Josh Reynolds - Neferata

‘Harry them. Take every alcove and cul-de-sac,’ she shouted, raising her sword. The spirit-host boiled around and between the remaining vampires squeezing into the corridor beyond. Neferata loped in its wake, as swift as thought. There was no light within the passageway, but she saw plain enough. The dwarfs there radiated life and heat and saliva filled her mouth.

The dead and the soon-to-be-dying came together in the darkness. The dwarf line held, shields raised and axes high as the vampires rampaged among them. Neferata’s sword split a dwarf’s helmet and the head beneath even as the doomed warrior struck at her in vain with his axe. She waded into the line, followed closely by the others, the spirits of the hungry dead clustering on the flanks, pulling down dwarfs with ethereal talons.

‘Hold steady, lads, it’s just an ill-breeze,’ a dwarf bellowed. His axe was decorated with runic symbols that burned bright as he swiped at the ghosts. Several shrieked silently and dissipated as the axe blade cut through them. Neferata felt a spike of pain as the spectres vanished and she lunged for the dwarf. He caught her blow on his shield with a grunt, and the force of the impact drove him to one knee. His axe hissed, as if red-hot, as it cut at her and she hastily jerked back. Like the hammers wielded by the king’s guard, some enchantment had been worked into the metal.

Neferata traded blows with the dwarf as the corridor floor ran red. Undeterred by the runic axe, the spirits swept forwards, enveloping the dwarfs and sucking the life from them. As each dwarf fell, the face of the one facing Neferata grew harder and harder, and his blows came faster and faster, as if by defeating her he could save those of his men who remained. And perhaps he could have, if she had let him.

He chopped out at her, overextending himself. She rolled around the blow, stone scraping beneath her sandals as she twirled and brought her sword up into his back. His mail buckled, and the sword screeched against the metal as it penetrated and popped out of his barrel chest in a blossom of blood. She withdrew the sword and turned as he toppled onto his face. The dwarfs were retreating now, falling back along the corridor towards the point where it opened up into a balcony that overlooked the great hall beyond. A wide set of curving stairs waited for them on one side of the gate, leading down to the open floor below.

Neferata paused, taking in the scene. The Deeping Stair was a mile across and three miles long and carved from a single plane of rock. In other circumstances, it would have been breathtaking. It was the main artery for travel in the hold, and even now, dwarfs hurried across it, seeking the safety of the temple district located below. She recognised the immense statues of the dawi gods and goddess, watching with blank-eyed sadness as their people streamed for the safety the temples promised. She could feel the same burning pressure emanating from those buildings as she had felt at the Vaults.

With that realisation came an understanding of the pattern to the dwarf movements. They were fighting a rearguard action, trying to give their people a chance to reach safety. She grimaced. If they reached those temples, they would be almost impossible to dig out. Unless they came out of their own free will. Her frown faded and she moved on, still thinking.

The vaulted chamber rang with the sound of weapons as the fight spilled onto the balcony. The large doors that led to the entry hall shuddered on their hinges and ranks of dwarfs waited for the undead without to break in. There were shouts of surprise from their ranks and reinforcements hurried towards the stairs, seeking to halt the incursion.

Of the dozen or so dwarfs who remained on the balcony, a small group of five set themselves to guard the retreat of the others in a display of commendable bravery. Like their commander, they intended to sell their lives dearly. Neferata leapt from the balcony, bypassing them entirely. Her handmaidens followed, leaping and bounding, leaving the spirit-host to deal with the survivors from their entry. As the spectral creatures boiled across the balcony, the vampires descended. Neferata’s eyes found the pulley and wheel system that controlled the titan doors and she gestured with her sword. ‘Take it! Get it open!’ she howled.

Crossbow bolts rattled off the stone and their armour as more dwarfs moved to stop them. One of her handmaidens, a brunette creature called Sabine, was punched backwards, a bolt standing at attention between her breasts. She writhed and shrieked as she squirmed on the ground, clawing at her chest. Neferata ignored her follower’s plight as she bounded towards the gate mechanism. She hit the crank with her shoulder, throwing her whole body into the act. The immense chain that raised the counter-weights which would open the door shook as she hit it.

Crossbow bolts sprouted from her back and her arms. She gasped in pain, but resisted the urge to turn on her attackers or retreat. More bolts smashed home, and she slumped, coughing blood. Yet with a grinding roar, the gates to the inner deep began to swing open. Neferata rolled off the mechanism and fell to the floor as the gigantic ghouls that led the Strigoi advance ripped the doors the rest of the way open and admitted the undead host.

The sounds of battle filled the air and she closed her eyes. The crossbow bolts that had pierced her began to fall free one by one as she encouraged her metamorphic flesh to expel them. Hooves clopped close. ‘A handy trick,’ someone said. Neferata cracked an eye.

Morath looked down at her, his blistered face twisted into a smile. Neferata pushed herself to her feet. ‘Was it? I have so many that I lose track,’ she said. She turned. The dwarfs were stubborn, but they were outnumbered and unprepared. Their horns were already calling for a retreat.

‘Your plan worked, I see,’ Morath said, leaning forwards across the pommel of his saddle. He didn’t ask how she had survived, or what had occurred since her disappearance.

‘Of course it did,’ she said, snatching up her sword and sheathing it. ‘They’ll fall back to the Deeping Stair. We need to harry them, to keep them from regrouping here. I want them running.’

‘Easily done, now that we have some room,’ Morath said, snatching at his reins and turning his mount. The dead pushed forwards, ignoring the impotent fury of their foes. The dwarfs gave ground grudgingly, but give ground they did. They had been thrown off their guard by Neferata’s sudden entry, and the Strigoi’s advent had prevented them from reforming the shield wall.

Corpse-wolves and mummified horsemen galloped past her, following the retreating dwarfs. She let them go. The army would be spread out across the hold, if she judged Khaled correctly. There would be more bastions of resistance than just here, but here was the main one. Here, at the heart of the hold, was where Borri would be. And Khaled wanted Borri. Khaled needed the king’s head and beard to establish himself as Ushoran’s right hand.

Her Kontoi had thrown himself into the snake-pit with his eyes wide open, and he knew well what would keep him from getting bitten. He would rise far. But never to where he desired. Not now. Not with the crown sitting on Ushoran’s brow, dictating the commands of a being better forgotten.

She smiled. She had seen the web for what it was, in the end, and seen the crown for the spider it pretended not to be. A trap by any other name; it was the soul of another dead man, trying to force her into his shadow.

Kings, undying or otherwise, had no use for a queen who spoke her mind. And Neferata had no use for kings. And soon, she would have no need to fear them. That was, if she didn’t die in the process.

Mounted on skeletal steeds, Khaled and Zandor rode towards her. Trust the Strigoi to stay close to his greatest rival. Both men displayed surprise at seeing her, and the latter showed a certain amount of trepidation. Perhaps it hadn’t been Khaled who had arranged for her to walk into an ambush after all.