Neferata

by Josh Reynolds

  ‘Did you get the gates?’ Neferata snarled, snatching an axe from a dwarf’s hand and burying it immediately in its owner’s face. A moment later she was forced to use it to deflect a crossbow bolt.

  ‘They’re opening, aren’t they?’ Naaima replied, narrowly avoiding a blow that would have taken her arm off at the shoulder. Her rejoinder ripped the dwarf’s face from his skull.

  ‘Then we only have to hold on for a bit longer,’ Neferata said. Even as the words left her lips, a trio of crossbow bolts sank into her back, puncturing her armour like paper and knocking her to the ground. She screamed in pain and surprise, and flopped around for a moment like a fish in the bottom of a boat, before pushing herself to her feet, the heads of the bolts scraping against her insides as she moved. She coughed blood and awkwardly plucked one of the bolts free.

  ‘Shoot her again!’ the watch-warden commanded. ‘Bring her down!’ He was the one who had escorted her into Borri’s presence, the one who resembled Razek.

  Neferata growled low in her throat and sent the bloody bolt flying into one of the crossbowmen, knocking the dwarf backwards with the impact. Naaima yanked the others free as she and Neferata began to back towards the widening portal. Gears groaned as the massive doors allowed a cold wind inside, and a flurry of snow.

  More dwarfs filled the entry hall, all armed and seemingly intent on using those weapons on her. Horns sounded loud, low and long from the side-passages and the upper balconies. Neferata scanned the ranks of dwarfs; in minutes, a hundred or more crossbows were aimed at her. And behind the line, King Borri and his hammerers.

  ‘Get that damned gate closed!’ the king roared. ‘She’s trying to escape!’

  ‘She won’t get far,’ the watch-warden roared. ‘This is for my cousin, hag!’ His axe licked out, gouging her armour. She swatted him aside, sending him crashing to the floor and his axe flying.

  ‘Escape is for the defeated,’ Neferata said, stepping back into the opening. With the air of a performer, she threw back her head and extended her arms. ‘Enter, my loves, and be welcome!’ she howled. Snow spun around her and behind her and the white expanse was suddenly shattered by black shapes that burst from it like abominable shooting stars.

  The wolves were more carcass than carnivore, but they were dangerous for all that. Twice as savage in death as they had been in life, the large beasts loped into the hold, fleshless jaws agape and an alien hunger burning in their lifeless eyes. They stank of ancient places and secret crimes and the sight of them caused the closest dwarfs to hesitate, though only for a moment. But that moment was enough. The wolves hit the line, absorbing hastily-fired crossbow bolts as if they were no more than mosquito bites. They made no sound as they crashed into their prey, but the dwarfs screamed well enough.

  Behind the wolves came Neferata’s handmaidens, their armour crusted over with ice. Khaled sprang past her, his face tight and feral with pleasure as he tossed her a sword. ‘You look as if you could use this,’ he said nastily, his tongue writhing between his fangs like a red snake.

  She snatched the blade out of the air without replying. Khaled laughed at her silence and strode past her, as the handmaidens clustered about her. Anmar looked at her worriedly. The young woman had taken to staying by her brother’s side in the weeks since they’d set out from Mourkain. Perhaps Anmar suspected that her brother’s manner and method would see a Strigoi sword in his back, or maybe she feared that Neferata would attempt to wreak her revenge sooner rather than later. She hesitated, torn between her mistress and her brother. ‘Lady,’ she began.

  ‘Follow your master, whelp,’ Neferata hissed. Anmar stepped back, as if slapped. She spun and followed Khaled into battle. Neferata watched her go and then turned to Iona and the others. ‘Help them. We need to drive the dwarfs back and hold this point. Everything depends on it. Go!’

  The vampires sprang into motion, still one moment and then flashing forwards, shadows thick with kill-urge. The other end of the entry-hall was slick with blood as the organised ranks of the dwarfs crumbled into a melee. The wolves stalked among them, dragging dwarfs down and mauling them. The vampires flung themselves into the confusion with fierce glee, Khaled in the lead.

  ‘He’s heading for Borri,’ Naaima said. Neferata frowned.

  ‘Can’t have that, can we? I need more time.’ She looked at her handmaiden. ‘See to the advance. Morath and the others need to hurry. I will see to the rest.’

  ‘Are you–’ Naaima began, casting a dark look at Khaled. She reached up, almost but not quite touching Neferata. Neferata grabbed her hand.

  ‘Go,’ she said. ‘And hurry.’

  Naaima nodded and turned, sprinting into the snow. Neferata tightened her grip on her sword and threw herself into the red sea of battle. Khaled was carving a wet path to Borri, who seemed determined not to allow the invasion of his hold to progress further. A rotting wolf lunged out of the confusion towards the king, but Grund slapped it from the air and crushed its skull to powder with his foot. More horns were sounding now, so many that the stone seemed to vibrate with their sound. There were more guards in the high places, and crossbow bolts dropped like rain. Nearby, a wolf stumbled and fell, its unnaturally invigorated form looking like a hedgehog for all the bolts jutting from it. Neferata swatted a bolt from the air and searched for her former servant.

  Khaled spat Arabyan oaths as his sword chopped down on a dwarf. He kicked the body aside and then the way was clear, save for the mad-eyed Grund. Nostrils flaring, the red-bearded dwarf made to face Khaled, but Borri stopped him with a look. ‘No, this is not your doom,’ Borri said. Grund cursed, his lips writhing back from rows of filed teeth.

  ‘Let me have my doom, brother!’ he shrieked, his muscles rippling with tension. The raw agony in his voice gave pause even to Khaled, who hesitated. ‘Please,’ Grund spat, as if the word were a razor, slicing his throat to shreds even as it escaped.

  ‘No,’ Borri said. He pointed his hammer at Khaled. ‘This is my kill.’ As Grund stepped back Khaled trotted forwards, more confident now, and Borri waited with his son’s axe in one hand and a hammer in the other. ‘Come on then, corpse-eater,’ Borri said. ‘Some of us have kingdoms to run.’

  Khaled obliged, diving forwards like a bird of prey, his sword extended. Borri took a half-step back, his hammer beating the blow aside and his axe ringing off Khaled’s pauldron, staggering the vampire. The hammer swam upwards, the edge of the head catching Khaled on the chin. Borri moved even faster than his son, Neferata realised. Then, Razek had been a diplomat, not a warrior. Borri was a king of the old style – a warrior down to his very bones.

  He had fought elves once, in an age when men hid in caves, and likely worse things. Khaled, for all the inhuman ferocity that flowed from him, was as nothing to the things that Borri had seen in his darkest moments, Neferata knew.

  Khaled staggered back, his shattered jaw re-knitting itself. Neferata tensed, hoping that Borri could finish the job. It would make things simpler in the long run. But such was not to be. Khaled, aware of what he faced now, avoided the next blow and his sword lightly stroked the side of Borri’s face, opening a gash that stretched from jowl to brow. The dwarf didn’t hesitate, barrelling into the vampire, who squirmed backwards, letting his sword dart out to prick the dwarf’s face and uncovered arms.

  Neferata hissed. Khaled was attempting to draw Borri away from his guard. Once out of the protective envelope of steel and muscle, he would be surrounded, cut off and brought down. Khaled wasn’t playing champion, he was playing bait. With the king dead, it was very likely that the dwarfs would retreat. And with Borri dead, taking the hold would be an easier, quicker affair. And Neferata couldn’t allow that.

  She flew across the distance separating her from the combatants. She threw herself in among the hammerers, cutting down one with a grunt of effort. Even as strong as she was, cutting through the solid mass of an armoured dwarf was no easy
task. A hammer connected with her hip, cracking bone, and she turned her stumble into a leap, crashing into Khaled and sending them both flying. Borri’s guards raced to surround their lord and Khaled was forced to slither out of reach of their weapons.

  Her former servant glared murder at her, but she pretended not to see. Her sword sliced out, cutting the head from a hammerer, and then she was up and limping back.

  ‘What were you–’ Khaled raged, grabbing her arm. Neferata shook him loose.

  ‘Keep the gate open, fool!’ she snapped, gesturing to the winch mechanism that controlled the gate. Several dwarfs were attempting to fight their way towards it. Khaled uttered a snarl and bounded towards them, his sword snicker-snacking out to relieve one of the warriors of his bearded head. Neferata grinned and turned back to Borri. The king’s eyes met hers, and she knew that he knew that the dwarfs were going to lose control of the gate. ‘Fall back, mighty king,’ she murmured. ‘Stall with all of your might. Make us pay in blood for every metre.’

  As if he had heard her, Borri’s eyes narrowed. Then he raised his hand. One of his hammerers put a curling ram’s-horn to his lips and blew a single, sorrowful note. The remaining dwarfs in the gallery began to fall back, even as they attempted to pull themselves into something resembling a battle-order. The sound of great pistons shook the chamber and Neferata looked up. Some dwarfs scrambled across the balconies, moving pulleys and wheels into motion even as others covered the retreat of their fellows with another barrage of crossbow bolts.

  ‘What in Usirian’s name are they doing?’ a vampire snarled as she plucked a bolt from her thigh. Neferata snorted.

  ‘Exactly what I supposed they’d do. They’re sealing the entry hall.’

  ‘We have to stop them!’ Khaled snarled, gesturing with his sword.

  ‘No, not us,’ Neferata said. She turned her face to the snowy wind. A thin black shape galloped through the doorway on a horse that was nothing but bone and balefire. Morath glared about him with hollow eyes as his arrival scattered the gathered vampires. The snow turned to steam as it touched him. Large leather-winged shapes joined him, swooping up towards the balconies with predatory shrieks.

  ‘Just in time,’ Neferata said, sheathing her sword.

  ‘It took more than I suspected to keep the bats flying in the storm. Even dead flesh and necromancy have their limits,’ Morath said, watching as the fell-bats attacked the dwarfs above. One by one, they either retreated or died, and soon not one living dwarf remained in the entry hall.

  A moment later, the chamber resounded with the sounds of the inner doors of the hold slamming shut as one.

  The siege of the Silver Pinnacle had begun.

  FIFTEEN

  The Tilean Coast

  (–1020 Imperial Reckoning)

  The village clung to the rocky coast, a swift wind from the shores of Sartosa. Neferata leapt from the galley even as it crunched into the soft sand. She wore dark robes over her armour, as did her followers. Naaima, having no taste for such things, had stayed behind. Khaled and Anmar, however, had been eager to come. The siblings followed her up across the shore, their expressions hungry.

  ‘An exquisite plan, my queen,’ Khaled murmured. ‘We shall lull the druchii into complacency and then strike.’

  ‘We will strike, won’t we? I detest those creatures,’ Anmar said. ‘I detest handing people over to them even more.’ The young woman looked pensive. There was no moon and a thick mist crept inland from the sea, obscuring them from anyone who might have been watching.

  ‘Rather than feasting on them yourself, you mean,’ Khaled countered, grinning.

  ‘Among other reasons,’ Anmar said primly.

  ‘Yes, it is a detestable business, but it is necessary,’ Neferata said. ‘We must ensure our influence takes root in the senate, and we need allies among the old ruling class. Sparing their people the druchii levy will see to that.’

  ‘I still don’t see why we don’t simply take power,’ Khaled said. ‘None could gainsay us.’

  ‘As we tried in Bel Aliad, you mean?’ Neferata asked pointedly. She turned on him. ‘Only a fool does not learn the lessons of the past, my Kontoi. Are you a fool?’

  ‘He meant no insult, my lady,’ Anmar said quickly.

  Khaled glared at his sister, but said nothing. Neferata sniffed and continued on. Regardless of the necessity of the thing, she had to admit that it had been too long since they had hunted properly. Murder and bloodshed were things that she had learned to avoid, following the events in Bel Aliad. No sense in alerting the hounds to the trail, was there? And there was even less sense in revealing yourself to the hawk.

  She restrained a growl and instinctively searched the shadows, though there was no cause. The angry dead were an ocean away and her nemesis was with them. Let Arkhan waste his immortality fighting opponents who couldn’t be killed. She had no reason to do so. The world was large enough.

  And it’s not as if you were frightened, said her treacherous thoughts. It’s not as if seeing her again shook the very foundations of your sense of self.

  There had been such hatred there, in her eyes. All-consuming and terrifying. Would she have hated so much, had she accepted Neferata’s kiss? Neferata glanced at the siblings, wondering whether the same hatred lingered in their hearts. Did they resent her? Did it matter, as long as they feared her? Khaled looked at her, and in his eyes she saw only the same mingled hunger and desire that was always there. He was a yawning void of need, always wanting what he could not have, always demanding what could not be given.

  She knew that he was mad, even as his sister was mad, and she herself was the maddest of them all. The world was mad; a world where the dead walked and the proper order had turned topsy-turvy.

  Behind them, she heard the soft pad of the feet of the ghouls they had brought from Sartosa – the sad, tattered remnants of the great ghoul-cult of Mordig – as they slipped from the bellies of the galleys that had brought them. Over a hundred of the creatures followed them inland as they moved towards the sleepy village.

  ‘Take them,’ Neferata hissed. The ghouls swarmed past her, loping towards the village…

  The Silver Pinnacle

  (–326 Imperial Reckoning)

  Heavy mauls struck the massive interior doors that led into the hold. The mammoth ghouls who wielded them were even bigger than the creatures Neferata had faced. W’soran had outdone himself, fattening the beasts on the blood of her co-conspirators. Sticky protrusions of bone stuck out from their elephantine hides and their lungs flexed like bellows as they pounded unceasingly at the ancient portal, filling the air with thunderous groans as well as the reverberation of metal on metal. There were six of them, and Neferata knew that twice that number wouldn’t have been enough to bring down the doors. Not with the enchantments woven into the very core of their creation.

  Behind the beasts, the silent ranks of the dead, their number swelled by the disgorged inhabitants of the great barrows and mass graves that riddled these hills, waited. Hundreds of tribes had come and gone in the centuries since Kadon had first raised Mourkain from the rock, and the dead of those tribes yet remained, if one knew where to look.

  Amongst the dead, Morath sat astride his skeletal horse, surrounded by a vanguard of Strigoi, all clad in the black armour of Mourkain’s foundries. Ushoran had sent his most eager warriors to accompany her in her task. Or perhaps they were his most expendable ones. Some were fierce berserkers, like Dragoj or Racki, who had been among the first to turn on Vorag when he had faltered. Others, like taciturn Redzik and his clinging shadow Dzaja, were seasoned campaigners sent to keep hold of the reins. And then there were the overly-ambitious fence-sitters like Zandor and his cronies; they had sat out the coup, waiting to jump to the side of the victors. Now they sought to prove their loyalty with the over-enthusiastic fanaticism of the new convert.

  Neferata and her handmaidens waited off
to the side. ‘We’re not getting in this way,’ she murmured.

  ‘Then what would you suggest we do? Talk them into opening those doors?’ Khaled said, striding towards them through the ranks of skeletons. He looked at Neferata. ‘Then maybe you could, at that,’ he added.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of interfering,’ Neferata said smoothly.

  ‘You’re supposed to be leading this little sortie, or had you forgotten?’ Khaled growled, not quite meeting her eyes. He didn’t dare, not even now.

  ‘You’re quite the one for determining what I’m supposed to be doing, aren’t you, my Kontoi?’

  ‘Horns,’ Naaima interjected.

  ‘They’ve been tootling for all they’re worth since this began,’ Khaled snapped. ‘What matters a bit more noise?’ He shot a glare at Naaima for daring to interrupt.

  Neferata looked at Naaima. ‘Different horns,’ the former said. ‘Different signals, but to whom–’

  There was a sound like stone snapping and then a wave of heat blew through the open outer doors, heralding the arrival of a downpour of molten rock. The bubbling, burning brew struck the lead elements of the undead army. Though the dead seemed unconcerned, the magma dissolved animated bone and ancient armour alike, reducing far too many of them to slag. Morath jerked his mount’s reins, forcing it to back up as the seeping edges of the spillage crept into the entryway. Nonetheless, the sudden rush of heat caused the skin of his face to blister and Morath grunted in pain. One of the Strigoi shrieked as a bit of the burning substance spattered him, and he staggered and fell, clawing at flesh which had suddenly assumed the consistency of stewed chicken.