driven them to a frenzy that made them stronger still.
Neferata stretched past him, pinning the creature to a tree. ‘Go back, fool,’ she said. ‘I need that stunted creature alive.’
‘But–’ Khaled began.
Before Neferata could reply, an arrow took a nearby beast in the neck, spinning it around. Hooves thumped on the snow. More arrows hissed between the trees. Neferata caught the sharp whiff of oil and leather and horse-sweat, and beneath that, the tang of blood rushing and pulsing in strong veins as she spun around a wailing beast, driving her sword up through its back. Still moving, she chopped an arrow from the air. She slid to a halt in a cloud of snow, nostrils flaring. Her eyes sank to slits and she tasted the air, her hunger stirring anew. It was not beast blood she smelled – this was human!
‘Is that what I think it is?’ Khaled whispered. His face was weasel-thin with feral hunger. His fangs splayed like the thorns of a rose.
‘Back to the others,’ Neferata snapped, struggling to contain her own sudden surge of ravenous need. The shapes of a score of riders became visible, weaving through the trees in a sure-footed gallop. The horses were smaller and hairier than those she had ridden in Araby and stocky by comparison, more like ponies than true horses. The men were equally stocky, with broad shoulders and wide jaws. Their hair was greased and bound in scalplocks, much like those worn by the warriors of Nehekhara. Their gear was rough and utilitarian – they wore furs over banded leather cuirasses and each man had a wide-bladed sword on his hip. Most of them had short bows in their hands and these buzzed like hornets as the men, knees tight on their mounts’ barrel chests, fired as they rode with practised swiftness.
They gave brutal yells as they rode through the mass of beastmen, leaving trampled bodies in their wake. Neferata and Khaled retreated, leaving the beasts to the newcomers. Whoever they were, they were welcome to the creatures.
‘If the dwarf is dead, Khaled, I will make you wish that you had never accepted my gift,’ Neferata said.
‘He’ll only be dead if my sister is as well,’ Khaled said tightly. Neferata looked at him. Vampires did not feel emotion as humans did, but certain bonds could not be broken, even by death and what followed. She thought briefly of Naaima, and then confronted the possibility of Anmar’s death. Khaled was not the only one who would miss the girl.
Neferata moved more quickly, outpacing Khaled. She burst back to where she had left the others. A small surge of relief filled her as she saw Anmar standing amidst a number of contorted bodies. The girl was covered in blood, and she used her tongue to clean thick ropes of it from her blade.
‘Greedy,’ Khaled murmured. His relief was evident.
Beastmen lay everywhere and their corpses fouled the crisp purity of the snow and the air alike. ‘I smell horses,’ Naaima said, stepping over the body of the bull-headed giant. She looked at Neferata and sheathed her sword.
‘We have guests to dinner,’ Khaled said, striding towards his sister.
‘Horsemen,’ Neferata said. ‘More than a dozen of them,’ she added.
‘Men, as in humans,’ Stregga said, glancing at Rasha, who inhaled the air, her eyes mere slits. ‘As in something other than the nasty juices of these hairy sacks,’ the Sartosan went on, kicking one of the bodies.
‘No,’ Neferata said, slicing her sword through the air.
Stregga gave her a mutinous look, but held her tongue. The others hid their feelings better, even Khaled. Neferata smiled slightly and sheathed her blade. Horsemen meant civilisation. And Razek had said that the only civilisation nearby was Mourkain. She was close now. She could feel the heat of the dead black sun on her skin, but she didn’t turn to see if it had risen.
Horses snorted. Snow crunched beneath heavy hooves. Neferata stepped towards the trees, her hands held away from her sides. Horses eased through the trees, the wary eyes of the riders taking her and her followers in. A voice barked what sounded like a command.
And the command was in Nehekharan.
Not true Nehekharan, but a debased cousin, a garbled brute-tongue that perhaps shared an ancient root with the language of home. Neferata hissed in satisfaction. It had been more than a century since Nehekhara had truly become a land of the dead. Had some of her people managed to escape the Great Dying?