‘If all goes according to plan, yes,’ Neferata said, walking to the edge of the treeline. ‘Make camp, and set out the pickets. We could be waiting for some time.’
‘Some time’ turned into another day and a night. Beneath the dark trees, the vampires could hide from the ravages of the sun. Neferata herself felt nothing; she stuck her hand into the light, letting it play across her fingers. A momentary tingle, like a kiss of heat, but that was all.
‘I miss the sunlight,’ Layla said, joining her at the treeline, but keeping well back from the cruel light. The sun was setting, but there was still enough of it over the horizon to prove dangerous to the younger of her handmaidens. The girl looked none the worse for wear for her lengthy run. She was still fascinated with the abilities that had been gifted to her, like a child with a new toy.
‘You will feel it again,’ Neferata said, pulling her hand back. ‘With age comes strength. For now, you must be satisfied with the moonlight.’
The girl frowned, but said nothing. Neferata turned back to the valley and the horizon. The evening breeze carried the wild cry of the war-horns of the tribes as they mingled with the brutish drum-beats of the orcs. The wildlings had thrown themselves into their fight with commendable ferocity. Surprising the orcs as they had, they would carve off portions of the horde leaving what continued on, drawn as it was by Wazzakaz’s momentum, for the Strigoi to weaken further. An hour later, Neferata saw the moon rise and felt the soil shift slightly. The vibration was faint, but she recognised its meaning. ‘They’re coming,’ she said loudly.
‘It’s about time. I thought this plan of yours was going to be fast,’ Vorag groused before turning to bellow orders to his subordinates. Neferata summoned Layla with a crook of her finger.
‘Get up that tree and tell me what you see,’ Neferata said, gesturing. Layla obeyed with an alacrity that made Stregga chuckle as she joined Neferata.
‘She reminds me of someone. Can’t quite put a finger on it…’ the Sartosan said. Neferata glanced at her and the chuckles died away. Stregga shrugged. ‘Sorry, mistress,’ she said.
‘There is nothing to apologise for,’ Neferata said. ‘Simply watch your tone.’
‘Of course, mistress, I’m good at that, me. Soul of discretion. Quiet as a mouse. Silent as a leopard. Soft, like a—’
Neferata looked at her handmaiden steadily. Stregga grinned cheerily. Neferata snorted and turned away. ‘I knew I should have killed you in Sartosa.’
‘Good thing you didn’t, eh?’ Stregga said. ‘When the bone-kings came calling, I was invaluable, if I do say so myself.’
Neferata snorted again and tapped her fingers on the pommel of her sword. ‘My tolerance is not limitless, Lupa.’
‘But my usefulness is,’ Stregga said. ‘Besides which, Vorag would protect me, eh Vorag?’
‘She’s almost killed me once, she-wolf. I’ll not risk that again, not even for a morsel as delectable as yourself,’ Vorag said heartily, joining them at the treeline.
Stregga made a face and Neferata smiled. She looked aside at Vorag and said, ‘You seem cheerful, champion of Mourkain.’
Vorag’s smile dissolved. ‘I’ll not hold that title much longer,’ he said.
‘No, you won’t,’ Neferata said.
‘Abhorash,’ Vorag said, chewing the name of his rival like a piece of stubborn gristle.
‘The people love him,’ Neferata said. ‘My people loved him as well, before he abandoned them.’
Vorag growled. Stregga moved to his side comfortingly. ‘Ushoran wants him to take command of the armies. Says my ways are old-fashioned,’ he said.
Which they are, Neferata thought. You are an anachronism, Bloodytooth, even in these primitive lands. And Ushoran is smart enough to recognise the game you’re playing. ‘He has replaced many of your comrades and peers as well,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘Men who should have received the kiss withered and died while arrogant play-warriors live forever in glory. Zandor, for instance, or that preening fop Gashnag, neither of whom are a match for you.’
He looked at her, one fang protruding as he sucked on his lip. ‘No, they are not. Once, we were men. Now we are nothing but ticks or fleas on the carcass of a dog.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Neferata said. ‘I’m sure many feel as you do.’ Mainly because I have ensured that they do so, over the course of these past centuries. Not just other vampires either, but those noble families who have continually been passed over for induction into the ranks of the immortals, she thought with satisfaction. The wives and lovers of the Strigoi nobles had fairly fallen over themselves to receive her kiss. Ushoran refused to ‘waste’ his on women whom he saw as little better than dogs in heat. And those women had had years to mull over that insult and remind their husbands and lovers of it, as well as every other petty hurt Ushoran had done.
‘They do,’ Vorag said softly. It was his turn not to look at her. ‘They say Abhorash’s time in the north will be longer than he first thought. That the northern daemon-lovers are proving stronger than he estimated.’
‘Abhorash always did overestimate his own prowess,’ Neferata said smoothly. The ‘scouts’ she had sent into the north prior to Abhorash’s expedition had obviously done their job. Mourkain gold now filled the pockets of northern warlords, and they were more than happy to band together to stave off Strigos’s encroachment into the wastes. They would not succeed… Abhorash was effective for all his arrogance. But he would be occupied for years; long enough to see Ushoran put in his proper place… at her feet.
‘With him gone,’ Vorag began carefully, ‘Ushoran has few allies at court, though he knows it not.’
Neferata’s expression did not change. ‘Nor will he. Ushoran is remarkably blind for one who prides himself on his cunning.’
‘He is no true Strigoi,’ Vorag said.
‘Neither am I.’
He looked at her. ‘But you are not king.’
‘Nor would I be,’ Neferata said. ‘I have ruled, in my time. I found it… tedious.’
Vorag nodded, taking her comment at face value. ‘And you bear Ushoran no love.’
‘No,’ Neferata said, allowing herself a small smile. ‘No, I do not.’
Vorag nodded, as if satisfied. He was silent for a moment, visibly marshalling his thoughts. Stregga looked at her mistress. Neferata nodded slightly. It had not been difficult to bring Vorag around. The Strigoi were barbarians despite the veneer of civilisation that they wore. And for barbarians, treachery was like breathing. All it required was time to contemplate and machinate, something which vampires had in abundance.
The difficult part had been making Vorag think it was his idea to approach her. But now that he had done so, she could at last pull tight the strands of her carefully crafted web. ‘These are times of change,’ Vorag said, finally. It was an obtuse way of saying ‘coup’, but Neferata understood him nonetheless.
‘Sometimes, change is for the better,’ Neferata said. ‘This is a mighty army, Timagal. It could accomplish much.’
Vorag shot her a look. But before he could reply, there was a shout from above. Layla dropped down from the branches overhead, landing on all fours in a shower of pine needles. ‘They come, mistress!’ she said, visibly excited. ‘The orcs, even as you said!’
‘Ha!’ Neferata smacked her palms together. ‘Vorag, get the men in place and ready your riders! We shall have to time this perfectly.’ They needed to shave the orcs, not shatter them or draw their full ire. She only had a few thousand men, and she needed to hoard their strength for future endeavours. Vorag hastened to obey her orders. Neferata grabbed Stregga. ‘Stay by my side, Lupa. You as well, Layla,’ she said. ‘We will be needed here.’