insulted, but I have a feeling you’d make me pay for it, Lady Neferata.’
‘I would indeed, Timagal Vorag,’ she said. There was much of Ushoran in this creature, or perhaps like simply called to like. She had proven herself the stronger and now Vorag would play nice. At least until her back was turned.
‘I am important,’ he said. ‘The hetman gave me estates and men, which is more than he gave to some agals.’
‘Agal and ajal,’ Neferata murmured, filing the terms away for reference. Even among barbarians there was a hierarchy. ‘Tell me more, Timagal… I would not appear ignorant.’
The ad-hoc column marched at night, out of deference to the immortals. Sunlight could be borne, at least by herself and Abhorash, but for the others it was tantamount to a slow death. They made good time regardless. Signs of civilisation had become more prevalent. Smoke trails in the distance spoke to the presence of villages and there were signs of the land being cleared. They passed by a number of mounted patrols, almost identical to Vorag’s men. The Strigoi were taller and broader than the men of Neferata’s homeland, and paler than many she had seen since. They wore rough, utilitarian clothing and leather armour covered in metal studs that jangled softly as they rode. Scalplocks like Vorag’s were common and she wondered whether he had started the fashion. The riders gave Abhorash and his two warriors a wide berth, and Vorag glared openly at the other vampire, but only when his back was turned and only when he wasn’t tutoring Neferata in the peculiarities of Strigoi culture. Such outright hostility could prove useful, if it were properly focused, she thought.
She kept close to Vorag, plying him with compliments and questions. One in particular she was most interested in getting an answer to. ‘You mentioned others earlier…’ she said. ‘Like us.’ She stroked his forearm as their mounts trotted side-by-side. ‘It has been so long since I have met others of our kind, save those I brought into this life myself.’
‘We are many,’ Vorag said, smiling. ‘It’s Ushoran’s idea of promotion.’
‘Ah,’ Neferata said. In Lahmia, they had purposely kept their numbers small, if only for safety’s sake. ‘Strigos is an aristocracy of the night, then.’
Vorag nodded. ‘Too many, if you ask me. We were few, at first. Then…’ He made a limp gesture. His smile turned feral. ‘Granted, the younger ones don’t last long.’
‘No?’
‘We are a fierce, proud people, my lady,’ Vorag said, gesturing to his scars. He pulled a necklace out from beneath his cuirass and a number of fangs rattled on it. Neferata repressed a look of disgust. Vorag stuffed the gruesome trophies back beneath his armour. ‘We fight as well as we f–’
‘Yes,’ Neferata said as Vorag urged his horse forwards, responding to a shout from one of his men. Personal combat wasn’t unfamiliar to her. Such had been the law of the land in Nehekhara as well, though it had been a bit more organised in the case of her people. An old pain rose to the surface.
In her mind’s eye, she saw the feast where it had all started to go wrong. She saw Khalida – her little hawk – stand up to accuse her of black magic and obscene rites. Only one of which was true. Khalida had demanded a trial by combat, and Neferata, trapped by her own words, had given in to her cousin.
She heard the clash of steel and felt that first gash beneath her left breast. She again felt that thrill of fear, so alien now more than a century after the fact. Again, she saw the blade in her cousin’s hand looping out for her throat. She could feel Khalida’s heart hammering through the thin material of her robe. And then she felt her die.
But she hadn’t, had she?
Neferata opened her eyes. Khalida had come back. Again and again, she came back. She shook her head, driving the thoughts aside. She had left all of that behind. Let the dead stay in the land of the dead.
‘Your fangs are showing, my lady,’ Khaled murmured. Neferata closed her lips and glanced at the other vampire. He smiled at her. She didn’t return the expression. He was never far away when she rode with Vorag. He was either overprotective or jealous, neither of which was useful to her at the moment.
‘Where are the others?’ she snapped. The forests had long since given way to the upper reaches of the mountains and