Darren Shan - Hunters Of The Dusk

The small man in the robes saw the knife and twitched his head out of the path of its flight. By his swiftness, I knew he must be a blooded creature of the night — no human could have moved so quickly.

The vampaneze next to the servant scowled as I drew another knife, paused a moment, then darted across the clearing before I could take aim. Dropping the knife, I raised my sword and turned his blow aside, but only barely managed to get it up in time to deflect his second strike. He was fast and well-trained in the ways of war. I was in trouble.

I backed away from the vampaneze, protecting myself as best I could. The tip of his sword became a blur as it struck, and though I defended myself ably, his blade soon bit. I felt a wound open on the top of my left arm… a deep gash to my right thigh… a jagged scratch across my chest.

I backed up against a tree and caught the sleeve of my right arm on a branch. The vampaneze thrust his sword at my face. I thought the end had come, but then my arm tore free and my sword came across to block his and drive it towards the ground. I pushed down with my sword, hoping to make my foe drop his weapon, but he was too strong and brought his sword up in a smooth reverse movement. His blade slid up the length of mine, giving birth to a shower of sparks. It was moving so fast, and there was so much force behind it, that instead of being routed away by the hilt of my sword when it got there, it cut clean through the gold casing — and clean through the flesh and bone of my sticking-out right thumb!

I screamed as my thumb shot away into the darkness. My sword dropped from my fingers and I fell, defenceless. The vampaneze glanced around casually, dismissing me as a threat. Mr. Crepsley was winning the war of the knives — his opponent's face had been slashed to ribbons. Harkat had defied the handicap of his injured arm and buried the tip of his axe deep in his vampaneze's stomach — though the vampaneze bellowed valiantly and fought on, he was surely lost. Vancha was struggling with his opponent, but was holding his own, and when Mr. Crepsley or Harkat came to his aid, their combined force would be enough to make an end of the giant. The vampet who'd lost an eye was on his feet, sword in hand, but was swaying unsteadily and wouldn't pose much of a problem.

While all this was happening, Evanna had remained seated on the ground, a neutral look on her face, taking no part in the fighting.

We were going to win and the vampaneze in the green suit knew it. Snarling, he swung once more at my head — aiming to cut it clean off at the neck — but I rolled out of his way, into a pile of leaves. Rather than duck after me to finish me off, he about-faced, ran to where the robed servant was standing, grabbed a spare sword from the ground, then hurried through the trees, pushing the servant ahead of him.

Getting to my feet, I moaned loudly from the pain, then gritted my teeth against it, picked up the knife I'd dropped earlier, and moved in to help Harkat finish off his vampaneze. It wasn't noble, sticking a knife into a warrior's back, but all I cared about was ending the battle, and I felt no pity for the vampaneze when he stiffened and collapsed, my blade buried deep between his shoulder blades.

Mr. Crepsley had dispatched the vampaneze with the knives, and after taking care of the one-eyed vampet — a swift cut to his throat — he started forward to help Vancha. That's when Evanna stood and called to him. "Will you raise your blades to me too, Larten?"

Mr. Crepsley hesitated, knives hovering in his hands, then dropped his guard and went on one knee before her. "Nay, Lady," he sighed. "I will not."

"Then I will not raise a hand to you," she said, and commenced walking from one dead vampaneze to another, kneeling beside them, making the death's touch, whispering, "Even in death may you be triumphant."

Mr. Crepsley got to his feet and studied Vancha as he battled the largest of the vampaneze. "A close call, Sire," he noted dryly as the giant barely missed the top of Vancha's scalp with his huge war axe. Vancha honoured Mr. Crepsley with one of his foulest curses in reply. "Would you be offended if I offered my assistance, Sire?" Mr. Crepsley asked politely.

"Get over here quick!" Vancha snarled. "Two are getting away. We have to- Charna's guts !" he yelled, again only barely dodging the head of the axe.

"Harkat, stay with me," Mr. Crepsley said, moving forward to intercept the giant. "Darren, go with Vancha after the others."

"Right," I said. I didn't mention the fact that I was missing a thumb — such considerations were nothing in the heat of life or death battle.

As Mr. Crepsley and Harkat engaged the giant, Vancha swung away, paused for breath, then nodded for me to follow as he raced after the vampaneze and the servant. I kept close to him, sucking on the bloody stump where my thumb used to be, grabbing a knife from my belt with my left hand. As we broke from the trees, we saw the pair ahead. The servant was climbing on to the vampaneze's back — it was clear that they were planning to flit.

"No you don't!" Vancha growled, and sent a dark shuriken flying. It struck the servant high above the right shoulder blade. He cried out and toppled off the vampaneze's back. The vampaneze spun, stooped to pick up his fallen comrade, saw Vancha closing in, and jumped to his feet, pulling a sword and moving forward. I hung back, not wanting to get in Vancha's way, keeping an eye on the fallen servant, waiting to see how the fight progressed.

Vancha was almost within striking distance of the vampaneze when he drew up short, as though injured. I thought he must have been hit with something — a knife or arrow — but he didn't look hurt. He just stood, arms outstretched, staring at the vampaneze. The vampaneze was motionless too, his red eyes wide, his dark purple face incredulous. Then he lowered his sword, slid it into its scabbard, turned and picked up the servant.

Vancha did nothing to stop him.

Behind me I heard Mr. Crepsley and Harkat break free of the trees. They raced forward, then stopped by my side when they saw the vampaneze escaping, Vancha standing by and watching.

"What the—" Mr. Crepsley began, but then the vampaneze hit flitting speed and disappeared.

Vancha looked back at us, then sank to the ground. Mr. Crepsley cursed — not quite as foul as Vancha's earlier outburst, but close — and sheathed his knives in disgust. "You let them escape!" he shouted. Striding forward, he stood over Vancha and regarded him with undisguised contempt. " Why ?" he growled, hands bunched into fists.

"I couldn't stop him," Vancha whispered, eyes downcast.

"You did not even try!" Mr. Crepsley roared.

"I couldn't fight him," Vancha said. "I always feared this night would come. I prayed it wouldn't, but part of me knew it would."

"You are not making sense!" Mr. Crepsley snapped. "Who was that vampaneze? Why did you let him escape?"

"His name is Gannen Harst," Vancha said in a low, broken voice. He looked up and there were hard, glittering tears in his eyes. "He's my brother. »

FOR Along time nothing was said. Harkat, Mr. Crepsley and me stared at Vancha, whose eyes were fixed on the ground. Overhead the moon had vanished behind thick banks of cloud. When they finally parted, Vancha began to talk, as though prompted by the moonbeams.

"My real name's Vancha Harst," he said. "I changed it when I became a vampire. Gannen's a year or two younger than me — or is it the other way round? It's been so long, I can't remember. We were very close growing up. We did everything together — including joining the vampaneze.

"The vampaneze who blooded us was an honest man and a good teacher. He told us exactly what our lives would be like. He explained their ways and beliefs, how they looked upon themselves as the guardians of history by keeping alive the memories of those they drank from." (If a vampire or vampaneze drains a person's blood, he absorbs part of their spirit and memories.) "He said vampaneze killed when they drank, but did it swiftly and painlessly."