Darren Shan: Hunters Of The Dusk

"Charna's guts!" he gasped, and made the death's touch sign by pressing the middle finger of his right hand to his forehead, and the two fingers next to that over his eyelids. It was a sign vampires made when they thought death was close.

Through the tunnels we marched, silencing conversations and causing jaws to drop. Even those who'd never met Mr. Tiny recognized him, stopped what they were doing and fell in behind us, following wordlessly, as though trailing a hearse.

There was only one tunnel leading to the Hall of Princes — I'd found another six years ago, but that had since been blocked off — and it was protected by the Mountain's finest guards. They were supposed to stop and search anyone seeking entry to the Hall, but when Mr. Tiny approached, they gawped at him, lowered their weapons, then let him — and the rest of the procession — pass unobstructed.

Mr. Tiny finally stopped at the doors of the Hall and glanced at the domed building which he'd built six centuries earlier. "It's stood the test of time quite well, hasn't it?" he remarked to no one in particular. Then, laying a hand on the doors, he opened them and entered. Only Princes were supposed to be able to open the doors, but it didn't surprise me that Mr. Tiny had the power to control them too.

Mika and Paris were within the Hall, discussing the war with a gaggle of Generals. There were a lot of sore heads and bleary eyes, but everyone snapped to attention when they saw Mr. Tiny striding in.

"By the teeth of the gods!" Paris gasped, his face whitening. He cringed as Mr. Tiny set foot on the platform of thrones, then drew himself straight and forced a tight smile. "Desmond," he said, "it is good to see you."

"You too, Paris," Mr. Tiny responded.

"To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?" Paris enquired with strained politeness.

"Wait a minute and I'll tell you," Mr. Tiny replied, then plopped himself down on a throne — mine! — crossed his legs and made himself comfortable. "Get the gang in," he said, crooking a finger at Mika. "I've something to say and it's for everybody's ears."

Within a few minutes, almost every vampire in the mountain had crowded into the Hall of Princes, and stood nervously by the walls — as far away from Mr. Tiny as possible — waiting for the mysterious visitor to speak.

Mr. Tiny had been checking his nails and rubbing them up and down the front of his jacket. The Little People were standing behind the throne. Harkat stood to their left, looking uncertain. I sensed he didn't know whether to stand with his brothers-of-nature or with his brothers-of-choice — the vampires.

"All present and correct?" Mr. Tiny asked. He got to his feet and waddled to the front of the platform. "Then I'll come straight to the point. The Lord of the Vampaneze has been blooded." He paused, anticipating gasps, groans and cries of terror. But we all just stared at him, too shocked to react. "Six hundred years ago," he continued, "I told your forebears that the Vampaneze Lord would lead the vampaneze into a war against you and wipe you out. That was a truth — but not the truth. The future is both open and closed. There's only one 'will be' but there are often hundreds of 'can be's'. Which means the Vampaneze Lord and his followers can be defeated."

Breath caught in every vampires throat and you could feel hope forming in the air around us, like a cloud.

"The Vampaneze Lord is only a half-vampaneze at the moment," Mr. Tiny said. "If you find and kill him before he's fully blooded, victory will be yours."

At that, a huge roar went up, and suddenly vampires were clapping each other on the back and cheering. A few didn't join in the hooting and hollering. Those with first-hand knowledge of Mr. Tiny — myself, Paris, Mr. Crepsley — sensed he hadn't finished, and guessed there must be a catch. Mr. Tiny wasn't the kind to smile broadly when delivering good news. He only grinned like that when he knew there was going to be suffering and misery.

When the wave of excitement had died down, Mr. Tiny raised his right hand. He clutched his heart-shaped watch with his left hand. The watch glowed a dark red colour, and suddenly his right hand glowed as well. All eyes settled on the five crimson fingers and the Hall went eerily quiet.

"When the Vampaneze Lord was discovered seven years ago," Mr. Tiny said, his face illuminated by the glow of his fingers, "I studied the strings connecting the present to the future, and saw that there were five chances to avert the course of destiny. One of those has already come and gone."

The red glow faded from his thumb, which he tucked down into his palm. "That chance was Kurda Smahlt," he said. Kurda was the vampire who led the vampaneze against us, in a bid to seize control of the Stone of Blood. "If Kurda had succeeded, most vampires would have been absorbed by the vampaneze and the War of the Scars — as you've termed it — would have been averted."

"But you killed him, destroying what was probably your best hope of survival in the process." He shook his head and tutted. "That was silly."

"Kurda Smahlt was a traitor," Mika growled. "Nothing good comes of treachery. I'd rather die honourably than owe my life to a turncoat."

"More fool you," Mr. Tiny chortled, then wiggled his glowing little finger. "This represents your last chance, if all others fail. It will not fall for some time yet — if at all — so we shall ignore it." He tucked the glowing finger down, leaving the three middle fingers standing.

"Which brings us to my reason for coming. If I left you to your own devices, these chances would slip by unnoticed. You'd carry on as you have been, the windows of opportunity would pass, and before you knew it…" He made a soft popping sound.

"Within the next twelve months," he said softly but clearly, "there may be three encounters between certain vampires and the Vampaneze Lord — assuming you heed my advice. Three times he will be at your mercy. If you seize one of these chances and kill him, the war will be yours. If you fail, there'll be one final, all-deciding confrontation, upon which the fate of every living vampire will hang." He paused teasingly. "To be honest, I hope it goes down to the wire — I love big, dramatic conclusions!"

He turned his back on the Hall and one of his Little People handed him a flask, from which he drank deeply. Furious whispers and conversations swept through the assembled vampires while he was drinking, and when he next faced the crowd, Paris Skyle was waiting. "You have been very generous with your information, Desmond," he said. "On behalf of all here, I thank you."

"Don't mention it," Mr. Tiny said. His fingers had stopped glowing, he'd let go of his watch, and his hands now rested in his lap.

"Will you extend your generosity and tell us which vampires are destined to encounter the Vampaneze Lord?" Paris asked.

"I will," Mr. Tiny said smugly. "But let me make one thing clear — the encounters will only occur if the vampires choose to hunt the Lord of the Vampaneze. The three I name don't have to accept the challenge of hunting him down, or take responsibility for the future of the vampire clan. But if they don't, you're doomed, for in these three alone lies the ability to change that which is destined to be."

He slowly looked around the Hall, meeting the eyes of every vampire present, searching for signs of weakness and fear. Not one of us looked away or wilted in the face of such a dire charge. "Very well," he grunted. "One of the hunters is absent, so I'll not name him. If the other two head for the cave of Lady Evanna, they'll probably run into him along the way. If not, his chance to play an active part in the future will pass, and it will boil down to that lone pair."

"And they are…?" Paris asked tensely.