"OK," I said. "Let's go walkabout."

We started in the Hall of Corza Jarn, where trainee Generals were taught how to fight. I'd spent many hours here, mastering the use of swords, knives, axes and spears. Most of the weapons were designed for adults, and were too large and cumbersome for me to master, but I'd picked up the basics.

The highest ranking tutor was a blind vampire called Vanez Blane. He'd been my Trials Master during both my Trials of Initiation. He'd lost his left eye in a fight with a lion many decades before, and lost the second six years ago in a fight with the vampaneze.

Vanez was wrestling with three young Generals. Though he was blind, he'd lost none of his sharpness, and the trio ended up flat on their backs in short order at the hands of the ginger-haired games master. "You'll have to learn to do better than that," he told them. Then, with his back to us, he said, "Hello, Darren. Greetings, Harkat Mulds."

"Hi, Vanez," we replied, not surprised that he knew who we were — vampires have very keen senses of smell and hearing.

"I heard you singing last night, Darren," Vanez said, leaving his three students to recover and regroup.

"No!" I gasped, crestfallen. I'd thought Harkat was joking about that.

"Very enlightening," Vanez smiled.

"I didn't!" I groaned. "Tell me I didn't!"

Vanez's smile spread. "I shouldn't worry. Plenty of others made asses of themselves too."

"Ale should be banned," I growled.

"Nothing wrong with ale," Vanez disagreed. "It's the ale- drinkers who need to be controlled."

We told Vanez we were going on a tour of the lower tunnels and asked if he'd like to tag along. "Not much point," he said. "I can't see anything. Besides…" Lowering his voice, he told us the three Generals he was training were due to be sent into action soon. "Between ourselves, they're as poor a trio as I've ever passed fit for duty," he sighed. Many vampires were being rushed into the field, to replace casualties in the War of the Scars. It was a contentious point among the clan — it usually took a minimum of twenty years to be declared a General of good standing — but Paris said that desperate times called for desperate measures.