‘I see now why you kept him around,’ Ushoran said, smiling broadly. He glanced slyly at Neferata. ‘He has a good head for war.’
‘Yes,’ Neferata said, meeting Khaled’s eyes over Ushoran’s shoulder. Don’t get too comfortable, my Kontoi, she thought, remember whose dog you truly are. If Khaled understood the meaning of the look, he gave no sign. Horns blew as the Bloodytooth’s riders shot out through the open palisade to harry the orcs. Ushoran watched them go and grunted.
‘Once Vorag has had his fun, we will hold council. There are plans to be made.’
‘Oh yes, I quite agree,’ Neferata said, as some strange sensation prickled at the edge of her consciousness. Suddenly, a shadow fell across the palisade. No, several shadows.
Perhaps the orcs weren’t quite as beaten as she had thought.
Neferata spun as a raucous screech blistered the air. A wyvern crashed into the palisade, bat-like wings folding in and crooked talons flattening several Strigoi. A long serpentine neck shot out and jaws snapped shut on the arm of the warrior next to Ushoran.
Crouching atop the elephantine beast’s squat body, a large orc, clad in scraps of salvaged armour, thrust a spear at the King of Strigos. He bore the war-paint of a warlord, and by his ornate headdress of animal skins, jutting fangs and golden trinkets, she judged him to be the current overlord of the horde.
The spear, for all its crudity of design, pierced Ushoran’s armour with ease, thanks to the raw muscle behind the thrust. Ushoran staggered as the spear pierced his side and nailed him to the palisade, his mask of beauty slipping for a moment to reveal the beast beneath. Khaled sprang to Ushoran’s aid with an alacrity that Neferata found somewhat disappointing. He grabbed the spear and tried to pull it loose, even as the wyvern snapped at him.
Two more of the beasts had crashed into the palisade. On one, a wild-eyed orc wearing a leopard-skull headdress made grandiose gestures. Green, sickly lightning burped from its palms, striking men and turning them into whirlwinds of screaming ash. On the other was a large orc wielding a spiked flail, likely the warboss’s bodyguard or champion, and as Neferata watched, the weapon slapped the head of one of Ushoran’s vampiric bodyguards clean off his body.
Neferata gave a half-second’s contemplation to letting the orcs finish the job they had started. Then, with a snarl, she said, ‘Anmar! Help Khaled! Rasha, take the sorcerer! Keep Ushoran alive!’ A moment later, lightning-swift, she raced across the pointed top of the palisade and flung herself at the lead wyvern and its rider. The wyvern sensed her before its master and a great wing flared out as it attempted to swat her from the sky. Her sword tore through the leathery web of the wing and the wyvern shrilled, flinging her back. She flipped through the air and landed in a crouch on the palisade.
The dragon-like maw dived for her, a wave of foetid air washing over her. Dagger teeth slammed shut inches from her face as she jerked back. Her hand shot out and she dug her talons into the meat of the wyvern’s snout. It screamed and its head snapped back, yanking her with it. Neferata swung up and landed in an awkward crouch between its head and shoulders. With a snap of its wings, the agitated wyvern took off, rising above the palisade despite the angry howls of its rider. The orc had lost its spear in the sudden movement and clawed for the heavy chopping blade sheathed on its hip.
Air rippled past her, momentarily deafening her. A wave of vertigo threatened to overwhelm her as the beast beat its wings and ascended. The wyvern shrieked as it sped across the sky above Mourkain, scattering the carrion birds. Arrows arced towards it from the rooftops below, but none could penetrate the beast’s scaly hide. Neferata pointed her sword at the orc. ‘You want to fight the true master of Mourkain, brute? Then come, fight me!’ she roared as she drove her sword towards the warboss. The brute half rose from its makeshift saddle and its shoulders bulged with muscle as it blocked her blow with its own blade and forced her back.
She wobbled, nearly losing her balance. Beneath her, the ground rushed past in a blur of dull colours. There was no room to manoeuvre on the wyvern’s back. There was barely enough room for the orc riding it, let alone her. Tusks plated with beaten gold jabbed at her face and she grabbed one, yanking it out of the orc’s mouth. The orc squealed like a pig and grabbed her throat. The serrated edge of its blade eased towards her face. It was stronger than she had expected.
The orc shoved Neferata back against the rough scales, the edge of its blade brushing against her throat. With a convulsive swipe, she pushed up and beat the blade aside. The orc reared back, arms wide, mouth open. Neferata drove her blade through its chest and twisted her wrist, cutting its heart in two. It fell from its saddle, plummeting into the streets of Mourkain.
Neferata had no time to celebrate her triumph. The wyvern shrieked again and spun in the air, trying to dislodge her from its back. Without its master, it had gone wild. Neferata jammed her blade between two of its scales and hung on as the creature jerked and looped through the air. Flattened against its back by its speed, Neferata began to wriggle forwards. She needed to dispose of the beast, and quickly.
Inch by torturous inch, she climbed towards the beast’s head. Jerking her sword free and stabbing it in, she anchored herself against the creature’s increasingly violent efforts to throw her off. Its wings brushed one of the higher buildings, sending a stream of shattered stone and dust cascading into the streets. She reached the base of its skull, grabbed its horn and gave a jerk, yanking its head around through sheer brute strength. The wyvern banked, if unwillingly, and squalled in fury. Gritting her teeth, Neferata gave the horn another yank. The beast was stronger than her, but it hadn’t quite realised it yet.
It was also very, very angry. And she was going to make it even angrier. Neferata spun her sword and jabbed the point against the edge of the wyvern’s eye-socket. It snarled in agony as she shoved the blade between its eye and the socket wall. Spasms of pain rippled through its body, nearly flinging her from her perch. But she had accomplished her goal — the beast twisted through the air and raced blindly back towards the palisade and its fellows. Neferata hunched up on its head, gathering her legs beneath her. She jerked her sword free of its eye as it smashed into the second of the wyverns.
In the chaotic moments before the two beasts collided, Neferata saw Rasha leap away, followed by a crackling column of emerald fire. The orc shaman turned and gaped comically as Neferata’s wyvern barrelled into its own and both beasts toppled backwards from the palisade in a thrashing, crashing heap of scale and muscle.
The water of the river reached up for them greedily and Neferata leapt from the wyvern even as the water closed around them. She lunged for the orc shaman, attempting to disembowel it as they hit the water. Abhorash had insisted on digging a moat between the palisades and the rest of the mountain slope. It had taken a hundred men more than a hundred days of backbreaking labour to carve the winding scar and another month to properly divert water from the wild, dark river that surrounded and irrigated Mourkain into it. The moat was only as deep as three men standing one atop the other, but it had served its purpose, blunting the idiot ferocity of the first few orc assaults.
A thrashing wing crashed against her, sending her shooting through the water. She barely held on to her sword. The two wyverns were tangled together, snapping and writhing. Bloody clouds floated through the water as Neferata arrowed towards the floating shape of the shaman. The orc was desperately clawing for the surface.