great bird of prey wearing a human mask. In her youth, she had been enamoured of him, but childish fancy had faded into mature discontent as she grew to know him better. As she saw his weaknesses for what they were, rather than for the nobility he claimed to possess.
Her mind reeled at the sight of him. What was he doing here? How had he got here? Was he following the black sun as well? Question after question splashed across her mind but with a shake of her head she thrust them aside; now was no time for questions.
‘Surprised to see me?’ Abhorash said grimly. His voice was strained, as if some great roiling fount of emotion were hidden beneath his façade of arrogance.
‘Seeing as you were intent on dying gloriously the last time I spoke with you… no,’ Neferata said. ‘You always were a disappointment.’ The jibe was meant to cut, and by the flicker of expression that flitted across his face, she knew it had struck home. He had never taken easily to immortality, though he had desired it strongly enough in the beginning. For a warrior he was surprisingly squeamish regarding the more practical aspects of eternity. Or he had been, at least. He looked hale and hearty enough now, and stank of blood as surely as she herself did. ‘Ushoran made this?’ she said.
‘He has made many,’ Abhorash said, faintly disapproving.
Neferata hesitated. She looked down at Vorag. He had said that this land was a gift. Whose gift, Ushoran’s? He had mentioned other names as well… Strezyk and Gashnag. Were they more vampires? The implications were unpleasant.
Abhorash grunted and gestured to Vorag. ‘Release him.’
‘Who are you to give me orders, champion?’ Neferata said, jerking Vorag’s head viciously. The vampire groaned and she wondered at Abhorash’s words – was this creature truly one of Ushoran’s get? Had that conniving little rat made a nest for himself somewhere in these mountains?
‘Not your champion. Not any more. Release him, woman, or I will be forced to–’ Abhorash rumbled, fingers caressing the serpentine pommel of the blade sheathed at his side.
‘Die? Wouldn’t that be a shame,’ Khaled said, drawing his own sword and sliding between Neferata and Abhorash.
‘Move, boy,’ Abhorash grated, his dark eyes blazing. He blinked as if in recognition. Khaled hesitated, but stood firm.
‘Ahhhhh,’ Neferata breathed. ‘I see you know my new champion, Abhorash.’
‘You are as profligate as Ushoran,’ Abhorash rumbled.
‘I was only finishing the job you started,’ Neferata spat, and Khaled twitched.
Abhorash shrugged, like a wolf shaking off an insect bite. ‘Release Timagal Vorag,’ he said again. Abhorash’s two companions urged their mounts forwards, drawing their own swords. Neferata’s eyes glowed like lamps, and her lips had writhed back from her fangs. Violence hung on the air, palpable and terrible. The humans had gone white and they trembled, like field-mice caught between duelling cats.
‘Whose champion are you now, Abhorash?’ Neferata said. ‘Are you Ushoran’s dog now?’
‘I am no dog, queen of nothing,’ Abhorash snarled, hunching forwards in his saddle.
Neferata abruptly released Vorag and stepped past Khaled towards the litter where Razek still slept, unawares. Abhorash blinked, surprise writ on his features.
‘What–?’
‘He said he was going to Mourkain,’ said Neferata. ‘He and his people were ambushed by a group of those twisted beast-men that seem to infest these mountains. They all died, save him.’ She looked at Abhorash shrewdly. ‘You were out here looking for him, weren’t you?’
‘What?’ he said again.
‘You were never fleet of thought, my champion. That these men should show up on the path the dwarfs were taking to Mourkain is too much of a coincidence,’ Neferata said slowly, as if speaking to a child. She recalled Vorag’s eyes as he had caught sight of Razek. ‘They were looking for them, weren’t they? An escort… and you were out here to escort the escort, but why? Oh, I smell Ushoran, and not just on that lout’s blood…’ She grinned. ‘Does he not trust his own disciple?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Or perhaps it’s you who doesn’t trust him, hmm?’
Abhorash’s face went still and stiff and Neferata knew that she had again struck a nerve. ‘Well, regardless, I have saved you the trouble of finding him. Let’s deliver him together, shall we? I should like to see my esteemed Lord of Masks once more.’
Abhorash’s men looked to him for orders, and for a moment, Neferata wondered whether his hatred of her would outweigh his common sense. If so, she would be forced to kill them and perhaps