‘Once we have strengthened the roots of this place, we can begin to build a fortress here. A true fortress, fit for an emperor,’ Ushoran said. ‘It will be a palace of bone and stone, from which I may rule our ever-growing empire.’ He spread his arms as if greeting the jubilant throngs she thought he must be imagining.
Neferata shook her head as W’soran continued to prattle. Idiots, the pair of them. No, worse — Ushoran knew damn well what the end result of this would be. She looked at him and he gave her a hungry smile. ‘You disapprove?’
‘I’m told that the only thing the dwarfs value more than gold is their dead, and you are making a mockery of both. How long do you expect the alliance to last?’ she said.
‘Long enough,’ he said.
‘You intended to irritate Razek earlier, when you greeted him. Why?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? I need to know how practical my new allies really are. What are they prepared to overlook to get this gold?’ Ushoran said. ‘It wasn’t just Kadon’s necromantic inclinations that set Mourkain and the dwarfs at each other’s throats, after all. They declared war on him for a variety of insults.’
‘He offended them,’ Neferata said.
‘He was a fool, as we’ve said.’ Ushoran crossed his arms. ‘I have plans, Neferata. And to accomplish those plans I will need more troops than are currently alive within the boundaries of my kingdom.’
‘You intend to use the dead,’ Neferata said. A sickening sensation had settled in the pit of her stomach, like a bit of sour blood stuck in her craw. ‘Just as we did before,’ she said.
W’soran rubbed his hands together in pleasure. ‘Not just the dead. There is much raw material here,’ he said, and Neferata glanced at the dead brute in understanding.
‘Imagine it,’ Ushoran said. ‘An army of the dead, sweeping over these lands, from this citadel, and making them fit for my coming…’
All is silent. All is perfect, the voice whispered in her head. The charnel legions will march and bring silence to the world. She shook it off, wondering if the others heard it as well. From the expression of fear that passed swiftly across W’soran’s face, she suspected that he had.
‘You think the dwarfs will tolerate that?’ she said.
‘You will see that they do, my Lady of Mysteries,’ Ushoran purred. He was gloating. He thought he had her in a trap of her own making. ‘At least until it is too late for them to do otherwise.’
‘Double the guard,’ Neferata said finally, turning around. ‘No one must see this. No one not of your inner circle,’ she said.
‘Do not worry,’ W’soran said, his fangs flashing. ‘There are more defenders for this place than you have seen.’ He gestured upwards. Neferata looked up and saw vast, loathsome shapes holding tight to the cavernous ceilings. Bats, bigger even than the creatures that she had seen in deep mountain caves, squirmed there. ‘They hunt the wild horses of the plains. I heard stories of them in the Southlands, where it is said they pluck the great flying reptiles from their mountainous perches and feast on them beneath the moon,’ W’soran said, as a man might speak of beloved pets.
Neferata shuddered. It wasn’t fear, exactly, but she knew that such creatures would drain her dry as easily as she had done to so many men and women down the long, thirsty years. ‘So I see. Fine,’ she said, turning to Ushoran. ‘You seem to have things well in hand, Ushoran. I can see now why you allowed an incompetent like Strezyk to serve you.’
‘Strezyk served his purpose,’ Ushoran said, flicking a claw. ‘But I need a more competent left hand for the future.’
‘You’re truly planning a war, then?’ Neferata said.
‘For a variety of reasons,’ Ushoran said.
‘They wear out quickly down here,’ W’soran said. ‘The conditions are not conducive to maintenance, regrettably.’ He looked at Neferata. ‘I need more bodies. Fresh ones.’
‘I’m sure you can always find more,’ Neferata said.
‘When the time comes, an expedition to the Silver Pinnacle will be invaluable,’ W’soran said, rubbing his hands together in evident glee. ‘The dwarfs are masters of the preservative arts and it is said that their crypts go on for miles. I have a theory that it was the dawi who first taught our peoples—’
‘Our peoples are gone,’ Neferata said automatically. The other two vampires looked at her, blank incomprehension on the face of the one, and anger on the face of the other. Ushoran grabbed her arm in his claw.
‘Yes, and whose fault is that?’ he snarled. ‘Nehekhara is dead. Lahmia is dead. But we will build a better Nehekhara, a better Lahmia here!’ He released her and turned. ‘And this ruin and its secrets will help us do it!’
‘Our history is dust, Ushoran. Would you use gold to buy it back?’ Neferata said.
‘Not just gold,’ Ushoran said, his eyes blazing.
‘Then what?’ Neferata said, locking eyes with him. A feeling of anticipation filled her. W’soran laid a hand on Ushoran’s arm and the light in his eyes faded. He shook his head, as if regaining some measure of control. The look of fear was back, pulling at the edges of W’soran’s face like hooks. What was the old jackal scared of? What did he know that she did not?
‘None of your concern, my Lady of Mysteries,’ Ushoran said. Neferata frowned.
‘No, I suppose not. What are my concerns, then?’ she said.
‘Preservation and expansion,’ Ushoran said. ‘I have promised my people an empire worthy of the great barrow-kings of awful memory, or that of the dwarfs at their height. And Ushoran does not break his promises.’
‘No. And neither do I,’ Neferata said.
SIX
‘Beautiful,’ Khaled al Muntasir breathed, stroking the surface of the ornate sarcophagus that leaned at an angle against the wall.
Inside, Neferata raged silently at the gloating tone in his voice. She yearned to split the iron body of the sarcophagus and strip the meat from his face a piece at a time. But such was not to be, not while the shaft of broken lance remained in her chest. The sword had apparently been too dangerous to leave in her, and someone had replaced one with the other. And not just any shard of wood, but one treated with strange unguents and ointments, so that its very touch leached the strength from her and rendered her immobile. Now she stood in darkness, a prisoner of her own body, unable to even seek respite in oblivion or madness. And all thanks to her once-champion, Abhorash.
She remembered his eyes, watching her die. For that was what this was — a living death. Why had he done it? He had not visited her afterwards. Indeed, from what little she had gleaned from her captor, Abhorash had departed as mysteriously as he had arrived, wandering to the coast with his coterie. He had been in Bel Aliad only long enough to help train their Kontoi.
W’soran, Ushoran, Abhorash… The names hissed through her mind like spilling sand. They had all betrayed her, and for what? Spite?
She would show them spite.
But first, she had to escape.
Even locked in the darkness like this, she could feel the faint touch of Naaima’s mind. Her handmaiden prowled through the dark places of Bel Aliad even now, searching for her. Loyal Naaima, if she could but call out to her—
Light stabbed her eyes as the lid of the sarcophagus was shifted. Khaled stared at her, his dark eyes wide. He licked his lips. He reached out a trembling hand, and then yanked it back. Beyond him, she saw his chamber; it was strewn with mystical-looking bric-a-brac, preserved monkey’s paws and shrunken heads. There were tiny ushabti standing at attention in silk-lined boxes and strange, formless shapes squirming in glass jars. Khaled was not only a warrior, it seemed; he was also something of a scholar. ‘I know you can hear me, witch,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Lord Abhorash said you would be able to, at any rate. He said that you cannot die. That you are immortal and ageless and evil.’