Vampire Mountain. Darren Shan

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СКАЧАТЬ many Vampire Generals are there?” I asked curiously.

      “Between three and four hundred.”

      “And vampaneze?”

      “Maybe two hundred and fifty, or three hundred — I cannot say for sure.”

      As I was remembering this old conversation, Mr Crepsley emerged from the cave behind me and watched the sun sinking. It looked the same colour as his cropped orange hair. The vampire was in great form — the nights were growing longer the closer to Vampire Mountain we got, so he was able to move about more than usual.

      “It is always nice to see it go down,” Mr Crepsley said, referring to the sun.

      “I thought it was going to snow earlier,” I said.

      “There will be snow aplenty soon,” he replied. “We should reach the snow drifts this week.” He glanced down at my feet. “Will you be able to survive the harsh cold?”

      “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

      “This has been the easy part,” he smiled, then clapped me on the back when he saw my dismayed frown. “Do not worry — you will be fine. But let me know if your feet cut up again. There are rare bushes which grow along the trail, the sap of which can seal the pores of one’s skin.”

      The Little People came out of the cave, hoods covering their faces. The one without a limp was carrying a dead fox.

      “Ready?” Mr Crepsley asked me.

      I nodded and swung my rucksack on to my back. Looking ahead over the rocky terrain, I asked the usual question: “Is it much further?”

      Mr Crepsley smiled, began walking, and said over his shoulder, “We are some way off yet.”

      Muttering darkly, I glanced back at the relatively comfortable cave, then faced front and followed the vampire. The Little People fell in behind, and after a while I heard brittle snapping sounds as they chewed on the bones of the fox.

      Four nights later we ran into heavy snow. For a few nights we travelled over country that was one long unbroken blanket of freezing white, where nothing lived, but after that trees, plants and animals appeared again.

      My feet felt like two blocks of ice as we trudged through the belt of snow, but I gritted my teeth and walked off the effects of the cold. The worst bit was getting up at dusk, having slept with my feet tucked beneath me all day. There was always an hour or two after waking when my toes tingled and I thought they’d drop off. Then the blood would circulate and everything would be fine — until the next night.

      Sleeping outside was dreadfully uncomfortable. The two of us would lie down together in our clothes – which we hadn’t changed out of since reaching the snow – and pull rough blankets we’d made from deer skins over our bodies. But even with our shared warmth it was freezing. Madam Octa had it easy — she slept safe and snug in her cage, only waking to feed every few days. I often wished I could change places with her.

      If the Little People felt the cold, they gave no indication. They didn’t bother with blankets, just lay down beneath a bush or against a rock when they wanted to sleep.

      Almost three weeks after we’d last stopped at a way-station, we came to another. I couldn’t wait to sit beside a fire and eat cooked meat again. I was even looking forward to sleeping in a coffin — anything was better than hard, cold earth! This way-station was a cave set low in a cliff, above a forest ring and a large stream. Mr Crepsley and me aimed directly for it – a strong moon in the clear night sky lit the way – while the Little People went off to hunt. The climb only took ten minutes. I pushed ahead of Mr Crepsley as we approached the mouth of the cave, eager to get the fire started, only for him to lay a hand on my shoulder. “Hold,” he said softly.

      “What?” I snapped. I was irritable after three weeks of sleeping rough.

      “I smell blood,” he said.

      Pausing, I sniffed the air, and after a few seconds I got the whiff too, strong and sickly.

      “Stay close behind me,” Mr Crepsley whispered. “Be prepared to run the instant I give the order.” I nodded obediently, then trailed after him as he crept to the opening and slid inside.

      The cave was dark, especially after the brightness of the moonlit night, and we entered slowly, giving our eyes time to adjust. It was a deep cave, turning off to the left and going back twenty or more metres. Three coffins had been placed on stands in the middle, but one was lying on the floor, its lid hanging off, and another had been smashed to pieces against the wall to our right.

      The wall and floor around the shattered coffin were dark with blood. It wasn’t fresh, but by its smell it wasn’t more than a couple of nights old. Having checked the rest of the cave – to ensure we were alone – Mr Crepsley edged over to the blood and crouched to examine it, dipping a finger into the dried pool, then tasting it.

      “Well?” I hissed, as he stood, rubbing his finger and thumb together.

      “It is the blood of a vampire,” he said quietly.

      My insides tightened — I’d been hoping it was the blood of a wild animal. “What do you think–” I started to ask, when there was a sudden rushing sound behind me. A strong arm wrapped around my middle, a thick hand clutched my throat, and – as Mr Crepsley shot forward to help – my attacker grunted triumphantly: “Hah!”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      AS I stiffened helplessly, my life in the hands of whoever had hold of me, Mr Crepsley leapt, the fingers of his right hand outstretched like a blade. He sliced the hand over the top of my head. My assailant released me and ducked in the same movement, dropping heavily to the floor as Mr Crepsley sailed by. As the vampire rolled to his feet and spun to strike a second blow, the man who’d snatched me roared, “Stop, Larten! It’s me — Gavner!”

      Mr Crepsley paused and I got to my feet, coughing from the fright, but no longer afraid. Turning, I saw a burly man with a scarred, patchy face and dark rims around both his eyes. He was dressed in similar clothes to ours, with a cap pulled down over his ears. I recognized him instantly — Gavner Purl, a Vampire General. I’d met him years ago, shortly before my run-in with Murlough.

      “You bloody fool, Gavner!” Mr Crepsley shouted. “I would have killed you if I had connected! Why did you sneak up on us?”

      “I wanted to surprise you,” Gavner said. “I’ve been shadowing you most of the night, and this seemed like the perfect time to close in. I didn’t expect to almost lose my head in the process,” he grumbled.

      “You should have been paying more attention to your surroundings and less to Darren and I,” Mr Crepsley said, pointing towards the blood-stained wall and floor.

      “By the blood of the vampaneze!” Gavner hissed.

      “Actually, it is the blood of a vampire,” Mr Crepsley corrected him dryly.

      “Any idea whose?” Gavner asked, hurrying over to test the blood.

      “None,” СКАЧАТЬ