Darren Shan: Birth of a Killer

Larten grabbed his friend and held him back. “No,” he snapped. “You’re not ready for this. He’ll kill you.”

“Let me go,” Wester snarled as Randel laughed cruelly. “You have no right to get in my way. I’ll rip his throat open, and if you try to stop me, I'll — ”

“He’ll break your neck before you can lay a hand on him,” Larten said coldly. “He’s not an assistant, you can tell by the dark color of his skin. He’s a full vampaneze. He must be a vampire-hater or he wouldn’t have bothered with Cubs like us. He’s not looking for a challenge — he just wants to rack up an easy kill.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Larten shouted at the vampaneze. “You don’t dare face one of our Generals, so you hunt among the inexperienced Cubs. You’re a coward.”

Randel sneered. “I’ve fought and killed Generals, and one night I will fight and kill a Prince if the gods are good to me. I have nothing to prove and I don’t react to the insults of curs like you. But today, to pass the time, I want to face a Cub. I’ve been told you’re slow and soft. Can any of you prove me wrong?”

Wester’s eyes flashed and again he tried to strike. Larten blocked him and said without emotion, “If you fight, he’ll slay you and you’ll never be able to take revenge on the one who murdered your family.” Then he stood aside, letting Wester make the final decision, as was his right.

As Wester agonized — he wanted more than anything to kill the stranger, but he knew Larten spoke truly — Randel gazed with disgust at the war pack. “Surely you have a leader,” he teased. “Vampires love to be led. Will not even the mighty pack leader meet my challenge?”

All eyes turned to Tanish. He had demanded the right to rule and they’d granted it. If he didn’t meet this challenge, he would be disgraced. Any vampire of good standing in his position must step forward. Even the wayward Cubs had standards to uphold. The members of the pack expected Tanish to face this purple-skinned villain, put up a good fight and die with honor.

But Tanish didn’t move. His cheeks were burning and he stared at the ground as if he could never look up again. When they realized he wasn’t going to react, their faces hardened. Several puffed themselves up for battle — even the wounded Jordan struggled to his feet — but Zula Pone was the first to step forward.

“I will face you, Randel of the vampaneze,” Zula said, taking off the overcoat in which he had been sleeping. “And when I kill you, I will honor your corpse and say a prayer to the vampire gods to accept your wayward soul.”

Randel laughed, but the sneering tone was gone from his voice when he said, “I accept your challenge. But I’ll not ask for your name or make pleas on your behalf to the gods when this is over. That’s not our way. We simply kill or die. The glory lies in the battle, not what is said or done afterwards.”

Randel edged away from the shelter of the tree, into the deadly sunlight. Like vampires, he couldn’t comfortably stand exposure to the sun. But fights between children of the night seldom lasted more than a minute or two. One way or the other, he wouldn’t have to tolerate the irritation for long.

The squat, ugly Zula followed Randel into the clearing. He went calmly, eyes clear and steady, ready to accept whatever came his way. In that moment he was a true vampire, nobler than any of the Cubs watching him, and all of them felt humbled.

“What is your choice of weapon?” Zula asked as they squared up to each other.

“Hands are fine by me,” Randel said, flexing his fingers.

“As you wish.”

Zula lashed out, five sharp nails guaranteed to cut through almost any material on Earth, including the flesh of a vampaneze’s throat. But Randel blocked Zula’s arm and kicked him in the stomach. Zula grunted and fell back. Randel could have pressed after him, but he held his ground and waited for the vampire to attack again.

Flushed, Zula darted at his foe, then stopped and took a deep breath, regaining his composure. When he was in control of himself, he advanced slowly, studying Randel’s eyes for warning signs of what his intentions might be. Larten had thought that Zula was doomed when he accepted the challenge, but watching him now, he believed that maybe the Cub had a chance.

When Zula was within reach, Randel swung a fist at him. Zula blocked it and kicked at Randel’s shin. He connected and Randel went down. The vampires roared with excitement, but their cheers were shortlived. As Randel fell, he caught Zula and twisted him around and down. Zula realized too late that his opponent had anticipated his strike. Before he could adjust, he landed heavily on his back — and on the outstretched fingers of one of Randel’s hands, which the vampaneze had slyly slid beneath him.

Zula cried out as the vampaneze’s nails ripped into his lungs. Then he stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. His legs spasmed, but his arms were strangely still by his sides. He gulped a few times, blood exploding from his mouth, eyes widening, staring at the sun. He had always thought that he would die by the light of the moon. It seemed unfair that a child of the night should perish this way, before the sun had set. He wished Randel had come a few hours later, so he could at least have counted the stars one last time.

And then he wished no more.

Randel shoved the dead vampire away, wiped his hand clean on the grass and stood. He didn’t even glance at Zula, but he did cast an eye over the palefaced vampires sheltering beneath the tree.

“You’re a disgrace to your masters,” Randel growled, then picked up his cloak, settled it over his head and moved on.

The Cubs stared after the departing vampaneze and watched in silence until he flitted out of sight. Then Larten and Jordan went to fetch the body of Zula Pone. They would burn it later or launch it down a river, depending on what the majority thought the ugly vampire would have preferred.

Tanish was sitting by himself when Larten returned. He had his back to the rest of the Cubs and nobody went near him. They ignored their fallen leader, treating him with the scorn he deserved. Larten felt sorry for his friend, but it couldn’t be helped. One of the first things Seba had taught him was that every man made his own decisions in life, and each must stand by the consequences of those choices.

As the sun set, Tanish stood and set off. He didn’t say good-bye and nobody asked where he was going. He took nothing, even dropping his expensive coat and discarding his silk shirt. Larten knew, as he watched the disgraced Tanish leave, that this was probably the last they’d see of him. Tanish Eul was no longer part of the clan. He wasn’t a traitor, but the Cubs would never mention his name again, and if anyone ever asked about him, they would respond with a simple, damning, “He walks with the humans

now.”

The American Civil War was the bloodiest waste of life Larten had yet to witness. Vampires had known about America long before Europeans discovered it. One of the clan had sailed with Leif Ericson and thirty-four others early in the second millennium, and before Paris Skyle became a Prince he stayed Columbus’s hand when the human had lost hope and was on the verge of turning back. The elderly vampire would have been saddened to see what had become of the country, but not surprised. Why should these tribes be any different from those they had left behind? People might speak of it being a New World, but they were the same old humans.

Larten watched from a distance as thousands of young men clashed and went to an early grave. He, Wester and Seba had made camp on a hill out of the way of the fighting a few nights earlier. Since then they’d kept vigil, leaving only to hunt and stretch their legs.