(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 rear. 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."