"We could send someone to check," I suggested.

He considered that, then shook his head. "We have already lost too many Generals there. It is not a strategically important site. Best to leave it alone."

Mr. Crepsley rubbed the long scar which divided the flesh on the left side of his face and went on staring at the map. He'd cut his orange crop of hair tighter than usual — most vampires were cutting their hair short, because of the ticks — and he looked almost bald in the strong light of the Hall.

"It bothers you, doesn't it?" I noted.

He nodded. "If they have set up a base, they must be feeding on the humans. I still consider it home, and I do not like to think of my spiritual neighbours and relations suffering at the hands of the vampaneze."

"We could send in a team to flush them out."

He sighed. "That would not be fitting. I would be putting personal considerations before the welfare of the clan. If I ever get out in the field, I shall check on the situation myself, but there is no need to send others."

"What are the odds on you and me ever getting out of here?" I asked wryly. I didn't enjoy fighting, but after six years cooped up inside the mountain, I'd have given my fingernails for a few nights out in the open, even if it meant taking on a dozen vampaneze single-handed.

"The way things stand — poor," Mr. Crepsley admitted. "I think we will be stuck here until the end of the war. If one of the other Princes suffers a serious injury and withdraws from battle, we might have to replace him. Otherwise…" He drummed his fingers on the map and grimaced.

"You don't have to stay," I said quietly. "There are plenty of others who could guide me."

He barked a laugh. "There are plenty who would steer you," he agreed, "but how many would clip you around the ear if you made an error?"

"Not many," I chuckled.