Текст книги "Neferata"

Автор книги: Josh Reynolds

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EPILOGUE

The Silver Pinnacle

(–15 Imperial Reckoning)

Neferata sat back and took a sip from her goblet. ‘And that was that. I’m sure you know the rest.’ Arkhan the Black gazed at her silently. He had remained standing throughout her tale, his undead body knowing neither fatigue nor discomfort. Now, however, his head dipped and his eyes dimmed.

‘That is it?’ he said.

‘You wound me,’ Neferata said, leaning back. ‘And you do me a disservice.’

Arkhan shifted, his bones creaking. ‘You make it sound so simple.’

‘It was anything but, I assure you,’ Neferata said. She touched her temple. ‘I can still hear it, though its whispers have grown ever fainter in these intervening years.’

‘Where is it now?’ Arkhan said. ‘Where is the crown?’

‘Your master knows better than I,’ Neferata said. She tilted her head. ‘It sits hidden to the west and Nagash is drawn to it. And you are drawn with him.’

Arkhan stiffened. His eyes flashed. ‘As you will be as well. Nothing you have told me is of any use, Neferata.’

‘If you think that, then you are indeed diminished,’ Neferata said, her eyes narrowing. ‘You truly do not see it, do you?’

‘I see a woman hiding in a tomb, cowering from fate,’ Arkhan said harshly.

‘Careful,’ Neferata said softly. ‘And you should know by now that fate is a mocker. There is no fate, save that which we make for ourselves, else it would have been I who wore Nagash’s crown.’

‘Are you so certain? How do you know Ushoran was not its intended recipient?’

‘I don’t. But it sought the strongest. Not just in body, but in mind. It wanted a sorcerer and a warrior, not either-or,’ Neferata said. ‘It wanted a strong body to ride into eternity.’ She smiled widely, her fangs surfacing from behind her lips. ‘So I gave it one.’

Arkhan stood silently for a moment, the glow in his eyes dim. Then, suddenly, they blazed bright. The skull tilted back and the jaws gaped and Arkhan the Black laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in centuries. There was a black joy in that sound, and relief as well.

The great hall of the Silver Pinnacle echoed with the sound of his joy, and the bats that clung to the ceiling stirred, their tiny dreams becoming unpleasant as Arkhan’s voice penetrated their thoughts. As the echoes of his laughter faded, Arkhan looked down at her. ‘Do you think he realised, at the end, what you had done?’ he said.

‘If he had, he might have tried harder to destroy me,’ Neferata said. ‘Instead, he was content to squander that power on barbarians and orcs and worse monsters.’ She gestured extravagantly. ‘Then, maybe he did, and maybe this was my reward for it.’ She chuckled. ‘I suppose it’s too late to ask him now.’

‘I suppose you were only too happy to see the crown vanish into the west, there at the end,’ Arkhan said.

Neferata’s humour faded. ‘Yes,’ she said softly, ‘poor Morath. He played his part well, in the end, in the last days of Mourkain.’ She looked at Arkhan. ‘He was right, you know. Ushoran consumed the Strigoi, as we consumed the Lahmians. You were – are – right. The dead cannot rule the living. They can only destroy them. Or perhaps guide them.’

‘Is that what you would do? Guide them where?’

Neferata laughed. ‘Why… I will guide them wherever I wish, Arkhan.’ She pointed at him. ‘But you did not come here to hear my plans for the future, did you?’

‘I came for vampires,’ Arkhan said.

‘Ah yes, because Nagash demands it. He wants new servants; more, he wants servants who can propagate themselves. With our kind, one becomes two, two becomes four, four to eight and so on,’ Neferata said, smiling. ‘A plague of undeath, a plague that walks and plans and fights, that is what the old king of bones wants, isn’t it?’

Arkhan was silent. He knew her well enough to know that she was leading him somewhere. Neferata rose to her feet and drifted close to him, pressing her palms to his cuirass. She leaned close, her lips brushing the chill edge of his skull. ‘To beat Nagash, one must give him what he wants. No more, no less,’ she whispered.

Arkhan grabbed her wrists with alien swiftness. ‘Are you offering yourself, Neferata?’

She frowned coquettishly. ‘Perish the thought. What use would Nagash have for a mere woman? No, but I can offer you the services of another…’

There was a scrape of metal on stone. Something heavy was being dragged across the floor of the hall. Arkhan turned with one hand on the hilt of his sword. Neferata leaned her chin on his shoulder and pointed, and said, ‘And there he is now.’

Arkhan stepped down from the dais, sweeping aside the curtains. Four brawny ghouls dragged forwards an oblong box, crafted from iron and ringed by silver bands. From inside came a muffled howl. Neferata clucked her tongue. ‘Even after all this time, he still weeps for her. I do as well, but he was always quite extravagant about such things. Quite the beast for grand gestures, my Kontoi…’

The ghouls set the box down before them and backed away hurriedly, as if they feared what was inside. ‘Two hundred years or so. I wonder what he will look like, my handsome warrior-prince,’ Neferata murmured, sweeping down from the dais and running her fingers along the edge of the box. It trembled as if something was thrashing wildly within. There was another muffled howl and she laughed.

She looked at Arkhan. ‘He is yours, if you want him. Make of him a gift from the Queen of Mysteries to the King of Death. Or perhaps he is a replacement – a lieutenant for a lieutenant.’

‘What?’ Arkhan said.

Neferata laughed. ‘You still do not listen! Even after all these years, you never listen.’ She flicked her fingers. ‘Take him, Arkhan the Black, Arkhan of Khemri. Though all debts were settled between us long ago and I owe you nothing, I give you this last gift. Give it to Nagash, and be free, my gambler.’

‘I don’t understand,’ he said, looking at the box.

Neferata did not reply. She simply laughed and stepped past him. Her laughter remained long after she had left, sweeping into the darkness, her courtiers following her. Arkhan was left only with the ghouls and the moaning thing in its silver-banded box. When silence fell, save for the desolate cries of Khaled al Muntasir in his prison, Arkhan shook himself.

‘Thank you,’ he said, the words escaping from his mouth like a sigh. Then, he turned to go.

His master was waiting, and Arkhan had a prize to deliver.