Hammer and Bolter: Issue Twenty-Six

by Christian Dunn

  Then, abruptly, Neferata fell still. Her flesh filled out, black veins bulging as whatever dark magic held her frozen in time reasserted itself. Khalida stepped back, and Neferata rose, eyes glinting. The desperation that had been etched on her face before was gone. She looked around coolly. ‘Well then,’ she said. ‘I surrender. What now?’

  Neferata was quickly bound in chains of bone and bronze, and her mind and spirit tied by the magic of the liche priests. Each king had brought one, and Nekaph had brought several. The last of the Nagashizzar dead had collapsed like puppets with their strings cut when Neferata had fallen and there was no sign of anyone else, dead or alive.

  Khalida knew that appearances could be deceiving, especially where her cousin was concerned. Why had she given up so easily? She watched her. Haughty, head held high, Neferata seemed to give no consideration to her captivity. She might as well have been strolling through the gardens of Lahmia.

  ‘Did you find the magic-users?’ Khalida said as Djubti approached her.

  ‘You do not believe it was her? She stinks of Nagash’s dark arts,’ Djubti said.

  ‘It was not her mind I felt, trying to control mine. Have you found them?’

  ‘No. Nekaph has ordered scouts to search the hills and marsh, but–’

  ‘He does not care,’ Khalida said. ‘They are gone and we have her, and that is enough.’

  Djubti shrugged, his dried flesh creaking. ‘Isn’t it? It is what you wanted, isn’t it?’ He grinned at her, exposing blackened teeth. ‘You are vindicated and avenged, all at once.’

  ‘Am I?’ Khalida said, looking at Neferata. Nekaph and the other kings had gathered and Neferata was brought before them, surrounded by a web of spears.

  ‘She is beaten,’ Djubti said.

  Neferata flipped the coloured tile and leaned back. ‘What do you see, little hawk?’ she said. Khalida looked at the game-board and shook her head in frustration.

  ‘I am beaten,’ she said.

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘I have no moves left,’ Khalida said, gesturing morosely to the board.

  ‘There are always moves,’ Neferata said, rising. ‘Here, I will show you. Switch places with me.’

  ‘There are always moves,’ Khalida said softly.

  ‘What?’

  Khalida ignored him and went to join the others. Nekaph looked at her. ‘It seems, Hawk of Lybaras, that I owe you a debt,’ he said, his skull cocked. Khalida did not reply. Neferata glared at her, as did several of the gathered kings. Nekaph stepped forward, his skull-flail twisting in his grip. ‘Neferata of Lahmia, kneel before the Hand of the Infinite Desert and receive his justice.’

  ‘Kneel?’ Neferata threw back her head and laughed deeply. ‘Neferata does not kneel, liche. It is you who should kneel before me.’ As she spoke, Khalida felt a deep, old ache in her bones. One of the other kings shuddered and she knew that it was not just Neferata who spoke. She knew what possessed her cousin. They all did, even grim Nekaph, who hesitated and then stepped back. ‘No, I do not kneel, dead things. No, I-I…’ It was Neferata’s turn to hesitate. The fire in her eyes dimmed, and for a moment, just a moment, the evil in her features seemed to dissipate. She shook her head and the fire was back and the malevolence.

  ‘Kill her,’ a king said. Others took up the cry. It echoed up and down the ranks. ‘Kill the spawn of Nagash!’

  Nekaph raised a hand and silence fell. ‘That is Settra’s Edict,’ he said solemnly. ‘Death to the Bringers of Death, Death to those who bear the Taint of Him Who Has Been Struck from the Rolls of the Priesthood, Death to the Drinkers of Blood and the Eaters of Flesh.’ He looked at Neferata. ‘Death, the final death, Neferata of Lahmia, and Usirian will receive thy spirit.’

  ‘No,’ Khalida said, before she even realised that she had spoken.

  Nekaph paused. He looked at her. ‘Speak, Queen of Lybaras.’

  ‘Neferata is a queen of the Great Land. She is not a dog to be executed,’ Khalida said. ‘She is owed trial by combat.’

  ‘We owe her nothing,’ Nekaph said.

  ‘Perhaps, but you said you owed me a debt, Herald of Settra. And this is my payment.’ Khalida thumped the ground with her staff. ‘I, Khalida of Lybaras, Hawk of the Desert, challenge Neferata of Lahmia,’ she called out. ‘If she wins, she is free to leave, as the gods wish it.’

  A rumble of protest rose from the gathered kings. Nekaph ignored it. He looked at her. ‘Is this truly what you wish?’ he said.

  Khalida looked at Neferata, who was studying her with veiled interest. She looked back at Nekaph. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So be it.’ Nekaph raised his hand. ‘Neferata of Lahmia, do you accept the challenge of Khalida of Lybaras?’

  Khalida looked at her cousin. Neferata met her gaze and her dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. Then, she nodded. Nekaph chopped down with his hand. ‘So be it.’

  Khalida stepped past him, well aware of the hostility in the gazes of the audience for the coming performance. Neferata shrugged off her chains as the liche priests mumbled and gestured, releasing the myriad bindings. Neferata’s eyes flickered first to Khalida and then north. Khalida tossed her khopesh at Neferata’s feet.

  ‘How long must our dance be, cousin?’ she said.

  ‘I have no intention of dying here,’ Neferata said, scooping the blade up and testing its weight. Khalida circled her slowly, languidly spinning her staff.

  ‘Why did you come back then?’ Khalida said.

  ‘My reasons are my own, cousin,’ Neferata said. Sand billowed and then she was slicing through the air, the khopesh biting for Khalida’s head. The staff drove the blade aside and Khalida spun it, driving the butt into Neferata’s belly and knocked her from the air. Neferata sprang to her feet and the blade licked out, cutting into Khalida’s thigh. Neferata dodged the staff, rolling across the sand and bounding up, cutting across Khalida’s back.

  Khalida staggered forward and sank to her knees as the khopesh cut the air over her head. Bending backwards, she let the staff shoot through her hands to catch Neferata in the jaw, dropping her flat to the ground. Khalida rose smoothly, turned and lunged, stabbing the ground with the staff as Neferata rolled aside desperately. She came up with a howl and the khopesh drew sparks as it bit into the staff. Cousin strained against cousin for a moment before they broke apart and circled one another.

  ‘What did you come hunting, cousin?’ Khalida said. ‘You found it, I’d wager, or you’d never have gotten close to us.’

  Neferata smiled wickedly. ‘No?’

  ‘You are a distraction. Wave with the right while stabbing with the left, that was what you taught me,’ Khalida said. ‘You let us capture you, confident that you could escape, and all to distract us from – what? It was not you who controlled the dead, was it?’

  ‘It is of no moment, now. How long have you waited for this, little hawk?’ Neferata said, avoiding the question. ‘How long have you yearned to have me all to yourself?’

  ‘Centuries,’ Khalida answered bluntly. ‘You are a question which nags, cousin. I would have answers.’

  Neferata looked puzzled. Then she laughed harshly. ‘You are not a child, Khalida. I no longer have to answer your foolish questions.’

  ‘Do not be afraid to ask questions, little hawk,’ Neferata said, leaning over her as she studied the scrolls. ‘Only by asking can you learn what is necessary.’

  ‘Why don’t you age?’ Khalida said, not looking up. She felt Neferata tense.

  ‘I-that is not necessary for you to know.’

  ‘Are you blessed by the gods?’

  Neferata pushed away from the table and laughed softly. ‘Yes, of sorts. Read me what you have written.’

  ‘It was a poem,’ Khalida said, easily blocking Neferata’s blow.

  ‘What was a poem? What are you muttering about, liche?’ Neferata hissed, scrambling back as Khalida swung her staff.

  ‘It was a poem about you, about queens and their masks. You read it at the feast that night and emba
rrassed me in front of Anhur,’ she said, and Neferata blanched at the mention of her husband’s name. He was one of the few who had not awoken. Anhur of Lybaras remained in his tomb, sleeping. ‘Later, he said it was then that he began to look forward to our marriage.’

  ‘I-you were always so boyish, never sitting still,’ Neferata said, shaking her head, her eyes unfocused. ‘He needed to see that there was more to you than the warrior. He needed to see that you had a mind and a soul. Not like Lamashizzar.’

  Khalida struck. Her staff whistled as it descended towards Neferata’s head. The vampire caught the staff-head in her hand and flung it aside. The khopesh drew dust from Khalida’s side. She stepped back, feeling nothing. ‘Did he weep for me?’ Neferata said nothing. ‘Did you?’ Khalida pressed.

  ‘I never stopped,’ Neferata hissed, striking with the speed of an asp. It was Khalida’s turn to grab her opponent’s weapon. She jerked Neferata off her feet and sent her tumbling to the ground. Neferata snarled and whirled, backhanding Khalida as she closed. Both women picked themselves up slowly.

  ‘Yet you continued on,’ Khalida said. ‘Lahmia burned, cousin. And Lybaras, and Khemri and all of the cities of the Great Land, they all burned because of you.’

  ‘No!’ Neferata screamed, lunging wildly. Khalida interposed her staff, catching the khopesh. No sparks this time. Instead, driven by Neferata’s savage strength, the blade sank into the staff. They spun in a weird parody of a child’s dance.

  ‘And now you serve him who burned them,’ Khalida said. ‘Now you bow and scrape at the Usurper’s feet; are you his dog, Neferata? Are you a tool,’ Khalida said, forcing Neferata back.

  ‘No man commands me, living or dead!’ Neferata snapped, wrenching the khopesh free. Blade and staff connected in a flurry of ringing blows. ‘Not Lamashizzar, not these dead kings and certainly not Nagash.’ Neferata winced even as the words left her mouth. Khalida broke from her.

  ‘The asp conceals its fangs, until it is within striking range. Serve, until you can strike,’ Neferata said, tapping the pile of scrolls with the one she clutched in her hand. ‘The cities strive against one another, pitting strength against strength. But–’

  ‘War has more than one form,’ Khalida said, repeating her cousin’s words. Neferata smiled and tapped Khalida’s nose with the scroll.

  ‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘Weakness can be as deadly a weapon as a sword or spear, if wielded expertly. I show the other cities our weaknesses and let them draw their conclusions, while hiding our strengths. Strike when your opponent believes he is strongest, for that is when he is not paying attention.’

  ‘I learned much from you cousin,’ Khalida said. ‘I learned to use weakness as a weapon.’

  ‘Yes, and in the end, it got you killed,’ Neferata spat. The khopesh sang off the staff.

  ‘You hid your strength. I did not know how far you would go to satisfy your ambition,’ Khalida said. ‘You killed me, cousin, and you killed our people, all for your ambition. Can you do it again?’

  ‘What?’ Neferata said, hesitating.

  Khalida spread her arms. ‘Strike, Neferata. Strike and be free.’ Neferata sprang forward, khopesh raised. But she did not strike. The blade trembled in her hands. Her face contorted as if she were in pain. ‘Strike,’ Khalida hissed, ‘Strike!’

  Neferata blinked. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out. Her eyes widened and Khalida wondered what she was seeing. Were the blood-drinkers as prone to waking dreams as the dead? ‘I-I can’t,’ Neferata hissed, the words leaking out from between her fangs.

  Khalida closed her eyes. Again she saw the battles of Sartosa and Bel-Aliad and even that first, final, fatal fight with her cousin’s tormented features above her, begging her to live. Neferata had not struck then either, Khalida suddenly recalled. And, remembering, she lunged. Time slowed. She extended her staff forward like a spear. She could easily perforate her cousin’s breastbone and burst her heart with a single thrust. Instead, Khalida twitched her wrists, letting the head of the staff brush Neferata’s side. To any watching, it would appear that she had misjudged the angle of the blow in her eagerness. As she’d hoped, Neferata’s arm instinctively snapped down, trapping her staff. She caught Neferata’s sword arm and released her staff, turning both hands to grappling with her cousin, wrestling for the blade. Neferata hissed and snarled as they fought and Khalida twisted the blade so that it was caught between them. Then, with an exhalation of dusty air, Khalida jerked Neferata forward and was impaled on the curve of the khopesh even as she had been centuries before.

  She sank down, dragging Neferata with her. She heard an angry roar from the assembled kings, but paid it no heed. There was no pain, only satisfaction. Weakness was a weapon. Men, dead or alive, did not understand that. Nagash did not understand that. But she did. And she understood one other thing.

  Neferata stared down at her. ‘What-what–’

  ‘You never struck me. Not once,’ Khalida said. ‘Even now, even with him riding you, you did not strike me.’ That hesitation had proved what she had not even dared to hope. It proved that within the fury crouching over her, there was something besides the blood of Nagash. That Neferata was still Neferata, despite everything. Changed, mad, but still the same haughty, cunning, cruel and kind cousin she remembered.

  She grabbed Neferata’s hair and pulled her close. ‘Listen to me, cousin. It is my turn to be the teacher. When your opponent smiles in triumph, spit into his teeth and when he laughs loud, laugh louder. Spite is your greatest weapon, besides your mind, because in spite, all things are possible. Kings can be made to grovel for spite. Peasants may be raised to lofty heights and the strongest warrior gutted, all for spite. Spite is whimsy sharpened to a killing point and with it you will be unpredictable.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Neferata said, staring at her in incomprehension.

  ‘Deep wells fill slowly,’ Khalida said, stroking her hair. ‘And they empty quickly.’ She released Neferata. Neferata stood quickly and reeled back. Khalida lay back and twisted her head. Nekaph strode towards them. She raised a hand. ‘Justice is served, Herald of Kings,’ she said. ‘She has won her freedom.’

  Nekaph looked down at her. He knew what she had done. She could see it in the glowing pits of his eyes. Would he deny her? Would he strike regardless? ‘Are you certain?’ he said.

  ‘She has won.’

  Nekaph looked at Neferata, who faced him without flinching. Then, with an imperious gesture, he said, ‘You may leave, freely and unmolested, Queen of Lahmia. But if you ever set foot within the Great Land, you will not find me so merciful.’

  Neferata smirked and made to speak. But she fell silent as her eyes met Khalida’s. Khalida thought of those who had tried to control her cousin. Kings and priests and gods had failed, and been trod beneath Neferata’s sandaled feet for the trying. What hope had some old dead thing like Nagash? Neferata might serve him now, but she had served Lamashizzar as well, and Lahmia and Nehekhara and Asaph. ‘Neferata does not kneel. No one commands her,’ Khalida said softly, wishing she could smile.

  A confused expression passed across Neferata’s face and Khalida knew that her cousin had heard her. Neferata turned and walked away. The legions of the dead stepped aside, forming a corridor of bone and bronze for the last Queen of Lahmia to leave the Great Land.

  ‘Be true to your ambition, cousin,’ Khalida whispered. ‘Sink your fangs deep and do not let go.’ Then the Queen of Lybaras closed her eyes and fell into the waiting ocean of better times, when a girl had learned the forms of war and weakness from her beloved cousin.

  A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

  Published in 2012 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK

  Cover illustration by Fares Maese

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