Yes, just a reflection.
Nonetheless, she continued to stare and before her astonished eyes, a vast black cloud seemed to rise up from the mountains, as if a flock of birds had suddenly taken flight. For a moment, the cloud seemed to take the form of a man — no, not a man, something worse. And then it was gone and it was once again just a reflection and Neferata turned back to the slaughter to drown her misgivings in blood…
Neferata stalked through the hall towards the audience chamber. Naaima raced after her, fighting to keep up. ‘Neferata, wait!’ the latter cried out. ‘You mustn’t do this! It’s over!’
Neferata stopped and spun, grabbing Naaima’s throat. ‘Understand me when I say this, Naaima, I say when it’s over! No one else,’ Neferata snarled.
‘Abhorash is mobilising what remains of Mourkain’s military,’ Naaima said, grabbing her mistress’s wrist. ‘He will crush Vorag’s rebels within months, if Vorag doesn’t simply flee to Cripple Peak as he seems intent on doing!’ She glared at Neferata, unafraid. ‘Ushoran knows, Neferata. He knows it was you, even if he can’t prove it.’
‘He knows nothing,’ Neferata said. ‘All of his attentions are on the crown.’ She released Naaima. ‘Let Abhorash waste his time on Vorag. By the time he gets back, it will be too late. I will be queen again, with powers undreamt of at my command.’
‘Would you fight them both?’ Naaima said. ‘Would you fight both W’soran and Ushoran and their entourages? Our forces are scattered, and of those of us here, we are too few.’
‘We have enough. The time to strike is now!’ Neferata said, her form quivering with impatience. ‘The web has been drawn tight. All eyes are on other sights and our fangs are at Ushoran’s throat, though he sees them not.’
‘Khaled, you mean,’ Naaima spat.
‘Ushoran trusts him,’ Neferata said.
‘You mean you trust him.’
Neferata laughed. ‘Hardly, but I know him. He fears me and hungers for my touch. He will do as I command.’
‘And if you’re wrong?’
Neferata paused. ‘Then I will kill him. We must go now, Naaima. W’soran’s ritual will begin at any moment and we must strike as soon as he has completed it.’ W’soran had been positively gleeful when he received the tome that Morath had discovered. Within a few weeks he seemed to have discovered what he needed to bind Alcadizzar’s spirit, and tonight, with the Witch-Moon high in the air, was the night he had chosen to do the deed.
‘And what then?’ Naaima pressed.
Neferata looked at her in frustration. ‘What do you mean what then? Then we will have a kingdom to rule, and an empire to build.’
‘Remember what Abhorash said to you on our first day in Mourkain?’ Naaima said desperately. ‘Remember what he said about the difference between taking something and holding on to it?’
‘With the crown—’
‘You’ve seen what the crown has done to Ushoran. Look at yourself! All of our plans, tossed over for impulse,’ Naaima said, grabbing Neferata’s arms. ‘You endanger all of us, and for what — something that you neither need nor truly want?’
Neferata pulled her arms free of her handmaiden’s grip and slapped her. Naaima fell, eyes wide. ‘Who are you to say what I need? Who are you to question me?’ Neferata hissed, looming over the fallen vampire. ‘I will—’
Kill her. She is of no further use to us. Kill her for questioning you.
The voice was like a shiver of ice-water down her back. The voice — the damned voice! It had all begun to go wrong when she had first heard its whisper so many years before. And every decade, it grew louder and more insistent, like a maggot burrowing into her very brain. Its whispers had become demanding screams since her return from Nagashizzar, and now she could barely focus on anything else. ‘I will… I will forgive you, this time,’ she said, forcing herself to calm down. She stepped back, vision blurring as if her head were surrounded by a halo of flies.
It had all gone wrong in her absence, despite Naaima’s best intentions. Someone had told Vorag that Ushoran had decided to rid himself of his more barbarous servants in an effort to quell the unrest that swept Mourkain and Strigos. Creatures like Zandor and Gashnag had turned on their fellows. Several of the frontier ajals had seen their holdings burned or taken, and those who did not flee were impaled in the ashes of their lairs. Vorag had made his move, fearing he would have no other time. Stregga had gone with him. Sometimes Neferata cursed the initiative of her followers.
Now Strigoi fought Strigoi in the east and the wildling tribes had seized their opportunity. Savage hillmen attacked the outposts of Strigos and what forces had not been mobilised to fight Vorag now waged war on their former allies.
‘We should leave. Tonight,’ Naaima said, rising warily to her feet. ‘We’ll seek sanctuary with the Draesca. Or we could find Vorag. We could even go north, or west. Leave these mountains forever.’
‘I’m tired of running,’ Neferata said, not looking at her handmaiden. She clenched her hands and her claws extended like a cat’s. ‘I am tired of going poor into the night. It is the same game, over and over again, Naaima.’ She growled. ‘I want a new game.’ She looked at her servant, the only being she could still, perhaps, call friend. ‘Would you leave me again?’
‘No,’ Naaima said, after a moment of hesitation. ‘No, for better or worse, our fates are bound together.’
‘I’ve told you, there is no fate,’ Neferata said.
‘Prove it,’ Naaima retorted. ‘Let us leave.’
Neferata opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. She closed her mouth and turned, stalking towards the throne room of the black pyramid. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard Naaima begin to follow her.
The others were waiting for them in the audience chamber. Layla and Rasha and Anmar stood to the side, across from Ushoran’s honour guard, who were at last allowed into the pyramid with their master. And in a half-circle before the open aperture that led down to Alcadizzar’s tomb stood W’soran and his disciples, including Morath.
No others were in attendance, not even Ushoran’s inner circle. Likely they were too busy trying to decide who to back in the civil war now brewing. Neferata’s agents had made sure that it wouldn’t be an easy choice. Most would sit on the fence until one side or the other looked to be victorious, and then they would make their move to curry favour.
It was all perfect. Ushoran, alone, save for a few guards, with her knife at his throat. W’soran would stay out of it. The old beast despised them both equally, and he had flee the first chance he got, if Morath was to be believed. No matter, she could always find him again, if she needed him.
‘Ah, now the circle is complete,’ Ushoran said as he spotted her. He smiled thinly at her. ‘I trust I did not call you away from anything important?’
‘Nothing that can’t wait,’ Neferata said. ‘I am honoured that you invited me to — what is this? — your coronation? And with so few in attendance…’
‘Jealousy ill becomes you,’ Ushoran said.
‘And condescension, you,’ Neferata said. ‘Vorag marches east. He has supporters there, on the frontier.’
‘And Abhorash marches in pursuit?’
‘As you requested,’ Neferata said. ‘It wouldn’t do to have him here. Not for this.’
Ushoran made a face. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You did well.’
‘Your gratitude fills me with joy,’ Neferata said.
Ushoran snorted as he watched W’soran and his disciples prepare themselves for the rite. ‘I doubt that. Still, let it never be said that I cannot acknowledge the wit and worth of another.’