Agitated murmurs rose around the council table. Khalida grinned. “Lamashizzar made Shepret state his own case,” she said proudly. She glanced sidelong at Neferata. “That is what happened, right?”
Neferata sighed. “With Lamashizzar it’s difficult to tell, sometimes. But possibly, yes.”
“But why does King Shepret care about restoring the Living City? Doesn’t he have enough worries with the lizard folk?”
The queen gave her young cousin an appraising stare. Apparently Khalida wasn’t as oblivious to matters of state as she appeared to be. Rasetra was the smallest of the great cities, but because of its proximity to the deadly southern jungles and its tribes of Lizard Folk, their army was second to none. But the war had bled Rasetra white, and now the city was fighting for its survival against growing attacks by lizard war parties.
Neferata considered the question carefully. “It’s not entirely unexpected,” she said. “Rasetra was originally settled by Khemri, just a few hundred years ago. When King Shepret talks of putting another king on Khemri’s throne, he means one of his own sons. They’re directly related to the old royal family, and have an unassailable claim. It would give Rasetra a powerful ally on the western side of the Bitter Peaks, and allow it to exert its influence across all of Nehekhara.”
At the council table, Lamashizzar cleared his throat, and the murmurs fell silent. “That’s a very noble goal, honoured friend,” the king said, “but also a daunting one. Khemri lies empty now. Only jackals and restless ghosts prowl the city streets.”
King Shepret nodded. As a young man, he’d been with his father’s army when they’d reached Khemri, just a few months after the battle at Mahrak. He’d seen the city’s sand-choked streets firsthand. “According to my sources, many of Khemri’s citizens fled to Bel Aliad, hoping to begin a new life there.” He shrugged. “They could be resettled again, with the proper incentive.”
Khalida let out a snort. “At the end of a spear, he means.”
The girl was absolutely right, Neferata realised. She turned quickly and took up the ink brush again. Give Shepret what he wants, she wrote. Give him Khemri. A servant scurried forwards and plucked the message from the queen’s outstretched hand.
Khalida watched the servant go. “Does the king actually follow your advice?”
“It’s been known to happen,” Neferata replied.
“Is it true you actually ruled the city when he was fighting against Nagash, all those years ago?”
The question took Neferata aback. “Who told you that?”
“Oh,” Khalida said, suddenly uncomfortable. “No one in particular. Everybody knows it—inside the Women’s Palace, at least.”
“Well, it’s nothing that needs to be repeated elsewhere,” the queen warned. “Other cities may treat their queens differently, but here in Lahmia, such things are not done.” She paused, uncertain of how much she should reveal. “Let’s just say that it was a difficult time, and we were at a delicate stage of negotiations with the Eastern Empire. I… consulted with Grand Vizier Ubaid on a number of important matters while the king was away. Nothing more.”
Khalida nodded thoughtfully, and turned to regard the council once more. “Shepret would have been right about my age back then,” she mused. “He looks so old now. Yet you and Lamashizzar still look as young as thirty-year-olds.”
Neferata stiffened. “You see much more than I give you credit for, little hawk.”
For the last nine decades, Lamashizzar and his cabal had been hard at work deciphering Nagash’s tomes and trying to replicate his elixir of immortality. For the first few years the king had consulted her regularly, and despite her misgivings, she’d helped explain the necromancer’s basic methods in crafting potions and performing incantations. Relinquishing control of the city to Lamashizzar had been much harder to bear than she’d imagined; experimenting with Nagash’s books had at least given her something to do. Returning to a quiet, cloistered life in the Women’s Palace seemed like a fate worse than death.
It had taken them four years of trial and error before they managed to create a very weak version of the elixir. After that, Lamashizzar no longer summoned her from the Women’s Palace. She received a small bottle of the potion every month, which managed to slow the process of ageing, but nothing more. As far as she knew, Lamashizzar and his noblemen still experimented with the process, in an unused wing of the palace. She had no idea what had eventually become of Arkhan, the king’s immortal prisoner.
“My brother and I have been very fortunate,” Neferata replied, as casually as she could manage. “The blessings of Asaph run strong in the royal bloodline. They always have.”
Khalida chuckled. “I hope I’m half so lucky when I’m a hundred years old,” she said.
“Time will tell,” the queen replied, eager to change the subject. “What’s was King Teremun saying just now?”
The young girl blinked. “Ah… I think he asked Shepret what he meant by restoring the rightful order. Something to that effect.”
As Neferata considered the question, Shepret turned to the King of Zandri and replied. “The will of the people has been worn thin by a century of warfare. We need to send a clear sign that the age of Nagash is no more. There needs to be a new king on Settra’s throne, and a Daughter of the Sun at his side.”
Neferata drew in a sharp breath. That was clever, Shepret, the queen thought. Very clever indeed.
It was a proposal almost guaranteed to win Lahmia’s support. From the time of Settra the Magnificent, the Priest Kings of Khemri were married to the eldest daughter of the Lahmian royal line. The Lahmian king’s firstborn daughter was called the Daughter of the Sun, because she was the living embodiment of the covenant between the gods and the people of the Blessed Land. The marriage was meant to create a union between the spiritual and temporal power of Settra’s throne, and it had been one of the cornerstones of Khemri’s power ever since.
Clearly, the King of Rasetra was proposing an alliance with Lahmia, one that, in theory, would benefit both cities. It was also something that none of the other great cities would stand for.
As if on cue, Queen Amunet of Numas turned in her chair to face Shepret. She was the daughter of Seheb, one of the twin kings of the city, and the only survivor after the vicious cycle of fratricide that occurred in the wake of the twins’ sudden deaths. She had eyes as black as onyx and a smile like a hungry jackal.
“You’re putting the chariot before the horse, King Shepret,” the Queen of Numas said dryly. “Lamashizzar and his queen have to actually produce children before your dream can become a reality.”
The rest of the council responded with nervous laughter—all except for the sickly King Naeem of Quatar, who planted trembling hands onto the table-top and pushed himself to his feet. Naeem was of an age with his peers, but as a young acolyte he’d been among those trapped at Mahrak during Nagash’s ten-year siege, and he’d never truly recovered from the suffering he’d endured there. His body was painfully gaunt, his head bald and his cheeks sunken. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper, but his rheumy eyes burned with conviction.
“King Shepret speaks of restoring the proper order of things, but his priorities are misplaced,” Naeem declared. “The greatest of the Usurper’s crimes was that he broke the sacred covenant between the people and their gods. The blessings that have sustained us for millennia are slipping away. The sands press a little closer to our cities each year, and our harvests are dwindling. Our people suffer a little more each year from sickness, and do not live the same span of years as our ancestors. Unless we find a way to redeem ourselves in the eyes of the gods, within a few hundred years Nehekhara will be a kingdom of the dead.”
Khalida’s eyes widened. “Is this true?”
Neferata’s lips pressed together in irritation. “I haven’t had the opportunity to measure the size of our fields lately,” she answered. “It certainly sounds ominous enough, but remember that Naeem was a priest long befor
e he became a king, so his convictions are more than a little suspect.”
The young girl frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Wait and listen.”
Down at the council table, Lamashizzar spoke. “What, then, would you have us do?” he said to Naeem.
From the look on Naeem’s face, the answer seemed obvious to him. “Why, the people must first be reminded of their duty to the gods!” he replied. “We must spare no effort to rebuild Mahrak, and restore the Hieratic Council to its proper place in Nehekharan society.”
“Now we get to the heart of the matter,” the queen said to Khalida. “Naeem has been listening to those bitter old buzzards that have roosted in his court.”
Throughout the history of Nehekhara, the Hieratic Council had presumed to speak on behalf of the gods themselves, issuing edicts and meddling in the affairs of kings from their seat of power at Mahrak. With temples in every one of the great cities and religious advisors in all of the royal courts, their wealth and influence had been tremendous. Their grip on Nehekharan society had finally been broken by the Usurper, and since the fall of Mahrak the remnants of the council had taken refuge at Quatar, where they continued to issue dire warnings about the passing of the old ways. As far as Nefereta was aware, none of Nehekhara’s rulers seemed willing to listen to their harangues anymore. Their divine powers had faded, and the glories of the Ushabti, their holy champions, were nothing more than a fading memory. Their day was done.
Lamashizzar raised a placating hand. “Your piety does you great credit, King Naeem,” he said smoothly “and I’m sure that all of our friends here would agree that we would like to see the council restored to Mahrak one day. Of course, I don’t need to tell you, of all people, how our cities have suffered during this long war—”
“If it wasn’t for the Hieratic Council, none of us would be sitting here today!” Naeem shot back. His watery eyes widened in righteous indignation. “It was they who forged the great alliance between Rasetra and Lybaras! They who financed the building of the armies and the engines of war! We owe them—”
“No one here has claimed otherwise,” Lamashizzar replied, his voice taking on a steely edge. “Just as no one here has claimed to possess the resources to rebuild Khemri, either.”
Neferata straightened. Don’t be a fool, brother, she thought. You have a golden opportunity here. Don’t squander it!
“For a century, everyone here has given much in the service of the common good,” Lamashizzar continued, conveniently overlooking the fact that half of the cities represented at the table sided with Nagash up until the very last moment outside Mahrak. “I think the gods would forgive us if we now focussed on regaining our strength, if only for a short while. Vast restoration projects are, in my opinion, a bit premature at this point. Does anyone disagree?”
The King of Quatar glared archly at the assembled rulers, but even Shepret sat back in his chair and stared silently into his wine cup. Neferata clenched her fists in frustration.
“Then we are all in agreement,” Lamashizzar said. “But I thank both King Naeem and King Shepret for making their concerns known to us. I’m confident that when the time is right, we will no doubt revisit these proposals and give them due consideration.” Smiling, the Lahmian king rose to his feet. “For now, though, may I suggest we adjourn and refresh ourselves before the evening’s feast?”
King Naeema looked as though he would protest Lamashizzar’s suggestion, but he was pre-empted by Queen Amunet and Fadil, the young King of Zandri, who rose to their feet without a word and took their leave of the council. Servants and scribes rose to their feet, swarming around the table, and the King of Quatar had no choice but to gather up his retainers and leave with what little dignity remained to him.
“Thank Asaph,” Khalida said with a sigh. “King Naeem looked like he was ready to argue all night long.” She turned to Neferata, her expression hopeful. “Shall we return to the Women’s Palace now?”
“Go on,” Neferata told her. “Take the maids with you. I’ll be along presently.”
Khalida’s eyes widened. “I—I mean, I don’t think that’s very wise—”
“I must speak to Lamashizzar,” the queen said, anger seeping into her voice. “In private. Do as I say, little hawk.”
The young girl shot to her feet as though stung, and within moments she was herding the bemused handmaidens from the balcony. As soon as they were gone, Neferata snatched her mask from a nervous-looking servant and stormed down the stairs to the lower floor.
She found Lamashizzar along one of the twisting garden pathways that led from the council space. The king was surrounded by a number of senior scribes, who were presenting drafts of various trade agreements for his approval. He looked up as she approached, and the self-satisfied smile on his face vanished.
“I must speak to you,” Neferata said icily. “Now.”
The king’s eyes narrowed angrily, but Neferata met his stare without flinching. After a long moment he dismissed the scribes, who wasted no time withdrawing down the garden path.
“I’m starting to think W’soran was right, all those years ago,” he growled at her. “You seem to have a problem with understanding your place, sister.”
Neferata stepped close to him, turning her masked face up to his. “Did you read a single thing I wrote, brother? I made the words as simple as I could,” she hissed. The vehemence in her voice surprised even herself, but she was too frustrated to hold it back. “Give. Khemri. To. Shepret. Is that too complex an idea for you to grasp?”
“Why in the name of all the gods would I do such a thing?” Lamashizzar snarled. “Hand control of Khemri to Rasetra? It’s ridiculous!”
“It was the perfect opportunity to cripple our most dangerous rival!” Neferata shot back, her voice echoing within the confines of the mask. It took all of her self-control not to tear the damned thing off and fling it into her brother’s smug face. “Don’t you see? Rasetra hasn’t the strength to rebuild Khemri and keep the lizard folk at bay simultaneously! Shepret’s greed would have been his undoing. All we had to do was sit back and give him our blessing!”
“And deprive ourselves of a major trading partner? Are you insane?” the king snapped. “Has the black lotus permanently dulled your senses? These trade agreements will pay our debt to the Eastern Empire and cement Lahmia as the centre of power in Nehekhara.”
“Are you really as naive as all that?” the queen replied. “Our honoured friends won’t abide by those agreements one moment more than they have to. As soon as they’ve restored their cities and rebuilt their armies, they’ll form a coalition and force us to negotiate terms that are more to their liking. Did you learn nothing from the war with Nagash?”
The king’s hand shot out, seizing Neferata’s jaw and gripping it with surprising strength. “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about,” he warned. “I should never have let you advise Ubaid in my absence. It put too many dangerous ideas in your head.” He shoved her roughly backwards. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll concern yourself with more proper matters, like providing me with an heir. Or would you rather I stopped sending you bottles of elixir every month? I can always marry Khalida once you’re dead and gone.”
Lamashizzar’s words cut through Neferata like a knife. And it was no empty threat, she could see the truth of it in his eyes. She was trapped. He could withhold Nagash’s elixir any time he liked and simply wait for her to die.
Rapid footfalls sounded down the garden path. Neferata turned to see a pair of royal guardsmen appear, obviously drawn by the heated exchange. Lamashizzar acknowledged them with a curt nod.
“The queen has grown overexcited from the events of the day,” he told them. “Conduct her to the Women’s Palace at once, and inform her maids that she’s to be given a draught to help her rest.”
Lamashizzar took the queen by the arm and handed her to the guards as though she were a child. Neferata felt herself moving, as though in the grip of a dre
am, as the warriors took her back to her gilded prison.
TWO
The Burning Stone
The Bitter Sea, in the 76th year of Asaph the Beautiful
(-1600 Imperial Reckoning)
As it happened, using the glowing stone never did lead Nagash to the slopes of the dark mountain. If anything, it confused his course further, leading him ever deeper into the heart of the wasteland. It was a mystery that took him more than a hundred years to solve, during which time he was forced to re-learn the sorcerous arts that had made him master of Nehekhara.
The properties of the glowing rock—over time Nagash simply called it abn-i-khat, or “the burning stone”—were similar in principle to the winds of magic he’d learned from his druchii tutors centuries ago, but not as easily manipulated using the rituals he’d mastered in Khemri. As near as he could tell, it wasn’t truly a stone at all, but a physical manifestation of pure magic. If he used a fragment of stone as the locus of a simple ritual, the mineral consumed itself, converting to a dry, ashy substance that flaked away from its outer surface. The conversion was proportional to the amount of energy used, so far as he could determine; more than once he bitterly regretted the lack of paper and ink to document his observations. He’d learned over time how to ration the stone perfectly: a single thumbnail-sized chip provided him with enough strength and mental acuity to fulfil his needs for as much as a month, provided he didn’t need to draw unduly upon its power. The flecks sustained him far better than his elixir ever did, but its chaotic energies sometimes caused his thoughts to become unmoored, or his perceptions to shift in unexpected ways.
If not kept under careful control, the stone wrought physical changes as well. His skin had retained its leathery texture, but it had taken on a green-tinged alabaster tone. As soon as he’d understood the stone’s transformative properties he focussed his attention on channelling it to good use as much as possible; now he was stronger and swifter than ever before, and virtually tireless for days at a time. Lately his skin was growing mottled with faintly luminescent deposits around his shoulders and midsection, leading him to wonder how much of the stone he ate was accumulating in his bones and organs. Would there eventually come a point where its energies became too concentrated for him to control? He reluctantly conceded the possibility, even as he continued to consume the glowing stone.
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