Neferata… The dead are stirring in their ancient tombs. They will rise and march across the world and force time itself to stop in its tracks…

Neferata…

‘Neferata,’ Naaima said.

Neferata blinked and her snarl rippled across the clearing. ‘What is it?’ she snapped, whirling on her handmaiden. Naaima stood her ground.

‘The dwarf is awake,’ she said.

Neferata shook aside the strange thoughts that clung to her consciousness like cobwebs and looked over at the dwarf. He was a peculiar looking creature — all broad muscle and hair, wrapped up in armour more fine than that of even the kings of Nehekhara and leathers more skilfully tanned than any done by the hands of men. Such skill could be put to good use by the right hands. She stalked towards him and dropped down beside him.

She fingered one of the talismans attached to his armour and hissed as something snagged her. She sucked on her fingers and eyed the shiny silver amulet balefully. The dwarf groaned and his eyes cracked open. ‘Bugrit,’ he said, stubby fingers reaching up to prod the crude bandage wrapped around his head. More bandages covered his arms and neck, and all were stained with crusted blood. The dwarf had lost much of the latter, and his flesh was the color of stripped bark. His eyes were dull with pain.

‘Quite so,’ Neferata said. She gestured and Naaima dropped to her haunches beside the improvised litter they had constructed out of a shield and two branches. The Cathayan gently probed the dwarf’s skull and then moved on to his other wounds. The smell of his blood was less strong now, for which Neferata was grateful. The heat of it had aroused her thirst the way sea-water will seem like the finest wine to a marooned sailor, despite knowing the danger. True, there was no evidence save Naaima’s assertions that his blood would sicken them, but Neferata didn’t feel like taking the chance.

The dwarf glared at her suspiciously and spat a stream of crude syllables. Neferata shook her head. He frowned, and then said, ‘Strigoi?’

‘What’s a Strigoi?’ Khaled said. He had built the fire, more for appearances’ sake than anything else. It wouldn’t do to let their guest know the true nature of his rescuers, not while they needed him alive. Khaled spoke in Arabyan, as was his custom, and the dwarf blinked and replied in the same tongue.

‘You’re a long way from the desert, manling,’ he growled, squinting at Khaled.

‘You know our tongue?’ Khaled said, surprised.

‘I’ve been to the caliphates, and a beardling could pick up your speech in a few hours,’ the dwarf said and sat up with a pain-filled groan. The smell of fresh blood suddenly filled Neferata’s nose and she grunted. The dwarf looked at her. ‘You’re not Strigoi, then? You have that look…’

‘Look?’ Neferata said.

The dwarf ignored her question. ‘I’m the only survivor, then?’ he said, his voice turning harsh.

Neferata nodded. ‘Thanks to our intervention,’ she said.

The dwarf was silent for a moment. Then, with a grunt, he said, ‘Then I owe you a debt. I am Razek Silverfoot.’

‘And I am Neferata,’ Neferata said, inclining her head. She motioned to the others. ‘And these are my companions. We are heading north.’

‘To Mourkain, is it?’ Razek said. He slumped back. ‘Have to be. It’s the only place worth going out here,’ he added, answering his own question.

‘Mourkain,’ Neferata said, letting the word roll across her tongue. Mourkain was a place. ‘Yes, we are going to Mourkain,’ she added, ignoring the looks her followers gave her. She knew that they could not see the glare of the black sun and even if they had, they would not understand it. They had followed her into the mountains because to do otherwise was to die on the spears of dead men, or because they felt loyalty to her. Her eyes met Naaima’s, and she nodded. Something howled hungrily in the darkness. Razek’s hands flexed, as if itching to hold a weapon. ‘Beasts,’ he grunted weakly.

‘But far enough away to be harmless,’ Neferata said. ‘Are you hungry?’ She snapped her fingers and Anmar trotted towards them, holding a steaming skewer of charred meat.

Razek eyed the girl with something like surprise and took the meat, nodding in gratitude. ‘Nothing to drink, by chance, is there?’ he asked hopefully.

‘Water, I’m afraid,’ Neferata said. She crooked her fingers and Stregga sauntered over, holding a helmet full of melted snow. The dwarf frowned at the improvised cup. A muscle in his jaw jumped. It was a movement so slight that a human would have missed it, and Neferata knew at once that they had made a mistake. She rose and slapped the helmet out of Stregga’s hands. ‘Fool,’ she snapped.

Stregga recoiled, stunned. ‘Bring him a water-skin,’ Neferata continued, her eyes narrowed. Stregga hesitated, and then nodded. She would empty one of theirs of blood and fill it with melted snow. It was a sacrifice, but a necessary one.

Razek watched her as he chewed the meat thoughtfully and then softly spat it out. ‘I don’t want to know what that was, do I?’ he said, after wiping his mouth.

Neferata chuckled. ‘No, likely not,’ she said.

Razek caught the edge of the fallen helmet and picked it up awkwardly, his hands trembling with fatigue. ‘This was my cousin’s.’

Neferata hesitated. Several homilies swept across her mind’s eye, pious sayings of comfort and kindness. But she also knew that they wouldn’t be accepted by the dour, proud creature sitting before her. What could she say, then? What words would put him at ease? ‘He died well,’ she said finally. ‘They all died well.’ Then, ‘They will not be forgotten.’

‘No, they won’t be.’ Razek tried to push himself back up, but he immediately slumped back with a groan, the helmet slipping from his hands. ‘I don’t think I’ll be so lucky,’ he hissed, eyes squeezed shut. He gripped his chest and his breath slid through his teeth in whistling gasps. ‘Feel like troll-leavings.’

Neferata leaned over him. ‘You were badly hurt. The quicker we get you to shelter, the quicker you’ll start to mend. Mourkain,’ she pressed. ‘Where is it?’

Razek looked at her, and the words dropped out of his lips before he realised that he was saying them. ‘North. There’s a pass, just over the next rise. It leads to Mourkain,’ he said. She gazed into his eyes and felt the jagged edge of his will brush against hers. It felt less like the mind of a man than she had expected. As she pressed her thoughts down on his, she felt like water cascading into the crevices of a mountain. Eventually she would wear him down, but it would take more time than she was comfortable with. His current state helped, the pain of his wounds widening the cracks in his determination.

‘Why were you going?’ she said.

‘I—’ Dwarf stubbornness asserted itself. He shook his head. ‘Dwarf business, eh?’ he grunted. ‘No offence, but it’s not manling business.’

‘Of course,’ she said. Neferata stroked his brow and leaned him back. If her strength surprised him, Razek gave no indication. His eyes fluttered in his head, and she said, ‘Sleep now. We will keep you safe, Razek Silverfoot. Sleep…’ He resisted at first, stubbornly, but then he collapsed back, his eyes closing as pain and exhaustion dragged him under.

As the dwarf passed into unconsciousness, Neferata stood and wiped her hand across her furs. ‘North then,’ she said, looking at the others.

‘And now that we know, what of him?’ Khaled said. He smiled cruelly. ‘A bit of sport, perhaps…’

‘No,’ Naaima said sharply.

Khaled looked at her and sneered. ‘Why? He’s no good to drink from according to you and he’s slowing us down!’

‘Quiet, Khaled. She is correct,’ Neferata said, making a chopping gesture. ‘We need him alive for now. We are in strange territory, and it would serve us well to have a guide, albeit an unwitting one.’

‘But—’ Khaled began.