About the Author
Born in London in 1972, Darren O'Shaughnessy [writing as Darren Shan] moved to Limerick with his parents and younger brother. Returned to London to study Sociology and English then worked for a TV cable company. His first adult novel Ayuamarca has been published by Orion and his writing has been likened to Clive Barker and Iain Banks. He is now a full-time writer of TV scripts and novels. Cirque du Freak is his first title for children.
--This text refers to the
Paperback
edition.
Excerpted from Hunters of the Dusk by Darren Shan. Copyright © 2002. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
It was another long, tiring night in the Hall of Princes. A vampire General called Staffen Irve was reporting to me and Paris Skyle. Paris was the oldest living vampire, with more than eight hundred years under his belt. He had flowing white hair, a long, grey beard, and had lost his right ear in a fight many decades ago.
Staffen Irve had been active in the field for three years, and had been giving us a quick rundown of his experiences in the War of the Scars, as it had come to be known (a reference to the scars on our fingertips, the common mark of a vampire or vampaneze). It was a strange war. There were no big battles and neither side used missile-firing weapons – vampires and vampaneze fight only with hand to hand weapons like swords, clubs and spears. The war was a series of isolated skirmishes, three or four vampires at a time pitting themselves against a similar number of vampaneze, fighting to the death.
"There was four of us ‘gainst three of them," Staffen Irve said, telling us about one of his more recent encounters . "But my lads was dry behind the tonsils, while the vampaneze was battle-hardy. I killed one of ‘em but the others got away, leaving two of my lads dead and the third with a useless."
"Have any of the vampaneze spoken of their Lord?" Paris asked.
"No, Sire. Those I take alive only laugh at my questions , even under torture."
In the six years that we’d been hunting for their Lord, there’d been no sign of him. We knew he hadn’t been blooded - various vampaneze had told us that he was learning their ways before becoming one of them – and the general opinion was that if we were to have any chance of thwarting Mr Tiny’s predictions, we had to find and kill their Lord before he assumed full control of the clan.
A cluster of Generals was waiting to speak with Paris. They moved forward as Staffen Irve departed, but I signalled them back. Picking up a mug of warm blood, I drank deeply, then wiped red stains from around his mouth with the back of his trembling hand – the responsibility of running the war council was taking its toll on the ancient vampire.
--This text refers to the
Paperback
edition.
by Darren Shan
by Darren Shan
by Darren Shan
by Darren Shan
by Darren Shan
