‘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.
‘Sound the drums,’ Neferata shouted, her voice carrying across the slope. ‘Form up the dragon’s scales!’ In answer to her cry, the war-drums sounded, bone striking stretched skin in a deep, thudding rhythm. A thousand heavy bronze and wood shields, each the size of the warrior wielding them, were slammed down onto the hard-packed soil of the slope. The spikes that lined the bottom of each shield bit into the earth and anchored the barrier even as the shield-wielders crouched low at the barked order of the ajal in command, bracing the shields with their bodies. The ajal roared out another command and the second line of men stepped forwards, extending the pitch-hardened wooden stakes they held over the top of the shields. The heads of the stakes were equipped with bronze cross-pieces, to prevent the surprisingly durable orcs from pulling themselves down the length of the spear. The Strigoi had learned over the decades that the best way to handle the urka was from a distance. Pin them and butcher them at leisure.
The drums continued to thunder dully as the Strigoi battle-line settled into the position they would hold for the entirety of the battle to come. There would be no retreat. ‘Curious strategy,’ Vorag grunted, eyeing the line. He was already mounted and his frame trembled with eagerness.