Josh Reynolds - Neferata

Neferata ignored that. ‘Anmar,’ she said. ‘Come here.’

‘She stays, Neferata,’ Ushoran said mildly. ‘She must be punished.’

‘Then I will punish her,’ Neferata said, extending her hand towards her handmaiden. ‘Come here.’ Anmar rose hesitantly. When Ushoran made no move to stop her, she bolted towards Neferata. Neferata held her for a moment, examining her. ‘Your brother has much to answer for,’ she murmured, stroking the girl’s hair.

‘He saved me,’ Anmar hissed. ‘W’soran’s monsters would have killed me, my lady! They’d have left me in the street like the others!’ She grabbed Neferata’s hand. ‘It was the only way, my lady,’ she said urgently.

Neferata hesitated. Then, anger overrode the brief spark of regret. ‘He should have saved all of you,’ she hissed. She stepped past Anmar and glared at Ushoran. ‘Anmar and the others were following a conspirator, as you commanded. That is why she was in his presence. My people work at crooked angles, Ushoran, and must occasionally play friend to our — to your foes.’

Ushoran cast a lazy glance at W’soran, who trembled with rage. ‘I told you,’ Ushoran murmured. He looked back at Neferata. ‘This is the throne room of Ancient Kadon himself, you know. And it was here that I killed him. Impressive, is it not?’

‘Why should I be impressed because you managed to throttle some elderly madman?’ Neferata asked.

‘Elderly, yes, but mad? No,’ W’soran said. ‘Kadon’s knowledge was greater even than mine.’

‘Many things are greater than you, W’soran,’ Neferata said pointedly.

Ushoran laughed. ‘Such venom you spit, my queen. Such raw red rage you display, and for what? What have we done to elicit it?’

‘The night is short, Ushoran, and I lack the patience to go into the many perfidies that you and that sour old corpse-thing by your side have inflicted upon me and mine. Tell me why I should not take this latest insult as the last?’

‘Because you’re curious,’ Ushoran said, grinning. He tapped his head. ‘I am as well. Does it speak to you in the quiet moments, Neferata? I’d wager it does.’

She hesitated, struck by the sudden certainty that there was a deeper game here. She had intended to use this breach to bully Ushoran into revealing his secrets at a later time. But perhaps Ushoran was seizing an opportunity of his own. Tread carefully, she thought to herself.

‘Ahhhhh,’ Ushoran breathed, nodding knowingly at her silence. He glanced smugly at W’soran. ‘I told you that it speaks to her and Abhorash as well, I’d wager. And you said that they lacked the spark or wit to hear it.’

‘Hear what?’ Neferata snarled, taking a step forwards. She knew the answer already, but she wanted to see the limits of the web Ushoran was spinning. Dust falls from the eyes of heroes and kings, and the dead are stirring in their tombs, the voice whispered. They will rise and march and thrust the world into a silent, serene shape. The Corpse Geometries will bend and slide into formation for the dead, binding the fires at the poles and snuffing the stars themselves.

‘That,’ Ushoran said, as the shriek of the nails-on-bone voice faded in her head. ‘I thought I was privileged at first, to hear it. Like a lover’s croon. But it’s not,’ he said, the humour fading from his voice. ‘It’s the command of a master to a servant.’

W’soran bridled, grimacing. ‘It’s an echo, Ushoran… I’ve told you—’

Ushoran moved so fast that Neferata barely caught it. He backhanded W’soran, catapulting the thin vampire off his feet and to the floor in a heap. W’soran’s servants closed ranks, and the air was suddenly alive with the acrid odour of fell magics. Ushoran paid them no mind, instead focusing his attention on Neferata. ‘It’s like acid, isn’t it? Etching its way into your thoughts. You never met him, of course. That’s why you don’t recognise it. But I did, and when I heard it…’ He shook his head. He made a face. ‘W’soran was his favourite. Like a child with a new toy. He barely noticed me, damaged as I was. He left me to his beasts.’ His fingers curled into fists and his human seeming wavered. ‘But it was I who answered his call first! I who came to him! Me!’

‘Which is why we’re still here, of course,’ W’soran said, as his acolytes helped him to his feet. Ushoran tensed. ‘All this time after the fact, we’re still here, trapped in this primitive shadow of Lahmia, forced to grub in the dirt like peasants.’ W’soran wiped a bit of blood from his lipless mouth. His eyes swivelled to Neferata. There was more than just disdain there. There was also a warning. Ushoran wasn’t the only one spinning a web. ‘Because the first to come wasn’t strong enough to do what needed doing,’ he added, still looking at Neferata.

‘Silence,’ Ushoran snarled.

‘What are you yammering about, old leech? What secret are you dancing around?’ Neferata said.

‘Have you ever wondered why our king wears no crown? The savages he rules so admire a fine crown.’ W’soran grinned.

‘Kadon’s crown…’ Neferata said, a number of things falling into place. Both W’soran and Ushoran started at that, but Neferata drove on before they could recover. ‘But that is not Kadon’s voice I hear, is it?’

‘In part perhaps,’ W’soran said with a shrug. ‘But as Ushoran said, there’s a reason you didn’t recognise it. Or maybe you did, but pretended you didn’t, even to yourself. You have heard it before, haven’t you, centuries ago? I know, because I was there when Nagash spoke to you.’ He looked at Ushoran. ‘We both were.’

Nagash . The name hammered into her brain like a nail. Nagash, the Great Necromancer. Nagash, whose name had been wiped from the historical records of the Great Land. Nagash, whose elixir of immortality even now pumped in altered form through her veins.

‘Nagash’s, not Kadon’s… It is Nagash’s crown,’ she whispered.

‘My crown,’ Ushoran countered, his hands twitching slightly. ‘And with it, I will rule even as he did. But my rule will extend unto eternity, as even his failed to do. I will not make his mistakes and I do not possess his flaws. But I will have all of his power…’

‘But you don’t. Not yet. Why?’ Neferata said. ‘Where is it?’

Ushoran hesitated, his smugness evaporating. He looked almost… afraid. W’soran answered her, and he sounded as hesitant as Ushoran looked. ‘Here. Right here and yet it is so far away.’

Ushoran went to the wall behind the throne, towards an empty niche where a statue might once have stood. He placed a hand against the stones and a hidden door slid open, revealing a set of winding steps. ‘There,’ Ushoran said softly.

‘Ushoran—’ W’soran began.

‘No. No, if she wants to see it, we shall let her.’ Ushoran looked speculative. ‘Perhaps… perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps this was the answer all along.’ He looked at the dark passage. ‘Perhaps this is the price he demands.’

‘Neferata, don’t,’ Naaima said as Neferata stepped towards the passage. Neferata shook Naaima’s hand off. Her handmaiden’s voice was drowned out by the sudden roar of silence that spilled out of the darkness. It was an absence of sound which muffled everything. Ushoran stepped within and she followed, hesitant at first and then faster. Her instincts screamed warnings of treachery and deceit but not for the first time in her life, she ignored them. She had to see what lay beyond. She needed to confront that which had drawn her here, even if it endangered her very existence.

‘ Come and see, it said, and I came unto Mourkain and saw,’ Ushoran whispered hoarsely as they walked. His words rustled in the narrow tunnel like bats and the stones of the corridor beyond the hidden entrance seemed to vibrate in tune to his voice. Gently, she brushed dust from the stones, revealing the crude pictograms which had been scratched into the walls by the ancient builders. Like the hieroglyphs of home, these told the story of the tomb. The body had been found in the river that curled through the mountains, a crown in one hand. The body of a mighty man, larger than any man of the Strigoi, though reduced to ruin by unknown enemies. His features had been obliterated by old marks, like those made by claws.