Vampire War Trilogy

Harkat stared at me with his unnatural green eyes, then relaxed and tugged his mask down, revealing a wide, grey, jagged gash of a mouth. “Sorry, Darren. Did I wake … you?”

“No,” I lied. “I was up already.”

I swung back on to my hammock and sat gazing at Harkat. There was no denying he was an ugly build of a creature. Short and squat, with dead, grey skin, no visible ears or a nose – he had ears stitched beneath the skin of his scalp, but was without a sense of smell or taste. He’d no hair, round, green eyes, sharp little teeth and a dark grey tongue. His face had been stitched together, like Frankenstein’s monster.

Of course, I was no model myself – few vampires were! My face, body and limbs were laced with scars and burn marks, many picked up during my Trials of Initiation (which I’d passed at my second attempt, two years ago). I was also as bald as a baby, as a result of my first set of Trials, when I’d been badly burnt.

Harkat was one of my closest friends. He’d saved my life twice, when I was attacked by a wild bear on the trail to Vampire Mountain, then in a fight with savage boars during my first, failed Trials of Initiation. It bothered me to see him so disturbed by the nightmares which had been plaguing him for the last few years.

“Was this nightmare the same as the others?” I asked.

“Yes,” he nodded. “I was wandering in a vast wasteland. The sky was red. I was searching for something but I didn’t … know what. There were pits full of stakes. A dragon attacked. I fought it off but … another appeared. Then another. Then…” He sighed miserably.

Harkat’s speech had improved greatly since he’d first started speaking. In the beginning he’d had to pause for breath after every two or three words, but he’d learnt to control his breathing technique and now only stalled during long sentences.

“Were the shadow men there?” I asked. Sometimes he dreamt of shadowy figures who chased and tormented him.

“Not this time,” he said, “though I think they’d have appeared if you … hadn’t woken me up.” Harkat was sweating – his sweat was a pale green colour – and his shoulders shook slightly. He suffered greatly in his sleep, and stayed awake as long as he could, only sleeping four or five hours out of every seventy-two.

“Want something to eat or drink?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “Not hungry.” He stood and stretched his burly arms. He was only wearing a cloth around his waist, so I could see his smooth stomach and chest – Harkat had no nipples or belly button.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, pulling on his blue robes, which he’d never grown out of the habit of wearing. “It’s been ages since … we got together.”

“I know,” I groaned. “This war business is killing me, but I can’t leave Paris to deal with it alone. He needs me.”

“How is Sire Skyle?” Harkat asked.

“Bearing up. But it’s hard. So many decisions to make, so many troops to organize, so many vampires to send to their death.”

We were silent a while, thinking about the War of the Scars and the vampires – including some very good friends of ours – who’d perished in it.

“How’ve you been?” I asked Harkat, shrugging off the morbid thoughts.

“Busy,” he said. “Seba’s working me harder all the time.” After a few months of milling around Vampire Mountain, Harkat had gone to work for the quartermaster – Seba Nile – who was in charge of stocking and maintaining the Mountain’s stores of food, clothes and weapons. Harkat started out moving crates and sacks around, but he’d learnt quickly about supplies and how to keep up with the needs of the vampires, and now served as Seba’s senior assistant.

“Do you have to return to the Hall of Princes soon?” Harkat asked. “Seba would like to see you. He wants to show you … some spiders.” The mountain was home to thousands of arachnids, known as Ba’Halen’s spiders.

“I have to go back,” I said regretfully, “but I’ll try to drop by soon.”

“Do,” Harkat said seriously. “You look exhausted. Paris is not the only one who … needs rest.”

Harkat had to leave shortly afterwards to prepare for the arrival of a group of Generals. I lay in my hammock and stared at the dark rock ceiling, unable to get back to sleep. This was the cell Harkat and me had first shared when we came to Vampire Mountain. I liked this tiny cubbyhole – it was the closest thing I had to a bedroom – but rarely got to see much of it. Most of my nights were spent in the Hall of Princes, and the few free hours I had by day were normally passed eating or exercising.

I ran a hand over my bald head while I was resting and thought back over my Trials of Initiation. I’d sailed through them the second time. I didn’t have to take them – as a Prince, I was under no obligation – but I wouldn’t have felt right if I hadn’t. By passing the Trials, I’d proved myself worthy of being a vampire.

Apart from the scars and burns, I hadn’t changed much in the last six years. As a half-vampire, I only aged one year for every five that passed. I was a bit taller than when I left the Cirque Du Freak with Mr Crepsley, and my features had thickened and matured slightly. But I wasn’t a full-vampire and wouldn’t change vastly until I became one. As a full-vampire I’d be much stronger. I’d also be able to heal cuts with my spit, breathe out a gas which could knock people unconscious, and communicate telepathically with other vampires. Plus I’d be able to flit, which is a super-fast speed vampires can attain. On the down side, I’d be vulnerable to sunlight and couldn’t move about during the day.

But all that lay far ahead. Mr Crepsley hadn’t said anything about when I’d be fully blooded, but I gathered it wouldn’t happen until I was an adult. That was ten or fifteen years away – my body was still that of a teenager – so I had loads of time to enjoy (or endure) my extended childhood.

I lay relaxing for another half hour, then got up and dressed. I’d taken to wearing light blue clothes, trousers and a tunic, covered by a long, regal-looking robe. My right thumb snagged on the arm of the tunic as I was pulling it on, as it often did – I’d broken the thumb six years ago and it still stuck out at an awkward angle.

Taking care not to rip the fabric on my extra tough nails – which could gouge holes in soft rock – I freed my thumb and finished dressing. I pulled on a pair of light shoes and ran a hand over my head to make sure I hadn’t been bitten by ticks. They’d popped up all over the mountain recently, annoying everyone. Then I made my way back to the Hall of Princes for another long night of tactics and debate.

CHAPTER THREE (#u2aa38d85-8f27-5e69-adc9-b02c3903c6e0)

THE DOORS to the Hall of Princes could only be opened by a Prince, by laying a hand on the doors or touching a panel on the thrones inside the Hall. Nothing could breach the walls of the Hall, which had been built by Mr Tiny and his Little People centuries before.

The Stone of Blood was housed in the Hall, and was of vital importance. It was a magical artefact. Any vampire who came to the mountain (most of the three thousand vampires in the world had made the trek at least once) laid their hands on the Stone and let it absorb some of their blood. The Stone could then be used to track that vampire down. So, if Mr Crepsley wanted to know where Arrow was, he had only to lay his hands on the Stone and think about him, and within seconds he’d have a fix on the Prince. Or, if he thought of an area, the Stone would tell him how many vampires were there.

I couldn’t use the Stone of Blood to search for others – only full-vampires were able to do that – but I could be traced through it, since it had taken blood from me when I became a Prince.

If the Stone ever fell into the hands of the vampaneze, they could use it to track down all the vampires who’d bonded with it. Hiding from them would be impossible. They’d annihilate us. Because of this danger, some vampires wanted to destroy the Stone of Blood – but there was a legend that it could save us in our hour of greatest need.

I was thinking about all this while Paris used the Stone of Blood to manoeuvre troops in the field. As reports reached us of vampaneze positions, Paris used the Stone to check where his Generals were, then communicated telepathically with them, giving them orders to move from place to place. It was this which drained him so deeply. Others could have used the Stone, but as a Prince, Paris’s word was law, and it was quicker for him to deliver the orders himself.

While Paris focused on the Stone, Mr Crepsley and me spent much of our time putting field reports together and building up a clear picture of the movements of the vampaneze. Many other Generals were also doing this, but it was our job to take their findings, sort through them, pick out the more important nuggets, and make suggestions to Paris. We had loads of maps, with pins stuck in to mark the positions of vampires and vampaneze.

Mr Crepsley had been intently studying a map for ten minutes, and he looked worried. “Have you seen this?” he asked eventually, summoning me over.

I stared at the map. There were three yellow flags and two red flags stuck close together around a city. We used five main colours to keep track of things. Blue flags for vampires. Yellow for vampaneze. Green for vampaneze strongholds – cities and towns which they defended like bases. White flags were stuck in places where we’d won fights. Red flags where wed lost.

“What am I looking for?” I asked, staring at the yellow and red flags. My eyes were bleary from lack of sleep and too much concentrating on maps and poorly scrawled reports.

“The name of the city,” Mr Crepsley said, running a fingernail over it.

The name meant nothing to me at first. Then my head cleared. “That’s your original home,” I muttered. It was the city where Mr Crepsley had lived when he was human. Twelve years ago, he’d returned, taking me and Evra Von – a snake-boy from the Cirque Du Freak – with him, to stop a mad vampaneze called Murlough, who’d gone on a killing spree.

“Find the reports,” Mr Crepsley said. There was a number on each flag, linking it to reports in our files, so we knew exactly what each flag represented. After a few minutes, I found the relevant sheets of paper and quickly scanned them.

“Of the vampaneze seen there,” I muttered, “two were heading into the city. The other was leaving. The first red flag’s from a year ago – four Generals were killed in a large clash with several vampaneze.”

“And the second red flag marks the spot where Staffen Irve lost two of his men,” Mr Crepsley said. “It was when I was adding this flag to the map that I noticed the degree of activity around the city.”

“Do you think it means anything?” I asked. It was unusual for so many vampaneze to be sighted in one location.

“I am not sure,” he said. “The vampaneze may have made a base there, but I do not see why – it is out of the way of their other strongholds.”

“We could send someone to check,” I suggested.

He considered that, then shook his head. “We have already lost too many Generals there. It is not a strategically important site. Best to leave it alone.”

Mr Crepsley rubbed the long scar which divided the flesh on the left side of his face and went on staring at the map. He’d cut his orange crop of hair tighter than usual – most vampires were cutting their hair short, because of the ticks – and he looked almost bald in the strong light of the Hall.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” I noted.

He nodded. “If they have set up a base, they must be feeding on the humans. I still consider it home, and I do not like to think of my spiritual neighbours and relations suffering at the hands of the vampaneze.”