THIRTEEN

The spear licked out, its blade surmounted by a halo of dust and smoke. Neferata barely brought her sword up in time, driving the spear-point into the mast behind her. It hammered home, cracking wood. The crack widened as the spear was jerked free by its wielder.

The druchii hissed and lunged again, his lean body driving the spear towards her belly with inhuman speed. Neferata caught the haft, just below the blade, and guided it around her even as her sword came up and pierced the druchii’s side. The elf bucked in agony and Neferata ripped her sword free, letting her opponent fall.

Neferata stepped over the body and looked out over the deck. The port of Sartosa was aflame as the druchii raiders ravaged the city, looking for loot and slaves. More of the pale, black-eyed elves charged across the deck towards her. They had butchered the remaining crew easily, but were finding Neferata and her handmaidens to be an altogether tougher breed of opponent. She had faced the creatures before, in the Shark Straits. They raided the coasts of Araby with depressing regularity and had taken a number of vessels that she considered hers. She considered this to be a form of belated justice.

A white-haired elf woman ran towards Neferata, shrieking in what might have been delight. Curved blades connected with Neferata’s sword, the force of the blow nearly knocking her from her feet. The elf spat something in her own liquid tongue and Neferata responded by shoving aside her opponent’s swords and lunging, snake-swift, to clamp her jaws on the elf’s throat. She was careful not to gulp down the blood that burst into her mouth, having seen the effects it had had on one of her handmaidens who hadn’t been so cautious. The vampire had collapsed as if drugged, and had yet to awaken.

Neferata tossed her head, ripping the elf’s throat out. The elf slumped, clutching at the spurting hole in her jugular. Neferata spat out what was in her mouth and shoved the dying elf to the side. The others, clad in scaly cloaks and dark armour, hesitated. Neferata smiled, blood staining her face. ‘Kill them for me, my sweets,’ she spat.

The ghouls burst out of the open hold behind the elves, their slimy paws tangling in the cloaks and their talons hooking the ornate armour. The druchii turned on this new threat with remarkable aplomb, but surprise and numbers were on the ghouls’ side. The struggling elves were either torn apart there or they were pulled into the dank hold, to be devoured alive if she judged their screams correctly. The ghouls were hungry, having had little to eat beyond rats or the cast-off members of the crew once Neferata and her followers had finished with them.

The screams of the druchii ringing in her ears, she found her gaze sliding east, where distant mountains climbed into the clouds. In the tongue of the Sartosans, they were the ‘Mountains-at-World’s-End’. Something seemed to flash between those distant peaks and she felt a jolt. It had merely been a reflection from the fire off the water, she thought.

Yes, just a reflection.

Nonetheless, she continued to stare and before her astonished eyes, a vast black cloud seemed to rise up from the mountains, as if a flock of birds had suddenly taken flight. For a moment, the cloud seemed to take the form of a man — no, not a man, something worse. And then it was gone and it was once again just a reflection and Neferata turned back to the slaughter to drown her misgivings in blood…

Neferata stalked through the hall towards the audience chamber. Naaima raced after her, fighting to keep up. ‘Neferata, wait!’ the latter cried out. ‘You mustn’t do this! It’s over!’

Neferata stopped and spun, grabbing Naaima’s throat. ‘Understand me when I say this, Naaima, I say when it’s over! No one else,’ Neferata snarled.

‘Abhorash is mobilising what remains of Mourkain’s military,’ Naaima said, grabbing her mistress’s wrist. ‘He will crush Vorag’s rebels within months, if Vorag doesn’t simply flee to Cripple Peak as he seems intent on doing!’ She glared at Neferata, unafraid. ‘Ushoran knows, Neferata. He knows it was you, even if he can’t prove it.’

‘He knows nothing,’ Neferata said. ‘All of his attentions are on the crown.’ She released Naaima. ‘Let Abhorash waste his time on Vorag. By the time he gets back, it will be too late. I will be queen again, with powers undreamt of at my command.’

‘Would you fight them both?’ Naaima said. ‘Would you fight both W’soran and Ushoran and their entourages? Our forces are scattered, and of those of us here, we are too few.’

‘We have enough. The time to strike is now!’ Neferata said, her form quivering with impatience. ‘The web has been drawn tight. All eyes are on other sights and our fangs are at Ushoran’s throat, though he sees them not.’

‘Khaled, you mean,’ Naaima spat.

‘Ushoran trusts him,’ Neferata said.

‘You mean you trust him.’

Neferata laughed. ‘Hardly, but I know him. He fears me and hungers for my touch. He will do as I command.’

‘And if you’re wrong?’

Neferata paused. ‘Then I will kill him. We must go now, Naaima. W’soran’s ritual will begin at any moment and we must strike as soon as he has completed it.’ W’soran had been positively gleeful when he received the tome that Morath had discovered. Within a few weeks he seemed to have discovered what he needed to bind Alcadizzar’s spirit, and tonight, with the Witch-Moon high in the air, was the night he had chosen to do the deed.

‘And what then?’ Naaima pressed.

Neferata looked at her in frustration. ‘What do you mean what then? Then we will have a kingdom to rule, and an empire to build.’

‘Remember what Abhorash said to you on our first day in Mourkain?’ Naaima said desperately. ‘Remember what he said about the difference between taking something and holding on to it?’

‘With the crown—’

‘You’ve seen what the crown has done to Ushoran. Look at yourself! All of our plans, tossed over for impulse,’ Naaima said, grabbing Neferata’s arms. ‘You endanger all of us, and for what — something that you neither need nor truly want?’

Neferata pulled her arms free of her handmaiden’s grip and slapped her. Naaima fell, eyes wide. ‘Who are you to say what I need? Who are you to question me?’ Neferata hissed, looming over the fallen vampire. ‘I will—’

Kill her. She is of no further use to us. Kill her for questioning you.

The voice was like a shiver of ice-water down her back. The voice — the damned voice! It had all begun to go wrong when she had first heard its whisper so many years before. And every decade, it grew louder and more insistent, like a maggot burrowing into her very brain. Its whispers had become demanding screams since her return from Nagashizzar, and now she could barely focus on anything else. ‘I will… I will forgive you, this time,’ she said, forcing herself to calm down. She stepped back, vision blurring as if her head were surrounded by a halo of flies.

It had all gone wrong in her absence, despite Naaima’s best intentions. Someone had told Vorag that Ushoran had decided to rid himself of his more barbarous servants in an effort to quell the unrest that swept Mourkain and Strigos. Creatures like Zandor and Gashnag had turned on their fellows. Several of the frontier ajals had seen their holdings burned or taken, and those who did not flee were impaled in the ashes of their lairs. Vorag had made his move, fearing he would have no other time. Stregga had gone with him. Sometimes Neferata cursed the initiative of her followers.