Текст книги "Neferata"

Автор книги: Josh Reynolds

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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.

It struck her then, that her kind were not the only ones for whom nostalgia was a burden. The dwarfs clung to their past as fiercely as Ushoran clung to the tattered memories of the Great Land. It poisoned them just as surely, and crippled them. She looked up from the map and saw Razek looking at her.

‘We cherish our past, too much perhaps. We hold tight to ancient claims and grudges, nursing them,’ he said. ‘More, we seek them out, to add to our burden of miseries.’ There was poignancy to his words that struck her to the core. The desire to turn back the world was strong, even in her. She could only imagine how strong it must be in this creature before her who was immeasurably older. Then, the implication of his last words struck her and all at once, Neferata knew that she must tread carefully, even more carefully than before. Razek was no longer speaking in the general. He had a specific misery in mind, and she knew what it was. ‘Honour is a two-edged blade,’ she said delicately.

‘Pah, what would a people as young as yours know about honour?’ Razek said dismissively. ‘No, it is not about honour, but about debts and accounts, as I have told you before, Neferata.’ He splayed a hand on the map over the symbol she knew marked the sprawl of Mourkain. ‘Debts must be paid and accounts balanced.’

‘Regardless of the cost to both parties,’ she said. It wasn’t a question, and Razek didn’t take it as such.

‘Yes. But some debts must be paid sooner than others.’ He slammed his stein of beer on the table, producing a ringing sound that echoed through the outpost. ‘Gather round! Gather round,’ he bellowed. ‘We’ve got a grobkul to plan!’

‘Grobkul?’ Rasha murmured questioningly.

‘The hunting of greenskins,’ Neferata said. ‘An apt description, if I do say so myself.’

The dwarfs in the outpost gathered around. They were a motley lot, insofar as Neferata could tell them apart. Younger, she judged, than those dwarfs in charge of the throng waiting to meet Wazzakaz’s forces; eager thanes looking to win glory.

‘Why were you stationed here, if I might be so bold?’ Neferata said.

‘The grobkul can be conducted many ways, but the most traditional is the hammer and the anvil.’ Razek dropped his hands onto the table and slowly slid one palm towards the other. ‘Block off the exits and give the grobi only one way to go. Then crush them from that end. Only way to be sure you get them all.’ The other dwarfs nodded and muttered in satisfaction.

‘And you’re certain that the force you’ve got is capable of playing hammer?’ Neferata said, examining the map. She traced a line. ‘What about the river defiles here and here? How will you block those?’

‘We have our ways,’ Ratcatcher said defensively. ‘We see everything. No grobi will slip past us!’

Rasha snorted. ‘Then how did we get up here without you seeing us?’

‘Who says we didn’t?’ the ranger snapped.

Rasha made to reply, but Neferata raised a hand, stopping her. ‘Peace, master dwarf. I assume then, that you are aware of the movements of Wazzakaz’s rivals to the north and the east,’ she said. ‘Krumpaz and Murk, I believe, though it’s possible Murk was killed in that skirmish last month between his tribe and that of Olgutz.’

Ratcatcher blinked and looked at Razek, who shrugged. ‘You’re the scout, cousin. You tell me,’ he said.

‘They’re moving with Wazzakaz,’ Ratcatcher said, eyes narrowing as he peered at the map.

‘No, they’re moving in the same direction, and not even that,’ Neferata said. ‘The Waaagh! is on the verge of splitting into conflicting factions again, if they don’t get a fight soon.

‘That would explain the sudden surge,’ Ratcatcher said grudgingly. ‘Bugrit, we’re giving them just what they want.’

‘And so what?’ one of the thanes said as he pounded hard knuckles into his open palm. ‘Just because grobi want something doesn’t mean it’s good for them!’

‘Yes, but in this case, the bastards won’t be as likely to break as we’d hoped,’ Ratcatcher said. Neferata reappraised the ranger. He had missed something, but he was already compensating, adapting his line of thought to encompass the new facts. She hadn’t thought a dawi could be so quick of thought. Perhaps that was why Razek had chosen these particular dwarfs as his companions. ‘They might just splinter and run early,’ Ratcatcher continued. ‘Or scatter entirely.’

‘Or shatter your lines and push through,’ Neferata said mildly. Silence fell. She ignored the angry glares the others were giving her and looked at the map. ‘Sheer momentum will overwhelm even the stoutest defence.’

Razek’s face was stiff and scowling. ‘You’re saying we miscalculated their numbers.’

‘Not at all,’ Neferata said. ‘But numbers mean little if you do not understand the meaning behind them.’ She stood and leaned over the table. ‘For close to two centuries, these tribes have waged war, smashing themselves and reforming,’ she said. Thanks to me, in part, she thought. ‘The impurities have been beaten from them. Wazzakaz is one of the most cunning shamans to ever fondle a fetish pendant, and his rivals are not much behind.’

‘They’ll be looking to get their boots in first,’ a thane muttered. Razek nodded and his broad fingers traced a line.

‘They’ll overrun our positions in their haste to come to grips,’ he said, leaning back and taking a sip of beer. Wiping foam from his beard, he tapped the map. ‘It’d be like trying to fight an ocean, unless…’ He looked at Neferata. ‘You mentioned something about aid.’

She restrained a smile. ‘Yes.’

He grunted. ‘It’s like chopping a tree: you take it down with a number of blows, rather than just one. We’ll pull the throng back to… here.’ He put a finger down. ‘The Strigoi can catch them in the passes and bloody them a bit,’ he said, glancing at her. She nodded. He continued. ‘And then, the throng of Karaz Bryn will shatter what remains.’

‘An excellent plan,’ Neferata said.

Razek grunted and knocked on the table with a thick knuckle. ‘We’ll handle the bulk of the fighting, of course. There’s an art to fighting grobi that you manlings will never master.’

‘Of course,’ Neferata said. She looked up at Rasha. ‘Go and alert the tribes. They will soon be called upon to prove the prowess they so readily boast of.’

Rasha nodded. Razek snapped his fingers. ‘Ratcatcher, go with her. See that she gets there safely.’

‘Rasha needs no help,’ Neferata said, feeling her handmaiden stiffen in silent protest.

Razek frowned. ‘No?’ He shrugged. ‘Fine,’ he said. As Rasha vanished down the tunnel, he said something in Khazalid to Ratcatcher and the grungy dwarf nodded and headed for a different tunnel. Razek looked back at her. ‘You, of course, will accept an escort back to your people, I trust. Ratcatcher will gather his rangers to see you to safety.’

‘But of course,’ Neferata said. ‘Your rangers are competent enough. They must be invaluable in these climes.’

Razek took a swig of beer. ‘Indeed,’ he said, wiping foam from his beard. ‘They can get in most places without being seen. I was a ranger, for a time, as a beardling. Best years of my life.’

‘Was it better than being Borri’s hearth-warden?’ Neferata asked.

Razek set his beer down. ‘I am no longer hearth-warden.’ Neferata sat back down. She said nothing. Razek continued. ‘My father felt that I could spend my time better overseeing our trading relations with other holds. He felt I was spending too much time among you umgi.’

That meant ‘poorly made’, Neferata knew. It was the dwarf word for human. Anger stirred in her, but she forced it down. Razek was watching her steadily. ‘Were you?’ she asked.

‘He felt I was endangering the trading relations.’

‘Ah,’ Neferata said, tapping her lip with her finger. ‘How curious.’ Because you were, you stunted little rogue, she thought. Though you did your best to pretend otherwise, I admit.

‘He saw no reason to question where the gold you pay us in is coming from,’ Razek said as the rangers arrived, Ratcatcher in the lead. Neferata stood and began to follow the group out. Razek continued to speak.

‘But I did.’

She stopped. Razek stood and trotted after her, holding something. ‘I have looked forward to meeting you again, Neferata of Lahmia. You keep the accounts balanced, just like me.’ He took her hand, pressing something into it even as he released her.

Razek strode away, leaving her alone with the rangers, who led her out. Not until she was outside, safely beneath the moon once again, did she look at what Razek had given her. It was a gold coin, stamped with an old, faded image. It was a dwarf coin, she knew, and felt a slight chill as she glanced back at the outpost, pondering the meaning of Razek’s gift.

‘If we’re planning to go, now is the time,’ Ratcatcher rumbled.

‘Lead on,’ Neferata said, closing her fingers about the coin.

TEN

The City of Bel Aliad

(–1150 Imperial Reckoning)

Bel Aliad heaved in the throes of civil war. Kontoi warred on Kontoi, noble house on noble house. Neferata moved through the incense-shrouded corridors of the ghoul-god’s temple, followed by a panting praetorian guard of half-armoured ghouls. These were the largest of the colony beneath the temple, the ones who feasted on the freshest flesh and felt no fear in battle. They carried tulwars and, remarkably, possessed some skill in their use. Khaled had seen to that, at least.

Neferata herself wore the flowing mail coat of a Kontoi, and had a jewel-hilted scimitar sheathed on her hip. She disdained the use of a helmet, having never developed a liking for the feeling of metal and wood enclosing her skull. Her armour was covered in crusted, dried blood and when she stopped, several of her whining guards licked at the stains. Neferata ignored their antics. She stood in the central plaza of the temple, where her handmaidens – those who weren’t involved in the fighting – oversaw the control of those parts of Bel Aliad that they held. Neferata scanned the faces of her followers and the priests who bustled about.

‘Where is he?’ she snapped.

‘Where do you think?’ Naaima said. The other vampire sat on Neferata’s throne, reading a report. She tossed the scroll aside and pushed herself to her feet. ‘He took as many ghouls as we could spare and went down into the tunnels. He’s heading—’

‘For the caliph’s palace, yes,’ Neferata said, rubbing her brow.

‘You should have killed him.’

‘Possibly,’ Neferata said. ‘And possibly his bloodlust will serve our purposes. As long as Al-Khattab holds the caliph, he holds the illusion of legitimacy. Khaled will be hailed as a rescuer…’

‘By whom?’ Naaima asked. ‘The people on whom he feeds openly or the nobles whom he seeks to topple? Both fight us now, as well as Al-Khattab’s conspirators!’ Naaima trembled with anger. ‘I warned you! I told you—’

‘Be silent!’ Neferata snarled, her voice echoing from the pillars. Every living thing, and most of the dead, froze at the sound of those words. Naaima stepped back, as if slapped. Neferata fell silent. She looked around. ‘Where is Anmar?’

‘I sent her with Rasha. There is a force approaching the city… I thought it best to find out who they are,’ Naaima said hesitantly.

‘When did you send them?’ Neferata said.

Before Naaima could reply, there was a crash. The roof of the temple buckled and a section fell, crushing a number of priests and trapping one of Neferata’s handmaidens. The vampire writhed beneath the stone, her lower body crushed to a paste. She shrieked wordlessly, her fists battering at the stone and her human face dissolving into a mask of animal pain.

Neferata moved swiftly to her side. She knelt and took her handmaiden’s head in her lap. The woman’s screams quieted to whimpers. ‘Find out what’s going on,’ she said, flinging out a hand imperiously. Then she leaned over the wounded vampire, whispering comforting nonsense into her ear. With time and care, she might survive, but Neferata had neither. But she could see that her ending was as merciful as possible. That much she could do. Stroking the vampire’s head, Neferata took a firm grip on her skull and, with barely more effort than it would take to crack an egg, she crushed it; the vampire spasmed and lay still, her unnatural life leaving her.

As Neferata let the remains of the corpse’s head slough from her hands, something rolled out of the rubble. The skull was shattered and burning, but it chattered nonetheless as it caught sight of her, its blackened teeth clicking together as it crept towards her on tendrils of flame. Neferata batted it away with a hiss, watching as it shattered.

Neferata stood, holding out her hands for her ghouls. The creatures grabbed her wrists with pathetic eagerness and their cold tongues washed her fingers clean. She turned as Naaima rushed back into the plaza. ‘Well? Is it Al-Khattab?’ Even as she said it, she knew what the answer would be.

‘No,’ Naaima said. ‘It is—’

Screams filled the air, echoing from the stone, reaching the plaza and its inhabitants from all across the city. The temple rocked as more burning skulls, howling like a chorus of wolves, crashed through the roof, showering the plaza in stone and splintered wood.

A ghoul screamed as one of the skulls, half crushed by its descent, fastened its jagged teeth in its leg. It began to gnaw wildly. Neferata felt something dark and ugly on the wind as Naaima finally managed to spit out her answer.

‘It’s Arkhan! Arkhan the Black lays siege to Bel Aliad!’

The Worlds Edge Mountains

(–450 Imperial Reckoning)

By the time she reached Vorag and the others, the horsemen were looking impatient. The dwarfs melted back into the shadows of the hills and scrub pines almost as quietly as her handmaidens could have done.

‘Well?’ Vorag snarled. He leaned over his saddle horn, his muscles contracting and swelling as if there was a storm going on beneath his hairy skin. ‘Is it to be war? Or do we leave the stunted little fools to it?’

Neferata smiled. ‘War, of course,’ she said. Vorag threw back his head and howled. Moments later the men of his personal guard joined in, followed by the common soldiers who clustered around the riders. The howl echoed up through the pines and washed across the hills.

Stregga led a horse out of the group towards Neferata and the latter climbed quickly into the saddle. ‘I’ve already sent a messenger to the wildlings. They’ll launch their attack by morning.’

‘If they don’t run home first,’ Vorag grunted. ‘They’re cowards, the lot of them.’

‘They won’t,’ Neferata said, thinking of Iona and the other ‘priestesses’ scattered throughout the seraglios of the headmen of the tribes, both large and small, that had come at her request. Her daughters held those men’s hearts and minds close, even as she held theirs. Like Stregga and Rasha and all of the others, they saw the truth of Neferata’s vision. They saw that a quiet word was more powerful than all of the swords a tribe could muster.

Those women, hammered into shape to suit her purpose, would hold their kings, chieftains and masters to the sharp edge of her design. She glanced at Stregga, whose hand had found Vorag’s thigh. She gently squeezed his leg and the big vampire looked at her, his eyes hot with lust and, perhaps, something deeper.

Neferata turned away, wondering if their kind could feel love. Lust, she knew. Longing too, though it was a hard, harsh desire rather than the softer, more romantic kind she had known in life. Anmar seemed to love her brother fiercely for all that he didn’t deserve it, the fool.

All will love you, when all is silent.

The voice was thin here, this far from Mourkain. Just a sibilant whisper, pressing against the underside of her mind, clinging like lichen to each thought. It was easy to ignore. Easy… She shook herself.

‘Mistress,’ someone said. She looked down.

‘Layla,’ Neferata said kindly, pushing a loose strand of the former scullery maid’s hair up beneath her helmet. She wore the light armour that all of Neferata’s handmaidens preferred, and wore it well. Her hand clenched nervously on the hilt of the sword at her waist. ‘Are you ready for your first battle, my child?’

Layla showed her fangs as she smiled. ‘I look forward to it,’ she said, drawing her sword slightly before slamming it home again. Neferata smiled indulgently. Despite her earlier protestations, the girl had become exceedingly useful, with Anmar occupied keeping her brother out of trouble.

‘Keep your wits about you, my little she-wolf,’ Neferata said. ‘It is easy to get lost in the haze of bloodthirst, but to do so is to court death.’

Layla nodded earnestly. ‘I will be careful, my lady.’

‘Stay close to me, pup, I’ll see you through it,’ Stregga said loudly, riding close. She shared a look with Neferata. ‘We’ve got to blood these new girls, my queen – teach them to hunt and make a kill on their own,’ she said. She grinned insouciantly and tossed her honey-coloured hair. Like Neferata, she preferred to fight bare-headed.

Neferata chuckled and turned in her saddle. ‘We need to ride out, while we still have the cover of the night,’ she said to Vorag. ‘We need to get in position.’

‘More beautiful words were never spoken,’ Vorag rumbled, patting his horse’s neck.

The ride was a long one, and though the strength of the barrel-chested horses of the Strigoi was indefatigable, that of the unmounted warriors was not. They were hill-fighters, and tough, but keeping up with horses in uneven terrain over the course of several days tested even the toughest among them. The vampires, in contrast, moved smoothly and swiftly. Neferata’s handmaidens ran like pale lionesses through the crooked trees, outpacing and ranging ahead of the main body of the army.

The army was made up of frontier troops, men tested in years of battle against the orcs and beasts. Every frontier lord, no matter how minor, had some number of troops, and this expedition consisted of a number of frontier nobility. Vorag’s men, in the main, or those whom he was grooming in his barbaric way. Neferata knew, with the certainty of long experience, that Vorag was training an army. The frontier agals had long chafed at the demands Mourkain placed on them. Ushoran used the frontiers of Strigos as a dumping ground for those who displeased him or otherwise were not suitable for his court: the savages, the bloodthirsty and the rebellious.

In other words, they were the perfect tools.

On the third day, somewhere far ahead and to the east, Neferata’s keen hearing caught a sharp bleat from a primitive horn. She growled in satisfaction. The wildlings were on the move as well. She urged her horse on to greater speed. They swept through the ragged valleys and up steep slopes, only stopping when they had reached a thickly forested hill overlooking a rock-strewn gorge. Neferata reined in her lathered horse and swung from the saddle as Vorag said, ‘Here?’

‘If all goes according to plan, yes,’ Neferata said, walking to the edge of the treeline. ‘Make camp, and set out the pickets. We could be waiting for some time.’

‘Some time’ turned into another day and a night. Beneath the dark trees, the vampires could hide from the ravages of the sun. Neferata herself felt nothing; she stuck her hand into the light, letting it play across her fingers. A momentary tingle, like a kiss of heat, but that was all.

‘I miss the sunlight,’ Layla said, joining her at the treeline, but keeping well back from the cruel light. The sun was setting, but there was still enough of it over the horizon to prove dangerous to the younger of her handmaidens. The girl looked none the worse for wear for her lengthy run. She was still fascinated with the abilities that had been gifted to her, like a child with a new toy.

‘You will feel it again,’ Neferata said, pulling her hand back. ‘With age comes strength. For now, you must be satisfied with the moonlight.’

The girl frowned, but said nothing. Neferata turned back to the valley and the horizon. The evening breeze carried the wild cry of the war-horns of the tribes as they mingled with the brutish drum-beats of the orcs. The wildlings had thrown themselves into their fight with commendable ferocity. Surprising the orcs as they had, they would carve off portions of the horde leaving what continued on, drawn as it was by Wazzakaz’s momentum, for the Strigoi to weaken further. An hour later, Neferata saw the moon rise and felt the soil shift slightly. The vibration was faint, but she recognised its meaning. ‘They’re coming,’ she said loudly.

‘It’s about time. I thought this plan of yours was going to be fast,’ Vorag groused before turning to bellow orders to his subordinates. Neferata summoned Layla with a crook of her finger.

‘Get up that tree and tell me what you see,’ Neferata said, gesturing. Layla obeyed with an alacrity that made Stregga chuckle as she joined Neferata.

‘She reminds me of someone. Can’t quite put a finger on it…’ the Sartosan said. Neferata glanced at her and the chuckles died away. Stregga shrugged. ‘Sorry, mistress,’ she said.

‘There is nothing to apologise for,’ Neferata said. ‘Simply watch your tone.’

‘Of course, mistress, I’m good at that, me. Soul of discretion. Quiet as a mouse. Silent as a leopard. Soft, like a—’

Neferata looked at her handmaiden steadily. Stregga grinned cheerily. Neferata snorted and turned away. ‘I knew I should have killed you in Sartosa.’

‘Good thing you didn’t, eh?’ Stregga said. ‘When the bone-kings came calling, I was invaluable, if I do say so myself.’

Neferata snorted again and tapped her fingers on the pommel of her sword. ‘My tolerance is not limitless, Lupa.’

‘But my usefulness is,’ Stregga said. ‘Besides which, Vorag would protect me, eh Vorag?’

‘She’s almost killed me once, she-wolf. I’ll not risk that again, not even for a morsel as delectable as yourself,’ Vorag said heartily, joining them at the treeline.

Stregga made a face and Neferata smiled. She looked aside at Vorag and said, ‘You seem cheerful, champion of Mourkain.’

Vorag’s smile dissolved. ‘I’ll not hold that title much longer,’ he said.

‘No, you won’t,’ Neferata said.

‘Abhorash,’ Vorag said, chewing the name of his rival like a piece of stubborn gristle.

‘The people love him,’ Neferata said. ‘My people loved him as well, before he abandoned them.’

Vorag growled. Stregga moved to his side comfortingly. ‘Ushoran wants him to take command of the armies. Says my ways are old-fashioned,’ he said.

Which they are, Neferata thought. You are an anachronism, Bloodytooth, even in these primitive lands. And Ushoran is smart enough to recognise the game you’re playing. ‘He has replaced many of your comrades and peers as well,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘Men who should have received the kiss withered and died while arrogant play-warriors live forever in glory. Zandor, for instance, or that preening fop Gashnag, neither of whom are a match for you.’

He looked at her, one fang protruding as he sucked on his lip. ‘No, they are not. Once, we were men. Now we are nothing but ticks or fleas on the carcass of a dog.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Neferata said. ‘I’m sure many feel as you do.’ Mainly because I have ensured that they do so, over the course of these past centuries. Not just other vampires either, but those noble families who have continually been passed over for induction into the ranks of the immortals, she thought with satisfaction. The wives and lovers of the Strigoi nobles had fairly fallen over themselves to receive her kiss. Ushoran refused to ‘waste’ his on women whom he saw as little better than dogs in heat. And those women had had years to mull over that insult and remind their husbands and lovers of it, as well as every other petty hurt Ushoran had done.

‘They do,’ Vorag said softly. It was his turn not to look at her. ‘They say Abhorash’s time in the north will be longer than he first thought. That the northern daemon-lovers are proving stronger than he estimated.’

‘Abhorash always did overestimate his own prowess,’ Neferata said smoothly. The ‘scouts’ she had sent into the north prior to Abhorash’s expedition had obviously done their job. Mourkain gold now filled the pockets of northern warlords, and they were more than happy to band together to stave off Strigos’s encroachment into the wastes. They would not succeed… Abhorash was effective for all his arrogance. But he would be occupied for years; long enough to see Ushoran put in his proper place… at her feet.

‘With him gone,’ Vorag began carefully, ‘Ushoran has few allies at court, though he knows it not.’

Neferata’s expression did not change. ‘Nor will he. Ushoran is remarkably blind for one who prides himself on his cunning.’

‘He is no true Strigoi,’ Vorag said.

‘Neither am I.’

He looked at her. ‘But you are not king.’

‘Nor would I be,’ Neferata said. ‘I have ruled, in my time. I found it… tedious.’

Vorag nodded, taking her comment at face value. ‘And you bear Ushoran no love.’

‘No,’ Neferata said, allowing herself a small smile. ‘No, I do not.’

Vorag nodded, as if satisfied. He was silent for a moment, visibly marshalling his thoughts. Stregga looked at her mistress. Neferata nodded slightly. It had not been difficult to bring Vorag around. The Strigoi were barbarians despite the veneer of civilisation that they wore. And for barbarians, treachery was like breathing. All it required was time to contemplate and machinate, something which vampires had in abundance.

The difficult part had been making Vorag think it was his idea to approach her. But now that he had done so, she could at last pull tight the strands of her carefully crafted web. ‘These are times of change,’ Vorag said, finally. It was an obtuse way of saying ‘coup’, but Neferata understood him nonetheless.

‘Sometimes, change is for the better,’ Neferata said. ‘This is a mighty army, Timagal. It could accomplish much.’

Vorag shot her a look. But before he could reply, there was a shout from above. Layla dropped down from the branches overhead, landing on all fours in a shower of pine needles. ‘They come, mistress!’ she said, visibly excited. ‘The orcs, even as you said!’

‘Ha!’ Neferata smacked her palms together. ‘Vorag, get the men in place and ready your riders! We shall have to time this perfectly.’ They needed to shave the orcs, not shatter them or draw their full ire. She only had a few thousand men, and she needed to hoard their strength for future endeavours. Vorag hastened to obey her orders. Neferata grabbed Stregga. ‘Stay by my side, Lupa. You as well, Layla,’ she said. ‘We will be needed here.’

‘Lovely. At the sharp end again, eh, my lady?’ Stregga said, drawing her sword and sighting down the length of the blade.

‘It’s where we belong,’ Neferata said, flinging off her cloak. The tribes had done their job well; the orcs streaming into the valley were disorganised. They were still dangerous for all that, and there were still enough of them to prove troublesome for Razek’s throng further up the valley. They needed to get their attention.