‘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.
SIXTEEN
The Black Gulf
(–900 Imperial Reckoning)
Neferata lounged on the divan on the deck of the black ark, stirring the wine in her goblet with a finger. Khaled and Anmar stood behind her, their hands on their weapons and their eyes watchful. The druchii slave-master examined the line of shivering, weeping people, occasionally lifting a chin with the butt of a coiled whip.
‘They are pathetic,’ the white-haired elf woman lying on the divan across from Neferata said.
‘But serviceable enough for the mines,’ Neferata said, setting aside her goblet.
The elf glanced at it. ‘Are the night-grapes of Hag Graef not to your liking?’
‘I have little taste for grapes of any vintage,’ Neferata said. ‘You are satisfied, I trust, Megara?’
‘Never, Neferata,’ Megara said. The druchii corsair was as vicious and as treacherous a creature as Neferata had ever had the misfortune to meet. Clad in her armour and silks and dragon-hide cloak, the elf presented a lethal picture, much more so than Neferata herself, who reclined languidly. ‘But I suppose it must do,’ she continued in strongly accented Sartosan. Lavender eyes gazed unblinkingly at Neferata, who met the gaze without flinching.
‘And you will raid elsewhere?’ she said.
‘My word of honour,’ Megara said.
Neferata laughed. One of Megara’s guards hissed something in their own tongue and drew his curved, serrated blade and made to threaten Neferata. Khaled drew his own scimitar, but before he could move forwards, Neferata waved him still. Megara did the same to her guard. ‘Careful, Neferata,’ she said mildly. ‘My people take offence easily.’
‘But you don’t. And it was you I was laughing at, Megara,’ Neferata said pointedly. ‘Though perhaps I shouldn’t have. You do have honour of a sort. After all, you have kept faith with me ever since I rescued you from my greedy-gut servants that day in Sartosa.’ Neferata had pulled the mauled corsair from the jaws of her ghouls on a whim, an action which had since paid great dividends.
Megara frowned. She did not like being reminded of her debt. ‘We will concentrate our efforts on the far southern coasts. The Arabyans make terrible slaves, but they’re better than this rabble.’ She gestured to the quivering fishermen. Neferata gazed at them dismissively. She gave little thought to their eventual fate; such things were beyond her concern.
The slave-master was still going down the line. He stopped in front of a young woman, broad-shouldered and big-hipped. Honey-blonde hair tumbled down, hiding her face. The slave-master forced her chin up and she spat full in his face. The elf stumbled back, his narrow features twisting in a snarl. The woman lunged, snatching the hook dagger from the elf’s belt. With a screech, she swept it across his belly, spilling his guts onto the deck.
The guards glided forwards, heading off the potential revolt before it could begin. They stepped over the twitching slave-master and herded the woman towards the deck rail. Neferata sat up straighter. ‘What are you going to do with her?’ she said.
‘We’ll toss her overboard. The spirited ones are great fun, but that one will be more trouble than she’s worth,’ Megara said. She looked at Neferata. ‘Why?’
‘I would like her,’ Neferata said, tapping her lip. ‘I can use a woman with spirit.’
‘Better to kill her,’ Megara said. She raised a hand.
Neferata leaned back. ‘Kill her, then.’
Megara looked at her. ‘I thought you wanted her.’
‘I can get twenty such, should I wish. It was a whim.’ Neferata examined her fingernails. Megara did as well, remembering how those delicate-seeming fingers had ripped great gouges in the armour of her fellow corsairs and torn out throats. She did not know exactly what Neferata was, but she knew that she was no mere human, whatever she looked like.
‘Take her,’ she said, waving the guards back. Neferata rose smoothly to her feet and swayed towards the frightened woman. The guards fell back as she approached, their dark eyes watching her warily. The knife came up, but Neferata placed a fingertip on the bloody tip and pushed it gently aside.
‘What is your name?’ Neferata said softly, leaning close. The woman’s chest heaved and her face was dripping with sweat as she backed against the rail.
‘I... Lu-Lupa Stregga,’ she said, her eyes going unfocused as Neferata gazed deeply into them.
Lupa was the local word for she-wolf. ‘Appropriate,’ Neferata murmured. ‘Sleep, Lupa. You will be safe with me.’ Her will crashed over the woman’s, easily battering it down. She snatched the dagger from her slack grip as she slumped. Neferata caught her easily and motioned for Khaled to come and take her. The vampire did, wrinkling his nose as he did so.
‘She smells of fish,’ he growled.
‘So she does,’ Neferata said, licking the blood from the knife and closing her eyes as the heady taste of druchii blood burned pleasingly in her mouth and throat. She tossed the knife down,
so that it sank blade-first into the deck.
Megara eyed the knife, and then looked up. ‘We’ll call it a gift, shall we?’
‘You are too generous, Megara,’ Neferata said.
‘Mmm, indeed. For instance, I have another gift to go with that one.’
‘Oh?’
Megara smiled and leaned forwards. ‘You have spies in Araby, I trust?’
Neferata frowned. ‘If I do, I don’t see what concern it is of yours.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes. Have they mentioned Zandri?’
Zandri. The name of what was once the greatest seaport of long-dead Nehekhara sent a chill through Neferata’s curdled blood. ‘I know it. What of it?’
‘My kin say that sails have been seen in the sour waters there,’ Megara said, her voice low. ‘Tattered sails belonging to ships of wood and bone, they say.’
‘What else do they say?’ Neferata asked.
Megara smiled. ‘They say the dead are preparing to sail, Neferata. And that they are coming for you…’
The Silver Pinnacle
(–326 Imperial Reckoning)
The river was already freezing over as the twelve vampires waded into its depths, their hands clasped. The water closed over their heads, leaving not a ripple to mark the passage of the human chain as it sank into the depths.
The river bottom was rock and silt and clouds of the latter followed them as they made their way down. They fed on fish and, once, on one of the serpent-things that dwelt in the river, draining them of their turgid juices and leaving the husks to float up. Silt and ice collected on their armour and flesh as they moved, but proved little more than an annoyance. The crushing cold was as nothing to beings who had left mortality far behind, and the trail into the dark was easy to follow.
Dwarfs were no neater than men and they used the river harshly. The cold water clutched close the scents that the Silver Pinnacle excreted, and it was this trail that Neferata and her brood followed into the mountain. The walk through the depths was a long one, a tide of endless hours punctuated only by the appearance of the schools of blind fish which swam up from the mountain’s deep reservoirs and the pale serpentine things which preyed upon them.
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