Darren Shan - Hunters Of The Dusk

"Very well," Vancha smiled grimly. "We'll have to take them on ourselves." He stood and checked his supply of shurikens.

"We're going to fight them?" I asked, insides tightening.

"We're hardly going to sit here and wait for them to attack!" Vancha replied. "The element of surprise is vital. While we have it, we must make use of it."

Mr. Crepsley looked troubled. "Perhaps they do not mean to attack," he said. "We only arrived last night. They could not have known we were coming. Their being here might have nothing to do with us."

"Nonsense!" Vancha howled. "They're here to kill, and if we don't strike first, they'll be on us before—"

"I'm not so sure," I muttered. "Now that I think about it, they weren't on guard or nervous, as they would have been if they were preparing for a fight."

Vancha cursed some more, then sat down again. "OK. Let's say they aren't after us. Perhaps it's coincidence and they don't know we're here." He leant forward. "But they will when Evanna's finished filling them in!"

"You think she'll tell them about us?" I asked.

"We'd be fools to chance it." He cleared his throat. "In case you've forgotten, we're at war. I've nothing personal against our blood-cousins, but for the time being they're our enemies, and we must show them no mercy. Let's say these vampaneze and their servant have nothing to do with our being here. So what? It's our duty to engage them in battle and cut them down."

"That's murder, not self-defence," Harkat said softly.

"Aye," Vancha agreed. "But would you rather we let them go on to murder some of our own? Our quest to find the Vampaneze Lord takes precedence over all else, but when the chance to cull a few stray vampaneze drops our way, we'd be fools — traitors! — not to seize it."

Mr. Crepsley sighed. "And Evanna? What if she takes the side of the vampaneze against us?"

"Then we fight her too," Vancha sniffed.

"You fancy your chances against her?" Mr. Crepsley smiled thinly.

"No. But I know my duty." He stood, and this time there was a certainty to his stance. "I'm going to kill vampaneze. If you want to come, you can. If not…" He shrugged.

Mr. Crepsley looked at me. "What do you say, Darren?"

"Vancha's right," I said slowly. "If we let them go, and they kill vampires later, we'd be to blame. Besides, there's something we're overlooking — the Lord of the Vampaneze." Mr. Crepsley and Vancha stared at me. "We're destined to cross paths with him, but I think we have to chase that destiny. Maybe these vampaneze know where he is or will be. I doubt it's coincidence that we're here at the same time as them. This might be fate's way of leading us to him."

"A solid argument," Vancha said.

"Perhaps." Mr. Crepsley didn't sound convinced.

"Remember Mr. Tiny's words?" I said. "To follow our hearts? My heart says we should face these vampaneze."

"Mine too," Harkat said after a moment's hesitation.

"And mine," Vancha added.

"I thought you had no heart," Mr. Crepsley muttered, then stood. "But my heart also demands confrontation, although my head disagrees. We will go."

Vancha grinned bloodthirstily and clapped Mr. Crepsley on the back, then without further ado we stole away into the night.

At the copse we made our plans.

"We'll close on them from four different angles," Vancha said, taking charge. "That way well make them think there are more of us."

"There are nine of them in all," Mr. Crepsley noted, "including Evanna. How do we divide them up?"

"Two vampaneze for you, two for me, two for Harkat. Darren takes the seventh and the servant — he's probably a half-vampaneze or vampet, so he shouldn't pose too much of a problem."

"And Evanna?" Mr. Crepsley asked.

"We could all rush her at the end," Vancha suggested.

"No," Mr. Crepsley decided. "I will handle her."

"You re sure?"

Mr. Crepsley nodded.

"Then all that's left is to split up and move in. Get as close as you can. I'll start by launching a couple of shurikens. I'll aim for arms and legs. Once you hear screams and curses — hit them hard."

"Things would go much smoother if you aimed for throats and heads," I noted.

"I don't fight that way," Vancha growled. "Only cowards kill a foe without facing him. If I have to — as when killing the vampet with the hand grenade — I will, but I prefer to fight cleanly."

The four of us split up and circled the trees, entering the copse at different points. I felt vulnerable and small when I found myself alone in the woods, but quickly thrust such feelings aside and concentrated on my mission. "May the gods of the vampires guide and protect us," I muttered under my breath, before advancing, sword drawn.

The vampaneze and Evanna were still in the clearing at the heart of the copse, talking softly. The moon had broken through the clouds, and although the overhanging branches kept most of the light out, the area was brighter than it had been when I was here before.

Easing forward, I got as close to the vampaneze as I dared, then pulled up behind a thick trunk and waited. All was silent around me. I'd thought Harkat might alert them to our presence — he couldn't move as quietly as a vampire — but the Little Person was taking great care and made no sound.

I started to count, silently, inside my head. I was up to ninety-six when there was a sharp whistling hiss to my far left, followed by a startled shriek. Less than a second later, another whistle and another scream. Gripping my sword tight, I swung around the tree and darted forward, roaring wildly.

The vampaneze were quick to react, and were on their feet, weapons in hand, by the time I reached them. Fast as they were, Mr. Crepsley and Vancha were faster, and as I locked swords with a tall, muscular vampaneze, from whose left shin stuck a silver shuriken, I saw Mr. Crepsley cut open the stomach and chest of one of our opponents, killing him instantly, while Vancha's thumb took out the left eye of another — he dropped to the ground, wailing.

I had just enough time to note that the man on the ground wasn't purple-skinned like the rest — a vampet! — then I had to concentrate on the vampaneze in front of me. He was at least two heads taller then me, broader and stronger. But size, as I'd been taught in Vampire Mountain, wasn't everything, and while he lashed out at me with savage strokes, I jabbed and feinted, nicking him here, poking him there, drawing blood, enraging him, spoiling his aim and rhythm, causing him to swing erratically.

As I parried one of his blows, someone stumbled into my back and I tumbled to the ground. Rolling over swiftly, I jumped to my feet and saw a bloody-faced vampaneze fall, gasping for breath. Harkat Mulds stood over him, a red-stained axe in his left hand, an injured right arm hanging limp by his side.

The vampaneze who'd been attacking me now focused on Harkat. With a bellow he swung at the Little Persons head. Harkat brought his axe up just in time, knocked the sword up high of its mark, then stepped back, tempting the vampaneze forward.

I looked around quickly, taking in the state of play. Three of our foes were down, although the vampet who'd lost his eye was scrabbling about for a sword and looked ready to rejoin the action. Mr. Crepsley was battling a vampaneze who favoured knives, and the two were swinging around and slicing at each other like a pair of whirling dancers. Vancha had his hands full with a huge, axe-wielding brute. His axe was twice the size of Harkat's, yet he rolled it about between his immense fingers as if it weighed nothing. Vancha was sweating, and bleeding from a cut to his waist, but he wasn't conceding any ground.

Across from me, the seventh vampaneze — tall, slim, with a smooth face, long hair tied back, dressed in a light green suit — and the hooded servant were watching the fighting. Both clutched long swords and stood ready to flee if the battle seemed lost, or dive in and finish things off if they sensed victory. Such cynical tactics disgusted me, and drawing a knife, I sent it whizzing at the head of the servant, who wasn't much bigger than me.