Darren Shan - Ocean of Blood

The tent was like none he’d seen so far. It was circular, tall and wide, adorned with beautiful, stitched patterns of water flowers and frogs. It looked a bit like the tent in which the Cirque Du Freak performed, but nowhere near the same size. There were three smaller tents around it and a clothesline stood behind them, hung with a variety of dresses and women’s undergarments.

A confused Wester nudged Larten, who frowned at the feminine clothes and said, “What sort of a woman would pitch her tent at the edge of a battlefield?”

The answer came to both of them at the same time, but Wester was the one who exclaimed, “A woman of the wilds!”

Sharing a thrilled look, they bustled after their master and his foul-smelling ally, heading for the tent of the woman who – if they had guessed right – was as powerful and as crucial to the fate of the vampire clan as any goddess of legend.

Seba paused at the entrance to the tent and asked Larten and Wester to set aside his coffin. He tugged at his red shirt and cloak, straightened some creases, then examined the material for dirt.

“How do I look?” Vancha asked, spitting into his palm and using it to brush back his green hair.

“Like a cherub,” Seba murmured.

“Do you think–”

The flap over the entrance swished back, cutting short his question, and a woman stepped forward. She was short and ugly – she reminded Larten of Zula Pone in some respects – and even filthier than Vancha. She wore no shoes or clothes. Instead there were ropes wrapped around her body. She had pointed ears, a tiny nose, one brown eye and one green. She was as muscular as a man and hairier than most, from a thin beard and moustache down to ten furry toes. Her fingers were stubby and the nails cut short on all of them except the two little fingers, where they grew long and sharp.

Larten thought this was a strange choice of servant for a witch as powerful as the Lady Evanna (if that was indeed who they were coming to meet). He had assumed that Evanna would have pretty, finely dressed maids to wait on her. Maybe she had taken pity on this misfortunate creature and given her a home because nobody else would.

Then, to Larten’s astonishment, the short, ugly woman squealed, darted forward and cried, “My little Vancha!” As the General tried to back away in a panic, she hoisted him off the ground and shook him in the air as if he was a large doll.

“Let me down!” Vancha yelled furiously.

“Not until you give me a kiss, you naughty boy,” she chortled.

“I’ll give you a kick up the–”

“Language, Vancha,” she stopped him, squeezing his ribs so hard that his eyes almost popped.

“Apologies… Lady,” he wheezed, then pecked her cheek before he suffocated.

The woman smiled and let him drop, then curtsied gracefully to Seba. “You are welcome as always, Master Nile,” she said in a soft, melodic voice.

“And grateful for that privilege, my Lady,” Seba said, bowing as he would have before a Prince.

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