Lahmia hate you. They want to punish you and all your court for your crimes. And her voice is the loudest of all.’
‘Her?’
‘The little hawk,’ Arkhan whispered, and his words were like a knife sliding across her sensitive flesh. ‘Khalida of Lybaras hunts once more, Neferata, and she is coming even now across the sands of the Great Desert.’ He grabbed her chin. ‘And she is coming for you…’
The City of Mourkain
(–350 Imperial Reckoning)
They returned to Mourkain under cover of darkness.
Neferata rode through dark streets, and was reminded of times long past, and another city that held its breath by night. Rasha and Layla rode close behind her. Stregga, of course, had stayed with Vorag, who was in no hurry to return to Mourkain. Instead, he intended to visit the other frontier nobles. Men, like him, who were kept at arm’s length from the centres of power. Men who, like him, all had among their trains Neferata’s handmaidens, though most knew it not, thinking them mere concubines, or priestesses or slaves.
In contrast to how long it had taken to subvert the religions of Strigos, it had taken no time at all to take swift and decisive control of the burgeoning slave trade. Now, her followers controlled the flow of slaves from the west and the north and of the latter, those who met a certain set of requirements were culled and sent to Mourkain to receive Neferata’s blessings. As a result, her handmaidens numbered over a hundred these days, their numbers only exceeded by those of Ushoran’s get.
Sometimes she felt a faint sense of displeasure at the thought of employing so many in such a capacity. She had taken living creatures, women much like she had once been, and turned them from beings with their own destinies into playing pieces on a board whose parameters she was still, as yet, uncertain of. But those thoughts were few and far between. Mostly, she concerned herself with the humming strands of plot and counter-plot that stretched from her black brain. With the orcs broken, the trade routes had blossomed into full flower, bringing new blood from the west into the lands of the Strigoi. She had spent almost a century seeing to it, visiting the wildling tribes and those from farther west whose representatives had heard of Strigos and wished to see its power up close.
But rather than exploiting that strength, Neferata had instead undermined it. She had moved from tribe to tribe, spreading not the story of Mourkain’s majesty, but of its frailty. She had whispered of the decadence of its rulers, of the weakness of its armies, and of the great wealth which it had, but did not deserve.
She smiled slightly. The Draesca had wasted little time; the wildling tribes had already begun asserting their control of the rough country and taking what could charitably be called more than their fair share of the wealth from the trade routes. Too, the Draesca had begun to eye the Draka and the other large tribes askance. Ushoran was not the only would-be emperor in these mountains.
It would be war soon enough. A few years perhaps, maybe a decade, and by then the wild tribes would have become less wild and thus more dangerous to Strigos, which had already begun to stagnate in its superiority. She could almost smell the rot; she sniffed, tasting… ‘Blood,’ she said, suddenly alert.
‘The air is thick with it,’ Rasha murmured, riding just behind her.
Layla sniffed. ‘Why is it so quiet? What is going on?’
‘Halt!’
Iron-capped spear-butts thumped on the street as the armoured warriors moved into the open. They wore fur cloaks to protect themselves from the night’s chill, and their armour was chipped and black. ‘Curfew, strangers… Do you have a reason for being out tonight?’ one grunted.
‘Curfew, is it?’ Neferata said, pulling back her hood. The watchmen seemed to hiss collectively. They knew her face. There was no woman in Mourkain who looked like Neferata, though many aped her style. ‘On whose orders, I wonder?’
‘Hetman Ushoran, my lady,’ the watchman stuttered. ‘From sunset to sunrise, all citizens are to remain indoors.’
Neferata urged her horse closer. ‘Why?’ she said, holding the man’s eyes with her own. Rasha and Layla joined her.
‘Spies, my lady,’ Naaima said. Neferata looked up. Her handmaiden stood across from the watchmen. She had arrived silently. Or perhaps she had been waiting for them. ‘I am glad to see you back. We need no escort,’ Naaima added, touching one of the men on the