Neferata

FIFTEEN

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…

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.

‘Them,’ Anmar said, her voice filled with horror.

Neferata suddenly recalled the odd stone dragon head which had protruded from the lofty upper peaks of the mountain. It had seemed out of place at the time, but its purpose was plain now. ‘Clever, clever creatures,’ she snarled. Then, ‘They’re cutting our forces in half!’ she said, gesturing towards the ceiling with her sword. ‘We have to destroy that thing.’

‘The dead don’t mind it,’ Khaled protested, his eyes wide as he stared at the hissing, bubbling rock.

‘Of course not, they’re dead,’ Morath nearly shrieked. One hand was pressed to his face. ‘But they can be destroyed by it easily enough! I can’t revivify melted bone.’

Khaled snarled and shared a look with Redzik. The Strigoi was rangy and hawk-like and was a seasoned warrior, lacking Vorag’s bluster or Gashnag’s pomposity. He nodded and gestured to two of his fellows. ‘Jirek, Dinic, get up there,’ he growled. The two vampires hesitated, looking at their fallen fellow, who had been dragged from the burning liquid but whose healing was slow to begin. He mewled piteously, and his face looked like one overlarge raw wound. Redzik grunted and cast his gaze at Zandor. ‘What about you?’

‘I think not,’ the ajal said, stepping back, his hands raised.

Neferata snorted. ‘The courage of Strigos is legendary,’ she said. ‘I’ll go.’

‘Not alone,’ Anmar said. Neferata looked at the girl for a moment, and then nodded. Khaled growled.

‘Foolishness. Fine, Jirek, Dinic, come with me, the rest of you organise some sort of defence — the dwarfs won’t sit idle. They’ll try to crush us between the hammer and the anvil. We’ll soon have every warrior in this rat-hole at our throats.’ For a moment, Khaled shed the lethargy of the predator and was once more the Kontoi he had been in life. He looked at Neferata. ‘After you, my lady,’ he said.

‘Too kind,’ Neferata murmured. The magma had cooled into a black splotch across the snow. Bone limbs twitched as it hardened. She stepped lightly across it and began to ascend towards the peak, moving as swiftly as she was able. Anmar followed close at her heels and the others just behind. The snow had been melted away, revealing the carefully crafted runnels which had been installed to conduct the flow of the magma. The ingenuity of the dwarfs was impressive. They were a people who thought defensively, preparing for onslaughts which might never come. Neferata could respect that sort of cunning.

The wind smashed against them as they climbed, and the snow fell in great clumps. They didn’t feel the cold, but it played merry havoc with their senses, rendering sight, smell and sound unreliable. Nonetheless, the vampires climbed quickly, following the runnel. Neferata caught a scrape of stone on stone and reached out to touch the edge of the runnel. It trembled slightly. ‘Take cover!’ she shouted, throwing herself to the side. The others did as she did even as a blistering explosion of fiery liquid sluiced down from on high, throwing up fumes and steam. The Strigoi, Dinic, wasn’t fast enough and he howled as the magma caught him.

Neferata watched as Dinic staggered to his feet, enshrouded in burning liquid. The magma seemed to reach out and enfold him in molten fingers. The vampire’s screams rose in pitch as his flesh crumbled off his bones. Tearing at himself, Dinic stumbled back and fell into the runnel, dissolving even as he hit the magma flow.

‘That’s done it,’ Neferata said. She sprang to her feet as the last of the magma slid away and dropped into the runnel. ‘They know we’re coming — hurry!’ The stone of the runnel was painfully hot and her flesh reddened and blistered as she ran. She ignored the pain. It was an easier path than climbing the mountain, and more effective. The stone maw of the dragon rose over her. She leapt up, slithering between its char-black fangs and down its throat.

She only had moments before what she was doing would go from a brilliant idea to a bad one. She hoped the others were following close behind. She hurtled through the dragon’s throat and a very surprised set of features filled her vision. The dwarf jerked back with an oath that was cut short as her sword found his throat. She whipped the blade out, decapitating him even as she emerged from the tunnel and into the hidden tower.

It was a circular stone room, with flues set into the walls and a number of heavy pipes and sluice-works crisscrossing the walls and ceiling. It stank of sulphur and raw heat. Five dwarfs were there to greet her. Only one reacted quickly, grabbing a handy hammer and swinging it towards her head. In the cramped confines of the tower, she had little room to manoeuvre and was forced to let the weapon connect. Her skull rang and she swung wildly, driving the warrior back. He spat something in Khazalid and one of the others dived for a crossbow leaning against the wall. Neferata hurled her sword, pinning the would-be crossbowman to the wall in mid-flight. With a snarl, she dived on the hammer-wielder, bearing him to the ground, her vision still swimming from the force of the hammer-blow. The others closed in.

The rock ceiling cracked and shuddered above them, causing the dwarfs to look up in shock. Neferata concentrated on her prey, bashing the dwarf’s skull against the floor until his head cracked like an egg and what was within slopped out. Even as she rose, the ceiling came away in great chunks, ripped apart by Khaled and Jirek. Anmar dived in through one of the newly-made holes, and her sword flashed in a tight arc, gutting one of the dwarfs. The others reacted by fleeing for the trapdoor which led down from their perch.

‘Grab them!’ Neferata spat. Khaled sprang past her, his talons tangling in one of the dwarf’s braids and hair. He hauled the burly shape off its feet and swung the dwarf around, hurling him out through the gap in the roof to smash himself lifeless on the mountain-side below. Jirek caught the other even as he descended, tackling him with a scream like a hungry tiger. Dwarf and vampire tumbled down into whatever was below. Khaled almost followed, but Anmar grabbed him.

‘Wait!’ she said.

There was a concert of screams from below. Neferata ducked her head down, and her lips writhed back from her fangs in disgust. Jirek and his prey had blundered into the delivery system for the magma. Specially treated pipes had burst and the room swam with heat as magma sprayed and dripped, coating walls, floor and combatants liberally.

Neferata retreated. ‘Fool,’ she said, kicking the stone trapdoor into place. The floor was already growing warm. ‘That artifice would have been useful.’

‘Jirek was more useful,’ Khaled said, glaring at her.

‘Debatable,’ Neferata said. ‘Nonetheless, we must make sure that there are no other surprises waiting for us. The dawi are cunning, and I’d rather they didn’t find a way to make the mountain vomit its guts all over us.’ She jumped lightly onto the wall and climbed out onto the roof.

The panorama of the Worlds Edge Mountains spread out around her, vast and uncaring of the war begun in its depths. Above, the sky was the colour of tar and the snow spiralled down like tears. She reached out, setting her talons on the horizon, even as she had done as a girl, visualising what would be hers. With a grunt, she drew her hand back. Tossing her head, she brushed her windblown hair out of her eyes and spotted the black shape of a river slithering out away from the mountain. She smiled.

Khaled and Anmar joined her a moment later. ‘We destroyed the pipes and devices. This thing is no threat now,’ Khaled said.

‘Oh, well done, dog of Mourkain,’ Neferata said. ‘You do your master proud.’

Khaled grabbed her arm. ‘I would have done the same for you if you had let me,’ he said. ‘I would have served you forever,’ he continued, almost pleadingly.

‘You serve none but your own lusts, my Kontoi. I saw that clearly in Bel Aliad, before I first kissed you,’ Neferata said, placing her fingers along his cheek. ‘And I will acknowledge no desire save my own.’ Her claws scraped his face, opening the flesh to the kiss of the cold wind. Khaled stepped back, releasing her. His eyes hardened.

‘Ushoran says different,’ he sneered, gesturing to her throat.

Neferata smiled softly and licked his blood from her fingers. ‘What he says and what you hear are two different things, my sweet, savage, sad son. And that you never saw that is one of the reasons why I am glad to be rid of your tedious love.’

Khaled snarled, but Neferata turned away and leapt off the tower. She dropped into the snow and started back down.

The dwarfs did not remain idle after the failure of their dragon-weapon. Neferata soon found herself wishing that they had, if only to provide respite from the dangerous tedium that followed. Two weeks passed in the wake of the dwarfs’ flight into the lower regions of their realm, but, like all vermin, they refused to stay in their holes.

Instead, they had displayed the unguessed intricacies of their craftsmanship. There were apparently innumerable hidden passageways and concealed doors and the dwarfs had sallied forth three times in strength, pummelling the dead before retreating into their hidden enclaves. Others had crept from unseen points to set off explosions and fire crossbows into the vampires and ghouls. They had already lost four of the Strigoi vampires to such tactics, and the remaining warriors were becoming unsettled and impatient. When not fending off these attacks, Neferata and the Strigoi passed the time in fruitless debate.

‘There must be more than one way in,’ Morath said testily. He looked half-dead, and weird lights flickered beneath his skin. He sagged in his saddle. The stink of exhaustion seeped from his pores.

‘There are a number of ways in. Finding them, however, is another matter,’ Neferata said, resting on her haunches, her chin pressed to the pommel of her sword, her fingers draped over the hilt. It was not the most regal position, but it suited her mood. She stared out at the blizzard.

‘Who says we have to find them, eh?’ Zandor said. ‘We just set those bone-bags we brought with us to chipping away at this anthill until we make a passage.’

‘Do you have any concept of how much power and time that would require?’ Morath snapped. ‘No, of course you don’t.’

Zandor growled at the necromancer, his normally handsome features lengthening into something lupine. ‘Watch your tone, meat, or I’ll—’

‘You’ll what?’ Neferata said, without turning from the snow. ‘In case you had forgotten, Zandor, I require Morath’s services more than yours, indispensible as they are.’

‘And you’ll hold your tongue, witch,’ Zandor said, grinning at her in a lopsided fashion. ‘You’re only here because Ushoran still professes to respect your abilities. But if you give us trouble—’

‘Your head will be the first to touch the dust,’ Anmar said, tapping Zandor’s throat with the flat of her sword. The other Strigoi snarled like a pack of dogs. Neferata’s handmaidens drew closer to her. She herself neither moved, nor paid attention to the ongoing confrontation.

‘Quiet!’ Khaled roared. He looked at Neferata. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘The river,’ Neferata said. ‘The river is the way in. It travels beneath the mountain.’

Morath’s eyes lit up with realisation. ‘It might be possible, yes. A small group, no more than a hundred,’ he said. Then he frowned. ‘No. No it won’t work. My abilities are great, but the strain…’

‘Not you. Me,’ Neferata said, rising to her feet.

‘Your grasp of the necessary magics is incomplete,’ Morath said slowly.

‘Then complete it,’ Neferata said. ‘Teach me, Morath. You will find me a most apt pupil…’

‘No!’ Khaled barked.

‘Quiet, Arabyan,’ Zandor snapped. ‘Why shouldn’t we? If the witch wishes to leave the glory to us while she sneaks in the back door, let her. A few tricks might help her distract the dwarfs for more than a few moments before they take her traitorous head.’

‘Your support is noted and appreciated, Zandor,’ Neferata said. ‘It will take time, of course.’ She looked at Khaled. ‘But I’m sure we can find something to occupy our days and weeks, no?’

He made a face and looked at the immense inner doors that sealed the rest of the hold away from the entry-chamber. The Upper Deep was theirs, but getting into the lower levels would be difficult. More than difficult, in fact; near impossible, even with the forces at their disposal, unless something tipped the balance in their favour.

Neferata inclined her head as Khaled glared at her. ‘What would you suggest?’ he grated.

‘Come, come, my Kontoi, surely you have taken part in sieges before?’ Neferata said. ‘There are things which must be done.’

His eyes lit up with understanding. ‘As ever, my queen, you are correct,’ he said. He grimaced a moment later as he realised what he had said. Neferata gave no sign that she had heard.

In the days that followed, the dead fell easily into old routines formed in life. Roving patrols of skeletal horsemen rode through the claws of the weather that gripped the mountains, their ancient bronze armour green with verdigris and sheathed in ice. Corpse-wolves loped through the scrub forests of the mountain slopes, hunting for the merest whiff of warm blood. And the ranks of the numberless dead swelled day by day as Morath pulled them from their crude graves.

Neferata had made her camp out of the grip of the blizzard that continued to batter the region, within the entrance hall. A pavilion tent had been erected by fleshless hands and filled with luxuries, brought specifically for that purpose from Mourkain. Even if she was being forced to play general for Ushoran, there was no reason she couldn’t do so in comfort. She studied the old scrolls while lying on a pile of cushions, handing them to her handmaidens when she had finished. Of them all, only Naaima seemed to have grasped the art of the magics as well as she, but the others would learn in time.

Morath stood in the centre of the tent, warming his hands over a brazier. He wore heavy furs over his slender form and dark circles weighted down his eyes. The tent flap was opened and Redzik, one of the Strigoi, stepped in, snow falling from him in clumps. ‘We’ve found it,’ he said.

Neferata tossed aside a scroll. ‘Where is it?’

‘Just where you said,’ Redzik said. ‘The wolves sniffed it out. The river goes right into the mountain’s guts.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s iced over, though. Probably why there’s no guard on it. No telling how deep the ice runs…’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Neferata said, stretching. ‘It’s time.’ She looked at Morath. ‘You know what to do?’

‘Knowing and accomplishing are two different things,’ the necromancer spat. He shivered. Neferata reached out and gently stroked his cheek with the edge of her palm. Morath shuddered. She smiled gently.

‘I have faith, my sweet Morath, as should you. After all, does not a god stand at our side?’ Like the rest of them, he had stood frozen as Ushoran became something terrible. Morath’s prediction had come true, and he had done nothing to prevent it.

‘I’m… I am sorry,’ he croaked, after a short silence. He looked away.

‘Men are always sorry, after the fact,’ Neferata said, running her fingers across his shoulders. ‘But it is not you from whom I will accept an apology. You’re a dog, Morath, and a dog can be forgiven biting at the whim of its master.’

He jerked as if she had struck him. ‘Mourkain—’ he began hoarsely.

‘Mourkain would have been a paradise,’ she said, turning to follow Redzik out of the tent. Naaima and her handmaidens paced after her, checking their weapons and armour.

‘You do not have to do this,’ Anmar said as Neferata approached. ‘Naaima could go, or even Layla,’ she suggested, taking Neferata’s hand.

Neferata was silent for a moment. Vampires could not feel regret; or, rather, none she had known had ever displayed such. But what was writ on Anmar’s face was as close to it as she thought that they could get.

‘And what would I do, little leopard?’ Neferata said. ‘Would you have me sit and sulk in my tent? Or would you rather me sit and ponder the intricacies of your brother’s betrayal?’

The remark was spiteful, and Anmar took it as such. She pulled back. Neferata hesitated, wanting to reassure her, but knowing that there was no purpose to such a gesture. She was going to kill Khaled and Anmar too, if she interfered. She would kill all of the traitors and fools. Instead, she said, ‘You have made your choice, little leopard. You have chosen your brother over me.’

‘Could I do otherwise?’

‘Only you can say,’ Neferata said, turning away. ‘Blood calls to blood and like to like. I made a mistake with your brother. I should have left him dead on the floor of his secret room, and taken only you. But even then, I knew I could not separate you. It seems nothing will.’

She strode away, noting Khaled approaching as she did so. She wondered whether he had heard. From his expression, she guessed that he had. A momentary surge of satisfaction lifted her mood as she stepped outside. The wind and cold enveloped her and she welcomed it.

Besides her handmaidens, a troop of skeletal horsemen and spearmen, their bones coated in glistening ice, accompanied her. A token force and one she intended to leave near the river. There would be plenty of dead within the hold for her to manipulate, if she were right.

The dwarfs entombed their dead, as W’soran’s studies of Mourkain’s depths had shown. There were generations upon generations, going back to the first inhabitants of the hold, all waiting for her gentle summons to march to war against their kin. They would catch the dawi in a pincer, between two walls of bone and metal.

When they reached the river, she found that it had indeed frozen solid, just as Redzik said. Neferata stood on a bluff overlooking the river, Naaima and Iona beside her. They had left the others below, out of sight, with the dead. Neferata sniffed the wind. Several of the corpse-wolves were prowling nearby, their gait awkward and uneven.

‘We’ll set the dead to shattering the river. Once we have a hole, we’ll go down,’ she said. ‘We will awaken the dead of the hold even as the Strigoi batter their way in. If need be, we will of course open the doors for them again. Eventually.’

‘Are you certain that this is wise?’ Naaima said.

She was eyeing the river distrustfully, but Neferata knew she wasn’t actually talking about that. ‘No,’ Neferata said. ‘But we face two enemies here, not one. And we cannot strike until they are both properly weakened.’ She looked askance at Naaima. ‘Or would you have me remain a slave?’

‘I would have you live,’ Naaima said, not looking at her.

Neferata stared at her for a moment longer. Then she looked at Iona. ‘Gather my handmaidens. We will descend as soon as possible.’

‘What about Anmar?’ Naaima said suddenly.

‘She has chosen to remain by her brother’s side. I have chosen to allow her to do so.’

Naaima said nothing, but Neferata caught the soft susurrus of her thoughts nonetheless. She knew exactly what her handmaiden was thinking. She glanced at the other woman. ‘You think that was a mistake?’

‘I think that even though we are immortal, that even though we are no longer human, something yet remains for us of mortality and humanity. And for some of us more than others…’ Naaima brushed a loose strand of frost-stiffened hair out of her face. ‘Khaled’s betrayal hurt us all.’

‘Not you. You never liked him to begin with.’

‘Nothing good comes from men like that.’

‘Nothing good comes from men,’ Neferata corrected. ‘Lamashizzar, Alcadizzar, W’soran, Ushoran, Abhorash… Nagash.’ The last name was said in a bitter snarl. ‘All of them men and all fools and monsters. They seek to bind us to their destinies, as if we have none of our own. As if we should be thankful.’ She spat the last word. She looked at the river, her eyes dark and far away. ‘Our destiny is here, Naaima. Here in these cold stones. The dawi worship death, even as the people of the Great Land did, before Nagash — before we — perverted it. There is old death, old strength in the bones of the mountain and it is upon that strength that I shall build…’ She trailed off.

‘Build what?’ Naaima said.

Neferata spun. ‘How many wolves did we bring?’

‘What?’

The bullet took Naaima in the shoulder, crunching through her pauldron and shoulder joint alike and spinning her around and off her feet. Neferata made to grab her, but too late. Naaima plummeted off the bluff. The ice shattered at the point of impact and the vampire slipped into the dark water.

The wolves she had seen before had shed their reeking skins, revealing the squat shapes of a number of dwarfs, who’d been wearing them. One was recognisable, even at a distance and with his beard turned silver. Orc tusks and rat skulls still dangled in his beard, though more than the last time she had seen the ranger called Ratcatcher. He grinned at her and tossed aside a long-barrelled fire-stick to one of his men as another was shoved into his hand. He took aim and fired even as Neferata leapt from the bluff after Naaima.

The rangers had been waiting for them. That was the only thing that made sense. They had been waiting for them to eventually stumble across the river. Days, weeks, months — she knew that none of it would have mattered to the taciturn and eccentric Ratcatcher. There was no guarantee that the rangers had even been in the mountain when they’d attacked.

Neferata hit the water not far from where Naaima had crashed through. She plunged into all-encompassing darkness. The cold wreathed her bones, and though it did not bother her, she could feel it. The blood pumping through her limbs turned sluggish and she caught the sharp, familiar tang of Naaima’s blood floating on the current. Like a shark, Neferata arrowed downwards, following the scent of her handmaiden.

Even for one who could see in complete darkness, the depths of the river were near impenetrable. Neferata was forced to rely on her other senses. When she felt the brush of a flailing hand, she latched on to the attached wrist and began to swim for the surface. It was an instinct, to seek succour on the surface. Neither she nor Naaima had a need to breathe, nor did the glacial current hamper them. Regardless, Naaima’s body was dead weight.

Neferata hauled Naaima up until they collided with the ice. Neferata punched through it with a single blow, driving her fist up into the open air. Using her shoulder and elbow, she widened the hole and forced an opening big enough to accommodate them both. Naaima gasped like a beached fish, and blood spurted and sizzled in the hole in her shoulder. A foul-smelling steam issued from the wound and Neferata gagged. ‘What—’ she began.

‘Burns,’ Naaima gasped. ‘It burns!’

Neferata drove her fingers into the wound and shrieked as something as hot as any fire caressed her fingertips. Steeling herself, she plucked the offending object from the wound. It was a lead ball, shot through with veins of silver. She growled and hurled it away.

‘Silver, blood-hag,’ a voice called out. She looked up and saw a firing line of dwarfs trudging across the ice towards them. All carried the long fire-sticks and had great two-handed axes strapped to their backs. Ratcatcher was chewing on a lit fuse, and a stinking tendril of smoke wafted up around his head. ‘You can thank Grund for that, the sad bastard. He saw how you blood-drinkers shrivelled around it. And if there’s one thing the Karaz has plenty of, it’s a pretty bit o’ shine.’ Ratcatcher let the fire-stick swing off his shoulder and he dipped his head, touching the hissing fuse clenched between his blackened teeth to its back.

The fire-stick roared and Neferata was hit by a hammer-blow that took her off her feet. She landed on her back on the ice and heard it crack beneath her. The silver-threaded ball burned through her arm and she gasped as she tore at the wound. The ball fell out and rolled across the ice, steaming and bloody.

The dwarfs had stopped some distance away. Ratcatcher was unhurriedly reloading, even as he continued to speak. ‘The engineers call ’em handguns. Don’t trust them myself, but I must admit they’re a mite handy when it comes to this sort of thing.’ He looked at her. ‘Quite a few dead ones you brought with you. They might have made a mess if they’d got in. Lucky we figured you’d try this eventually.’ He chuckled. ‘We’ve got a bit of a surprise waiting for them, don’t you worry. You won’t go into the darkness alone.’

Neferata heaved herself to her feet. She heard a sound like the growling of a pack of leopards and Ratcatcher made a gesture like a man hearing a familiar melody. ‘The boys got a bit eager there, but no matter.’ He tapped the side of his hooked nose. ‘Artillery crews are like beardlings — give ’em a target and they just can’t resist firing.’

His eyes narrowed to cruel slits. ‘You shouldn’t have killed Razek, blood-drinker. He was my friend. And you definitely shouldn’t have tried to take my mountain.’ He aimed his handgun. ‘Back to the shadows with you, witch.’

‘Why don’t we go together, ranger?’ Neferata said. Still crouched, she raised her fists and smashed them down with every ounce of strength her immortal frame possessed. The crack was small at first, but then the ice ripped with a sound like a melon being chopped in half. Cracks spread outwards from the point of her fists’ impact, zigzagging across the surface of the frozen river. The rangers scattered in surprise, but they could not outrun the cracks.

Neferata pulled Naaima to her feet as the ice slipped and shifted beneath them. Together, the two vampires dived into the freezing waters. Neferata arrowed herself towards the struggling dwarfs, who were sinking like stones. With her teeth bared she swam downwards towards Ratcatcher, who sank in a cloud of bubbles. He saw her coming and his eyes widened. His movements were slow and awkward as he clawed for a weapon, his eyes bulging.

She hit him like a bolt thrown from a ballista and tore him in two. The dwarf spun aside in two directions, leaving a cloud of blood in both wakes. She pushed herself around, watching Naaima dart around the other dwarfs like an eel, tearing out throats or opening bellies with every graceful pass. The water became thick with dark clouds and Neferata inhaled the heady brew before pushing herself towards the surface.

‘What now?’ Naaima said, rubbing her chest. The wound had healed, but she still looked pained. The sound of artillery had fallen silent. Whether that implied that the dwarfs had blown her forces back to whatever hell had spawned them or that they themselves had fallen, she couldn’t say. Nor, in truth, did she care. She looked back at the river and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

‘Now we follow the river,’ Neferata said. ‘But first, we gather the others.’

When they rejoined the others, it became obvious that the dwarf ambush had been unsurprisingly effective for all that it had been a suicide mission. Layla trotted towards them, dragging a dying dwarf by his foot and leaving a trail of red across the snow. ‘This wasn’t the only ambush,’ she said. ‘Not according to this one,’ she added, tossing the dwarf at Neferata’s feet.

The dwarf glared at them blankly, pink bubbles gathering on his lips as snow collected on his twitching form. Neferata kicked him over onto his face and sighed. ‘How many of you survived?’

‘Most of us, my queen— Sabula was shredded, the slow-witted cow, and Lodi as well. We are maybe a dozen strong now.’ Layla gestured to the smoking piles of shattered bone and smouldering armour. ‘And our escort fared even worse.’

‘They would only have slowed us down in any event,’ Neferata said. ‘Gather the others. We will proceed.’

‘Should we inform the Strigoi of the ambush?’ Layla said.

‘Oh, I’m quite certain that they already know,’ Neferata said, smiling crookedly. ‘In fact, I’m quite certain that a certain Arabyan princeling was hoping for just this sort of occurrence.’

‘Redzik’s scouts couldn’t have missed it,’ Naaima said, frowning. ‘The rangers perhaps, but the guns — never.’ She looked at Neferata. ‘Humiliation isn’t enough for that one, is it?’

‘Oh no, he wants me dead, my faithful Kontoi.’ Neferata licked her fingers and rubbed a smudge of blood from Layla’s face. ‘He knows that eventually I will worm my way out of this trap, as I have every other, and that when I do, I will come for him and his ending will be most unpleasant.’ She looked at the devastation caused by the ambush and nodded. ‘Let him think he succeeded, however.’ She looked at them and her eyes lit on Rasha. Something like satisfaction filled her and she pointed to the former nomad. ‘Rasha, you and Layla will stay here. Khaled is certain to send out search parties to ensure our deaths.’

‘And you want us to make sure they find nothing?’ Rasha said, flashing her fangs. ‘Just like the old days, my lady.’

‘Indeed. Messengers as well,’ Neferata said. She looked up the sky, where the snow’s incessant tumble had slowed somewhat. ‘The blizzard is lessening its hold. See that none of the messengers that either Khaled or Morath send out reach Mourkain.’

‘What game are we playing now, Neferata?’ Naaima murmured as the two vampires ran off.

‘The same one as always, sweet Naaima. The only game that matters,’ Neferata said.