Hunters of the Dusk

“Before I begin,” Mika said, “do you know about the latest vampaneze recruits?” Everybody looked blank. “The vampaneze have been adding to their ranks since the start of the war, blooding more humans than usual, to drive their numbers up.”

“This is old news,” Paris murmured. “There are far fewer vampaneze than vampires in the world. We expected them to blood recklessly. It is nothing to worry about — we still outnumber them greatly.”

“Yes,” Mika said. “But now they’re also using unblooded humans. They call them ‘vampets’. Apparently the Vampaneze Lord himself came up with the name. Like him, they’re learning the rules of vampaneze life and warfare as humans, before being blooded. He plans to build an army of human helpers.”

“We can deal with humans,” a General snarled, and there were shouts of agreement.

“Normally,” Mika agreed. “But we must be wary of these vampets. While they lack the powers of the vampaneze, they’re learning to fight like them. Also, since they aren’t blooded, they don’t have to abide by the more restrictive vampaneze laws. They aren’t honour bound to tell the truth, they don’t have to follow ancient customs — and they don’t have to limit themselves to hand to hand weapons.”

Angry mutters swept through the Hall.

“The vampaneze are using guns?” Paris asked, shocked. The vampaneze were even stricter than vampires where weapons were involved. We could use boomerangs and spears, but most vampaneze wouldn’t touch them.

“The vampets aren’t vampaneze,” Mika grunted. “There’s no reason why a non-blooded vampet shouldn’t use a gun. I don’t think all their masters approve, but under orders from their Lord, they allow it.

“But the vampets are a problem for another night,” Mika continued. “I only mention them now because it’s relevant to how I found out about their Lord. A vampaneze would die screaming before betraying his clan, but the vampets aren’t so hardened. I captured one a few months ago and squeezed some interesting details out of him. Foremost of which is — the Vampaneze Lord doesn’t have a base. He’s travelling the world with a small band of guards, moving among the various fighting units, keeping up morale.”

The Generals received the news with great excitement — if the Vampaneze Lord was mobile and lightly protected, he was more vulnerable to attack.

“Did this vampet know where the Vampaneze Lord was?” Mr Crepsley asked.

“No,” Mika said. “He’d seen him, but that had been more than a year ago. Only those who accompany him know of his travel patterns.”

“What else did he tell you?” Paris enquired.

“That their Lord still hasn’t been blooded. And that despite his efforts, morale is low. Vampaneze losses are high, and many don’t believe they can win the war. There has been talk of a peace treaty — even outright surrender.”

Loud cheering broke out. Some Generals were so elated by Mika’s words that a group swept forward, picked him up, and carried him from the Hall. They could be heard singing and shouting as they headed for the crates of ale and wine stored below. The other, more sober-headed Generals looked to Paris for guidance.

“Go on,” the elderly Prince smiled. “It would be impolite to let Mika and his over-eager companions drink alone.”

The remaining Generals applauded the announcement and hurried away, leaving only a few Hall attendants, myself, Mr Crepsley and Paris behind.

“This is foolish,” Mr Crepsley grumbled. “If the vampaneze are truly considering surrender, we should push hard after them, not waste time–”

“Larten,” Paris interrupted. “Follow the others, find the largest barrel of ale you can, and get good and steaming drunk.”

Mr Crepsley stared at the Prince, his mouth wide open. “Paris!” he gasped.

“You have been caged in here too long,” Paris said. “Go and unwind, and do not return without a hangover.”

“But–” Mr Crepsley began.

“That is an order, Larten,” Paris growled.

Mr Crepsley looked as though he’d swallowed a live eel, but he was never one to disobey an order from a superior, so he clicked his heels together, muttered, “Aye, Sire,” and stormed off to the store-rooms in a huff.

“I’ve never seen Mr Crepsley with a hangover,” I laughed. “What’s he like?”

“Like a … what do the humans say? A gorilla with a sore head?” Paris coughed into a fist – he’d been coughing a lot lately – then smiled. “But it will do him good. Larten takes life too seriously sometimes.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Do you want to go?”

Paris pulled a sour face. “A mug of ale would prove the end of me. I shall take advantage of the break by lying in my coffin at the back of the Hall and getting a full day’s sleep.”

“Are you sure? I can stay if you want.”

“No. Go and enjoy yourself. I will be fine.”

“OK.” I hopped off my throne and made for the door.

“Darren,” Paris called me back. “An excessive amount of alcohol is as bad for the young as for the old. If you are wise, you will drink in moderation.”

“Remember what you told me about wisdom a few years ago, Paris?” I replied.

“What?”

“You said the only way to get wise was to get experienced.” Winking, I rushed out of the Hall and was soon sharing a barrel of ale with a grumpy, orange-haired vampire. Mr Crepsley gradually cheered up as the night progressed, and was singing loudly by the time he reeled back to his coffin late the following morning.

CHAPTER FIVE

I COULDN’T understand why there were two moons in the sky when I awoke, or why they were green. Groaning, I rubbed the back of a hand over my eyes, then looked again. I realized I was lying on the floor, staring up at the green eyes of a chuckling Harkat Mulds. “Have fun last night?” he asked.

“I’ve been poisoned,” I moaned, rolling over on to my stomach, feeling as though I was on the deck of a ship during a fierce storm.

“You won’t be wanting boar guts and … bat broth then?”

“Don’t!” I winced, weak at the very thought of food.

“You and the others must have drained … half the mountain’s supply of ale last night,” Harkat remarked, helping me to my feet.

“Is there an earthquake?” I asked as he let go of me.

“No,” he said, puzzled.

“Then why’s the floor shaking?”

He laughed and steered me to my hammock. I’d been sleeping inside the door of our cell. I had vague memories of falling off the hammock every time I tried to get on. “I’ll just sit on the floor a while,” I said.

“As you wish,” Harkat chortled. “Would you like some ale?”

“Go away or I’ll hit you,” I growled.

“Is ale no longer to your liking?”

“No!”

“That’s funny. You were singing about how much you … loved it earlier. ‘Ale, ale, I drink like a whale, I am the … Prince, the Prince of ale’.”