Seba nodded glumly and sipped at his beer. "You are probably right. I am old. My brain does not work as sharply as it used to. Perhaps my worries are those of an old man who has lived too long. Still …"
Such pessimistic words were on everybody's lips. Even those who scoffed outright at the idea of a Vampaneze Lord always seemed to end with a "still …" or "however …" or "but …" The tension was clogging the dusty mountain air of the tunnels and Halls, constantly building, stifling everyone who was present.
The only one who didn't seem troubled by the rumors was Kurda Smahlt. He turned up outside our chambers, as upbeat as ever, the third night after Harkat had delivered his message.
"Greetings," he said. "I've had a hectic two nights, but things are calming down at last and I have a few free hours. I thought I'd take Darren on a tour of the Halls."
"Great!" I beamed. "Mr. Crepsley was going to take me but we never got around to it."
"You don't mind if I escort him, Larten?" Kurda asked.
"Not in the slightest," Mr. Crepsley said. "I am overwhelmed that one of your eminence has found the time to act as a guide so close to your investiture." He said it cuttingly, but Kurda ignored the elder vampire's sarcasm.
"You can tag along if you want," Kurda offered cheerfully.
"No thank you." Mr. Crepsley smiled thinly. "Okay," Kurda said. "Your loss. Ready, Darren?"
"Ready," I said, and off we went.
Kurda took me to see the kitchens first. They were huge caves, built deep beneath most of the Halls. Large fires burned brightly. The cooks worked in shifts around the clock during times of Council. They had to in order to feed all the visitors.
"It's quieter the rest of the time," Kurda said. "There are usually no more than thirty vampires in residence. You often have to cook for yourself if you don't eat with the rest at the set times."
From the kitchens we progressed to the breeding Halls, where sheep, goats, and cows were kept and bred. "We'd never be able to ship in enough milk and meat to feed all the vampires," Kurda explained when I asked why live animals were kept in the mountain. "This isn't a hotel, where you can call a supplier and restock anytime you want. Shipping in food is an enormous hassle. It's easier to rear the animals ourselves and butcher them when we need to."
"What about human blood?" I asked. "Where does that come from?"
"Generous donors." Kurda winked, and led me on. (I only realized much later that he'd sidestepped the question.)
The Hall of Cremation was our next stop. It was where vampires who died in the mountain were cremated. "What if they don't want to be cremated?" I asked.
"Oddly enough, hardly any vampires ask to be buried," he said. "Perhaps it has something to do with all the time they spend in coffins while they're alive. However, if someone requests a burial, their wishes are respected.
"Not so long ago, we'd lower the dead into an underground stream and let the water wash them away. There's a cave, far below the Halls, where one of the larger streams opens up. It's called the Hall of Final Voyage, although it's never used now. I'll show it to you if we're ever down that way."
"Why should we be down there?" I asked. "I thought those tunnels were only used to get in and out of the mountain."
"One of my hobbies is mapmaking," Kurda said. "I've been trying to make accurate maps of the mountain for decades. The Halls are easy but the tunnels are much more difficult. They've never been mapped, and a lot are in poor shape. I try to get down to them whenever I return, to map out a few more unknown regions, but I don't have as much time to work on them as I'd like. I'll have even less when I'm a Prince."
"It sounds like an interesting hobby," I said. "Could I come with you the next time you go mapping? I'd like to see how it's done."
"You're really interested?" He sounded surprised.
"Why shouldn't I be?"
He laughed. "I'm used to vampires falling asleep whenever I start talking about maps. Most have no interest in such mundane matters. There's a saying among vampires: 'Maps are for humans.' Most vampires would rather discover new territory for themselves, regardless of the dangers, than follow directions on a map."
The Hall of Cremation was a large octagonal room with a high ceiling full of cracks. There was a pit in the middle — where the dead vampires were burned — and a couple of long, gnarly benches on the far side, made out of bones. Two women and a man were sitting on the benches, whispering to each other, and a young child was at their feet, playing with a scattering of animal bones. They didn't have the appearance of vampires — they were thin and ill-looking, with lank hair and rags for clothes; their skin was deathly pale and dry, and their eyes were an eerie white color. The adults stood when we entered, grabbed the child, and withdrew through a door at the back of the room.
"Who were they?" I asked.
"The Guardians of this chamber," Kurda replied.
"Are they vampires?" I pressed. "They didn't look like vampires. And I thought I was the only child vampire in the mountain."
"You are," Kurda said.
"Then who —"
"Ask me later!" Kurda snapped with unusual briskness. I blinked at his sharp tone, and he smiled an immediate apology. "I'll tell you about them when our tour is complete," he said softly. "It's bad luck to talk about them here. Though I'm not superstitious by nature, I prefer not to test the fates where the Guardians are concerned."
(Although he'd aroused my curiosity, I didn't learn more about the strange, so-called Guardians until much later, since by the end of our tour I was in no state to ask any questions, and had forgotten about them entirely.)
Letting the matter of the Guardians drop, I examined the cremation pit, which was just a hollow dip in the ground. There were leaves and sticks in the bottom, waiting to be lit. Large pots were set around the hole, a clublike stick in each. I asked what they were for.
"Those are pestles, for the bones," Kurda said.
"What bones?"
"The bones of the vampires. Fire doesn't burn bones. Once a fire's burned out, the bones are extracted, put in the pots, and ground down to dust with the pestles."
"What happens to the dust?" I asked.
"We use it to thicken bat broth," Kurda said earnestly, then burst out laughing as my face turned green. "I'm joking! The dust is thrown to the winds around Vampire Mountain, setting the spirit of the dead vampire free."
"I'm not sure I'd like that," I commented.
"It's better than burying a person and leaving them to the worms," Kurda said. "Although, personally speaking, I want to be stuffed and mounted when my time comes." He paused for a second, then burst out laughing again.
Leaving the Hall of Cremation, we set out for the three Halls of Sport (individually they were called the Hall of Basker Wrent, the Hall of Rush Flon'x, and the Hall of Oceen Pird, although most vampires referred to them simply as the Halls of Sport). I was eager to see the gaming Halls, but as we made our way there, Kurda paused in front of a small door, bowed his head, closed his eyes, and touched his eyelids with his fingertips.
"Why did you do that?" I asked.
"It's the custom," he said, and moved on. I stayed, staring at the door.
"What's this Hall called?" I asked.
Kurda hesitated. "You don't want to go in there," he said.
"Why not?" I pressed.
"It's the Hall of Death," he said quietly.
"Another cremation Hall?"
He shook his head. "A place of execution."
"Execution?" I was really curious now. Kurda saw this and sighed.
"You want to go in?" he asked.
"Can I?"
"Yes, but it's not a pretty sight. It would be better to proceed directly to the Halls of Sport."
A warning like that only made me more eager to see what lurked behind the door! Noting this, Kurda opened it and led me in. The Hall was poorly lit, and at first I thought it was deserted. Then I spotted one of the white-skinned Guardians, sitting in the shadows of the wall at the r
ear. He didn't rise or give any sign that he saw us. I started to ask Kurda about him, but the General shook his head instantly and hissed quietly, "I'm definitely not talking about them here!"
I could see nothing awful about the Hall. There was a pit in the center of the floor and light wooden cages set against the walls, but otherwise it was bare and unremarkable.
"What's so bad about this place?" I asked.
"I'll show you," Kurda said, and guided me toward the edge of the pit. Looking down into the gloom, I saw dozens of sharpened poles set in the floor, pointing menacingly toward the ceiling.
"Stakes!" I gasped.
"Yes," Kurda said softly. "This is where the legend of the stake through the heart originated. When a vampire's brought to the Hall of Death, he's placed in a cage — that's what the cages against the walls are for — which is attached to ropes and hoisted above the pit. He's then dropped from a height and impaled on the stakes. Death is often slow and painful, and it's not unusual for a vampire to have to be dropped three or four times before he dies."
"But why?" I was appalled. "Who do they kill here?"
"The old or crippled, along with mad and treacherous vampires," Kurda answered. "The old or crippled vampires ask to be killed. If they're strong enough, they prefer to fight to the death, or wander off into the wilderness to die hunting. But those who lack the strength or ability to die on their feet ask to come here, where they can meet death head-on and die bravely."
"That's horrible!" I cried. "The elderly shouldn't be killed off!"
"I agree," Kurda said. "I think the nobility of the vampires is misplaced. The old and infirm often have much to offer, and I personally hope to cling to life as long as possible. But most vampires hold to the ancient belief that they can only lead worthwhile lives as long as they're fit enough to fend for themselves.
"It's different with mad vampires," he went on. "Unlike the vampaneze, we choose not to let our insane members run loose in the world, free to torment and prey on humans. Since they're too difficult to imprison — a mad vampire will claw his way through a stone wall — execution is the most humane way to deal with them."
"You could put them in strait-jackets," I suggested.
Kurda smiled sourly. "There hasn't been a strait-jacket invented that could hold a vampire. Believe me, Darren, killing a mad vampire is a mercy, to the world in general and the vampire himself.
"The same goes for treacherous vampires," he added, "though there have been precious few of those — loyalty is something we excel at; one of the bonuses of sticking to the old ways so rigidly. Aside from the vampaneze — when they broke away, they were called traitors; many were captured and killed — there have been only six traitors executed in the fourteen hundred years that vampires have lived here."
I stared down at the stakes and shivered, imagining myself tied in a cage, hanging above the pit, waiting to fall.
"Do you give them blindfolds?" I asked.
"The mad vampires, yes, because it is merciful. Vampires who have chosen to die in the Hall of Death prefer to do without one — they like to look death in the eye, to show they're not afraid. Traitors, meanwhile, are placed in the cages faceup, so their backs are to the stakes. It's a great dishonor for a vampire to die from stab wounds in the back."
"I'd rather get it in the back than the front." I snorted.
Kurda smiled. "Hopefully, you'll never get it in either!" Then, clapping my shoulder, he said, "This is a gloomy place, best avoided. Let's go play some games." And he swiftly ushered me out of the Hall, eagerly leaving behind its mysterious Guardian, the cages, and the stakes.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE HALLS OF SPORT were gigantic caverns, full of shouting, cheering, high-spirited vampires. They were exactly what I needed to perk me up after the disturbing visit to the Halls of Cremation and Death.
Various contests took place in each of the three Halls. They were mostly games of physical combat — wrestling, boxing, karate, weight lifting, and so on — though speed chess was also strongly favored, since it sharpened one's reactions and wits.
Kurda found seats for us near a wrestling circle, and we watched as vampires tried to pin their opponents down or toss them out of the ring. You needed a quick eye to keep up with the action — vampires move far faster than humans. It was like watching a fight on video while keeping the fast-forward button pressed.
The bouts weren't just faster than their human equivalents — they were more violent, too. Broken bones, bloody faces, and bruises were the order of the night. Sometimes, Kurda told me, the damage was even worse — vampires could be killed taking part in these games, or injured so badly that a trip to the Hall of Death was all they had to look forward to.
"Why don't they wear protective clothing?" I asked.
"They don't believe in it," Kurda said. "They'd rather have their skulls cracked than wear helmets." He sighed morosely. "There are times when I think I don't know my people at all. Maybe I'd have been better off if I'd remained human."
We moved to another ring. In this one, vampires jabbed at each other with spears. It was a little like fencing — you had to prick or cut an opponent three times to win — only a lot more dangerous and bloody.
"It's horrendous." I gasped as a vampire had half his upper arm sliced open, only to laugh and compliment his enemy for making a good strike.
"You should see it when they play for real," someone said behind us. "They're just warming up at the moment." Turning, I saw a ginger-haired vampire who had only one eye. He was clad in a dark blue leather tunic and pants. "They call this game the eyeballer," he informed me, "because so many people lose an eye or two playing it."
"Is that how you lost yours?" I asked, staring at his empty left eye socket and the scars around it.
"No." He chuckled. "I lost mine in a fight with a lion."
"Honest?" I gasped.
"Honest."
"Darren, this is Vanez Blane," Kurda said. "Vanez, this is —"
"Darren Shan." Vanez nodded, shaking my hand. "I know him from the gossip. It's been a long time since one his age trod the Halls of Vampire Mountain."
"Vanez is a games master," Kurda explained.
"You're in charge of the games?" I asked.
"Hardly in charge," Vanez said. "The games are beyond the control of even the Princes. Vampires fight — it's in our blood. If not here, where their injuries can be tended to, then in the open, where they might bleed to death unaided. I keep an eye on things, that's all." He grinned.
"He also trains vampires to fight," Kurda said. "Vanez is one of our most valued instructors. Most Generals of the last hundred years have studied under him. Myself included." He rubbed the back of his head and grimaced.
"Still sore about that time I knocked you unconscious with a mace, Kurda?" Vanez inquired politely.
"You wouldn't have had the chance if I'd known what it was in advance," Kurda sulked. "I thought it was a bowl of incense!"
Vanez bellowed with laughter and slapped his knees. "You always were a bright one, Kurda — except when it came to the tools of war. One of my worst pupils," he told me. "Fast as an eel, and wiry, but he hated getting his hands bloody. A shame, as he would have been a wonder with a spear if he'd set his mind to it."
"There's nothing wonderful about losing an eye in a fight," Kurda huffed.
"There is if you win," Vanez disagreed. "Any injury's acceptable as long as you emerge victorious."
We watched the vampires cutting each other to pieces for another half an hour — nobody lost an eye while we were there — then Vanez led us around the Halls, explaining the games to me and how they served to toughen vampires up and prepare them for life in the outside world.
All sorts of weapons hung from the walls of the Halls — some antiques, some for general use — and Vanez told me their names and how they were used; he even got a few down to demonstrate. They were fearsome instruments of destruction — jagged spears, sharp axes, long and glinting knives, heavy ma
ces, blade-edged boomerangs that could kill from eighty yards, clubs with thick spikes sticking out of them, stone-head war hammers that could cave in a vampire's skull with one well-placed blow. After a while I noticed there were no guns or bows and arrows, and I asked about their absence.
"Vampires only fight hand to hand," Vanez informed me. "We do not use missile devices, such as guns, bows, or slings."
"Never?" I asked.
"Never!" he said firmly. "Our reliance on hand weapons is sacred to us — to the vampaneze as well. Any vampire who resorted to a gun or bow would be held in contempt for the rest of his life."
"Things used to be even more backward," Kurda chimed in. "Until two hundred years ago, a vampire was only supposed to use a weapon of his own making. Every vampire had to make his own knives, spears, and clubs. Now, thankfully, that's no longer the case, and we can use store-bought equipment; but many vampires still cling to the old ways, and most of the weapons used during Council are handmade."
Moving away from the weapons, we stopped beside a series of overlapping narrow planks. Vampires were balancing on the planks and crossing from one to another, trying to knock their opponents to the ground with long, round-ended staffs. There were six vampires in action when we arrived. A few minutes later, only one remained aloft — a woman.
"Well done, Arra." Vanez clapped. "Your sense of balance is as awesome as ever."
The female vampire leaped from the plank and landed beside us. She was dressed in a white shirt and beige pants. She had long, dark hair, tied behind her back. She wasn't especially pretty — she had a hard, weathered face — but after so much time spent staring at ugly, scarred vampires, she looked like a movie star to me.
"Kurda, Vanez," she greeted the vampires, then fixed her cool, gray eyes on me. "And you are Darren Shan." She sounded decidedly unimpressed.
"Darren, this is Arra Sails," Kurda said. I stuck out a hand but she ignored it.
"Arra doesn't shake the hands of those she doesn't respect," Vanez whispered.
"And she respects precious few of us," Kurda said aloud. "Still refusing to shake hands with me, Arra?"
"I will never shake the hand of one who does not fight," she said. "When you become a Prince, I will bow to you and do your bidding, but I will never shake your hand, even under threat of execution."