# The Vampire Prince

Darren Shan

Darren Shan, the vampire’s assistant, must clear his name and avenge the death of Gavner Purl. Can a half-vampire outwit a Vampire Prince?Betrayed by Kurda and reeling from the brutal slaying of Gavner, the vampire’s assistant, Darren Shan, finds himself branded a traitor and hunted by the vampire clan.Will Darren’s failure to complete the Trials mean banishment for Mr Crepsley and execution for himself? Or can Darren return to the home of the damned and exact revenge?But Darren comes to realise that there is more than revenge at stake – the vampire clan must combat the rise of the Vampaneze Lord, or see his ascension mark the end of thousands of years of vampire rule…

## The VAMPIRE PRINCE

THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN

BOOK 6


### THE VAMPIRE PRINCE

THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN

BOOK 6


If your trip to Vampire Mountain leaves you

bloodthirsty for more, visit Shanville

– home to Darren Shan –

at www.darrenshan.com

For:

Martha & Bill – who fed a hungry half-vampire

OBEs (Order of the Bloody Entrails) to:

Katherine “kill-crazy” Tyacke

Stella “stabber” Paskins

Editors extraordinaire:

Gillie Russell & Zoë Clarke

Agent provocateur:

Christopher Little

## Contents

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

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Other Books in the Series The Saga of Darren Shan

Copyright

About the Publisher


### PROLOGUE

BE CAREFUL who you trust. Even a supposedly close friend might be capable of betraying you. I found that out the hard way.

My name’s Darren Shan. I’m a half-vampire. I was blooded when I was very young, and for eight years I toured the world with the Cirque Du Freak — a travelling circus of magically gifted performers. Then my mentor – Larten Crepsley – said I had to be presented to the Vampire Princes.

Most of the Princes and Vampire Generals gathered in the remote Vampire Mountain once every twelve years, for the Council of Vampires. After a long, tiring trek to the mountain with Mr Crepsley, Harkat Mulds (a Little Person who’d been brought back from the dead by a powerful man called Mr Tiny), Gavner Purl (a General) and four wolves (including a male I called Streak and a cub I nicknamed Rudi), I faced the Princes, who said I had to prove myself worthy of joining the ranks of the undead. They set me a series of harsh tests known as the Trials of Initiation. If I passed all five tests, I’d be accepted as one of them. If I failed, I’d be killed.

I passed the first three Trials, but the fourth ended disastrously — I fell foul of a wild boar and would have been gouged to death if not for Harkat, who leapt into the pit and killed the boar. The problem was, his intervention broke all the rules. While the vampires debated my fate, one sneaked into my cell and led me away to safety. He was a blond, slender, peaceful, highly intelligent vampire called Kurda Smahlt, and he was shortly due to become a Prince. I believed he was my friend.

While we were escaping, Gavner caught up with us and tried talking me into going back to face the verdict of the Princes. Kurda persuaded him to let me go. But, as we were closing in on freedom, we ran into a bunch of vampaneze – purple-skinned adversaries of the vampires, who kill humans when they drink from them – hiding in a cave.

That’s when Kurda showed his true colours. He stabbed and killed Gavner, and I realized he was in league with the vampaneze. He tried taking me alive, but I ran and fell into a mountain stream. Kurda would have saved me, but I ignored his helping hand and surrendered myself to the vicious flow of the stream, which swiftly swept me away underground, into the belly of the mountain and certain death…


### CHAPTER ONE

DARKNESS — COLD — churning water — roaring, like a thousand lions — spinning around and around — bashing into rocks — arms wrapped around my face to protect it — tucking up legs to make myself smaller, less of a target.

Wash up against a mass of roots — grab hold — slippery — the wet roots feel like dead fingers clutching at me — a gap between the water and the roof of the tunnel — I draw quick gasps of breath — current takes hold again — try fighting it — roots break off in my hands — swept away.

Tumbling over and over — hit my head hard on a rock — see stars — almost black out — struggle to keep head up — spit water out of my mouth, but more gushes in — feels like I’m swallowing half the stream.

The current drags me against a wall — sharp rocks cut deeply into my thighs and hips — freezing cold water numbs the pain — stops the flow of blood — a sudden drop — plummet into a deep pool — down, down, down — held under by force of the falling water — panicking — can’t find my way up — drowning — if I don’t break free soon, I’ll…

My feet strike a wall and propel me forward — drift slowly up and away from the pool — flow is gentle here — lots of space between water and top of tunnel — able to bob along and breathe — air’s cold, and it stings my lungs, but I gulp it down thankfully.

The stream opens out into what sounds like a large cave. Roars from the opposite end: the water must drop sharply again there. I let myself drift to one side before facing the drop. I need to rest and fill my lungs with air. As I tread water near the wall in the dark, something clutches at my bald head. It feels like twigs. I grab at them to steady myself, then realize they’re not twigs — they’re bones!

Too exhausted to be scared, I grasp the bones as though they were part of a lifebuoy. Taking long, deep breaths, I explore the bones with my fingers. They connect to a wrist, an arm, a body and head: a full skeleton. This stream was used to dispose of dead vampires in the past. This one must have washed up here and rotted away over the decades. I search blindly for other skeletons but find none. I wonder who the vampire was, when he lived, how long he’s been here. It must be horrible, trapped in a cave like this, no proper burial, no final resting place.

I give the skeleton a shake, hoping to free it. The cave erupts with high-pitched screeches and flapping sounds. Wings! Dozens or hundreds of pairs of wings! Something crashes into my face and catches on my left ear. It scratches and nips. I yelp, tear it loose and slap it away.

I can’t see anything, but I sense a flurry of objects flying over and around me. Another collides with me. This time I hold on and feel around it — a bat! The cave’s full of bats. They must nest here, in the roof. The sound of me shaking the skeleton disturbed them, and they’ve taken flight.

I don’t panic. They won’t attack me. They’re just frightened and will settle down soon. I release the one I’ve caught and let it join the rush above me. The noise dies down after a few minutes and the bats return to their perches. Silence.

I wonder how they get in and out of the cave. There must be a crack in the roof. For a few seconds I dream about finding it and climbing to safety, but my numb fingers and toes quickly put an end to thoughts of that nature. I couldn’t climb, even if I could find the crack and it was big enough for me to fit through.

I start thinking about the skeleton again. I don’t want to leave it here. I tug at it, careful this time not to create a racket. It doesn’t budge at first — it’s wedged firm. I get a stronger grip and pull again. It comes loose, all at once, and falls on top of me, driving me under. Water gushes down my throat. Now I panic! The skeleton heavy on top of me, weighing me down. I’m going to drown! I’m going to drown! I’m going to–

No! Stop panicking. Use my brain. I wrap my arms around the skeleton and slowly roll over. It works! Now the skeleton’s underneath and I’m on top. The air tastes good. My heart stops pounding. A few of the bats are circling again, but most are still.

Releasing the skeleton, I guide it out towards the middle of the cave, using my feet. I feel the current take it, then it’s gone. I hang on to the wall, treading water, giving the skeleton time to wash ahead of me. I fall to thinking while I wait: was it a good idea to free the skeleton? A nice gesture, but if the bones snag on a rock further along and block my way…

Too late to worry now. Should have thought of that before.

My situation’s as desperate as ever. Crazy to think I might get out of this alive. But I force myself to think positively: I’ve made it this far, and the stream must open up sooner or later. Who’s to say I can’t make it to the end? Believe, Darren, believe.

I’d like to hang here forever – easier to cling on and die of the cold – but I’ve got to try for freedom. In the end, I force my fingers to unclench and let go of the bank. I drift out into the middle of the stream. The current bites at me and latches on. Speeding up — the exit — roaring grows furiously — flowing fast — angling sharply downwards — gone.


### CHAPTER TWO

EVEN WORSE beyond the cave — makes the first half of the ride seem like a paddle in a swimming pool — sickening drops and turns — walls studded with jagged stones — water gushes wildly, madly — tossed about as though made of putty — impossible to exert control — no time to pause for breath — lungs bursting — hold my arms tight over my head — tuck my legs up as far as they’ll go — conserve oxygen — bash my head on rocks — my back — legs — belly — back — head — shoulders — head…

Lose count of the collisions — can’t feel pain any longer — eyes playing tricks on me — looking up, it’s as if the rocks are invisible — I believe I can see the sky, the stars, the moon — this is the beginning of the end — senses in disarray, brain shutting down — out of luck — out of hope — out of life.

I open my mouth to take one long, last drink of water — slam into a wall — air explodes out of me — force of crash pops me upwards — I break through to a small pocket of air between water and roof — lungs draw it in greedily, automatically.

I float here a few seconds, pressed against wall, gasping in air — current takes me again and drags me under — through a narrow tunnel — incredible speed — like a bullet — tunnel getting narrower — speed increases — my back scrapes along the wall — the rock’s smooth, otherwise I’d be cut to shreds — feels like a water slide — almost enjoying this part of the nightmarish ride.

Tunnel evens out — running low on oxygen again — try forcing head up, to search for air — can’t — don’t have the energy to fight.

Water creeps up my nose — I cough — water pours down my throat — I’m losing the battle — roll over, face down — this is the end — lungs are filling with water — I can’t close my mouth — waiting for death — all of a sudden: no water — flying — (flying?) — whistling air surrounds me — looking down at land — stream cutting through it — floating, as though I’m a bird or a bat — closer to stream — closer — are my eyes playing tricks again?

Turn over in middle of flight — look up — sky, real sky, open and bright with stars — beautiful — I’m out! — I’m really out! — I made it! — I can breathe! I’m alive! I’m…

Flight ends — hit water hard — impact shakes my guts to pieces and knocks brain out of order — blackness again, only this time inside my head.


### CHAPTER THREE

CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNS gradually. Sounds strike me first: the roar of the water, much softer than in the mountain, almost lyrical. Slowly, my eyes flutter open. I’m staring up at stars, drifting along on my back. Luck or my body’s natural defences? I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m alive!

The current isn’t strong here. I could easily swim to the bank, pull myself to safety and begin the trip back to Vampire Mountain, which I spot in the near distance. Except I don’t have the strength. I try rolling over to swim — can’t. My legs and arms are like dead blocks of wood. I’ve survived the ride through the mountain, but the cost has been high. I’m completely limp and helpless.

I study the landscape while the stream sweeps me further away from Vampire Mountain. It’s rugged and unspectacular, but beautiful after the darkness. Anything would seem beautiful after the darkness. I’ll never take the countryside for granted again.

Am I dying? I could be — no feeling, no control, at the mercy of the stream. Maybe I’m dead already and just haven’t realized it. No! Not dead. Water splashes up my nose and I splutter: proof I’m still alive. I won’t give up, not after all I’ve been through. I have to summon strength from somewhere and make it to the bank. I can’t drift along like this forever: the longer it drags on, the harder it will be.

I try willing energy into my exhausted limbs. I think about dying young and what a waste it would be, but that doesn’t give me strength. I think about the vampires and the threat they face from Kurda and the vampaneze, but that doesn’t work either. Finally, an old vampire myth succeeds in spreading a burst of fire through my icy bones: I recall the myth that a vampire who dies in running water is doomed to stick around as a ghost — no journey to Paradise for those who die in rivers or streams.

Strangely (as I never believed the myth), the thought spurs me into action. I raise a weak arm and flap feebly for the bank. The action doesn’t do much, apart from spin me round a little, but the fact that I’m able to move at all fills me with hope.

Gritting my teeth, I face the bank and force my legs up behind me. They respond sluggishly, but they do respond. I try to swim freestyle — can’t. I roll over on to my back, kick weakly with my feet, and guide myself with gentle hand motions. I slowly pull towards the bank. It takes a long time, and I’m swept much further away from Vampire Mountain, but finally I’m in shallow water, out of the current.

I half rise to my knees, then collapse. Lying face down, I turn my head sideways, splutter, then get back on my knees. I crawl out of the water, on to the snowy bank, where I collapse again. My eyes close. I weep silently into the snow.

I want to lie here and freeze: simpler than moving. But my feet are still in the water and I don’t like the feel of them drifting behind me, so I pull them clear. The effort goads me into further action. Groaning, I prop myself up, then rise slowly and painfully to my feet.

Standing, I stare around as if I’m on an alien planet. Everything looks different. Day is breaking, but stars and the moon still shine lightly in the sky. After so long inside the mountain, I’d forgotten what daylight looks like. It’s wonderful. I could stand here all day and just stare, except that wouldn’t get me anywhere, and soon I’d fall, into the stream or the snow, and freeze.

Sighing, obeying some insistent inner instinct, I drag my feet forward a few steps, pause, shake my head, straighten up and lurch away from the stream, which froths and hisses angrily behind me — cheated of its victim.


### CHAPTER FOUR

IT DIDN’T take me long to realize I couldn’t make it very far if I continued in this state. I was soaked to the skin. My clothes were heavy with water and the air around me was bitterly cold. Mr Crepsley had warned me what to do if this ever happened: get rid of the wet clothes swiftly, or I’d freeze to death inside them.

It took a lot of effort to get out of my clothes. My fingers were numb and I ended up having to use my teeth to tear my way free. But I felt better when I’d undressed. A great weight had been lifted from my body, and though the full force of the cold hit me immediately, I set forward at a brisker pace.

It didn’t bother me that I was wandering around as naked as the animals of the wild. There was nobody to see. Even if there had been, I wouldn’t have cared — being so close to death, modesty was the last thing on my mind.

My brisk pace didn’t last long. After a while, I began to understand just how serious a mess I was in. I was stranded in the middle of nowhere, no clothes to protect me from the cold, beaten to a pulp, physically and mentally drained, with nothing to eat. It was a struggle just to keep moving. In a matter of minutes, I’d run out of energy and collapse. The cold would set in. Frostbite and hypothermia would finish me off.

I tried jogging, to warm myself up, but couldn’t. My legs simply wouldn’t work. It was a miracle they were able to support me at all. Anything faster than a slow crawl was beyond them.

I stopped and turned in a full circle, hoping to spot something familiar. If I was close to one of the resting places known as way-stations, used by vampires on their way to and from Council, there might be hope. I could hole-up, catch a day or two of sleep, and recover my strength. A good plan, with just one major flaw — I hadn’t a clue where I was or if there were any way-stations nearby.

I weighed up my options. Standing still would get me nowhere. And scouting for a way-station was out of the question — I hadn’t the strength or time. The first order of the day was to find somewhere sheltered to recuperate. Food, warmth and working my way back to Vampire Mountain could come later — if I survived.

There was a forest about a kilometre to my left. That was the best place to head. I could curl up at the base of a tree and cover myself with leaves. Maybe find some insects or small animals to feed upon. It wasn’t ideal, but it made more sense than standing here in the open, or climbing slippery rocks in search of caves.

I fell many times on my way to the forest. That wasn’t surprising — I was amazed I’d made it this far. Each time I lay in the snow a few minutes, gathering my diminished resources, then hauled myself to my feet and staggered on again.

The forest had assumed magical properties. I was convinced, if I could make it to the trees, everything would be fine. Deep inside, I knew that was nonsense, but the belief kept me going. Without it, I’d have been unable to continue.

I finally ran out of steam a hundred metres or less from the first trees of the forest. I knew in my heart, as I lay panting in the snow, that I’d reached the end of my tether. All the same, I rested a few minutes, as I had before, then made a valiant effort to rise — no good. I made it as far as my knees, then dropped. Another long rest. Again I tried to rise. Again I fell, this time face first into the snow, where I lay, shivering, unable to roll over.

The cold was unbearable. A human would have died from it long ago. Only the vampire blood inside my veins had kept me going. But even the powerful blood of the vampires had its limits. I’d pushed to the very end of mine. I’d no strength left, not even the tiniest morsel.

I was finished.

I wept pitifully as I lay there, tears turning to ice on my cheeks. Snowflakes drifted on to my eyelashes. I tried lifting a hand to brush them away, but couldn’t. Even that small gesture was beyond me. “What an awful way to die,” I moaned. Another hundred metres and I would have been safe. To collapse and die this close to the end was a shame. Maybe if I’d rested more in the cave in the mountain, I’d have had the energy to continue. Or if I’d–

A sharp, yapping sound jolted me out of my reverie. I’d closed my eyes and had been drifting off to sleep/death. At the sound, I cracked them open. I couldn’t move my head, and the flakes of snow clouded my vision, but I was staring in the general direction of the forest and could see a vague shape making its way towards me, tumbling through the snow. Oh, great, I thought sarcastically. As if things weren’t bad enough — now something’s going to come along and eat me before I’m dead! Could things get any worse? Judging by what had happened to me recently — yes!

I shut my eyes as the creature came nearer and hoped I’d be too numb to feel its teeth and claws as it devoured me. Fighting back was out of the question — a squirrel could have knocked the stuffing out of me, the condition I was in.

Hot breath clouded my face. A long tongue licked around my nose. I shivered. It licked again, this time my cheeks and ears. Then it licked the snowflakes from my eyelashes.

I opened my eyes and blinked. What was going on? Was it cleaning me up before it killed me? That seemed unlikely. Yet what other explanation could there be? As I adjusted my vision, the animal nudged back a bit and came into focus. My jaw dropped. My lips quivered. And in a pained, shaky voice, I mumbled incredulously: “Rudi?”


### CHAPTER FIVE

RUDI WAS the wolf cub who’d accompanied Mr Crepsley, Harkat, Gavner and me on some of the way to Vampire Mountain. He’d been part of a small pack, which included two she-wolves and a large male whom I’d christened Streak. They’d left us to unite with other wolf packs close to Vampire Mountain.

Rudi leapt around me, barking with excitement. He’d grown a bit since I’d last seen him: his fangs were longer and his fur was thicker than ever. I managed to lift my head and smile weakly. “I’m in big trouble, Rudi,” I muttered as the cub licked my fingers. He cocked his ears and gazed at me seriously, as though he understood. “Big trouble,” I repeated softly, then collapsed again.

Rudi rubbed his nose against my right cheek. It was wet and warm. He licked around my eyes and ears, then pressed his body against mine, trying to warm me up. When he saw how helpless I was, he took a few paces back and howled. Moments later, a second wolf emerged from the forest, larger, sleeker, every bit as familiar as Rudi.

“Streak,” I whispered as the wolf advanced cautiously. His ears perked up when he heard my voice, then he bounded forward. Rudi carried on yapping until Streak snapped at him. The adult wolf sniffed me from head to toe, then barked at Rudi. They lay out flat beside me, Streak behind, Rudi in front, covering most of my body with theirs, transmitting their heat.

After a few minutes, warmth seeped through me. I flexed and unflexed my fingers and toes, working the worst of the chill out of them. I curled up into a ball, so the wolves could cover more of me, and buried my face between Rudi’s hairy shoulders. We lay like that for ages, the wolves shifting position every so often to keep warm. Finally, Streak got to his feet and barked.

I tried getting up. Failed. Shook my head and groaned. “It’s no use. I can’t go on.” The wolf studied me silently, then bent and bit my bum! I yelped and rolled away instinctively. Streak followed and I leapt to my feet. “Stay back, you no-good–” I shouted, then stopped when I saw the look on his face.

I stared down at my body, then at Streak, and grinned sheepishly. “I’m standing,” I whispered redundantly. Streak howled softly, then nipped my right leg lightly and faced the trees. Nodding wearily, I set off for the forest and the wolves padded along beside me.

The going wasn’t easy. I was cold and exhausted, and stumbled more times than I could keep track of. Streak and Rudi kept me going. Whenever I stalled, they pressed against me, or breathed warmly over me, or snapped to make me get up. At one stage, Streak let me grab the thick, long hair around his neck, and half-dragged me through the snow.

I’m not sure why they bothered with me — normally wild animals leave wounded companions behind if they can’t keep up. Maybe they wanted to keep on the good side of the vampires, who put lots of scraps their way during Council. Or perhaps they sensed hidden resources within me and knew my cause wasn’t hopeless.

After a long, hard walk, we entered a glade, where a large pack of wolves had gathered. There must have been twenty or thirty of the predators, lying about, eating, playing and grooming themselves, all different colours, builds and breeds. The wolves regarded me with suspicion. One, a dark, bulky male, padded over and sniffed me, then growled threateningly, raising its hackles. Streak met its challenge and growled back. The two stood snarling at each other for a few seconds, before the unwelcoming wolf turned its back on us and loped away.

Rudi ran after the dark wolf, yapping, but Streak barked angrily at the cub and he returned, tail between his legs. As I blinked owlishly at the wolves, Streak nudged me forward to where a she-wolf was suckling three cubs. She laid a protective paw over her cubs and growled at us as we approached, but Streak whined and dropped to his belly to show he meant no harm.

When the she-wolf had relaxed, Streak stood and locked gazes with the female. The she-wolf snarled. Streak bared his fangs and snarled back, pawed at the snow in front of her, then locked gazes again. This time, she lowered her head and didn’t respond. Streak struck the backs of my legs with his snout and I dropped to the ground. As he nudged me on, I understood what he wanted me to do. “No!” I resisted, insides churning. “I can’t!”

Streak growled and pushed me forward. I was too weak to argue. Besides, it made sense — I was cold and hungry, but too weak to eat. I needed to get something warm and nourishing down me, something that didn’t need to be chewed.

I lay down and wriggled forward, gently shoving the three cubs to one side, making space. The cubs yapped suspiciously at me, then crowded round, sniffed me all over, and accepted me as one of their own. When my face was up close to the suckling she-wolf’s belly, I took a deep breath, paused momentarily, then found a milk-engorged teat, closed my lips around it, and drank.


### CHAPTER SIX

THE SHE-WOLF treated me the same as the three cubs, making sure I got enough milk, covering me with her paws to keep me warm, licking behind my ears and around my face to clean me (I crept away when I had to go to the toilet!). I remained with her for a couple of days, slowly regaining my strength, cuddling up to her and the cubs for warmth, surviving on her warm milk. It didn’t taste good, but I was in no position to complain.

Pain racked my body as I recovered. Bruises covered every last scrap of me. My cuts weren’t too serious – the cold restricted the flow of blood – but they stung like mad. I wished I had some of Seba’s healing spider webs to apply to them.

The more I thought about my slide down the mountain stream, the more incredible it seemed. Had I really done it, or was this some crazy dream? If not for the pain, I might have believed it was the latter, but dreams are painless, so it had to be real.

More incredible still was that I hadn’t broken any major bones. Three fingers on my left hand were broken, my right thumb was sticking out at an alarming angle, and my left ankle had blown up like a purple balloon, but otherwise I seemed to be OK. I could move my arms and legs; my skull hadn’t been cracked open; my backbone hadn’t been snapped in two. All things considered, I was in astoundingly good shape.

As the days passed, I stretched and tested myself. I still slept beside the she-wolf and drank from her, but I started getting up to take short walks, hobbling around the glade, exercising lightly. My left ankle pained me terribly, but the swelling subsided gradually and eventually returned to normal.

As my strength returned, Streak brought me meat and berries. I couldn’t eat a lot in the beginning, but I sucked plenty of blood from the small animals he brought, and my appetite increased swiftly.

Rudi spent a lot of time with me. He was fascinated by my bald head – I’d had to shave my hair off after it caught fire during one of my Trials of Initiation – and never tired of licking it and rubbing his chin and nose over it.

After four days (possibly five or six — I hadn’t kept a clear track of time) the wolves moved on to a new patch. It was a long march – seven or eight kilometres – and I lagged behind most of the way, helped along by Streak, Rudi and the she-wolf who’d been suckling me (she now regarded me as one of her cubs, and mothered me the same as the others).

As punishing as the trek was, it was beneficial, and when I awoke that night after a long, dreamless sleep, I felt almost as good as I had before my descent down the stream. The worst of the bruising had subsided, the cuts had healed, my ankle barely troubled me, and I was able to eat normally.

That night, I went hunting with the pack. I couldn’t move fast, but I kept up, and helped bring down an old reindeer that several of the wolves were tracking. It felt good to be contributing to the pack after they’d done so much for me, and I gave most of my share of the meat to the she-wolf and cubs.

There was a nasty scene the next day. The dark wolf who’d objected to my presence when Streak brought me into the pack had never accepted me. He growled and barked whenever I came close, and often snatched food from my hands while I was feeding. I avoided him as much as I could, but that day, when he saw me playing with the cubs and handing meat out to them, he snapped.

He charged at me, barking wildly, meaning to drive me off. I backed away from him slowly, not showing any fear, but I didn’t leave the pack — if I let him chase me out once, he’d never stop hounding me. I circled around the wolves, hoping he’d lose interest in me, but he followed, determined, snarling menacingly.

As I prepared to fight, Streak darted between us and faced the darker wolf. He raised his hackles to make himself look big, and growled deeply. It looked as though the dark wolf would back off, but then he lowered his head, bared his fangs and lunged at Streak, claws extended.

Streak met the challenge and the pair rolled away, biting and scratching at one another. The wolves around them hastily cleared out of their way. Some younger cubs yapped with excitement, but most of the older wolves ignored the fighting or looked on with only mild interest. They were accustomed to quarrels like this.

It seemed to me as though the wolves were going to tear each other to bits, and I ran around them worriedly, hoping to prise them apart. But as the fight progressed, I realized that, for all their barking, snapping and clawing, they weren’t doing a lot of actual damage. Streak’s snout had been scratched, and the dark wolf was bleeding from a couple of bites, but they weren’t out to really hurt each other. It was more like a wrestling match than anything else.

As the fight wore on, it became obvious that Streak had the beating of the other wolf. He wasn’t as heavily built, but he was faster and sharper, and for every swipe to the head he took, he delivered two or three of his own.

All of a sudden, the dark wolf stopped, lay down and rolled over, baring his throat and belly. Streak opened his mouth and clamped his teeth around the dark wolf’s throat, then let go without breaking the skin and stood back. The dark wolf got to his feet and slunk away, tail between his legs.

I thought the wolf might have to leave the pack, but he didn’t. Although he slept by himself that night, none of the wolves tried to chase him away, and he took his regular place in the hunting pack the next time they set out.

I thought about that a lot over the next day or two, comparing the way wolves handled their losers with how vampires handled theirs. In the world of vampires, defeat was a disgrace, and more often than not ended with the death of the defeated. Wolves were more understanding. Honour mattered to them, but they wouldn’t kill or shun a member of their pack just because it had lost face. Young wolf cubs had to endure tests of maturity, just as I’d endured the Trials of Initiation, but they weren’t killed if they failed.

I wasn’t an expert on the subject, but it seemed to me that vampires could learn a thing or two from wolves if they took the time to study their ways. It was possible to be both honourable and practical. Kurda Smahlt, for all his treacherous faults, got that much right at least.


### CHAPTER SEVEN

A FEW more days slipped by. I was so glad to be alive, I was savouring every moment of it. My body had healed almost completely, though faint bruises lingered in certain places. My strength had returned. I was full of vim and vinegar (one of my Dad’s expressions; I never figured out what it actually meant), raring to go.

I took hardly any notice of the cold. I’d grown used to the nip of the wind and the chill of the snow. The occasional strong blast set me shivering, but most of the time I felt as natural wandering about naked as the wolves.

I’d been accepted as an equal member of the pack now that I was back on my feet, and I was constantly out hunting — since I was able to run faster than the wolves, my services were in great demand. I was gradually coming to terms with the way they thought and communicated. I couldn’t read their thoughts but most of the time I had a good idea what they were thinking — I could tell by the way they hunched their shoulders, widened or narrowed their eyes, perked or dropped their ears and tails, growled or barked or whined. On the hunt, if Streak or another wolf wanted me to go to the left or the right, they only had to look at me and twitch their heads. If a she-wolf wanted me to play with her cubs, she howled in a certain soft way, and I knew she was calling me.

The wolves, for their part, seemed able to understand everything I said. I rarely spoke – there wasn’t much need for words – but whenever I did, they’d cock their heads intently and listen, then reply with a yap or gesture.

We moved around a lot, as was the wolfen way. I kept an eye open for Vampire Mountain, but didn’t spot it. That puzzled me — the reason the wolves met out here in the wilds was to converge on the mountain and eat the leftovers that the vampires threw to them. I decided to ask Streak about it, though I didn’t think he’d be able to comprehend my question or fashion a reply. To my surprise, when I mentioned Vampire Mountain, the hackles rose on the back of his neck and he growled.

“You don’t want to go there?” I frowned. “Why not?” Streak’s only reply was another growl. Thinking about it, I guessed it had to be the vampaneze. The wolves must know about the purple-skinned invaders, or else they’d simply sensed trouble and were steering clear of the mountain.

I had to do something about the vampaneze, but the thought of going back to Vampire Mountain scared me. I was afraid the vampires would kill me before I had a chance to explain about the vampaneze. Or they might think I was lying and take Kurda’s word over mine. Eventually I’d have to return, but I was delaying as long as possible, pretending to myself that I was still recovering and not fit to make the trip.

My three broken fingers had mended. I’d set the bones as best I could – very painful! – and wrapped the fingers together using long reeds and leaves. The thumb on my right hand still stuck out at an angle and hurt when I moved it, but that was only a minor irritation.

When I wasn’t hunting or playing with the cubs, I thought a lot about Gavner. I got a pain in my belly whenever I recalled his death, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The loss of a friend is a terrible, tragic thing, especially when it happens suddenly, without warning.

What really sickened me about Gavner’s death was that it could have been avoided. If I hadn’t run away, or if I hadn’t trusted Kurda, or if I’d stayed and fought with Gavner — he’d still be alive. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve to die. He’d been a brave, loyal, warm-hearted vampire, a friend to all.

Sometimes, when I thought about him, I was filled with hatred and wished I’d grabbed his knife and killed Kurda, even if it meant my own death at the hands of the vampaneze. Other times, a sweeping sadness would come over me and I’d cover my face with my hands and cry, wondering what prompted Kurda to do such an awful thing.

The wolves were puzzled by my behaviour. They didn’t spend much time grieving for their dead. If they lost a partner or cub, they howled miserably for a while, then got on with their lives. They couldn’t understand my mood swings.

To cheer me up. Streak took me out hunting with him late one evening. Normally, we never went hunting by ourselves, but the pack was settling in for the night, so we went without them.

It was nice to be on our own. A drawback to running with a pack is that you have to be very organized — if you make a wrong move that ruins the hunt, you’re treated with disgust. Now that it was just Streak and me, we were free to lollop along as we pleased and make idle detours. It didn’t matter whether we caught something or not — we were in search of sport, not prey.

We tracked a couple of young, frisky reindeer. We didn’t expect to catch them, but it was fun to follow them. I think they sensed our harmless intentions because they kept turning back and running at us, then tossing their heads and fleeing. We’d been tracking them for almost a quarter of an hour when the two reindeer reached the top of a small mound and paused to sniff the air. I started after them, but Streak growled and drew to a halt.

I stopped, wondering what was wrong. Streak was standing stock-still like the reindeer. Then, as the reindeer turned and bolted back towards us, he nudged my legs with his snout and took off for a clump of bushes to the side. I followed quickly, trusting his more highly developed senses. We found a thick bush which afforded us a clear view of the mound, and lay low behind it.

A minute passed. Two. Then a figure appeared over the mound. My eyes were as sharp as they’d ever been, and I recognized the far-off vampire immediately — Mr Crepsley!

I started to get to my feet, overjoyed, and opened my mouth to roar a greeting. A low growl from Streak stopped me. The wolf’s tail hung flat behind him, the way it did when he was anxious. I wanted to rush forward to greet my old friend, but I knew Streak wouldn’t be acting this way without good reason.

Lying down flat beside the wolf, I kept my eyes on the mound, and soon the cause for his concern became obvious: behind Mr Crepsley marched five other vampires, and at the fore, carrying a sharp, polished sword, was the would-be Prince and traitor — Kurda Smahlt!


### CHAPTER EIGHT

I KEPT close to the ground as the vampires passed, hidden behind the bushes, downwind so they couldn’t smell me. Once they were out of immediate range, I turned to Streak. “We have to follow them,” I whispered. Streak studied me in silence with his large, yellow eyes, then got to his feet. He slipped further back through the bushes. I trailed after him, trusting him not to lead me astray. A few minutes later, we circled around and caught sight of the vampires. We fell in behind them and matched their pace, careful not to get too close.

I examined the four vampires with Mr Crepsley and Kurda. Three were unfamiliar, but the fourth was Arra Sails. Her right arm had been in a sling the last time I saw her, but it was now hanging freely by her side. After a while, I noticed that two of the unfamiliar vampires were carrying swords like Kurda’s, and were lagging a bit behind Arra and the other unarmed vampire.

It became clear what was happening. Mr Crepsley had decided to come looking for me. Arra and the other vampire had agreed to accompany him. Kurda, worried that I might have somehow survived, must have offered to assist, and brought the armed vampires with him. If they discovered me alive, the swords would flash, and that would be the end of myself, Mr Crepsley, Arra and the other vampire. Kurda was making sure word of his betrayal never made it back to the Generals and Princes.

I wasn’t surprised by Kurda’s devious plotting, but I was upset by the realization that he wasn’t the only traitor. The two vampires with swords must have known the truth about him and the vampaneze, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to rely upon them. I suspected the Guardians of the Blood (weird humans who lived inside Vampire Mountain and donated their blood in exchange for the internal organs of dead vampires) of being part of the conspiracy, but I’d thought Kurda was the only vampire traitor — it looked like I was wrong.

If Mr Crepsley and Arra hadn’t been concentrating so hard on the search, they’d have realized something was amiss — the sword-bearing vampires were edgy, all nervous glances and itchy fingers. I’d love to have jumped out and shocked Kurda – he was the edgiest of the lot – but common sense prevailed. If I was spotted alive, he and his men would kill me and the three true vampires. As long as they believed I was dead, they wouldn’t do anything to give themselves away.

I spent a long time studying the faces of Kurda’s companions, committing them to memory. I wondered how many more were in on the plot to destroy the clan. Not many, I bet. The vampires with him were very young. Kurda most likely recruited them himself and talked them round to his way of thinking before they learnt the ways of the vampires. More experienced vampires, who valued honour and loyalty, would never dream of being in league with a traitor.

After a while, the group came to a halt in a small clearing, where they sat and rested, except Mr Crepsley, who spent the period anxiously pacing. I tapped Streak’s shoulder, then pointed towards the clearing — I wanted to get closer. The wolf hesitated, sniffed the air, then led the way forward. We carefully crawled to within seven or eight metres of the clearing, where we stopped, hidden by a dead tree trunk. With my developed sense of hearing, I could eavesdrop perfectly from here.

Nothing was said for a number of minutes. The vampires were blowing into their cupped hands and tugging their jackets closer about themselves, shivering from the cold. I smiled as I thought how uncomfortable they’d feel if they were in my compromising position.

After a while, Kurda got up and walked over to Mr Crepsley. “Think we’ll find him?” the traitor asked, feigning concern.

Mr Crepsley sighed. “Probably not. But I would like to keep searching. I wish to locate his body and cremate him fittingly.”

“He might still be alive,” Kurda said.

Mr Crepsley laughed bleakly. “We traced his path through the tunnels. We know he fell into the stream and did not emerge. You truly think he may have survived?”

Kurda shook his head, as though deeply depressed. The dirty swine! He mightn’t think I was alive, but he wasn’t taking any chances either. If not for that sword of his, I’d have—

I calmed down and tuned back into the conversation. Arra had joined the pair and was talking, “…saw wolf tracks further back. They might have discovered his body and devoured him. We should check.”

“I doubt if they would have eaten him,” Mr Crepsley said. “Wolves respect vampires, as we respect them. Besides, his blood would have poisoned them and we would have heard their mad howling.”

There was a brief moment of silence, then Arra muttered, “I’d love to know what happened in those tunnels. If Darren had been by himself and fallen in, I could understand it, but Gavner has disappeared too.”

My insides froze at the mention of Gavner.

“Either he fell into the stream trying to save Darren,” Kurda said lightly, “or Darren fell in trying to save him. That’s the only answer I can think of.”

“But how did they fall in?” Arra asked. “The stream wasn’t wide where they fell. They should have been able to clear it. Even if it was too wide for them, why didn’t they just jump where it was narrower? It makes no sense.”

Kurda shrugged and pretended to be as baffled as the others.

“At least we know that Gavner is dead,” Mr Crepsley remarked. “Although we have not found his body, the absence of his mental signal means he breathes no longer. His death distresses me, but the uncertainty regarding Darren unsettles me more. The odds are stacked against his being alive, but until we have proof that he is dead, I shall not be able to accept it.”

It was oddly comforting to know that even in the midst of worry, Mr Crepsley had lost none of his elaborate ways of talking.

“We’ll go on searching,” Kurda said. “If he can be found, we’ll find him.”

Mr Crepsley shook his head and sighed again. “No,” he said. “If we do not locate his body tonight, we must abandon the search. There is your investiture to prepare for.”

“Forget the investiture,” Kurda snorted.

“No,” Mr Crepsley said. “The night after next, you become a Prince. That takes precedence above all else.”

“But–” Kurda began.

“No,” Mr Crepsley growled. “Your investiture as a Prince is more important than the loss of Gavner and Darren. You have bucked tradition already by leaving the confines of the mountain so close to the ceremony. You must stop thinking about Darren. As a Prince, it is your duty to put the will and wishes of others before your own. Your people expect you to spend tomorrow fasting and preparing for the investiture. You must not disappoint them.”

“Very well,” Kurda groaned. “But this isn’t the end of it. I’m as upset by what’s happened as you are. I won’t rest until we know for sure if Darren is alive or dead.”

The hypocrite! Standing there, acting innocent, pretending to be upset. If only I’d had a gun or a crossbow, I’d have shot him dead where he stood, the laws of the vampires – which forbid the use of weapons such as guns and bows – be damned!

When the vampires moved on, I stayed where I was, thinking hard. Talk of Kurda’s investiture had disturbed me. It had slipped my mind that he was due to be made a Vampire Prince. But now that I thought about it, things took ominous shape. I’d thought the vampaneze just meant to kill as many vampires as they could and take over the mountain, but the more I considered it, the less sense that made. Why go to all that risk just to take over a bunch of caves they couldn’t have cared less about? And even if they killed every vampire present, there were plenty more who could hurry to the mountain and fight to reclaim it.

There must be a logical reason for them being here, and I thought I knew what it was — the Stone of Blood. The Stone of Blood was a magical stone with which a vampire or vampaneze could locate the whereabouts of almost every vampire on the face of the planet. With the Stone, the vampaneze could track down and destroy vampires at will.

The Stone was also rumoured to be the only object that could save the vampires from being obliterated by the legendary Lord of the Vampaneze, who was supposed to arise one night and lead the vampaneze into a victorious fight with the vampires. If the dreaded Lord was coming – as Mr Tiny said – the vampaneze would naturally be eager to get their hands on the one thing which stood between them and total victory!

But the Stone of Blood was magically protected in the Hall of Princes. No matter how many vampires the vampaneze killed, or how much of the mountain they claimed, they’d never be able to enter the Hall of Princes and get at the Stone of Blood, because only a Vampire Prince was capable of opening the doors to the Hall.

Only. A. Vampire. Prince.

Like Paris Skyle, Mika Ver Leth, Arrow, or Vancha March. Or – the night after next – Kurda Smahlt.

That was the plan! Once Kurda was invested, he’d be able to open the doors to the Hall of Princes whenever he liked. When he was ready, he’d sneak the vampaneze up from the caves and tunnels – he knew ways into the Halls which no one else knew – lead them to the Hall of Princes, kill everyone there, and take control of the Stone of Blood. Once that was in his hands, vampires everywhere would have to do what he said — or perish disobeying him.

In less than forty-eight hours Kurda would be invested and the Hall would be his for the taking. Nobody knew of his treachery, so nobody could stop him — except me. Reluctant as I was to face the vampires who’d condemned me to death, it was time to return to Vampire Mountain. I had to warn the Generals and Princes before Kurda could betray them. Even if they killed me for it…


### CHAPTER NINE

ONCE WE were back with the pack, I told Streak I had to leave for Vampire Mountain. The wolf growled and loosely grabbed my right ankle with his fangs, trying to keep me with him. “I have to go!” I snapped. “I must stop the vampaneze!”

Streak released me when I mentioned the vampaneze, snarling softly. “They plan to attack the vampires,” I said quietly. “They’ll kill them all unless I stop them.”

Streak stared at me, panting heavily, then pawed the snow, sniffed the marks he’d made, and yelped. It was obvious he was trying to communicate something important to me, but I couldn’t interpret his actions. “I don’t understand,” I said.