, to stop a crazy vampaneze called Murlough, who’d gone on a killing spree.
“Find the reports,” Mr. Crepsley said. There was a number on each flag, linking it to reports in our files, so we knew exactly what each flag represented. After a few minutes, I found the relevant sheets of paper and quickly scanned them.
“Of the vampaneze seen there,” I muttered, “two were heading into the city. The other was leaving. The first red flag’s from a year ago — four Generals were killed in a large clash with several vampaneze.”
“And the second red flag marks the spot where Staffen Irve lost two of his men,” Mr. Crepsley said. “It was when I was adding this flag to the map that I noticed the degree of activity around the city.”
“Do you think it means anything?” I asked. It was unusual for so many vampaneze to be sighted in one location.
“I am not sure,” he said. “The vampaneze may have made a base there, but I do not see why — it is out of the way of their other strongholds.”
“We could send someone to check,” I suggested. He considered that, then shook his head. “We have already lost too many Generals there. It is not a strategically important site. Best to leave it alone.”
Mr. Crepsley rubbed the long scar that divided the flesh on the left side of his face and went on staring at the map. He’d cut his orange crop of hair tighter than usual — most vampires were cutting their hair short, because of the ticks — and he looked almost bald in the strong light of the Hall.
“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” I noted.
He nodded. “If they
have
set up a base, they must be feeding on the humans. I still consider it home, and I do not like to think of my spiritual neighbors and relations suffering at the hands of the vampaneze.”
“We could send in a team to get rid of them.”
He sighed. “That would not be fitting. I would be putting personal considerations before the welfare of the clan. If I ever get out in the field, I shall check on the situation myself, but there is no need to send others.”
“What are the chances of you and me ever getting out of here?” I asked. I didn’t enjoy fighting, but after six years cooped up inside the mountain, I’d have given my fingernails for a few nights out in the open, even if it meant taking on a dozen vampaneze singlehanded.
“The way things stand — poor,” Mr. Crepsley admitted. “I think we will be stuck here until the end of the war. If one of the other Princes suffers a serious injury and withdraws from battle, we might have to replace him. Otherwise . . .” He drummed his fingers on the map and grimaced.
“
You
don’t have to stay,” I said quietly. “There are plenty of others who could guide me.”
He barked a laugh. “There are plenty who would steer you,” he agreed, “but how many would clip you around the ear if you made an error?”
“Not many,” I said, chuckling.
“They think of you as a Prince,” he said, “whereas I still think of you first and foremost as a meddlesome little brat with a
penchant
for stealing spiders.”
“Charming!” I huffed. I knew he was kidding — Mr. Crepsley always treated me with the respect my position deserved — but there was some truth to his teasing. There was a special bond between Mr. Crepsley and me, like between a father and son. He could say things to me that no other vampire would dare. I’d be lost without him.
Placing the map of Mr. Crepsley’s former home to one side, we returned to the more important business of the night, little dreaming of the events that would eventually lead us back to the city of Mr. Crepsley’s youth and the awful confrontation with evil that awaited us there.
T
HE HALLS AND TUNNELS
of Vampire Mountain were buzzing with excitement — Mika Ver Leth had returned after an absence of five years, and the rumor was that he had news of the Vampaneze Lord! I was in my cell, resting, when word came. Wasting no time, I pulled on my clothes and hurried to the Hall of Princes at the top of the mountain, to check if the stories were true.
Mika was talking with Paris and Mr. Crepsley when I arrived, surrounded by a pack of Generals eager for news. He was dressed entirely in black, as was his custom, and his hawklike eyes seemed darker and grimmer than ever. He raised one gloved hand in salute when he saw me pushing my way forward. I stood to attention and saluted back. “How’s the cub Prince?” he asked with a quick, tight grin.
“Not bad,” I replied, studying him for signs of injury — many who returned to Vampire Mountain carried the scars of battle. But although Mika looked tired, he hadn’t been visibly wounded. “What about the Vampaneze Lord?” I asked directly. “According to the gossip, you know where he is.”
Mika grimaced. “If only!” Looking around, he said, “Shall we assemble? I
have
news, but I’d rather announce it to the Hall in general.” Everyone present made straight for their seats. Mika settled on his throne and sighed contentedly. “It’s good to be back,” he said, patting the arms of the hard chair. “Has Seba been taking good care of my coffin?”
“To the vampaneze with your coffin!” a General shouted, momentarily forgetting his place. “What news of the Vampaneze Lord?”
Mika ran a hand through his jet-black hair. “First, let’s make it clear — I don’t know where he is.” A groan spread through the Hall. “But I’ve had word of him,” Mika added, and all ears pricked up.
“Before I begin,” Mika said, “do you know about the latest vampaneze recruits?” Everybody looked blank. “The vampaneze have been adding to their ranks since the start of the war, blooding more humans than usual, to drive their numbers up.”
“This is old news,” Paris murmured. “There are far fewer vampaneze than vampires in the world. We expected them to blood recklessly. It is nothing to worry about — we still outnumber them greatly.”
“Yes,” Mika said. “But now they’re also using un-blooded humans. They call them ‘vampets.’ Apparently the Vampaneze Lord himself came up with the name. Like him, they’re learning the rules of vampaneze life and warfare as humans, before being blooded. He plans to build an army of human helpers.”