Josh Reynolds - Master of Death

In the months since the arrival of Neferata’s envoys, Vorag’s army had begun to mobilise for war. Raiding parties scoured the mountains for supplies and new recruits both. Great herds of orc prisoners were being driven into the newly constructed pens in the belly of the mountain, and those who resisted and did not survive that resistance were added to the ranks of zombies that Vorag intended to lead into the eastern marches of Strigos.

Vorag himself, accompanied by Stregga, had begun leading raids on those far-flung holdings of the Strigoi Empire that abutted the territories he himself had claimed. Ushoran’s vassals were put to the stake and torch, unless they swore fealty to Vorag, or somehow managed to escape north. Word was also beginning to filter to the frontier agals and ajals, and as little love as they had for Ushoran, many were flocking to Vorag’s banner with their retainers. Sanzak knew all of this as well, and he had his own doubts, W’soran knew. Sanzak’s loyalty was a weapon that he could hone to a killing point, if he were careful.

Now, Sanzak peered at W’soran and rubbed his chin. ‘What do you mean?’

‘She’s using him, using all of us, and you know it. Neferata won’t put Vorag on the throne any more than she’d put me or you. No, that one wants to rule herself, and Vorag is playing right into her hands. She’s done it before, Sanzak. She builds heroes and then casts them into the dust when they’ve served their purpose.’

‘She doesn’t strike me as a woman interested in ruling. Now, telling others how to rule, perhaps…’ Sanzak smiled. The expression made his features even more hideous. ‘I fought at her side, W’soran, against the greenskins. I know full well what she’s capable of. She’ll put the Bloodytooth on the throne and feed him speeches, true enough, but he’ll be king nonetheless.’

‘You have no idea, Strigoi,’ W’soran said. ‘You fought beside her? You think that tells you anything about the way her crooked mind works? Neferata pulls you into an embrace only so that there’s less distance across which to drive a dagger. Vorag is nothing to her. We are nothing to her, save pawns to be expended in some obtuse game of power.’

‘Then tell Vorag,’ Sanzak said.

‘I have,’ W’soran said. He chuckled. ‘As have you, if what Zoar says is true.’

Sanzak grimaced and said, ‘Zoar?’

‘Oh, spare me — did you think he would betray my secrets so readily unless I had given him permission to?’ It was W’soran’s turn to snort. ‘How many of you grubbing barbarians tried to co-opt my followers in Mourkain, to learn their secrets without having to bother with joining my circle, eh? Ten maybe, or twenty, or a hundred… my only question is, was it you who decided you needed to learn the art of the winds of death, or Vorag?’

Sanzak turned away, and that gave W’soran his answer. ‘Ah, and isn’t that interesting?’ he said silkily. ‘You’re using your own initiative, Sanzak. That’s a bad habit, in times like these and in a place like this.’

‘Vorag doesn’t trust sorcery,’ Sanzak said.

‘Yet he is happy to use it, at least at a remove,’ W’soran said. He looked out over the mountains. ‘He trusts you?’

‘He did,’ Sanzak said.

‘Before Stregga, eh?’ W’soran said, clasping his hands together. ‘You served beside him for how long? A century or so, before Neferata and her creatures arrived, as I recall. A century of brotherhood, tossed aside for a blonde strumpet. So much for loyalty,’ he said and made a dismissive gesture. ‘Pah. Vorag is a warrior, but nothing more. He only sees what is in front of him and not what lurks off the path.’ He looked at Sanzak. ‘She will destroy him. She will use him as a weapon against Ushoran and break him on Mourkain’s battlements. And you will be broken with him.’

Sanzak said nothing. The Strigoi stood silently, waiting. W’soran held up a finger and continued, ‘Unless, we do something about it now.’

‘Like what?’

‘We cut the cord of influence,’ W’soran said. He made a chopping gesture. ‘Mourkain will be a battleground for centuries yet. Neferata is hoping to ensure that Vorag and Ushoran are the two armies in the field. Instead, we force her to fight her own battles for once.’

‘Vorag hungers for war,’ Sanzak said doubtfully.

‘And war he will have, but not with Mourkain. At least not directly,’ W’soran said. He swept out a hand, indicating the mountains. ‘A great empire sits silent and waiting to the south, over these mountains. And its doorway, the citadel of Nagashizzar, sits open and empty. If Vorag were to sweep south and take it, all of Araby would be ripe for the plucking and the dead cities of the Great Land as well.’

‘Dead cities are right. Neferata spoke of what crouches in those distant ruins, sorcerer,’ Sanzak said. ‘The way is hardly open and you know it. We will have to fight for every scrap of rock and sand.’

‘Yes, yes, yes, but it will be a war that Vorag can easily win, with my help. With your help, Sanzak,’ W’soran said testily. ‘The dead of Nehekhara are old and brittle and few. We will have all of the dead of Nagashizzar and these mountains at our back. More, we have ourselves. The Strigoi are pre-eminent warriors. Your people are born conquerors, so, why not go forth and conquer?’ He laughed. ‘Vorag will have battle aplenty, for years to come and his — your — rewards will be greater than any mouldering mountain city or stagnant hardscrabble empire.’

‘Stregga will not hear of it,’ Sanzak said, after a considering silence. ‘She will try and convince him to move towards Mourkain himself, with all of his forces. And you are forgetting that that is what he wants to do as well. Empires be damned, Vorag wants Ushoran’s head on a pike, aye, and Abhorash’s as well — more than he wants a crown or a throne.’

‘And he will have them,’ W’soran said. ‘But those things will be easier to take with the resources of an empire of our own at our back than the pitiful dregs we possess now.’

‘That still leaves Neferata’s women…’ Sanzak began.

‘Not for long,’ W’soran said.

Sanzak lifted a hand. ‘Say no more. I do not wish to know.’

‘Squeamish, are you, Sanzak? How unexpected,’ W’soran cackled. ‘Never mind then. My plan does not require your assistance or even your acknowledgement. I only ask that you lend your voice to mine, in the moment to come.’

Sanzak hesitated. ‘And Vorag will not be harmed?’

‘I swear by the hackles of Usirian that Vorag will not be harmed,’ W’soran said. ‘In fact, he will gain everything he wishes, in the end.’

Sanzak nodded sharply, after a moment. Then, without another word, he left the crag, stalking back into the tunnel. W’soran didn’t watch him go. Instead, he sniffed the air and said, ‘You heard all of that, I trust?’

‘How long have you actually known Zoar was teaching that fool?’ Melkhior hissed, detaching himself from the upper reaches of the crag. He scrambled down to join W’soran, moving like a spider. In their time in Mourkain, Melkhior had learned how to hide his scent and sound from their kind — all save W’soran, who knew how to look for what was not there as well as what was.

‘Long enough,’ W’soran said.

‘And yet you didn’t discipline him?’ Melkhior demanded.

‘Why would I do that? I did not forbid you from taking your own apprentices, Melkhior,’ W’soran said, relishing the look of fury that passed across Melkhior’s face. ‘Besides, it has proven useful, has it not? Did you do as I commanded?’

‘Yes master,’ Melkhior said. ‘I have pulled the sentries from the deep warrens. The way is unguarded. Do you truly think the skaven will attack?’