The Vampire Prince

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!