Neferata

by Josh Reynolds

  The ghouls swept about her, chittering and whining, their filthy claws timidly touching the train of her robes as she stalked to the doors of the temple. The human servants of the cult had responded as well, their black armour and robes making them look like shadows.

  ‘What are you doing, Neferata?’ Naaima said, rushing to keep up with her. ‘We can fix this. We do not have to throw away a decade of careful planning for Khaled’s stupidity.’

  Neferata said nothing, her face like stone. Her patience was a veil, as much a mask as the human seeming she wore. In truth, Khaled had given her an excuse to indulge the bloodthirst that had been building deep within her.

  She flung open the temple doors to meet her would-be assassins. But rather than fear and steel, what she saw was something black.

  It swallowed the horizon and reached for the stars, as if to strangle them. Flickering shadow-tendrils, spreading up-up-UP into the sky from some place far away, but too close for comfort. Neferata staggered, clutching at herself. Pain-nails were hammered into her head, burning her thoughts. She howled again, and staggered, clutching at her head.

  COME.

  COME TO ME.

  ‘No!’ Neferata screamed. It was Nagash. Nagash’s voice, inundating her thoughts as slimy water slipped through unseen cracks.

  MINE. YOU ARE MINE.

  COME.

  The horizon screamed with her, and the earth itself seemed to heave in terror. Alarms were ringing throughout the city.

  The sky was shot through with green cracks and she could feel the dead in the burying grounds stirring in their shrouds. Blood burst from her nose and ears and eyes, coating her face. The others suffered similarly, and the ghouls set up a wail as they stared gape-jawed at the sky. Tormented spectres hurtled through the air like leaves caught in a wind.

  It was as if something were calling all of the dead of the world north. Neferata’s flesh writhed on her bones, as if it wanted to give in to the call. She took a step and then another.

  ‘There! There is the witch causing this!’ a voice bellowed. Neferata tried to focus through the blood. Al-Khattab galloped towards her, his impressively moustachioed face split in a self-righteous snarl. He swung up a sword. Soldiers followed, carrying weapons and torches. ‘Burn them out! Burn this nest of abomination to the stones!’ he roared.

  Maddened and terrified of something that only she could hear, Neferata screamed and sprang to meet them, teeth and claws bared. With a howl, the ghouls followed their queen into battle…

  The Worlds Edge Mountains

  (–450 Imperial Reckoning)

  The screams of wyverns and the bellicose roars of giants and trolls mingled with the general cacophony of the massed horde as it moved like a wave through the narrow valleys of the mountains. The orcs moved at a steady trot, not from organisation, but from simple eagerness. They were drawn to battle. Some wore armour scavenged from the dead, while others wore headdresses of bone and scalloping sapphire tattoos. They scrambled through the low river valley, tumbling trees and setting up a cloud of dust that blocked out the dull light of the mid-winter sun.

  ‘Wazzakaz is efficient. It only took him ten years to beat the horde into some semblance of shape,’ Rasha said, crouched low on the slope that overlooked the river of green winding its way through the valley. ‘The dwarfs look as if they intend to meet them at the other end of the valley, where it starts to rise.’

  ‘They’re trying to lead them as far from the Silver Pinnacle as possible. A horde that size could lay a siege for years, if not decades, and once it got in, they’d be impossible to root out fully,’ Neferata said, lying near her handmaiden. Orcs were like mould that way. They always came back when you least expected it, and ruined the grain in the process.

  Her forces had found that out, almost to their cost, over the past few months. She had accompanied Vorag into the field as she had promised Ushoran, and it had been as frustrating as she had feared. They had wiped out the stragglers, the outcast tribal bands and the wolf-riders who scavenged from the Waaagh!’s leavings, but it seemed that the Waaagh!’s progress left almost as many greenskins in its wake as it added to its strength. Water splashing in a bowl indeed, even as she had said to Naaima.

  The question now was, were the hands she had chosen to hold that bowl strong enough and quick enough to do as she required? Impatience thrummed through her momentarily. Part of her longed to be back in Mourkain, but it was too dangerous now.

  Though W’soran had never given her an indication that he knew that she knew about the crown of Mourkain, she would have been foolish to assume otherwise. In the decades since she had pulled the secret out of Morath, the shadow-war between her agents and those of W’soran had escalated. Mourkain was simmering with discontent, and the conflict between them was only adding fuel to the fire. Thus, to keep the pot bubbling, but not yet wanting it to boil over, she had left. W’soran would lower his guard, and then she would know why he and Ushoran were so desperate to get their claws on Kadon’s crown.

  The soft scrape of twine on wood brought Neferata instantly alert. She cut her eyes towards Rasha, who jerked her chin and blinked three times. Neferata exhaled and rose slowly into a sitting position. ‘You may as well come out,’ she said. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’

  ‘Have you then?’ a gruff voice replied. ‘Well, isn’t that just dandy?’ A broad shape moved out of the rocks. The dwarf wore a leather coat over a suit of blackened mail, and had a crossbow pointed in a general fashion at Neferata. A broad-brimmed floppy trader’s hat cast the dwarf’s face into shadow, and his beard was threaded through with orc tusks and rat skulls. ‘And why might that be, manling? Want to pick our bones clean after the urk are done with us? Going to root through our gruntaz, hmmm?’

  ‘Hardly,’ Neferata said. ‘We’ve come to offer aid.’

  ‘Oh, have you now? Isn’t that a blessed event?’ the dwarf replied caustically. ‘Stop moving or I’ll pin your pretty ears to your skull.’ This last was directed at Rasha, whose hand crept towards her sword. ‘D’you take me for a wazzok, is that it?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions for one who sounds so certain,’ Neferata said mildly. ‘I assume that Thane Razek Silverfoot is in charge of your expedition?’

  The dwarf’s eyes narrowed. The crossbow rose a few inches. ‘And if he is?’

  ‘He’ll want to see me.’

  ‘Will he now?’ the dwarf said. He gave a thin whistle, and several more dwarfs, all dressed in dark clothing and armour, rose from their hiding places, all carrying crossbows. Neferata blinked, impressed. She hadn’t even smelled them. ‘Well then, rinn, let’s see about that, shall we?’ The dwarf jerked his crossbow and Neferata and Rasha were surrounded by the other dwarfs. The whole group began to climb the slope.

  They made good progress, despite having to stop when the shadow of a wyvern skidded across the rocks nearby. Luckily, orcs weren’t the most observant of creatures, and the outriders were more concerned with reaching the battle than with securing the horde’s flanks.

  The aperture was well hidden. It took Neferata, with all her superior senses, three tries to spot it, and only then because she caught the steady thrum of dwarf heartbeats as the stone that blocked the opening was rolled aside. She and Rasha were led into the darkness of the steeply angled tunnel beyond. The entirety of the slope had apparently been honeycombed with tunnels that went off in seemingly random directions.

  There were a number of dwarfs in evidence; dozens, in fact. Not quite a fighting force, but more than just observers, judging by the weapons they carried. Many of them wore the aprons and padded clothing she had come to associate with the engineers’ guild. Razek had had several members of that secretive organisation amongst his coterie in Mourkain.

  ‘It’s an und – a watch-post, you’d call it,’ a familiar voice said. Neferata turned. Razek looked little different from the last time Neferata had see
n him. A new scar decorated the side of his face, descending from his scalp line, down through his eye and disappearing into his beard. But he was the same bulky, tough-looking creature she remembered. He sat at a round stone table, his hands flat on its surface. His expression changed from curiosity to something more alert as he examined her. ‘I didn’t realise manlings lived so long, Neferata.’

  ‘My folk are long-lived. We are well-made, as your people might say,’ Neferata said.

  ‘Perhaps you are at that. It’s been some time since we shared a drink,’ Razek said, fluffing his beard. He glanced at one of his warriors. ‘Beer,’ he said. The warrior hurried off with an alacrity that Neferata envied. If only her own servants were that quick to obey.

  ‘I assumed you got tired of being shown up,’ Neferata said, turning to examine the central room of the outpost. It was barren of ornamentation, as befitting a dwarf outpost. The rough stone walls curved in a fashion that Neferata knew no human artisan could accomplish, and the whole of the outpost put her in mind of an overlarge animal den. There were other tunnels splitting off from the main chamber, leading to other hidden apertures, perhaps. Racks of weapons were mounted on the walls, including a few whose design and purpose escaped her completely. ‘I did out-drink you, after all.’ She looked at Razek.

  Razek grunted. ‘Only because I took it easy on you,’ he said. ‘Why are you here? This is of no concern to Strigos.’

  Dwarfs could be touchy about matters of honour. They weren’t a folk to accept aid gladly, or even at all. Neferata knew that she had to tread carefully in the next few minutes. ‘I come to offer aid to our allies,’ she said formally. ‘We humbly ask that you accept what small help we can give to the throng of Karaz Bryn.’

  Razek scratched his chin. ‘And what form does that aid take? Surely it’s not just you two…’

  Neferata made a face. ‘And if it was?’ she said, in mock anger. ‘Am I of no consequence, then? Is my ability in question?’ Dwarfs respected one who was quick to defend their honour. In this case, it was more for the benefit of the other dwarfs in the outpost than for Razek, who was cunning enough to recognise her ploy for what it was. It was that same cunning which had necessitated the ending of their association, so many years ago. She pressed on. ‘My forces wait in the reaches to the east, and our allies to the west and the south.’

  ‘Allies, is it?’ Razek said. He looked at the dwarf who had brought Neferata in. ‘Ratcatcher, feel free to chime in, eh?’

  Ratcatcher grunted and gnawed on one of his plaits. ‘Aye, there are manlings massing in those regions right enough. But they’re tribesmen – barely a step above the orcs themselves. We figured they were just preparing to defend themselves against the orcs, same as we are.’ He looked at Neferata with newfound respect. ‘If she’s got them working together, they could punch the urk right in the belly.’

  Razek looked back at her. ‘And how’d you do that, then?’ he demanded.

  She shrugged. ‘I have my ways.’

  ‘You promised them weapons,’ Razek said grimly. Neferata blinked. Momentarily nonplussed, she studied Razek and said nothing. He glared at her. ‘Dwarf weapons, Neferata, sold in good faith to our allies.’ His emphasis on the last two words was tinged with bitterness. What did he know, she wondered? Obviously her people had not been as efficient at ferreting out Razek’s spies as she had assumed, but that was a problem for another time. Right now, she had to convince him to work with her.

  ‘And paid for with our gold,’ Neferata said softly. It was a calculated insult. Dwarfs lived by the law of debts, and to remind a dwarf of that was, Neferata had come to learn, the equivalent of questioning his competency. The bitter odour of dwarf anger filled her nostrils as Razek continued to glare. ‘We do not play foul with you, thane of the Silver Pinnacle. But it is not your remit to tell us whom we may do business with,’ she said.

  Razek held her eyes. It was impossible to tell what was going on behind his stony gaze and Neferata didn’t even bother to try. Finally, Razek gave a snort. ‘You know they’ll take those weapons and stick them right up the Strigoi’s fundament, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but not any time soon,’ she said. ‘The orcs are here now.’ Razek grunted, though whether in agreement or otherwise, she couldn’t say.

  ‘We don’t need them,’ Ratcatcher said, looking at her contemptuously. ‘Our warriors would only be hampered by the presence of manlings.’

  ‘True enough,’ Neferata said, throwing off her cloak and taking a seat at the stone table. She gestured. ‘Then, this isn’t about “need” but about debts owed, isn’t that correct, Razek?’ She leaned forwards. ‘Have we not been good allies, Razek? We have helped you, and you have helped us, but is it not meet that allies shed blood as well as gold and beer?’

  Razek raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you saying we owe you a debt?’ he said slowly. Then, ‘Or perhaps it’s the other way around?’

  ‘Neither,’ Neferata said. ‘Or maybe it is both.’ She made a fist. ‘We would show you how much we value the friendship of Karaz Bryn, Razek.’

  ‘We don’t need your blood, woman,’ Razek said dismissively. ‘Manlings die too easily for it to be worth much.’

  ‘Strigoi die harder than most,’ Neferata said. She stood and drew her sword with a flourish. The dwarfs reacted much as she expected, some drawing weapons, others racing to the wall where crossbows and other deadly tools waited. Razek, however, didn’t move so much as a muscle. ‘Part of that is due to the benefits of our alliance,’ she said, ignoring the startled dwarfs and laying the sword down on the table between them, its hilt towards Razek. ‘Good dwarf iron,’ she said. ‘It is wielded by the hands of men.’

  Razek’s hand settled on the hilt and he lifted the blade as if it were a toy. He examined it with a critical eye and then set it back down. ‘And what is that to us?’

  ‘Progress,’ Neferata said. ‘The Silver Pinnacle is the wheel and we but the spokes. Together, we can move mountains.’

  Some of the dwarfs muttered at that. Progress was a dirty word to some dawi. Change, that inevitable taskmaster, was their enemy as much as the orcs. Razek’s expression remained the same. Then, abruptly, he leaned forwards. ‘I’m listening,’ he said.

  The discussion went on for hours. Others dwarfs joined in, mostly to disagree with her in Khazalid, likely assuming she wouldn’t understand. For the purposes of peace, she pretended that such was the case. It had taken her a decade to even gain a working knowledge of the language and two more to become fluent. It might take her another three to learn the strange, soft subtleties of the dwarf tongue. But she knew it well enough to know when she was being insulted.

  The one called Ratcatcher was the most vociferous in that regard. The ranger had little love for humans, it seemed. Razek nodded brusquely at times, his eyes never leaving Neferata. When she spoke, he listened, but only grunted in reply.

  If she had been human, her voice would have given out. Even so, she pretended to wet her throat with the beer they’d brought for her. The arguments were easy to make, for she had practised them for months prior to arranging this meeting. Years, in fact; one did not enter into negotiations with dwarfs lightly. In Mourkain, their merchants were known to haggle for days over the price of a single dollop of iron ore. But the dawi had arguments of their own.

  At its heart, it all came down to trust. Mourkain had lost the trust of the dwarfs of the Silver Pinnacle centuries ago, and they had yet to gain it back. Trade was merely business. A true alliance could only exist between two equal partners.

  Ushoran could never understand such a thing. He thought the dwarfs were pawns, when in truth, they could never be such. At the first hint of treachery or deceit, they would tear Mourkain apart stone by stone. And Neferata could not allow that to happen. Not until a time of her choosing. Eventually, Mourkain would need to be shattered, so that she could rebuild it into something stronger, but not now.


  So instead, she spoke, her words hammering against dwarf stubbornness. There was no eloquence to it, no art, only those parts of the truth which she had hammered into the proper shape to fit her needs. And, finally, ‘What’s your answer? Will Karaz Bryn and Strigos fight together?’

  Razek was silent. He tugged on his beard, his shrewd eyes on hers. ‘Aye,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Aye, Neferata, we will at that.’ Razek grunted and sat. ‘Somebody bring me a map.’

  Neferata sat for a moment, stunned slightly by the abruptness of Razek’s decision. Instead of asking the obvious question, she merely inclined her head. Where dwarfs were concerned, silence was always the safest option. Razek had agreed, but not due to her words, that much she was sure of. But the why of it wasn’t as important as the fact that he had.

  Two dwarfs brought the map and unrolled it on the table. It was a beautiful thing, drawn with an eye for detail that escaped even the most dedicated of Ushoran’s cartographers. Strange marks that she had never seen in relation to a map before littered the depicted terrain. She made an assumption and said, ‘These are your cities.’

  Razek frowned. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, as if uncertain whether or not he should be answering. Neferata noted that there were far more dwarf holds in the near mountains than she had thought.

  ‘Your people seem to have better claim to these mountains than the Strigoi,’ she said.

  ‘We have better claim to the world,’ Razek said grimly.

  ‘If your people are so numerous, perhaps I was over-eager offering our aid,’ Neferata said.

  Razek closed his eyes, as if in pain. ‘Perhaps,’ he said.

  Neferata’s eyes narrowed. She looked at the map again, considering. She had learned little of the dwarfs beyond some smattering of their customs to go with their tongue, but what she did know implied that the map was, if not wrong, perhaps old, older even than herself, or Mourkain or even Nehekhara. There had been a war, she knew, a war to shake the world, between the dawi and some race from across the sea. The druchii, perhaps, though she couldn’t be sure.