Josh Reynolds - Neferata

‘It’s Arkhan! Arkhan the Black lays siege to Bel Aliad!’

By the time she reached Vorag and the others, the horsemen were looking impatient. The dwarfs melted back into the shadows of the hills and scrub pines almost as quietly as her handmaidens could have done.

‘Well?’ Vorag snarled. He leaned over his saddle horn, his muscles contracting and swelling as if there was a storm going on beneath his hairy skin. ‘Is it to be war? Or do we leave the stunted little fools to it?’

Neferata smiled. ‘War, of course,’ she said. Vorag threw back his head and howled. Moments later the men of his personal guard joined in, followed by the common soldiers who clustered around the riders. The howl echoed up through the pines and washed across the hills.

Stregga led a horse out of the group towards Neferata and the latter climbed quickly into the saddle. ‘I’ve already sent a messenger to the wildlings. They’ll launch their attack by morning.’

‘If they don’t run home first,’ Vorag grunted. ‘They’re cowards, the lot of them.’

‘They won’t,’ Neferata said, thinking of Iona and the other ‘priestesses’ scattered throughout the seraglios of the headmen of the tribes, both large and small, that had come at her request. Her daughters held those men’s hearts and minds close, even as she held theirs. Like Stregga and Rasha and all of the others, they saw the truth of Neferata’s vision. They saw that a quiet word was more powerful than all of the swords a tribe could muster.

Those women, hammered into shape to suit her purpose, would hold their kings, chieftains and masters to the sharp edge of her design. She glanced at Stregga, whose hand had found Vorag’s thigh. She gently squeezed his leg and the big vampire looked at her, his eyes hot with lust and, perhaps, something deeper.

Neferata turned away, wondering if their kind could feel love. Lust, she knew. Longing too, though it was a hard, harsh desire rather than the softer, more romantic kind she had known in life. Anmar seemed to love her brother fiercely for all that he didn’t deserve it, the fool.

All will love you, when all is silent.

The voice was thin here, this far from Mourkain. Just a sibilant whisper, pressing against the underside of her mind, clinging like lichen to each thought. It was easy to ignore. Easy… She shook herself.

‘Mistress,’ someone said. She looked down.

‘Layla,’ Neferata said kindly, pushing a loose strand of the former scullery maid’s hair up beneath her helmet. She wore the light armour that all of Neferata’s handmaidens preferred, and wore it well. Her hand clenched nervously on the hilt of the sword at her waist. ‘Are you ready for your first battle, my child?’

Layla showed her fangs as she smiled. ‘I look forward to it,’ she said, drawing her sword slightly before slamming it home again. Neferata smiled indulgently. Despite her earlier protestations, the girl had become exceedingly useful, with Anmar occupied keeping her brother out of trouble.

‘Keep your wits about you, my little she-wolf,’ Neferata said. ‘It is easy to get lost in the haze of bloodthirst, but to do so is to court death.’

Layla nodded earnestly. ‘I will be careful, my lady.’

‘Stay close to me, pup, I’ll see you through it,’ Stregga said loudly, riding close. She shared a look with Neferata. ‘We’ve got to blood these new girls, my queen — teach them to hunt and make a kill on their own,’ she said. She grinned insouciantly and tossed her honey-coloured hair. Like Neferata, she preferred to fight bare-headed.

Neferata chuckled and turned in her saddle. ‘We need to ride out, while we still have the cover of the night,’ she said to Vorag. ‘We need to get in position.’

‘More beautiful words were never spoken,’ Vorag rumbled, patting his horse’s neck.

The ride was a long one, and though the strength of the barrel-chested horses of the Strigoi was indefatigable, that of the unmounted warriors was not. They were hill-fighters, and tough, but keeping up with horses in uneven terrain over the course of several days tested even the toughest among them. The vampires, in contrast, moved smoothly and swiftly. Neferata’s handmaidens ran like pale lionesses through the crooked trees, outpacing and ranging ahead of the main body of the army.

The army was made up of frontier troops, men tested in years of battle against the orcs and beasts. Every frontier lord, no matter how minor, had some number of troops, and this expedition consisted of a number of frontier nobility. Vorag’s men, in the main, or those whom he was grooming in his barbaric way. Neferata knew, with the certainty of long experience, that Vorag was training an army. The frontier agals had long chafed at the demands Mourkain placed on them. Ushoran used the frontiers of Strigos as a dumping ground for those who displeased him or otherwise were not suitable for his court: the savages, the bloodthirsty and the rebellious.

In other words, they were the perfect tools.

On the third day, somewhere far ahead and to the east, Neferata’s keen hearing caught a sharp bleat from a primitive horn. She growled in satisfaction. The wildlings were on the move as well. She urged her horse on to greater speed. They swept through the ragged valleys and up steep slopes, only stopping when they had reached a thickly forested hill overlooking a rock-strewn gorge. Neferata reined in her lathered horse and swung from the saddle as Vorag said, ‘Here?’

‘If all goes according to plan, yes,’ Neferata said, walking to the edge of the treeline. ‘Make camp, and set out the pickets. We could be waiting for some time.’

‘Some time’ turned into another day and a night. Beneath the dark trees, the vampires could hide from the ravages of the sun. Neferata herself felt nothing; she stuck her hand into the light, letting it play across her fingers. A momentary tingle, like a kiss of heat, but that was all.

‘I miss the sunlight,’ Layla said, joining her at the treeline, but keeping well back from the cruel light. The sun was setting, but there was still enough of it over the horizon to prove dangerous to the younger of her handmaidens. The girl looked none the worse for wear for her lengthy run. She was still fascinated with the abilities that had been gifted to her, like a child with a new toy.

‘You will feel it again,’ Neferata said, pulling her hand back. ‘With age comes strength. For now, you must be satisfied with the moonlight.’

The girl frowned, but said nothing. Neferata turned back to the valley and the horizon. The evening breeze carried the wild cry of the war-horns of the tribes as they mingled with the brutish drum-beats of the orcs. The wildlings had thrown themselves into their fight with commendable ferocity. Surprising the orcs as they had, they would carve off portions of the horde leaving what continued on, drawn as it was by Wazzakaz’s momentum, for the Strigoi to weaken further. An hour later, Neferata saw the moon rise and felt the soil shift slightly. The vibration was faint, but she recognised its meaning. ‘They’re coming,’ she said loudly.

‘It’s about time. I thought this plan of yours was going to be fast,’ Vorag groused before turning to bellow orders to his subordinates. Neferata summoned Layla with a crook of her finger.

‘Get up that tree and tell me what you see,’ Neferata said, gesturing. Layla obeyed with an alacrity that made Stregga chuckle as she joined Neferata.

‘She reminds me of someone. Can’t quite put a finger on it…’ the Sartosan said. Neferata glanced at her and the chuckles died away. Stregga shrugged. ‘Sorry, mistress,’ she said.