Killers of the Dawn. Darren Shan

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СКАЧАТЬ him all about the hunters who would dog his footsteps. He also said that running away or hiding wasn’t an option — if our Lord didn’t make a stand and face those who hunted him, the War of the Scars would be lost.

      “When he learnt of my interest in you – and R.V.’s – he consulted us and together we hatched this plan. Gannen Harst cautioned against it — he’s old school and would have preferred a direct confrontation — but the Vampaneze Lord shares my theatrical tastes.”

      “This Lord of yours,” Mr Crepsley said. “What does he look like?”

      Steve laughed and shook a finger at the vampire. “Now, now, Larten. You don’t honestly expect me to describe him, do you? He’s been very careful not to show his face, even to most of those who follow him.”

      “We could torture it out of you,” I growled.

      “I doubt it,” Steve smirked. “I’m half-vampaneze. I can take anything you can dish out. I’d let you kill me before I betrayed the clan.” He shrugged off the heavy jacket he’d been wearing since we met. Strong chemical odours wafted off him.

      “He’s not shivering any more,” Harkat said suddenly. Steve had told us he suffered from colds, which was why he had to wear lots of clothes and smear on lotions to protect himself.

      “Of course not,” Steve said. “That was all for show.”

      “You have the slyness of a demon,” Mr Crepsley grunted. “By claiming to be susceptible to colds, you were able to wear gloves to hide your fingertip scars, and douse yourself in sickly-smelling lotions to mask your vampaneze stench.”

      “The smell was the difficult bit,” Steve laughed. “I knew your sensitive noses would sniff my blood out, so I had to distract them.” He pulled a face. “But it hasn’t been easy. My sense of smell is also highly developed, so the fumes have played havoc with my sinuses. The headaches are awful.”

      “My heart bleeds for you,” I snarled sarcastically, and Steve laughed with delight. He was having a great time, even though he was our prisoner. His eyes were alight with evil glee.

      “You won’t be grinning if R.V. refuses to trade Debbie for you,” I told him.

      “True enough,” he admitted. “But I live only to see you and Creepy Crepsley suffer. I could die happy knowing the torment you’ll endure if R.V. carves up your darling teacher girlfriend.”

      I shook my head, appalled. “How did you get so twisted?” I asked. “We were friends, almost like brothers. You weren’t evil then. What happened to you?”

      Steve’s face darkened. “I was betrayed,” he said quietly.

      “That isn’t true,” I replied. “I saved your life. I gave up everything so that you could live. I didn’t want to become a half-vampire. I–”

      “Shut it!” Steve snapped. “Torture me if you wish, but don’t insult me with lies. I know you plotted with Creepy Crepsley to spite me. I could have been a vampire, powerful, long-living, majestic. But you left me as a human, to shuffle through a pitifully short life, weak and afraid like everybody else. Well, guess what? I outsmarted you! I tracked down those in the other camp and gained my rightful powers and privileges anyway!”

      “For all the good it has done you,” Mr Crepsley snorted.

      “What do you mean?” Steve snapped.

      “You have wasted your life on hatred and revenge,” Mr Crepsley said. “What good is life if there is no joy or creative purpose? You would have been better off living five years as a human than five hundred as a monster.”

      “I’m no monster!” Steve snarled. “I’m…” He stopped and growled something to himself. “Enough of this crap,” he declared aloud. “You’re boring me. If you haven’t anything more intelligent to say, keep your mouths shut.”

      “Impudent cur!” Mr Crepsley roared, and swung the back of his hand across Steve’s cheek, drawing blood. Steve sneered at the vampire, wiped the blood off with his fingers, then put them to his lips.

      “One night soon, it’ll be your blood I dine on,” he whispered, then lapsed into silence.

      Exasperated and weary, Mr Crepsley, Harkat and I also fell silent. We finished cleaning our wounds, then lay back and relaxed. If we’d been alone, we’d have dozed off — but none of us dared shut our eyes with a destructive beast like Steve Leopard in the room.

      More than an hour after Vancha had taken his captive vampet aside, he returned. His face was dark and although he’d washed his hands before coming in, he hadn’t been able to remove all the traces of blood. Some of it was his own, from wounds received in the tunnels, but most had come from the vampet.

      Vancha found a bottle of warm beer in the out-of-order fridge, yanked the top off and downed it hungrily. He normally never drank anything other than fresh water, milk and blood — but these were hardly normal times.

      He wiped around his mouth with the back of a hand when he was done, then stared at the faint red stains on his flesh. “He was a brave man,” Vancha said quietly. “He resisted longer than I thought possible. I had to do bad things to make him talk. I…” He shivered and opened another bottle. There were bitter tears in his eyes as he drank.

      “Is he dead?” I asked, my voice trembling.

      Vancha sighed and looked away. “We’re at war. We cannot afford to spare our enemies’ lives. Besides, by the time I’d finished, it seemed cruel to let him live. Killing him was a mercy in the end.”

      “Praise the gods of the vampires for small mercies,” Steve laughed, then flinched as Vancha spun, drew a shuriken and sent it flying at him. The sharp throwing star buried itself in the material of the couch, less than a centimetre beneath Steve’s right ear.

      “I won’t miss with the next,” Vancha swore, and at last the smile slipped from Steve’s face, as he realized how serious the Prince was.

      Mr Crepsley got up and laid a calming hand on Vancha’s shoulder, directing him to a chair. “Was the interrogation worthwhile?” he asked. “Had the vampet anything new to reveal?”

      Vancha didn’t answer immediately. He was still glaring at Steve. Then the question sunk in and he wiped around his large eyes with the ends of one of his animal hides. “He’d plenty to say,” Vancha grunted, then lapsed into silence and stared down at the bottle of beer in his hands, as though he didn’t know how it got there.

      “The vampet!” he said loudly after a minute of quiet, head snapping up, eyes clicking into focus. “Yes. I found out, for starters, why Gannen didn’t kill us, and why the others fought so cagily.” Leaning forward, he lobbed the empty beer bottle at Steve, who swatted it aside, then stared arrogantly back at the Prince. “Only the Vampaneze Lord can kill us,” Vancha said softly.

      “What do you mean?” I frowned.

      “He’s bound by Mr Tiny’s rules, the same as us,” Vancha explained. “Just as we can’t call upon others for help in tracking and fighting him, he can’t ask his underlings to kill us. Mr Tiny said he had to kill us himself to ensure victory. He can call upon all the vampaneze he likes СКАЧАТЬ