Neferata

‘Aye, he wants to fight, that one.’ The blonde vampire sank down until the water brushed her chin. ‘He’s still upset that Ushoran banished him from court.’ She cocked an eye at her mistress. ‘A bit harsh, wasn’t that, my lady?’

‘I need the Bloodytooth on the frontier. Not at court,’ Neferata said mildly. ‘And I need him upset.’ The Court of Strigos was a snake-pit; the nobles strove in a never-ending game of one-upmanship beneath Ushoran’s watchful gaze. Only the most cu

It had been easy enough to get the former champion temporarily exiled. Ushoran’s disfavour was easy enough to garner, and Vorag had begun making himself a nuisance; if it had gone on, Ushoran would have had Abhorash end Vorag’s troublemaking permanently. But exiled, he was safe from Abhorash’s sword and he would serve an invaluable purpose.

Through Vorag, she had begun to disseminate the first faint stirrings of resentment among the Strigoi nobility who were not tied to Ushoran’s apron strings. The Strigoi were not unused to long-lived rulers, but Kadon had been a sorcerer. Ushoran was not. But he was seemingly immortal, and though many members of his i

Neferata could have told them, had they asked. Even Kadon had had the good grace to step back from direct rule eventually. The stagnation was already creeping in. Men who had been turned when the Strigoi were horse-raiders with grandiose dreams of empire now ruled said empire, but could not shake the petty perspectives of those far-gone times.

And as the Strigoi people advanced, their hidebound, atavistic nobility became ever more out of step. The world moved on, no matter how much creatures like Ushoran and — yes — even herself at times wished it wouldn’t.

‘Besides, he’ll enjoy fighting the orcs for a few years. He seems to enjoy the taste, at any rate.’ She looked at Anmar. ‘On to other matters… Tell me of the dawi, little leopard.’

‘They left this morning, my lady,’ Anmar said.

‘You are certain?’

‘I followed them myself,’ Anmar said.

Neferata sat back and sighed. Razek had been a disappointment, in more ways than one. He was too observant. And he was too determined to discover the source of the gold that formed Strigos’s wealth, and to lay claim to it for his people. The attempts had been made via human mercenaries — thieves and bandits, paid through third parties. All had died, or been paid off, but the attempts had become an a

Dwarfs were not given to plotting, but Razek seemed to break the mould. A quiet word in Ushoran’s ear had resulted in Razek being recalled to the Silver Pi

That alone necessitated his eventual death. But not yet, she thought. Razek was a known quantity now, and the dwarfs might yet come in handy, beyond the obvious. Tapping her lip, she glanced at Iona. The red-headed former concubine had flourished since being given the gift of Neferata’s blood-kiss. She had transformed from a starveling wretch into a magnificent creature, her bedraggled looks amplified into feral beauty. ‘And how are the gods, Iona? Are they satisfied with their offerings?’

‘So their priestesses assure me, mistress,’ Iona said, curling a lock of fiery red hair around one pale finger. ‘The sangzye is collected without comment. Our people place little value on blood,’ she added, shrugging. Neferata smiled in satisfaction.

The transplantation of the Nehekharan cults had taken close to thirty years of effort on her part; something to keep her interested during her idle moments. Small temples to Djaf, Phakth and Ptra now occupied the central plaza of Mourkain, and their priestesses had all been gifted with her kiss. Granted, those temples and their practices would be unrecognisable to any inhabitant of the Great Land.

Blood was the holiest of sacrifices, and each god accepted their due in the temples of Mourkain. The sangzye was a tax of blood, levied on the devout; it served to keep the growing population of vampires in check.

‘Ajal Djazk,’ Neferata said. She looked at Rasha, who smiled thinly. Djazk was the latest troublesome nail in need of hammering down: a minor lordling who’d attempted to subvert several of Neferata’s handmaidens through bribery and other, less subtle methods. He was a brute and a slave to his passions. He was not alone in such, but he had made his intentions known in too blatant a fashion.

The memory of what Neferata had done to Strezyk was fading fast, even among those who’d witnessed it. Few of the Strigoi could accept that a woman, vampire or not, was something other than a servant or a concubine. She had made good use of that blind spot. Ushoran used Abhorash for public executions. But it fell to Neferata to eliminate those of Ushoran’s i

‘He never returned from his last beast-hunt,’ the other vampire said. ‘The beasts must have killed him. We’ll find his remains strapped to one of their ugly stone idols somewhere, I’d warrant.’ Her eyes glinted with pleasure.

‘Would you,’ Neferata murmured. ‘Good. What of his concubines?’

‘He only had a few who were in any decent shape. Of those, I pulled aside two or three that might be of some use. The others I sent to the temples. The priestesses will find some use for them,’ Rasha said.

‘Excellent,’ Neferata said. The Strigoi nobility were profligate. They turned women, and sometimes men, without regard, like children hoarding toys. When a situation like Djazk’s arose, those creatures were often left without a master. Those whom she could not find a use for, she had killed quietly, and without u

She cocked her head back, looking up at Naaima, who had set aside the comb and was now tightly braiding her hair. Even now, centuries after the fact, Naaima refused to let any of the others touch Neferata’s hair. Neferata, for her part, saw no reason to complain. ‘W’soran,’ she said.

Naaima frowned. ‘He’s up to something.’

‘And the moon is made of the skull of a god,’ Stregga snorted. ‘Tell us something we don’t know.’

Naaima glanced sourly at the other woman, but continued. ‘Whatever it is, it’s co