from her own cup and looked around the apartment she had been given. It had once belonged to Strezyk, and was now hers by right of conquest. Apparently such was quite common in Mourkain, among the most rambunctious of the city’s aristocracy.
It was located in one of the larger buildings of the city, a tower that was almost beautiful after a fashion, and through its great window the diverse and myriad smells of Mourkain infiltrated the chambers. Braziers of burning incense hid the stink of blood which emanated from the upside down, barely-alive figure dangling from one of the many hooks dangling from the ceiling.
He was a criminal, she had been told. It was Ushoran’s practice to feed only from those accused of crimes, or from prisoners of war, a standard he held his followers to. Privately, Neferata thought it wise; nothing irritated a populace more than indiscriminate murder. She had learned that to her cost in Bel Aliad.
‘My lady, we’ve rounded them all up at last,’ Khaled said.
‘Speak of the beast,’ she murmured. Then, louder, she said, ‘How many?’
‘Six, my lady,’ Anmar said, flopping down on one of the great cushions which lay scattered across the floor of the chamber. ‘Not a fighter in the bunch. And one step above the great apes of Ind as far as brains go,’ she added with a snort.
‘Such sharp fangs, my little leopard,’ Neferata said, rising from her own cushions. ‘Intelligence and fighting ability can be taught. And if not, well…’
Khaled smiled. ‘Well indeed, my lady. Strezyk had good taste as far as looks went.’
Neferata frowned. ‘Careful, Khaled, your more unpleasant proclivities are showing. It is not a look which suits you.’ She gestured imperiously. ‘Bring them in.’
‘What are you planning, if not to stock our larder?’ Naaima said.
‘I am planning to see that others stock it for us,’ Neferata said. ‘We need friends. Strezyk took the pick of the booty when it came to certain prisoners of war, something which won him no allies in Ushoran’s little newborn snake-pit. We will not make the same mistake.’
Khaled brought the women in. They huddled together, stinking of fear. Barely-healed bite marks covered their arms and thighs and Neferata repressed a hiss of disgust. Strezyk had been a cruel master, that much was certain. And while cruelty had its place, practised on the helpless it was mere sadism, and as such worthless and, worst of all, pointless. For Neferata, cruelty was the tip of the blade you twisted to force action. To practise it on wretches like these was gross indulgence. Once again she reflected that Strezyk was no loss.
The women were as beautiful as Khaled had said. They were former barbarian princesses, the daughters, young wives and cousins of conquered chieftains and warlords. But the haughtiness had been beaten out of them, and at least one had been bled almost white. Broken in body and mind, Ushoran probably expected her to drain them and throw them away.
But she had other plans.
She took the chin of a red-headed beauty and turned her face to the light. ‘Where are Stregga and Rasha?’ Neferata said as she examined the woman’s broad features.
‘Stregga is where you sent her, courting that brute Vorag,’ Naaima said. ‘And Rasha is–’
‘Rasha is investigating this edifice,’ Khaled said smoothly. Naaima glared at him, and he smiled. ‘As you requested, my lady,’ he added.
‘Yes,’ Neferata said absently. On the ride to Mourkain, Vorag had displayed undue attention to the blonde Sartosan. Stregga had been only too happy to indulge those attentions. And Rasha, born raider that she was, was as cunning and stealthy as any beast of the desert. If anyone could sneak about without alerting the spies that Ushoran had undoubtedly already placed around her chambers, it was her.
She looked the red-head in the eyes. ‘What is your name?’ she said. The woman looked at her blankly. Neferata squeezed her cheeks gently, with only the softest of pressures. There was a flash in the woman’s eyes, a buried spark of resistance. Neferata smiled. ‘Never mind, we have time to get acquainted. Naaima, see that they are bathed and properly clothed and fed. Strezyk appears to have been a firm believer in keeping them hungry.’ She released the woman and watched as Naaima led the girls out, considering. ‘Khaled, I wish you to get acquainted to those men in Ushoran’s personal guard. They’re made up of the firstborn sons of the agals – the Strigoi nobles. Find out whether their loyalties lie to