VAMPIRE MOUNTAIN

THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN

Book 4

VAMPIRE MOUNTAIN

THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN

BOOK 4

Copyright

HarperCollinsChildren’sBooks

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers in 2001

Copyright © 2001 Darren Shan

Darren Shan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007114412

Ebook Edition © FEBRUARY 2011 ISBN: 9780007435296

Version: 2016-11-02

Dedication

For:

The Freaky Fitzes: Ronan, Lorcan, Kealan, Tiernan & Meara – viva the Shack Pack!!!

OBEs (Order of the Bloody Entrails) to:

Ann “the monstervator” Murphy

Moira “the mediatrix” Reilly

Tony “giggsy” Purdue

Partners In Crime:

Liam & Biddy

Gillie & Zoë

Emma & Chris

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Keep Reading

About the Author

Also By

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

“PACK YOUR bags,” Mr Crepsley said late one night, as he was heading for his coffin. “We leave for Vampire Mountain tomorrow.”

I was used to the vampire making declarations out of the blue – he didn’t believe in consulting me when making up his mind – but this was extraordinary, even for him.

“Vampire Mountain?” I shrieked, racing after him. “Why are we going there?”

“To present you to the Council,” he said. “It is time.”

“The Council of Vampire Generals?” I asked. “Why do we have to go? Why now?”

“We go because it is proper,” he said. “And we go now because the Council only meets once every twelve years. If we miss this year’s gathering, we will have a long wait until the next.”

And that was all he’d say about it. He turned a deaf ear to the rest of my questions and tucked himself into his coffin before the sun rose, leaving me to fret the day away.

My name’s Darren Shan. I’m a half-vampire. I used to be human until eight or so years ago, when my destiny clashed with Mr Crepsley’s and I reluctantly became his assistant. I had a hard time adapting to the vampire and his ways – especially when it came to drinking human blood – but finally I resigned myself, accepted my lot, and got on with the business of living.

We were part of a travelling band of amazing circus performers, led by a man called Hibernius Tall. We toured the world, putting on incredible shows for customers who appreciated our strange and magical talents.

Six years had passed since Mr Crepsley and me had last been separated from the Cirque Du Freak. We’d left to put a stop to a mad vampaneze by the name of Murlough, who was terrorizing the vampire’s home city. The vampaneze are a breakaway group of vampires who kill humans when they feed on them. Vampires don’t — we just take a bit of blood and move on, leaving those we sup from unharmed. Most of the vampire myths you read about in books or see in films actually originated with the vampaneze.

They’d been a good six years. I’d become a regular performer at the Cirque, going on with Madam Octa – Mr Crepsley’s poisonous spider – every night to amaze and frighten audiences. I’d also learnt a few magic tricks, which I’d worked into the act. I got on well with the rest of the Cirque troupe. I’d grown accustomed to the wandering lifestyle and had been enjoying myself.

Now, after six years of stability, we were about to journey into the unknown again. I knew a small bit about the Council and Vampire Mountain. Vampires were ruled by soldiers called Vampire Generals who made sure their laws were enforced. They killed mad or evil vampires and kept the rest of the walking un-dead in line. Mr Crepsley used to be a Vampire General, but quit long ago, for reasons he’d never revealed.

Every so often – I now knew it was twelve years – the Generals gathered at a secret fortress to discuss whatever it was that blood-sucking creatures of the night discussed when they got together. Not only Generals attended – I’d heard that ordinary vampires could go as well – but they made up the majority. I didn’t know where the fortress was, or how we’d get there, or why I had to be presented to the Council — but I was about to find out!

CHAPTER ONE

I WAS excited but anxious about the journey – I was venturing into the unknown, and I’d a feeling it wouldn’t prove to be a smooth trip – so I spent the day busily packing rucksacks for myself and Mr Crepsley, to make the time pass faster. (Full-vampires will die if exposed to the sun for more than a few hours, but half-vampires aren’t affected by it.) Since I didn’t know where we were going, I didn’t know what to take or leave. If Vampire Mountain was icy and wintry, I’d need thick clothes and boots; if it was somewhere hot and tropical, T-shirts and shorts would be more in order.

I asked some of the Cirque people about it but they knew nothing, except Mr Tall, who said I should pack for snow. Mr Tall was one of those people who seem to know something about everything.

Evra agreed about the snow. “I doubt if sun-shy vampires would make their base in the Caribbean!” he snorted.

Evra Von was a snake-boy, with scales instead of skin. Rather, he used to be a snake-boy — now he was a snake-man. Evra had grown these last six years, got taller and broader and older-looking. I hadn’t. As a half-vampire, I aged at one-fifth the normal rate. So, though eight years had passed since Mr Crepsley blooded me, I only looked a year or so older.

I hated not being able to grow normally. Evra and me used to be best buddies, but not any more. We were still good friends and shared a tent, but he was a young man now, more interested in people – particularly women! – his own age. In reality I was only a couple of years younger than Evra, but I looked like a kid, and it was difficult for him to treat me as an equal.

There were benefits to being a half-vampire – I was stronger and faster than any human, and would live longer – but I’d have given them all up if it meant looking my real age and being able to lead an ordinary life.

Even though Evra and me were no longer as close as we’d once been, he was still my friend, and was worried about me heading off for Vampire Mountain. “From what I know, that journey’s no joke,” he warned in the deep voice which hit him a few years ago. “Maybe I should come with you.”

I’d have loved to jump at his offer, but Evra had his own life to lead. It wouldn’t be fair to drag him away from the Cirque Du Freak. “No,” I told him. “Stay and keep my hammock warm. I’ll be OK. Besides, snakes don’t like the cold, do they?”

“That’s true,” he laughed. “I’d most likely fall asleep and hibernate till spring!”

Even though Evra wouldn’t be coming, he helped me pack. I didn’t have much to take: spare clothes, a thick pair of boots, special cooking utensils which folded up neatly so they were easier to carry, my diary – that went everywhere with me – and other bits and pieces. Evra told me to take a rope — he said it might come in handy, especially when it came to climbing.

“But vampires are great climbers,” I reminded him.

“I know,” he said, “but do you really want to hang off the side of a mountain with only your fingertips for support?”

“Of course he does!” someone boomed behind us before I could answer. “Vampires thrive on danger.”

Turning to see who it was, I found myself face to face with the sinister being known as Mr Tiny, and my insides instantly froze with fright.

Mr Tiny was a small, plump man, with white hair, thick glasses and a pair of green wellies. He often toyed with a heart-shaped watch. He looked like a kindly old uncle but was in fact a cruel, dark-hearted man, who’d cut your tongue out as soon as say “hello”. Nobody knew much about him, but everyone was afraid of him. His first name was Desmond, and if you shortened it and put it together with his surname you got Mr Destiny.

I hadn’t seen Mr Tiny since shortly after joining the Cirque Du Freak, but I’d heard many tales about him – how he ate children for breakfast, and burned down towns to warm his feet. My heart tightened when I saw him standing a few metres away, eyes twinkling, hands wrapped behind his back, eavesdropping on Evra and me.

“Vampires are peculiar creatures,” he said, stepping forward, as though he’d been part of the conversation all along. “They love a challenge. I knew one once who walked himself to death in sunlight, merely because someone had sneered at him for only being able to come out at night.”

He stuck out a hand and, scared as I was, I automatically shook it. Evra didn’t — when Mr Tiny extended his hand to the snake-man, he stood, quivering, shaking his head furiously. Mr Tiny merely smiled and withdrew the hand.

“So, you’re off to Vampire Mountain,” he said, picking up my rucksack and peering inside without asking. “Take matches, Master Shan. The way is long and the days are cold. The winds that gust around Vampire Mountain would cut even a tough-skinned young man like you to the bone.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I said.

That was the confusing thing about Mr Tiny: he was always polite and amiable, so even if you knew he was the sort of man who wouldn’t blink in the face of great evil, you couldn’t help liking him at least some of the time.

“Are my Little People near?” he asked. The Little People were short creatures who dressed in blue robes with hoods, never spoke, and ate anything that moved (including humans!). A handful of the mysterious beings almost always travelled with the Cirque Du Freak, and there were eight of them with us at that time.

“They’re probably in their tent,” I said. “I took them in some food an hour or so ago and I think they’re still eating.” One of my jobs was to hunt for the Little People. Evra used to do it with me, until he grew up and demanded less messy chores. Nowadays I was helped by a couple of young humans, children of the Cirque helpers.

“Excellent,” Mr Tiny beamed, and started away. “Oh,” he paused, “one last thing. Tell Larten not to leave until I’ve had a word with him.”

“I think we’re in a hurry,” I said. “We might not have time to–”

“Just tell him I want a word,” Mr Tiny interrupted. “I’m sure he’ll make time for me.” With that, he tipped his glasses at us, waved farewell and moved on. I shared a worried look with Evra, found some matches and stuck them in my bag, then hurried off to wake Mr Crepsley.

CHAPTER TWO

MR CREPSLEY was snappish when I woke him – he hated rising before the sun went down – but stopped complaining when I explained why I’d disturbed his sleep. “Mr Tiny,” he sighed, scratching the long scar which ran down the left side of his face. “I wonder what he wants?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, “but he said not to leave until he’d had a word with you.” I lowered my voice and whispered, “We could sneak away without being seen if we hurried. Twilight’s not far off. You could stand an hour or so of sunlight if we kept to the shadows, couldn’t you?”

“I could,” Mr Crepsley agreed, “were I given to fleeing like a dog with its tail between its legs. But I am not. I will face Desmond Tiny. Bring me my finest cloak — I like to look my best for visitors.” That was as close to a joke as the vampire was likely to come — he didn’t have much of a sense of humour.

An hour later, with the sun setting, we made our way to Mr Tall’s caravan, where Mr Tiny was regaling the owner of the Cirque Du Freak with tales of what he’d seen in a recent earthquake.

“Ah, Larten!” Mr Tiny boomed. “Prompt as ever.”

“Desmond,” Mr Crepsley replied stiffly.

“Have a seat,” Mr Tiny said.

“Thank you, but I will stand.” Nobody liked sitting when Mr Tiny was around – in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

“I hear you’re casting off for Vampire Mountain,” Mr Tiny said.

“We leave presently,” Mr Crepsley confirmed.

“This is the first Council you’ve been to in nearly fifty years, isn’t it?”

“You are well informed,” Mr Crepsley grunted.

“I keep an ear to the ground.”

There was a knock at the door, and Mr Tall admitted two of the Little People. One walked with a slight limp. He’d been with the Cirque Du Freak almost as long as me. I called him Lefty, though that was only a nickname — none of the Little People had real names.

“Ready, boys?” Mr Tiny asked. The Little People nodded. “Excellent!” He smiled at Mr Crepsley. “The path to Vampire Mountain is as hazardous as ever, isn’t it?”

“It is not easy,” Mr Crepsley agreed cagily.

“Dangerous for a young snip of a thing like Master Shan, wouldn’t you say?”

“Darren can look after himself,” Mr Crepsley said, and I grinned proudly.

“I’m sure he can,” Mr Tiny responded, “but it’s unusual for one so young to make the journey, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mr Crepsley said curtly.

“That’s why I’m sending these two along as guards.” Mr Tiny waved a hand at the Little People.

“Guards?” Mr Crepsley barked. “We do not need any. I have made the trip many times. I can look after Darren myself.”

“You can indeed,” Mr Tiny cooed, “but a little help never went astray, did it?”

“They would get in the way,” Mr Crepsley growled. “I do not want them.”

“My Little People? Get in the way?” Mr Tiny sounded shocked. “They exist only to serve. They’ll be like shepherds, watching over the two of you while you sleep.”

“Nevertheless,” Mr Crepsley insisted, “I do not want–”

“This is not an offer,” Mr Tiny interrupted. Though he spoke softly, the menace in his voice was unmistakable. “They’re going with you. End of story. They’ll hunt for themselves and see to their own sleeping arrangements. All you have to do is make sure you don’t ‘lose’ them in the snowy wastelands on the way.”

“And when we get there?” Mr Crepsley snapped. “Do you expect me to take them inside? That is not permitted. The Princes will not stand for it.”

“Yes they will,” Mr Tiny disagreed. “Don’t forget by whose hands the Hall of Princes was built. Paris Skyle and the rest know on which side their blood is buttered. They won’t object.”

Mr Crepsley was furious – practically shaking with rage – but the anger seeped out of him as he stared into Mr Tiny’s eyes and realized there was no arguing with the little man. In the end he nodded and averted his gaze, ashamed at having to bow to the demands of this interfering man.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Mr Tiny beamed, then turned his attention to me. “You’ve grown,” he noted. “Inside, where it matters. Your battles with the Wolf Man and Murlough have toughened you.”

“How do you know about that?” Mr Crepsley gasped. It was common knowledge that I’d had a run-in with the fearsome Wolf Man, but nobody was meant to know of our fight with Murlough. If the vampaneze ever found out, they’d hunt us to the ends of the Earth and kill us.

“I know all manner of things,” Mr Tiny cackled. “This world holds no secrets from me. You’ve come a long way,” he addressed me again, “but there’s a long way yet to go. The path ahead isn’t easy, and I’m not just talking about the route to Vampire Mountain. You must be strong, and keep faith in yourself. Never admit defeat, even when it seems inevitable.”

I hadn’t expected such a speech, and I listened in a daze, numbly wondering why he was sharing such words with me.

“That’s all I have to say,” he finished, standing and rubbing his heart-shaped watch. “Time’s ticking. We’ve all got places to be and deadlines to meet. I’ll be on my way. Hibernius, Larten, Darren.” He bowed briefly to each of us in turn. “We’ll meet again, I’m sure.” He turned, headed for the door, shared a look with the Little People, then let himself out. In the silence which followed, we stared at one another speechlessly, wondering what all that had been about.

Mr Crepsley wasn’t happy but he couldn’t postpone leaving — making it to the Council on time was more important than anything else, he told me. So, while the Little People stood waiting outside his van, I helped him pack.

“Those clothes will not do,” he said, referring to my bright pirate costume which still fitted me after all the years of wear and tear. “Where we are going, you would stand out like a peacock. Here,” he thrust a bundle at me. I unrolled it to reveal a light grey jumper and trousers, along with a woolly cap.

“How long have you been preparing for this?” I asked.

“Some time now,” he admitted, pulling on clothes of a similar colour to mine, in place of his usual red attire.

“Couldn’t you have told me about it earlier?”

“I could have,” he replied in that infuriating way of his.

I slipped into my new clothes, then looked for socks and shoes. Mr Crepsley shook his head when he saw me searching. “No footwear,” he said. “We go barefoot.”

“Over snow and ice?” I yelped.

“Vampires have harder feet than humans,” he said. “You will barely feel the cold, especially when we are walking.”

“What about stones and thorns?” I grumbled.

“They will toughen your soles up even more,” he grinned, then took off his slippers. “It is the same for all vampires. The way to Vampire Mountain is not just a journey — it is a test. Boots, jackets, ropes: such items are not permitted.”

“Sounds crazy to me,” I sighed, but took the rope, spare clothes and boots out of my bag. When we were ready, Mr Crepsley asked where Madam Octa was. “You’re not bringing her, are you?” I grumbled — I knew who’d have to look after her if she came, and it wouldn’t be Mr Crepsley!

“There is someone I wish to show her to,” he said.

“Someone who eats spiders, I hope,” I sniffed, but fetched her from behind his coffin, where I kept her between shows. She shuffled around while I lifted the cage and placed it in my bag, but settled down once she found herself in the dark again.

Then it was time to go. I’d said goodbye to Evra earlier – he was taking part in that night’s show and had to prepare – and Mr Crepsley had bid farewell to Mr Tall. Nobody else would miss us.

“Ready?” Mr Crepsley asked.

“Ready,” I sighed.

Leaving the safety of the van, we cleared the camp, let the two silent Little People fall into place behind us, and set off on what would prove to be a wild, peril-filled adventure into lands cold and foreign and steeped in blood.

CHAPTER THREE

I WOKE shortly before nightfall, stretched the stiffness out of my bones – what I wouldn’t have given for a bed or hammock! – then left the confines of the cave to study the barren land we were journeying through. I didn’t get much chance to study the countryside while we travelled at night. It was only during quiet moments such as these that I could pause and take everything in.

We hadn’t hit the snowlands yet, but already we’d left most of civilization behind. Humans were few and far between out here where the ground was rocky and forbidding. Even animals were scarce, though some were strong enough to eke out a living — mostly deer, wolves and bears.

We’d been travelling for weeks, maybe a month — I lost track of time after the first handful of nights. Whenever I asked Mr Crepsley how many kilometres were left, he’d smile and say, “We are some way off yet.”

My feet cut up badly when we reached the hard ground. Mr Crepsley applied the sap of herbal plants that he found along the way to my soles, carried me for a few nights while my skin grew back (I healed quicker than a human would), and I’d been OK since.

I said one night that it was a pity the Little People were with us, or he could have carried me on his back and flitted. (Vampires are able to run at an extra-fast speed, a magic kind of running, where they slip through space like eels through a net. They call it ‘flitting’.) He said our slow pace had nothing to do with the Little People. “Flitting is not permitted on the way to Vampire Mountain,” he explained. “The journey is a way of weeding out the weak from the strong. Vampires are ruthless in certain aspects. We do not believe in supporting those who are incapable of supporting themselves.”

“That’s not very nice,” I observed. “What about somebody who’s old or injured?”

Mr Crepsley shrugged. “Either they do not attempt the journey, or they die trying.”

“That’s stupid,” I said. “If I could flit, I would. No one would know.”

The vampire sighed. “You still do not understand our ways,” he said. “There is no nobility in pulling the wool over the eyes of one’s comrades. We are proud beings, Darren, who live by exacting codes. From our point of view it is better to lose one’s life than lose one’s pride.”

Mr Crepsley often spoke about pride and nobility and being true to oneself. Vampires were a stern lot, he said, who lived as close to nature as they could. Their lives were rarely easy, and that was the way they liked it — “Life is a challenge,” he once told me, “and only those who rise to the challenge truly know what it means to live.”

I’d grown accustomed to the Little People, who trailed along behind us at night, silent, aloof, precise. They hunted for their own food during the day, while we slept. By the time we woke, they’d eaten and grabbed a few hours sleep and were ready to go. Their pace never changed. They marched behind us like robots, a few metres to the rear. I thought the one with the limp might struggle, but he’d yet to show signs that he was feeling any strain.

Mr Crepsley and me fed mostly on deer. Their blood was hot, salty and good. We had bottles of human blood to keep us going – vampires need regular doses of human blood to remain healthy, and though they prefer to drink directly from the vein, they can bottle blood and store it – but we drank from them sparingly, saving them in case of an emergency.

Mr Crepsley wouldn’t let me light a fire in the open – it might attract attention – but it was allowed in way-stations. Way-stations were caves or underground caverns where bottles of human blood and coffins were stored. They were resting places, where vampires could hole up for a day or two. There weren’t many of them – it took about a week to make it from one to another – and some had been taken over or destroyed by animals since Mr Crepsley had last come this way.

“How come they allow way-stations but no shoes or ropes?” I asked one day as we warmed our feet by a fire and tucked into roast venison (we ate it raw most of the time).

“The way-stations were introduced after our war with the vampaneze seven hundred years ago,” he said. “We lost many of our clan in the fight with the vampaneze, and humans killed even more of us. Our numbers were dangerously low. The way-stations were set up to make it easier to get to Vampire Mountain. Some vampires object to them and never use them, but most accept them.”

“How many vampires are there?” I asked.

“Between two and three thousand,” he answered. “Maybe a few hundred more or less.”

I whistled. “That’s a lot!”

“Three thousand is nothing,” he snorted. “Think about the billions of humans.”

“It’s more than I expected,” I said.

“Once, we numbered more than a hundred thousand,” Mr Crepsley said. “And this was long ago, when that was a huge amount.”

“What happened to them?” I asked.

“They were killed,” he sighed. “Humans with stakes; disease; fights — vampires love to fight. In the centuries before the vampaneze broke away and provided us with a real foe, we fought amongst ourselves, many dying in duels. We came close to extinction, but kept our heads above water, just about.”

“How many Vampire Generals are there?” I asked curiously.

“Between three and four hundred.”

“And vampaneze?”

“Maybe two hundred and fifty, or three hundred — I cannot say for sure.”

As I was remembering this old conversation, Mr Crepsley emerged from the cave behind me and watched the sun sinking. It looked the same colour as his cropped orange hair. The vampire was in great form — the nights were growing longer the closer to Vampire Mountain we got, so he was able to move about more than usual.

“It is always nice to see it go down,” Mr Crepsley said, referring to the sun.

“I thought it was going to snow earlier,” I said.

“There will be snow aplenty soon,” he replied. “We should reach the snow drifts this week.” He glanced down at my feet. “Will you be able to survive the harsh cold?”

“I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

“This has been the easy part,” he smiled, then clapped me on the back when he saw my dismayed frown. “Do not worry — you will be fine. But let me know if your feet cut up again. There are rare bushes which grow along the trail, the sap of which can seal the pores of one’s skin.”

The Little People came out of the cave, hoods covering their faces. The one without a limp was carrying a dead fox.

“Ready?” Mr Crepsley asked me.

I nodded and swung my rucksack on to my back. Looking ahead over the rocky terrain, I asked the usual question: “Is it much further?”

Mr Crepsley smiled, began walking, and said over his shoulder, “We are some way off yet.”

Muttering darkly, I glanced back at the relatively comfortable cave, then faced front and followed the vampire. The Little People fell in behind, and after a while I heard brittle snapping sounds as they chewed on the bones of the fox.

Four nights later we ran into heavy snow. For a few nights we travelled over country that was one long unbroken blanket of freezing white, where nothing lived, but after that trees, plants and animals appeared again.

My feet felt like two blocks of ice as we trudged through the belt of snow, but I gritted my teeth and walked off the effects of the cold. The worst bit was getting up at dusk, having slept with my feet tucked beneath me all day. There was always an hour or two after waking when my toes tingled and I thought they’d drop off. Then the blood would circulate and everything would be fine — until the next night.

Sleeping outside was dreadfully uncomfortable. The two of us would lie down together in our clothes – which we hadn’t changed out of since reaching the snow – and pull rough blankets we’d made from deer skins over our bodies. But even with our shared warmth it was freezing. Madam Octa had it easy — she slept safe and snug in her cage, only waking to feed every few days. I often wished I could change places with her.

If the Little People felt the cold, they gave no indication. They didn’t bother with blankets, just lay down beneath a bush or against a rock when they wanted to sleep.

Almost three weeks after we’d last stopped at a way-station, we came to another. I couldn’t wait to sit beside a fire and eat cooked meat again. I was even looking forward to sleeping in a coffin — anything was better than hard, cold earth! This way-station was a cave set low in a cliff, above a forest ring and a large stream. Mr Crepsley and me aimed directly for it – a strong moon in the clear night sky lit the way – while the Little People went off to hunt. The climb only took ten minutes. I pushed ahead of Mr Crepsley as we approached the mouth of the cave, eager to get the fire started, only for him to lay a hand on my shoulder. “Hold,” he said softly.

“What?” I snapped. I was irritable after three weeks of sleeping rough.

“I smell blood,” he said.

Pausing, I sniffed the air, and after a few seconds I got the whiff too, strong and sickly.

“Stay close behind me,” Mr Crepsley whispered. “Be prepared to run the instant I give the order.” I nodded obediently, then trailed after him as he crept to the opening and slid inside.

The cave was dark, especially after the brightness of the moonlit night, and we entered slowly, giving our eyes time to adjust. It was a deep cave, turning off to the left and going back twenty or more metres. Three coffins had been placed on stands in the middle, but one was lying on the floor, its lid hanging off, and another had been smashed to pieces against the wall to our right.

The wall and floor around the shattered coffin were dark with blood. It wasn’t fresh, but by its smell it wasn’t more than a couple of nights old. Having checked the rest of the cave – to ensure we were alone – Mr Crepsley edged over to the blood and crouched to examine it, dipping a finger into the dried pool, then tasting it.

“Well?” I hissed, as he stood, rubbing his finger and thumb together.

“It is the blood of a vampire,” he said quietly.

My insides tightened — I’d been hoping it was the blood of a wild animal. “What do you think–” I started to ask, when there was a sudden rushing sound behind me. A strong arm wrapped around my middle, a thick hand clutched my throat, and – as Mr Crepsley shot forward to help – my attacker grunted triumphantly: “Hah!”

CHAPTER FOUR

AS I stiffened helplessly, my life in the hands of whoever had hold of me, Mr Crepsley leapt, the fingers of his right hand outstretched like a blade. He sliced the hand over the top of my head. My assailant released me and ducked in the same movement, dropping heavily to the floor as Mr Crepsley sailed by. As the vampire rolled to his feet and spun to strike a second blow, the man who’d snatched me roared, “Stop, Larten! It’s me — Gavner!”

Mr Crepsley paused and I got to my feet, coughing from the fright, but no longer afraid. Turning, I saw a burly man with a scarred, patchy face and dark rims around both his eyes. He was dressed in similar clothes to ours, with a cap pulled down over his ears. I recognized him instantly — Gavner Purl, a Vampire General. I’d met him years ago, shortly before my run-in with Murlough.

“You bloody fool, Gavner!” Mr Crepsley shouted. “I would have killed you if I had connected! Why did you sneak up on us?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Gavner said. “I’ve been shadowing you most of the night, and this seemed like the perfect time to close in. I didn’t expect to almost lose my head in the process,” he grumbled.

“You should have been paying more attention to your surroundings and less to Darren and I,” Mr Crepsley said, pointing towards the blood-stained wall and floor.

“By the blood of the vampaneze!” Gavner hissed.

“Actually, it is the blood of a vampire,” Mr Crepsley corrected him dryly.

“Any idea whose?” Gavner asked, hurrying over to test the blood.

“None,” Mr Crepsley said.

Gavner prowled around the confines of the cave, studying the blood and broken coffin, searching for further clues. Finding none, he returned to where we were standing and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “He was probably attacked by a wild animal,” he mused aloud. “A bear – maybe more than one – caught him during the day, while he was sleeping.”

“I am not so sure of that,” Mr Crepsley disagreed. “A bear would have caused great damage to the cave and its contents, but only the coffins have been disturbed.”

Gavner ran his eyes over the cave again, noting the tidy state of the rest of it, and nodded. “What do you think happened?” he asked.

“A fight,” Mr Crepsley suggested. “Between two vampires, or between the dead vampire and somebody else.”

“Who’d be out here in the middle of nowhere?” I asked.

Mr Crepsley and Gavner exchanged a troubled look. “Vampire hunters, perhaps,” Gavner muttered.

My breath caught in my throat — I’d grown so used to the vampire way of life, I’d all but forgotten that there were people in the world who thought we were monsters and made it their business to hunt us down and kill us.

“Or maybe humans who chanced upon him by accident and panicked,” Mr Crepsley said. “It has been a long time since vampire hunters aggressively trailed us. This may have been a case of mere misfortune.”

“Either way,” Gavner said, “let’s not hang around and wait for it to happen again. I was looking forward to resting, but now I think it’s best we don’t cage ourselves in.”

“Agreed,” Mr Crepsley replied, and after one last sweep of the cave, we retreated, senses alert to the slightest hint of an attack.

We made our base for the night in the middle of a ring of thick trees, and lit a rare fire — all of us felt chilled to the bone after our experience in the cave. While we were discussing the dead vampire and whether we should search the surrounding area for his body, the Little People returned, carrying a young deer they’d captured. They stared suspiciously at Gavner, who stared just as suspiciously back.

“What are they doing with you?” he hissed.

“Mr Tiny insisted I bring them,” Mr Crepsley said, then raised a quieting hand as Gavner swivelled to ask more questions. “Later,” he promised. “Let us eat first and dwell upon the death of our comrade.”

The trees sheltered us from the rising sun, so we sat up long after dawn, discussing the dead vampire. Since there wasn’t anything we could do about him – the vampires decided against a search, on the grounds that it would slow us down – talk eventually turned to other matters. Gavner asked about the Little People again, and Mr Crepsley told him how Mr Tiny had appeared and sent them with us. Then he asked Gavner why he’d been trailing us.

“I knew you’d be presenting Darren to the Princes,” Gavner said, “so I located your mental pattern and traced you through it.” (Vampires are able to bond mentally with each other.) “I had to cut up from a hundred miles south, but I hate travelling alone — it’s boring having no one to chat with.”

As we talked, I noticed a couple of toes were missing from Gavner’s left foot and asked about them. “Frostbite,” he answered cheerfully, wriggling the three remaining toes. “I broke my leg coming here a couple of Councils back. Had to crawl for five nights to reach a way-station. It was only by the luck of the vampires that I didn’t lose more than a few toes.”

The vampires talked a lot about the past, old friends and previous Councils. I thought they’d mention Murlough – Gavner had alerted Mr Crepsley to the mad vampaneze’s whereabouts – but they didn’t, not even in passing.

“How have you been?” Gavner asked me.

“Fine,” I said.

“Life with this sour buzzard hasn’t got you down?”

“I’ve coped so far,” I smiled.

“Any intentions of topping up?” he asked.

“Pardon?”

He raised his fingers so I could see the ten scars on the tips, the usual sign of a vampire. “Do you plan to become a full-vampire?”

“No,” I said quickly, then looked sideways at Mr Crepsley. “I don’t have any such plans, do I?” I asked suspiciously.

“No,” Mr Crepsley smiled. “Not until you have come of human age. If we made a full-vampire of you now, it would be sixty or seventy years before you were fully grown.”

“I bet it’s horrible ageing so slowly when you’re a kid,” Gavner noted.

“It is,” I sighed.

“Things will improve with time,” Mr Crepsley said.

“Sure,” I said sarcastically, “when I’m all grown up — thirty years from now!” I rose and shook my head, disgusted. I often got downhearted when my thoughts turned to the decades I’d have to spend on the road to maturity.

“Where are you going?” Mr Crepsley asked as I headed towards the trees.

“To the stream,” I said, “to fill our canteens.”

“Maybe one of us should go with you,” Gavner said.

“Darren is not a child,” Mr Crepsley answered before I could. “He will be fine.”

I hid a grin – I enjoyed the rare occasions when the vampire passed a compliment about me – and continued down to the stream. The chilly water was fast-flowing and gurgled loudly as I filled the canteens, splashing around the rims and my fingers. If I’d been human I might have got frostbite, but vampires are a lot sturdier.

As I was corking the second canteen, a tiny cloud of steamy breath drifted across from the other side of the stream. I glanced up, surprised that a wild animal had ventured this close, and found myself staring into the flaming eyes of a fierce, hungry-looking, sharp-fanged wolf.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE WOLF studied me silently, its nose crinkling over its jagged canines as it sniffed my scent. I gently laid my canteen aside, not sure what to do. If I called for help, the wolf might panic and flee — then again, it might attack. If I stayed as I was, it might lose interest and slink away — or it might take it as a sign of weakness and move in for the kill.

I was desperately trying to decide when the wolf tensed its hind legs, lowered its head and pounced, crossing the stream with one mighty bound. It crashed into my chest, knocking me to the ground. I tried scrambling away but the wolf had perched on top of me and was too heavy to throw off. My hands searched frantically for a rock or stick, something to beat the animal with, but there was nothing to grab except snow.

The wolf was a terrifying sight up close, with its dark grey face and slanting yellow eyes, its black muzzle and bared white teeth, some five or six centimetres long. Its tongue lolled out the side of its mouth and it was panting slowly. Its breath stank of blood and raw animal flesh.

I knew nothing about wolves – except vampires couldn’t drink from them – so I didn’t know how to react: attack its face or go for its body? Lie still and hope it went away, or shout and maybe scare it off? While my brain was spinning, the wolf lowered its head, extended its long wet tongue, and … licked me!

I was so stunned, I just lay there, staring up at the jaws of the fearsome animal. The wolf licked me again, then got off, faced the stream, went down on its paws and lapped at the water. I lay where I was a few moments more, then pulled myself up and sat watching it drink, noting that it was a male.

When the wolf had drunk his fill, he stood, lifted his head and howled. From the trees on the opposite side of the stream, three more wolves emerged and crept down to the bank, where they drank. Two were females and one was a young cub, darker and smaller than the others.

The male watched the others drinking, then sat beside me. He snuggled up to me like a dog and, before I knew what I was doing, I’d reached around and was tickling him behind his ear. The wolf whined pleasantly and cocked his head so I could scratch behind the other ear.

One of the she-wolves finished drinking and jumped the stream. She sniffed my feet, then sat on the other side of me and offered her head to be scratched. The male growled at her jealously but she took no notice.

The other two weren’t long joining the couple on my side of the stream. The female was shyer than her mates and hovered several metres away. The cub had no such fears and crawled over my legs and belly, sniffing like a hound-dog. He cocked a leg to mark my left thigh, but before he could, the male wolf snapped at him and sent him tumbling. He barked angrily, then slunk back and climbed over me again. This time he didn’t try to mark his territory — thankfully!

I sat there for ages, playing with the cub and tickling the bigger pair of wolves. The male rolled over on to his back, so that I could rub his belly. His hair was lighter underneath, except for a long streak of black hair which ran part-way up his middle. ‘Streak’ seemed like a good name for a wolf, so that’s what I called him.

I wanted to see if they knew any tricks, so I found a stick and threw it. “Fetch, Streak, fetch!” I shouted, but he didn’t budge. I tried getting him to sit to attention. “Sit, Streak!” I ordered. He stared at me. “Sit — like this.” I squatted on my haunches. Streak moved back a little, as though he thought I might be mad. The cub was delighted and jumped on me. I laughed and stopped trying to teach them tricks.

After that I headed back to camp to tell the vampires about my new friends. The wolves followed, though only Streak walked by my side — the others trailed behind.

Mr Crepsley and Gavner were asleep when I got back, tucked beneath thick deer blankets. Gavner was snoring loudly. With only their heads showing, they looked like the ugliest pair of babies in the world! I wished I had a camera capable of photographing vampires, so that I could snap them.

I was about to join them beneath the blankets when I had an idea. The wolves had stopped at the trees. I coaxed them in. Streak came first and examined the copse, making sure it was safe. When he was satisfied, he growled lightly and the other wolves entered, keeping away from the sleeping vampires.

I lay down on the far side of the fire and held a blanket up, inviting the wolves to lie down with me. They wouldn’t go beneath the blanket – the cub tried, but its mother jerked it back by the scruff of its neck – but once I lay down and covered myself with it, they crept up and lay on top, even the shy she-wolf. They were heavy, and the scent of their hairy bodies was overbearing, but the warmth of the wolves was heavenly, and despite the fact that I was resting so close to the cave where a vampire had been killed recently, I slept in complete comfort.

I was awakened by angry growls. Jolting upright, I found the three adult wolves spread in a semicircle in front of my bed, the male in the middle. The cub was cowering behind me. Ahead stood the Little People. Their grey hands were flexing by their sides and they were moving in on the wolves.

“Stop!” I roared, leaping to my feet. On the other side of the fire – which had died out while I was sleeping – Mr Crepsley and Gavner snapped awake and rolled out from under their blankets. I jumped in front of Streak and snarled at the Little People. They stared at me from beneath their blue hoods. I glimpsed the large green eyes of the one closest me.

“What’s happening?” Gavner shouted, blinking rapidly.

The nearest Little Person ignored Gavner, pointed at the wolves, then at his belly, and rubbed it. That was the sign that he was hungry. I shook my head. “Not the wolves,” I told him. “They’re my friends.” He made the rubbing motion again. “No!” I shouted.

The Little Person began to advance, but the one behind him – Lefty – reached out and touched his arm. The Little Person locked gazes with Lefty, stood still a moment, then shuffled away to where he’d left the rats they’d caught while hunting. Lefty lingered a moment, his hidden green eyes on mine, before joining his brother (I always thought of them as brothers).

“I see you have met some of our cousins,” Mr Crepsley said, stepping slowly over the remains of the fire, holding his hands palms-up so the wolves wouldn’t be alarmed. They growled at him, but once they caught his scent they relaxed and sat, though they kept a wary eye on the munching Little People.

“Cousins?” I asked.

“Wolves and vampires are related,” he explained. “Legends claim that once we were the same, just as man and ape were originally one. Some of us learned to walk on two legs and became vampires — the others remained wolves.”

“Is that true?” I asked.

Mr Crepsley shrugged. “Where legends are concerned, who knows?” He crouched in front of Streak and studied him silently. Streak sat up straight and ruffled his head to make his ears and mane erect. “A fine specimen,” Mr Crepsley said, stroking the wolf’s long snout. “A born leader.”

“I call him Streak, because he’s got a streak of black hair on his belly,” I said.

“Wolves have no need of names,” the vampire informed me. “They are not dogs.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport,” Gavner said, stepping up beside his friend. “Let him give them names if he wants. It can’t do any harm.”

“I suppose not,” Mr Crepsley agreed. He held out a hand to the she-wolves and they stepped forward to lick his palm, including the shy one. “I always had a way with wolves,” he said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice.

“How come they’re so friendly?” I asked. “I thought wolves shied away from people.”

“From humans,” Mr Crepsley said. “Vampires are different. Our scent is similar to their own. They recognize us as kindred spirits. Not all wolves are amiable – these must have had dealings with our kind before – but none would ever attack a vampire, not unless they were starving.”

“Did you see any more of them?” Gavner asked. I shook my head. “Then they’re probably journeying towards Vampire Mountain to join up with other packs.”

“Why would they be going to Vampire Mountain?” I asked.

“Wolves come whenever there’s a Council,” he explained. “They know from experience that there will be plenty of scraps for them to feed on. The guardians of Vampire Mountain spend years stocking up for Councils. There’s always food left over, which they dump outside for the creatures of the wild to dispose of.”

“It’s a long way to go for a few scraps,” I commented.

“They go for more than food,” Mr Crepsley said. “They gather for company, to salute old friends, find new mates and share memories.”

“Wolves can communicate?” I asked.

“They are able to transmit simple thoughts to one another. They do not actually talk – wolves have no words – but can share pictures and pass on maps of where they have been, letting others know where hunting is plentiful or scarce.”

“Talking of which, we’d better make ourselves scarce,” Gavner said. “The sun’s sinking and it’s time we got a move on. You chose a long, roundabout route to come by, Larten, and if we don’t pick up the pace, we’ll arrive late for Council.”

“There are other paths?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “There are dozens of ways. That’s why – except for the remains of the dead one – we haven’t run into other vampires — each comes by a different route.”

We rolled up our blankets and departed, Mr Crepsley and Gavner keeping a close eye on the trail, scouring it for signs of whoever had killed the vampire in the cave. The wolves followed us through the trees and ran beside us for a couple of hours, keeping clear of the Little People, before vanishing ahead of us into the night.

“Where are they going?” I asked.

“To hunt,” Mr Crepsley replied.

“Will they come back?”

“It would not surprise me,” he said, and, come dawn, as we were making camp, the four wolves re-appeared like ghosts out of the snow and made their beds beside and on top of us. For the second day running, I slept soundly, disturbed only by the cold nose of the cub when he snuck in under the blanket during the middle of the day to cuddle up beside me.

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