THE FANGS OF THE ASP

Josh Reynolds
What day is this, Djubti? High Queen Khalida asked. Her voice issued from
dry, cracked lips like sand sliding through a stone sluice. She blinked eyelids
as fragile as papyrus and sucked air into long-shrivelled lungs, flexing her wit
hered fingers. They were fragile looking, but capable of crushing stone. So much
had changed.
The wizened, bent shape of the liche priest who served as her advisor tu
rned slightly. Like Khalida herself, and the legions which stood at her back, si
lent and patient, Djubti was a shrivelled thing, empty of fluid, if not vitality
. Dead flesh the colour of dried leather shrunk tight against yellowing bones be
neath tattered rags which had once been fine. Decorations of gold and turquoise
dangled against a shrunken chest and armlets meant for living limbs sagged and r
attled on his bony arms.
The Day of Challenge, mighty Queen, Djubti said, as if she had not forgott
en and his reminder was nothing more than a formality. It is the Day of Scorpions
, the Day of Swords.
So soon, she murmured. That was why she was out here then. The explanation
brought comfort, though not relief. Memories clutched at her, previous days of
challenge and challengers both and the dim clangour of long-gone weapons.
She looked up, at the black shape of Nagashizzar, which pierced the body
of the horizon like a cancer. Its shadow spread across the slopes of Cripple Pe
ak and the shores of the Sour Sea like some monstrous hand, rendering all within
its envelop withered and dead, including the armies which unceasingly patrolled
these lands, awaiting an enemy long-extinct. Armies such as hers, stationed her
e at the very heart of the ancient enemy s land; it would fall to her to face Naga
sh first, should he return. That was her burden and her honour, by right of best
ing the former sentry on a previous Day of Scorpions, so long ago. She had held
her place since then, against every challenger on every Day of Scorpions. Today
would be no different.
It has been a decade since the last, most puissant and cunning lady, Djubt
i said, looking at her. She wondered, idly, what he saw. She had seen her reflec
tion before, in the warped and blasted patches of sand which now dotted the Grea
t Land as well as in the sluggish waters of oasis and river. But the reality of
her was always blended in her mind s eye with the memory of what of whom she had b
een. She saw the living warrior-queen, not the dead thing, the mummified parody
of womanhood. Her hands clenched with a crackling of dry linen.
Has it? she said, not really requiring an answer.
Indeed, oh Beloved of Asaph, he croaked, air wheezing through his cracked
and fleshless jaws. Though I would not wish to insult the High Queen of Lybaras b
y implying that she had forgotten such, being but a humble scholar and not worth
y.
Humble scholar, is it? she said.
Most humble and indeed, unworthy to stand in the shadow of the wings of t
he Great Hawk of Lybaras, most beloved and gracious daughter of the Asp goddess,
Djubti said, leaning on his staff. Merry sparks danced in his otherwise empty ey
es. In life, Djubti had advised her grandfather and great-grandfather, or so he
claimed. In death, he counselled her.
 Only a decade, she said.
Every ten seasons comes the Day of Scorpions, my Queen, Djubti said. Like t
he rains it comes and challengers with it. He gestured with his staff and she saw
them, marching in silent formation. Spearmen, archers and horsemen were all in
evidence and likely had been for some time, the dust of their passage rising hig
h into the sky. She felt a moment s dismay at the fact that she had not seen them,
too lost in her memories.
The tomb-legion stalked across the shore, the poisonous waves of the Sou
r Sea lapping at bare bones and skeletal hooves and the grinding metal talons of
a massive, bestial warsphinx. The leonine statue caused none of the fear in her
she would have felt, centuries past when blood still pumped in her veins. Now,
its relentless lope merely piqued her curiosity. It was a show of ostentation, t
o unleash such a war-engine for an occasion such as this. Whoever he was, he obv
iously had little idea of who she was if he thought to overawe her in such a fas
hion.
Who is it who comes, Djubti? she said, not recognising the age-grimed stan
dards that swayed and caught at the light with reflective talons.
Ushtep of Rasetra, High Queen, to judge by the falcon on his standard the
liche priest said. He knew all the standards and who they were borne by. His forc
e is small, but battle-tested. Settra himself has spoken warm praises of his pro
wess.
Has he, Khalida said.
No, Djubti said mildly. But so Ushtep claims. Even in death, he seeks to el
evate himself on the shoulders of others. He thinks that a period guarding this
befouled tomb will gain him some influence; it is an honour, after all.
It is my honour, Khalida said.
So it is, Djubti said, ducking his head. But perhaps, my Queen, it is time
for another to take your place? She looked at him. Djubti made a sound that might
have been a sigh. Perhaps not, he said.
She ignored Djubti and looked down at her hand, her once slim fingers no
w reduced to linen shrouded talons. The loss of her beauty, of her life, bothere
d her not at all, a fact which in its turn did bother her, though in no way she
could grasp. Her living years were as a dream, rags and tatters of colourful mem
ory which occasionally swam to the black surface of her mind.
Speak softly and only into the ears of those inclined to listen, Neferata
murmured as they watched the acrobats perform in the feast-hall of the great pal
ace of Lahmia. They sat together on a pile of sumptuous pillows, set onto one of
the many raised dais s that dotted the hall. Among the worthies gathered amidst t
he stone columns and silken curtains below were men of noble birth from across t
he width and breadth of the Great Land. The motion of Neferata s hand plucked them
from obscurity in the same manner as another woman might choose sweetmeats. Look
there my little hawk, where Lord Ushtep of Rasetra and Imrathepis of Numas, thi
rd in line for the throne of that city, plot, for instance.
How do you know they are plotting? Khalida had asked. Her eyes never left
the men.
Neferata chuckled and stroked the nape of her cousin s neck with an easy,
familiar gesture. How could they be doing otherwise, given the tension between th
ose two cities? She raised a hand and Khalida saw a shave-headed servant thread t
hrough the crowd towards the two men. Likely, they intend to use that tension in
order to raise their cachet amongst their own circles. Games within games, my li
ttle hawk, she said.
What will you do? Khalida asked, intrigued.
I will help them, of course, Neferata said. I will have them both in my deb
t and Lahmia will benefit greatly from that.
What if they do not want your help?
One of them will, Neferata said confidently, even if he must go behind his
co-conspirator s back to get it. She looked at Khalida and smiled. Men think themsel
ves wise if they know how to wage war, but none are so wise as those who recogni
se that war has more than one form. She gestured smoothly. War has levels and fiel
ds undreamt by bull-headed generals and power-drunk kings. She pulled Khalida to
her and kissed the top of her head. Every war, every fight, has more than one fro
nt, Khalida. You would do well to remember that
Khalida blinked away the fraying strands of memory and looked around, tr
ying to re-familiarise herself with the present. It was hard, sometimes, to reco
gnise the here and now. There were some among the risen dead of Nehekhara who co
uld not, and spent their days in death as they had in life, unable to discern th
e change which had been forcibly wrought upon them. Servants, collections of bon
e and rags, stood immoveable around her, the brown bones of their arms bent agai
nst the poles of the ancient sunscreen they held over her head, a head no longer
capable of feeling the sun. Behind them, the legions of Lybaras stood, waiting
for her orders. Not all of them, to be sure, for she was no longer the Queen, bu
t one queen among all the risen queens and kings of that fallen city.
She touched her face and then her palm fell to the pommel of the khopesh
stabbed into the dry earth before her. Her other hand was still wrapped tight a
round the comforting length of her staff of office. It was called the Venom Staf
f, and it was to be wielded only by the Beloved of Asaph, first among the servan
ts of the Asp goddess. Serpentine shapes coiled the length of the staff, intertw
ining so intricately that it was impossible to tell where one began and others e
nded. It was a thing of beauty, and sadness as well, for there would never be an
other Beloved of Asaph. All of her servants were dead, and the dead held their o
ffices forever. She so-rarely released it from her grip that sand had collected
in the dips and runnels where her fingers met metal. She set herself, one hand o
n the khopesh, one on the staff, and waited for the arrival of her latest oppone
nt.
Drums thumped as Ushtep s legion drew to a halt some distance away. The wa
rsphinx was a looming presence, its brooding features glaring at Khalida s forces.
The drums gave a rattle and then a chariot rolled forward, pulled by skeletal h
orses. Ushtep wore a cloak of hammered brass feathers over his mummified shape,
and his helm was fashioned to resemble a hawk s head. A large shield decorated one
arm and a khopesh, much more elaborately engraved than hers, nestled in the cro
ok of his other arm. The chariot creaked to a halt at a point halfway between th
eir two forces. Ushtep gestured sharply and a warrior who was more bone than fle
sh hopped from the chariot and strode forward, his king s standard held high to ca
tch the light of the sun as it dipped below the twisted peaks of Nagashizzar.
King Ushtep, Mighty Falcon of Rasetra, Settra s Strong Hand in the South, M
aster of the Fortress of Vengeful Souls, High King of the Sweltering Jungles, Ch
ampion of the Charnel Valley, Prince of All Princes and King Among Kings does re
quest that High Queen Khalida, Queen of Lybaras, set low her standards and relea
se her oaths and move hence from these demesnes, the herald croaked.
 Khalida s face cracked into a smile. It was an old trick, that. Forgoing t
he recitation of your opponent s titles was as sure a way of annoying them as any.
Ushtep was an old hand at challenges, or perhaps simply arrogant. Either way, t
he insult rolled off her back. She had heard worse and there was more at stake h
ere than honour. She forestalled her own herald, a liche clad in the raiment of
one of Lybaras long-extinct scholars, from replying and stepped forward, uprootin
g her khopesh as she strode to meet her opponent. Be careful, my lady, Djubti said
softly. Khalida did not reply.
Remember the parable of the asp and the falcon, cousin. The falcon carrie
d the asp over the river, but when they were in the air, the asp struck. As they
fell, the falcon cried out, But why? Now we will both die! to which the asp repli
ed, It is my nature. When your opponent smiles in triumph, spit into his teeth. Wh
en he laughs loud, laugh louder, Neferata said, reclining on her cushion. Khalida
sprawled beside her, sword across her knees and sweat dripping down her face. Sp
ite is your greatest weapon, besides your mind, because in spite, all things are
possible. Kings can be made to grovel for spite. Peasants may be raised to loft
y heights and the strongest warrior gutted, all for spite. Neferata smiled and ta
pped two fingers against Khalida s sword. Spite, my little hawk, is whimsy sharpene
d to a killing point and with it you will be unpredictable.
I don t know if I have that much hate in me, Khalida said.
Deep wells fill slowly, Neferata said, stroking her hair.
Ushtep s herald backed away as she approached. The bony grimace looked ner
vous, despite its lack of flesh. Khalida tensed and sprang. Her khopesh licked o
ut and cut the head from the standard, dropping Ushtep s banner into the dust. Ush
tep snarled a dusty curse and leapt from his chariot with inhuman agility. He sw
atted his herald aside and came at her, all pretence to formality banished in th
e face of her disrespect.
Normally, the ritual leading up to the combat would have taken hours, as
both parties recited their lineage and titles and their armies assembled in the
proper formation to watch as their commanders met in single combat. But Khalida
had long since grown tired of ritual and formality, and she wanted the farce ov
er and done with. She had more important matters to attend to.
Khalida interposed her khopesh, blocking Ushtep s blow easily. Their blade
s locked and the staff twirled in her hand, beating down on his hastily interpos
ed shield. She jerked him off-balance with a sway of her hips and pivoted, drivi
ng a heel into his knee. He wore no armour over his legs, and the ancient bone c
racked. Ushtep staggered. Khalida spun around him, catching him in the back of t
he skull with her staff, sending him stumbling forward. Before he could regain h
is balance, she was on him. Her khopesh chopped down through his shield arm, saw
ing through bone and ornamental armlets alike.
Ushtep groaned in frustration as his arm was dragged to the ground by th
e weight of the shield. He wobbled back, withered face twisted in a rictus snarl
. He swung his blade awkwardly. The khopesh was an unwieldy weapon, especially w
hen your centre of gravity had been badly thrown off. She blocked his blow and s
ent her blade spinning, taking his with it. Both sank solidly in the soft ground
of the shore. She grabbed her staff in her hands and jabbed him, breaking his c
ollarbone and cracking ribs. Wildly, he clutched at her. She stepped back and kn
ocked his legs out from under him with bone-splintering force. He fell face-down
, his falcon helm tumbling from his head.
Neferata clapped her hands once, sharply. Khalida lowered her practice b
lade and stepped back. Her opponent remained where he was, face-down on the grou
nd, as the Queen of Lahmia approached. Khalida didn t resist as her cousin took th
e blade from her hands and strutted towards the fallen man. Neferata put one san
daled foot on the back of the warrior s head and gestured with the blade. Why do yo
u back away? You had him beaten.
It was not honourable, Khalida said defensively. It is not meet for a warri
or to
You are not a warrior, little hawk. You are a queen. For your enemies, th
ere can be no mercy without abject surrender. There is no honour in being a rule
r. There is only strength. Neferata pressed down with her foot, shoving the unres
isting man s face into the dirt. Remember that.
I remember, Khalida whispered. Almost gently, she put her foot on the back
of Ushtep s neck. Yield, Prince of Rasetra, or I will grind your bones to powder a
nd fling them into the Sour Sea, so that you might wile away our eternal twiligh
t in the bellies of the fish.
Ushtep hissed and his remaining hand tore at the ground in a futile fren
zy. Then, abruptly, he went still. I yield, he croaked.
Louder, Khalida said, setting the butt of her staff against his skull.
I yield, curse you! Ushtep howled.
Khalida stepped back and Ushtep s herald and charioteer hurried to help hi
m up. Return then, Prince of Rasetra, from whence you came, she said with overt fo
rmality. I shall take this to remember you by. She snatched an ornately crafted an
d engraved golden blade from his belt and he did not protest, merely glaring at
her. She turned, having little interest in watching Ushtep s retreat. It would hav
e little of the pomp of his arrival, that much was certain.
You humiliated him, Djubti said, as she approached. His tone wasn t quite on
e of disapproval, but it was close. Behind her, she heard the dull crump of drum
s signalling the retreat of Ushtep s army. She glanced over her shoulder. They mov
ed more slowly going than they had coming, shuffling in defeat, heads bowed and
steps uncertain.
And what if I did? Khalida said. She cocked her head. He insulted me.
Djubti said, By forgetting your titles?
No, by daring to demand I turn over my responsibilities to him, Khalida sa
id. If she had possessed saliva, she would have spat. As if such a puling wretch
as that would be able to stand against the Arch Necromancer when he returns
If he returns, Djubti said sharply.
Khalida looked at him. The dead do not dream, Djubti. When he returns, he
must be fought and with every ounce of fury we whom he ripped from our tombs ca
n muster. Ushtep s fury pales to mine. He was not worthy.
It is not for you to decide Djubti began.
No. It is a decision for the gods, and they have obviously made it, Khalid
a said. The liche priest s words stung, more than she cared to admit. That he had
said them before did not lessen that sting.
He was correct, of course. That was the bit that stuck. It was the naggi
ng hook of doubt that caused her to hesitate. Djubti was right. There were other
 things that needed doing. The Great Land was at war, and had been since Nagash
had shifted the dust of ages from their eyes and set them all stumbling into the
harsh light of day. Thousands of kings and queens, generation upon generation o
f rulers had awoken at once and been set loose into a land that was as dead as t
hey. In those first few months, wars had raged in every city, from Numas to Ka-S
abar, king against king, legions of bone and memory clashing in parody of long-f
orgotten conflicts. Old grudges were renewed and new grudges nurtured, even afte
r the coming of Settra, first and greatest.
Khalida had fought her share of battles, but the opponent she most desir
ed to test herself against was not to hand. She had no need to prove her superio
rity against the tomb-dust kings of Lybaras who had preceded her.
You do not speak for the gods, Khalida, Djubti said.
I see you too have forgotten my titles, Khalida said.
Why do we stay here, my lady? he said.
Someone must, Djubti, Khalida said. She thrust her staff towards Cripple P
eak. Someone must stand before the gates of Nagashizzar and hold them closed. So
Settra has decreed. Could a cretin like Ushtep do that?
Your certainty of his return has become an obsession, Djubti said.
And so, she said. If it has, it is not unfounded. His name is whispered in
the living streets of Araby and beyond.
How do you know what is whispered among the living? Djubti said softly.
Khalida hesitated, suddenly remembering that she had not chosen Djubti t
o serve her. He had been chosen, certainly, but not by her. Settra s servants move
d among the Awakened Kings, passing along the edicts of the King of Kings; they
could battle one another, but none could raise arms against Settra the Imperisha
ble; the liche priests saw to that. I have agents among them. Men-merchants, noma
ds, treasure-hunters some of them-who watch for signs of Nagash
Such is forbidden! Djubti thundered, all trace of humour gone. The Living a
nd the Dead do not mix, save in war, Khalida. That was Settra s Twelfth Edict in t
he Third Year of Awakening!
Then the edict was wrongly issued, Khalida rasped. A sigh swept through he
r legion, like a rustle of fronds in the evening breeze. To question the King of
Kings was not unheard of. Lesser kings had done so. They were dust now, ground
beneath the wheels of Settra s war-chariot. Nagash stirs, old liche, Khalida continu
ed, thumping the ground with her staff. I can feel him in my bones. We all can, i
f we but have the wit to listen. His black soul scratches at the deep places of
our minds like a rodent in a granary. Nagash calls and those of his blood have h
eeded him. That is what the living say.
Those of his Djubti began. His face wrinkled. Neferata, he said, flatly.
Perhaps, Khalida said, lifting her chin.
Was Sartosa not enough? Or the scouring of Bel-Aliad? Djubti said, leaning
heavily on his staff. Has your obsession blinded you to common sense?
Has yours? Khalida countered. Without waiting for a reply, she turned on h
er heel and left him staring after her. She moved through the fleshless ranks of
her legion, ignoring the awkward obeisance of the long-dead soldiers of Lybaras
. Once upon a time she would have revelled in it, but now it struck her only as
hollow mockery. Nagash had trapped them in a parody of life, in chains of unchan
ging tradition, and for Khalida that was a crueller torment than even the dull a
che of un-life.
And, as ever, when that torment became too much, she retreated into memo
ry. All those awakened by Nagash s spell so many long years past did so, even migh
ty Settra. It was an open, shared secret, a painful cord that bound all of the A
wakened together, commoner, noble and king alike. Memories swept around them and
within them like vapour, inundating fleshless skulls and teasing out old habits
. There were kings who held banquets of petrified food and dust, even as others
engaged in meaningless courtship rituals or conspiracies. None of it mattered, b
ut tradition held the dead far more tightly than it had the living.
Tradition can be a cage, Neferata said, tossing aside the scroll. It binds
us tight to unwelcome guests and muffles wisdom.
It can also give us strength, my cousin, Khalida said, picking up the scro
ll. It makes sense of the insensible and draws order from chaos.
Hmp, Neferata grunted, reclining on her divan. Tradition is a trap, little
hawk, and nothing more. It holds as tightly and sinks as deeply as the fangs of
the asp.
A trap, Khalida murmured. For Neferata, life had been a trap. Everything w
as a cage, to keep her from doing as she wished. Every tradition was a bar, ever
y friendship a chain. Now she was beyond it all. She looked around. A sour moon
gleamed down, caressing crag and wall. She had unconsciously made her way to the
gates of Nagashizzar, now long since forced wide, in the hours since her defeat
of Ushtep. She had done so many times, though whether Djubti knew that or not,
she couldn t say. There was a prickle on her shrouded flesh, a faint stirring in h
er spirit.
She looked around the courtyard of Nagash s cursed citadel, taking in the
vast walls and leering skulls carved into them. There were piles of the real thi
ng in the high alcoves, and where once they would have glowed with sorcerous fir
e they now sat blackened and silent. Mighty towers, now long since crumbling, ro
se towards the night sky like the withered fingers of a sprawled corpse and ther
e was a layer of filth covering everything, like that which might be on an unten
ded tomb. Most avoided this place, a place even the dead feared. She could not.
Not so long as there was a chance
Rocks rattled. Dark shapes, small and swift, ran through the shadows and
red eyes gleamed. Khalida smiled and thumped the ground of the ruined citadel s c
ourtyard with her staff. Come out, Keeskit. I see you there.
The rat-thing shambled into the light, hairy body shrouded in a cloak th
e colour of the stones. Paw-hands rested on the pommels of two serrated daggers
which were sheathed on either stunted hip. A hairless tail lashed and a rag-wrap
ped muzzle split, revealing yellowed teeth. It chattered at her in its own tongu
e with a mish-mash of Arabyan and Cathayan words, oft-repeated and with odd paus
es. She replied in kind, unafraid of the dozens of scurrying shapes which surrou
nded her.
They knew better, now.
Indeed, after that lesson had been taught, and more congenial contact es
tablished, these ratkin were almost easier to deal with than her fellow kings an
d queens. Certainly less greedy; they only wanted the mountain and the abn-i-kha
t which nestled in its bowels. As Khalida had no use for either, she was happy t
o let them mine it unmolested in return for information from further to the nort
h. They had burrows throughout the mountains, and little occurred there that the
y did not have some knowledge of.
Keeskit was the only survivor of that original meeting, but not for much
longer, Khalida judged. There was silver in his muzzle and his bow was unsteady
. One of his followers would kill him soon, she thought, or perhaps one of the g
houls that the ratkin incessantly warred with. She felt a twinge of sadness at t
he thought for all that Keeskit was a foul little thing. When she had been alive
, everything seemed to move so slowly, but now
As they spoke, Keeskit gestured and one of the other ratkin brought forw
ard several human heads, much the worse for wear. They were withered things, dra
ined of all fluid and badly mutilated. She yanked the golden blade she had taken
from Ushtep and tossed it to Keeskit, who accepted it with a chitter and a flou
rish. It was always good to reward service. She thanked the ratkin and they left
her there with the heads. She stared down at them, wondering what they would sa
y if they could talk. Would they curse the one who had sent them?
How many, she whispered, her voice as dry as sand. How many will you send,
cousin? How many men will spill their blood on these slopes before you come your
self? She looked up, examining the tall turrets and crooked spires of the dead ci
tadel.
The tall minarets of Bel-Aliad the Beautiful cracked and fell beneath th
e relentless tread of the warsphinxes of the Great Land. Arkhan the Black had fl
ed to the borders of Araby after being ousted from Khemri and the legions of Set
tra had followed.
Khalida stalked through the flames, her khopesh and staff sweeping out i
n opposite directions to cut down the leaping ghouls that sought to stall her ad
vance. They bore Neferata s stink, the black bile of Nagash s blood. Ghouls swarmed
around her, biting and snarling and she danced and slew, leaving a red trail in
her wake.
And then a tall form, swathed in black iron and red robes, was cutting a
t her with a black blade. She caught the blade on her staff and swept her khopes
h out, drawing sparks from a scarred and pitted cuirass. Her attacker staggered.
She whirled, cracking him across his fleshless jaw with her staff. She recognis
ed him now, recognised the stink of the charnel magics that permeated his cursed
form Arkhan the Black, Arkhan the Accursed. Was Neferata aiding him, she wonder
ed, or had he come to take her city from her even as Settra s legions had come to
take it from him?
She made to hit him again when a pale hand encircled her staff and jerke
d her back. Khalida turned, khopesh licking out. A straight-edge sword caught th
e khopesh and held it. Khalida s dead eyes widened. You, she spat, her voice hoarse
from centuries of disuse.
You, Neferata, once Queen of Lahmia, said, her own eyes widening and the s
narl slipping from her features. Khalida jerked her staff free of her cousin s gra
sp and twisted her wrist, ripping the blade from Neferata s hand. Neferata leapt b
ack as the staff came down, cracking the ancient stone of the street. In her cou
sin s face, Khalida saw something foul writhing, another face superimposed over Ne
ferata s features, now gone feral after long years feeding at the human trough. Th
e face mouthed hateful curses as Neferata sprang for her, claws extended like th
ose of some great cat. Khalida stretched out a hand, catching Neferata s throat. S
he held the hissing, spitting thing that had once been her cousin, her mother an
d sister in all but name, and tried to find some sign of the woman, the queen sh
e had been.
 The black blade came down on Khalida s arm, nearly severing it, and Nefera
ta rolled free. Khalida spun, following her, and Arkhan stepped between her and
her prey, sword extended. Finish her, Neferata, Arkhan wheezed and his voice was l
ike oil on rocks or the flutter of bats wings. Khalida turned, waiting for Nefera
ta s attack. It did not come.
Instead, Neferata ran.
She had run. Run from Bel-Aliad to Copher, from city to city, fleeing th
e Wars of Death. Khalida, bound to Settra s service, had not been able to follow h
er cousin. Are you still my cousin? she said to the empty courtyard. Part of her w
anted to believe otherwise. Part of her raged against the abominations that her
cousin and the courtiers of Lahmia had become. That part of her had not died whe
n she had, gasping out her life on the tip of Neferata s sword, her ears filled wi
th the sound of her cousin s begging.
Neferata had begged her to live. Had pleaded with her, had offered up he
r tainted blood. Khalida had refused and had died. The end result, however, was t
he same. She looked at her hand again, at the black veins, clogged with rotten b
lood and the way her flesh flaked and peeled beneath linen wrappings. Her muscle
s cracked and her bones clicked and she felt nothing either way. She was not a p
erson but an automaton, no more human now than the beast-headed ushabti which st
alked beside Settra s legions.
That part of her that was consumed by righteous anger had kept her movin
g when so many of the other Awakened had retreated into dreams and their tombs t
o hide from the new day that Nagash had forced upon them. She had marched beside
Settra, seeking to punish the servants of Nagash. When the liche priests had fo
und signs of the blood-drinkers amongst the pale men of the western shores, she
had been in the first war-galley to set sail from Zandri. And in Sartosa, she ha
d again seen her cousin and the thing that rode her. It had crawled into her ski
n and wore her face and mind like armour.
You took my wings, Neferata, Khalida rasped, hatred burning through her sh
runken veins. You made me crawl. Now I will return the favour. Crawl, cousin, cra
wl. Around them, Sartosa burned, even as Bel-Aliad had burned. The fleets of Zand
ri had come for the men of the west, and they would be punished for thinking tha
t the seas were theirs to ply.
Never, Neferata shrieked, kicking Khalida in the midsection. Khalida stagg
ered and Neferata lunged, predator s talons sinking into her midsection. Off-balan
ce, Khalida locked a hand on Neferata s throat and tore her away. She flung the hi
ssing vampire from the aqueduct.
Below, the dead surrounded the vampire as she staggered to her feet. Loo
king down at her, Khalida again saw that second face, that ghostly daemon s mask,
even as she had in Bel-Aliad. It leered up at her like a jackal hidden among the
rocks of Neferata s soul. She leapt down and strode forward, lashing out with her
staff and catching Neferata on the chin. Neferata hurtled backwards, bouncing o
ff a column. Still, the face clung to her like sweat. Still it leered at Khalida
, taunting her silently.
Nehekhara is dead, Neferata and all her people with her; why should you e
scape the fate of the Great Land? Why should you walk in twilight, while your pe
ople suffer in darkness? she asked, but she already knew the answer. Neferata liv
ed because she was damned and the author of that damnation still plucked at the
spider-strands of her soul.
Because I am Queen, Neferata snarled, lunging up.
 Khalida shuddered, leaning on her staff. Neferata had beaten her there,
as well. Had left her broken, but not destroyed. She had not seen Neferata since
then. Settra s scourging of the wild coasts and the waters of the Great Ocean had
driven the blood-drinkers inland, into the mountains where such beasts belonged
.
No. Not beasts, no matter how much she wished to dismiss them as such. E
ven gripped by her murderous desires, Neferata had been much as Khalida recalled
. She was haughty, cunning, cruel but her cousin still. Khalida had come to reali
se that even hate gutters low, given enough time. No matter how much you fanned
the flames, how many desperate breaths you gave to the dimming fire, even hate b
urned down to embers. Three times she had faced her cousin, and twice Neferata h
ad resisted the final blow, despite the thing which drove her.
Why? Time and again, Neferata stayed her hand.
What possessed you, cousin? she said to the stones. What possesses you stil
l?
There was no response. There never was. But she knew the answer neverthe
less.
When she returned to her camp below, Djubti said nothing, for which she
was thankful. Weeks bled into months. The camp was a quiet mockery of the milita
ry camps she remembered from her youth. Empty tents had been raised for soldiers
who no longer needed them and skeletal horses fed dusty fodder and poison water
from the Sour Sea. Patrols swept the slopes and valleys and low hills of the re
gion, hunting ghouls and other monsters which sometimes came out of the mountain
s. She killed a multi-headed chimera in that time and a croaking bat-thing with
the horns of a stag. Men with the heads of goats and worse things occasionally b
oiled out of the dark reaches, braying and snarling.
Her legion met them all and left them to be swallowed by the sands. Too,
she met more challengers. A string of petty kings marched or rode to her doorst
ep, some respectful, others arrogant, down the long decades. With khopesh and st
aff she struck them all down, one after another. Through it all, Djubti held his
own counsel, and the glimmer of suspicion this aroused grew into full flame whe
n, on the next Day of Scorpions, an army five times the size of her own approach
ed.
Hundreds of drums thundered in unison, causing small avalanches and made
the ground beneath her feet tremble. Khalida had taken her place at the head of
her legion, Djubti by her side. He watched her, as if trying to gauge her react
ion. Khalida did not give him the satisfaction of asking the obvious question.
The standards of more than one king rose over the approaching force. Clo
se to a dozen, in fact. If Khalida had been capable of smiling, she might have d
one so. Some of the standards were familiar, belonging to defeated challengers.
Others were new. One, however, stood above them all, the standard of Settra the
Imperishable.
I warned you, Djubti croaked. I warned you, High Queen.
Did you betray me as well? Khalida replied. She didn t look at him. Did you s
end for him, Djubti? Did you call him to bring me to heel?
Do you think so little of me? he said.
Khalida looked at him then. Djubti looked away, his shoulders hunching.
She looked back towards the approaching legions. Her legion would not be able to
stand long against those which were now arrayed against her. Nonetheless, she w
ould not give up her right. She could not.
A line of chariots rumbled forward, carrying her challengers. Head held
high, she walked to meet them. In the centre of the line was a chariot of incomp
arable ornamentation which bore Settra s standard. But it was not Settra himself w
ho rode upon it, Khalida realised with a flicker of relief. The dead thing stand
ing tall on the chariot was not the King of Kings, but instead his herald, Nekap
h. Glowing eyes blazed out of a fleshless skull, now inscribed with the titles o
f his master. His jaw did not move, but all could hear his voice nonetheless. Th
e voice was as deep as the sea and as hard as the mountains. Kneel, Khalida of Ly
baras. Kneel before the might of Settra the Imperishable, Khemrikhara, King of A
ll Kings of Nehekhara, Lord of the Earth from Horizons Far to Those Near, Monarc
h of the Sky and Sea, Mighty Lion of the Sands, Great Scorpion of the Dunes, Bea
utiful Hawk of the Bright Heavens, Emperor of the Shifting Sands and Sweeping Ti
des, Master of the Great Land, Nekaph rumbled, his words humming in her bones. He
extended a hand. Kneel, Hawk of Lahmia, kneel Sister-Queen of Lybaras, kneel Bel
oved Daughter of the Asp goddess. Kneel, or have your skull added to my collecti
on, Mistress of the Serpent Legion. Nekaph lifted the great flail that dangled fr
om his other hand for emphasis. Dozens of skulls hung from it, impaled on bronze
chains, their sockets alive with hideous awareness.
Khalida knelt, extending her khopesh and staff. Behind her, her legion k
nelt as well. Welcome, Oh Mighty Voice of Heaven s Master. Welcome, Herald of the K
ing of Kings and Speaker for the Glorious Dead, she said, her voice carrying clea
rly across the distance.
Nekaph nodded brusquely. Good, he said. At least you have not forgotten tha
t. The flail clattered. Rise, Hawk of the Poison Dunes. Rise and meet my judgment.
Khalida rose smoothly. Judgment, Oh Master of Settra s Wrath? Have I commit
ted an offense?
More than one, one of the other kings grated, bones clicking as he gesticu
lated with pantomime fury. She recognised him as Psashtep of Zandri, one of her
challengers from the past few weeks. He motioned sharply with his spear. You dish
onour us, Khalida! You make a mockery of Settra s Edicts!
Have I? Or are you merely squalling like a child who feels his punishment
is unfair? Khalida said. Come then, Fleet-Master, come and test yourself again an
d let all gathered here see your failure first-hand. She spread her arms in invit
ation. Come one, come all. Never let it be said that Khalida of Lybaras is unwelc
oming of her guests.
She mocks us. See, Nekaph, see how the Hawk screeches at her betters, anot
her king rasped. She recognised Ushtep, his arm re-attached.
You are no one s better, bleating goat of Rasetra, she said. Ushtep hissed a
nd leapt from his chariot, khopesh in hand. He started forward, but a clatter of
Nekaph s flail stopped him.
Enough, the Herald said. Silence, petty kings; you barked for Settra s judgme
nt, and so you shall have it. He stepped down from his chariot and moved towards
Khalida. As he walked, he spoke. Daughter of the Great Land, you hoard honour as
a miser hoards wealth. Such is not meet and such is not the Edict of the Light o
f Heaven Made Manifest, Blessed Be His Name. Will you surrender your post, daugh
ter?
I will not. I will hold my place until I am beaten on the Day of Scorpion
s, as the Edict states, Khalida said.
Such was not the intent, Nekaph said solemnly. His wrist bones whispered a
s they rubbed against one another and the flail of skulls rattled. You must yield
, Khalida.
I must not, Herald of the Infinite and Imperishable, Khalida said, bowing
her head. I cannot.
Nekaph stopped. She examined him, even as he did the same to her. Nekaph
, it was whispered, even now, was not of the Great Land, but instead of the barb
arians of the north. Even in death, even stripped of muscle and meat, he was big
. His skull, engraved with the Litany of Settra, was imposing and terrible in th
e ferocity etched into its grin. His flail, as much a sign of office as it was a
weapon, clattered softly, as if in warning. The light in his sockets dimmed. Why
? he said.
Why? The question rattled in her skull. Why? A face within a face swam b
efore her eyes, both familiar, the one loved, the other loathed. Nagash comes. I
will face him, she said.
Nagash is dust, Nekaph said.
Nagash stirs, Khalida said. The wind from the north blows black, Herald of
the Imperishable King. My scouts have seen fires in the night and heard the dist
ant rumble of great mechanisms. A charnel wind blows down upon us, whispering hi
s name.
Or perhaps another s, Nekaph said, softly.
Khalida stiffened, uncertain. Nekaph continued. Do you hunt Nagash, or hi
s handmaiden? He motioned with the flail. The blood-drinkers have been driven from
the Great Land. They have been driven from the lands which surround ours. That
is enough. Nekaph took a step closer. Settra has decreed such. To hold here, to sp
y and stalk among the living, is to disobey him, Hawk of Lybaras. They will not
return. Nagash will not return. Thus speaks Settra.
A drum sounded. Khalida turned as her legions rose and those of the asse
mbled kings shifted in anticipation of treachery. Nekaph grabbed her arm. What is
this? he said, his tone not quite threatening.
A warning drum, Khalida said, jerking her arm free, From Nagashizzar, Heral
d. Her eyes glowed bright and cold. Someone something has come. The ratkin had been
uncertain, at first, when she offered them the drums. In the years since, they
had sounded them less than a handful of times, and never unnecessarily. Deceitfu
l and treacherous as they were, they knew better than to test her patience. Once
, a group of barbarians from the north, the Strigoi, had attempted to breach the
gates of Nagashizzar. Another time it had been a small group of liches, former
servants of Nagash who had not thrown in with Arkhan or one of the less aggrieve
d Awakened Kings, attempting to infiltrate the citadel and make off with what tr
easures remained.
Nekaph released her. Abruptly he turned and began to bellow orders. Khal
ida did not wait for him. She ran, fleet-footed, towards her legions. There was
no need to shout orders. Her sub-commanders reacted with drilled precision, orde
ring the raising of the standards and the legion turned about as she raced throu
gh their ranks. As she passed the front rank, they fell in behind her, running w
ith all the inhuman fluidity the dead possessed. She heard the thump-thump of th
e drums of Nekaph s legion and knew that the Herald at least would follow her.
 The dead travelled fast, when they wished. In life, her legion could run
for a day and a night without rest, and she with them, and they could cover twi
ce the distance of any other force. In death, they were faster still. A day and
a night passed and the rocky shores of the Sour Sea gave way to the black marshe
s, where crooked trees rose from oily water. Hummocks of dry, corrupt-looking ea
rth sprouted at intervals. Some of these were barrows, long buried and forgotten
by all but the dead. Others were ruins, left over from Nagash s time as lord of t
his filthy place. The marsh grass was stiff and dead and as her legions passed a
cross it, a vast sigh went up and in nearby barrows, the bony fingers of the imp
risoned dead scratched vainly at the stones.
They reached the slopes of Cripple Peak even as the enemy did, and Khali
da felt a flush of something that might have been triumph as she saw the ghostly
forms flowing down the slope like an eerie fog. And within that fog, brown, anc
ient skeletons clad in tattered brown armour moved awkwardly. There were hundred
s of them, barely a tenth of the dead of Nagashizzar, but more than enough to gi
ve battle to the armies of the tomb kings. The newly-awakened dead moved without
the smoothness of those who had made a home in their bones for centuries. Too,
these were not the free dead of the Great Land, but enslaved spirits, bound to a
single, malignant will. She and every other Nehekharan felt the hammer-blow of
that will as the dead of Nagashizzar stalked towards them. No wonder the ratkin
had summoned her.
Is it him? Nekaph demanded even as his chariot rumbled up beside her in a
cloud of dust. The other kings followed him, subdued. Even Djubti was silent.
I do not know, Khalida said. But she did. If she had still been alive, her
heart would have been thundering in her chest. Her mind felt as if a damp blank
et had settled over it, and her marrow itched inside the hollows of her bones. I
t felt as if there were mice loose within her, running and chewing. She had felt
it before, in Bel-Aliad, in Sartosa and on that first night, when she had woken
in her tomb in Lybaras, her spirit wrenched from its eternal flight and chained
within the mummified husk prepared by her priests and servants. She looked at N
ekaph, and she knew that he felt it as well, as did each and every king, even pi
tiful examples like Ushtep.
The same magic that controlled the pitiful, savage bones loping towards
them had awakened the folk of the Great Land centuries before. Nekaph broke the
stillness. His skull tilted back and his jaw sagged as an inhuman roar burst for
th from the very roots of him. The chariots of the kings lurched forward, leadin
g their legions to war. Khalida lifted her khopesh and gave a dry, ululating cry
. Bows were bent back and arrows punctured the sky as her legion responded with
inhuman precision. In life, they could fire three arrows as fast as they could t
ake a step. In death, it was five.
Brown bones slumped, shattered or knocked sprawling by the rain of arrow
s. The chariots of Nekaph and the rest reached them a moment later. The Herald s s
kull-flail snapped out in lethal arcs as he drove into the disorganised mass of
the enemy dead. Khalida followed his trail, her khopesh licking out to put an en
d to those things still capable of movement. The air was thick and she could fee
l the ghostly fingers of a necromancer prying at her thoughts.
Nekaph staggered on his chariot and she knew something similar was happe
ning to him. To all the kings, she realised a moment later, as Ushtep s blade bare
ly missed cleaving her skull. The fire in his eyes had changed colour and his li
ps wriggled like worms on his skull as he attacked her. He was not the only one,
and legion turned on legion as the unseen necromancer pulled on the skeins of m
agics which bound their souls. Khalida wasted no words on Ushtep. Her khopesh fl
ashed, cutting through his spine and he fell in two places, twitching and cursin
g. One of her own warriors jabbed at her with a spear even as one of the brown-b
oned dead of Nagashizzar attached her with a crude sword. She caught both weapon
s on her staff and khopesh and she and her opponents turned in a circle. A blast
of crackling fire consumed one a moment later and she swiftly dispatched the ot
her, nodding her thanks to Djubti.
Someone plays with us, she said.
He ll regret that, soon enough, Djubti said. He pointed. The Herald needs hel
p.
Khalida turned. Nekaph s chariot was under attack by the wraiths she d seen
earlier. Ghostly warriors crawled all over the Herald s war-chariot, striking at h
im with ethereal weapons. He roared and swung his flail, his blows tearing throu
gh the foggy substance of the phantoms and dispersing them.
She ran towards the Herald. But someone else got there first.
A pale shape, graceful and lethal, seemed to swim through the air. A swo
rd came down, chopping into the Herald s collarbone. Nekaph grappled with his atta
cker as his chariot continued to plunge through the enemy. The Herald was off-ba
lance, but even one-handed, he was as dangerous as anything that stalked the Gre
at Land. He grabbed a handful of black hair, yanking his opponent s head back and
something in Khalida cried out as she recognised her cousin.
Neferata, Queen of the City of the Dawn, had returned to Nehekhara.
She moved like a snake, bending and twisting, her sword flashing up to c
ut through her hair, sacrificing it for freedom. The sword came around quickly,
almost too quickly for Khalida to follow. But not too quickly for her to block a
s she leapt onto the side of her chariot and interposed her staff. Neferata snar
led and her eyes widened. Cousin, Khalida said.
No! Neferata shrieked, flipping backwards onto the skeletal spine of one o
f the horses pulling the chariot. Khalida stepped onto the front of the chariot
without hesitation. Nekaph said something, but she ignored him. She set her foot
on the bony shank of the horse and propelled herself towards her cousin. Nefera
ta brought her sword around and the khopesh grated against it. The tableau held
for an eye-blink and then both were falling through the air.
Khalida felt her bones burst and re-knit even as she bounded to her feet
and lunged through the dust of their impact. Neferata met her, eyes blazing, fa
ngs bared. They strained against one another as chariots and skeletal horsemen s
wept around them in a wild circle. Surrender, cousin, Khalida said. There is no esc
ape this time.
No, Neferata said. There is always an escape! She drove Khalida back, batter
ing her weapons aside and raising her blade. Khalida waited. Neferata hesitated,
the snarl slipping from her face, replaced by what? Little hawk she began, longing
in every syllable.
Then Djubti was there and the moment was lost. The liche priest flung ou
t a hand as he approached and Neferata screamed as her body withered. She stagge
red back, looking at her hands in horror as her unnatural vitality was drained f
rom her. As Khalida watched, porcelain flesh grew leathery and wrinkled and Nefe
rata s human face shrank into a beast s muzzle, like the silently shrieking faces of
the desiccated bats she saw sometimes, in the deep places of the mountains. Eye
s flashing, Neferata lunged awkwardly at the liche priest, who froze in shock. O
nly Khalida s staff, snapping down on her cousin s back, saved him from having his h
ead torn from his shoulders. She knocked Neferata flat and pressed the butt of h
er staff to the back of her cousin s head. Neferata struggled and snapped and snar
led, and Khalida saw another form writhing within her, another spirit all tangle
d up with hers.
Then, abruptly, Neferata fell still. Her flesh filled out, black veins b
ulging as whatever dark magic held her frozen in time reasserted itself. Khalida
stepped back, and Neferata rose, eyes glinting. The desperation that had been e
tched on her face before was gone. She looked around coolly. Well then, she said. I
surrender. What now?
Neferata was quickly bound in chains of bone and bronze, and her mind an
d spirit tied by the magic of the liche priests. Each king had brought one, and
Nekaph had brought several. The last of the Nagashizzar dead had collapsed like
puppets with their strings cut when Neferata had fallen and there was no sign of
anyone else, dead or alive.
Khalida knew that appearances could be deceiving, especially where her c
ousin was concerned. Why had she given up so easily? She watched her. Haughty, h
ead held high, Neferata seemed to give no consideration to her captivity. She mi
ght as well have been strolling through the gardens of Lahmia.
Did you find the magic-users? Khalida said as Djubti approached her.
You do not believe it was her? She stinks of Nagash s dark arts, Djubti said
.
It was not her mind I felt, trying to control mine. Have you found them?
No. Nekaph has ordered scouts to search the hills and marsh, but
He does not care, Khalida said. They are gone and we have her, and that is
enough.
Djubti shrugged, his dried flesh creaking. Isn t it? It is what you wanted,
isn t it? He grinned at her, exposing blackened teeth. You are vindicated and aveng
ed, all at once.
Am I? Khalida said, looking at Neferata. Nekaph and the other kings had ga
thered and Neferata was brought before them, surrounded by a web of spears.
She is beaten, Djubti said.
Neferata flipped the coloured tile and leaned back. What do you see, litt
le hawk? she said. Khalida looked at the game-board and shook her head in frustra
tion.
I am beaten, she said.
Are you?
I have no moves left, Khalida said, gesturing morosely to the board.
There are always moves, Neferata said, rising. Here, I will show you. Switc
h places with me.
There are always moves, Khalida said softly.
What?
Khalida ignored him and went to join the others. Nekaph looked at her. It
seems, Hawk of Lybaras, that I owe you a debt, he said, his skull cocked. Khalid
a did not reply. Neferata glared at her, as did several of the gathered kings. N
ekaph stepped forward, his skull-flail twisting in his grip. Neferata of Lahmia,
kneel before the Hand of the Infinite Desert and receive his justice.
Kneel? Neferata threw back her head and laughed deeply. Neferata does not k
neel, liche. It is you who should kneel before me. As she spoke, Khalida felt a d
eep, old ache in her bones. One of the other kings shuddered and she knew that i
t was not just Neferata who spoke. She knew what possessed her cousin. They all
did, even grim Nekaph, who hesitated and then stepped back. No, I do not kneel, d
ead things. No, I-I It was Neferata s turn to hesitate. The fire in her eyes dimmed,
and for a moment, just a moment, the evil in her features seemed to dissipate.
She shook her head and the fire was back and the malevolence.
Kill her, a king said. Others took up the cry. It echoed up and down the r
anks. Kill the spawn of Nagash!
Nekaph raised a hand and silence fell. That is Settra s Edict, he said solem
nly. Death to the Bringers of Death, Death to those who bear the Taint of Him Who
Has Been Struck from the Rolls of the Priesthood, Death to the Drinkers of Bloo
d and the Eaters of Flesh. He looked at Neferata. Death, the final death, Neferata
of Lahmia, and Usirian will receive thy spirit.
No, Khalida said, before she even realised that she had spoken.
Nekaph paused. He looked at her. Speak, Queen of Lybaras.
Neferata is a queen of the Great Land. She is not a dog to be executed, Kh
alida said. She is owed trial by combat.
We owe her nothing, Nekaph said.
Perhaps, but you said you owed me a debt, Herald of Settra. And this is m
y payment. Khalida thumped the ground with her staff. I, Khalida of Lybaras, Hawk
of the Desert, challenge Neferata of Lahmia, she called out. If she wins, she is f
ree to leave, as the gods wish it.
A rumble of protest rose from the gathered kings. Nekaph ignored it. He
looked at her. Is this truly what you wish? he said.
Khalida looked at Neferata, who was studying her with veiled interest. S
he looked back at Nekaph. Yes.
So be it. Nekaph raised his hand. Neferata of Lahmia, do you accept the cha
llenge of Khalida of Lybaras?
Khalida looked at her cousin. Neferata met her gaze and her dark eyes na
rrowed in suspicion. Then, she nodded. Nekaph chopped down with his hand. So be i
t.
Khalida stepped past him, well aware of the hostility in the gazes of th
e audience for the coming performance. Neferata shrugged off her chains as the l
iche priests mumbled and gestured, releasing the myriad bindings. Neferata s eyes
flickered first to Khalida and then north. Khalida tossed her khopesh at Neferat
a s feet.
How long must our dance be, cousin? she said.
I have no intention of dying here, Neferata said, scooping the blade up an
d testing its weight. Khalida circled her slowly, languidly spinning her staff.
 Why did you come back then? Khalida said.
My reasons are my own, cousin, Neferata said. Sand billowed and then she w
as slicing through the air, the khopesh biting for Khalida s head. The staff drove
the blade aside and Khalida spun it, driving the butt into Neferata s belly and k
nocked her from the air. Neferata sprang to her feet and the blade licked out, c
utting into Khalida s thigh. Neferata dodged the staff, rolling across the sand an
d bounding up, cutting across Khalida s back.
Khalida staggered forward and sank to her knees as the khopesh cut the a
ir over her head. Bending backwards, she let the staff shoot through her hands t
o catch Neferata in the jaw, dropping her flat to the ground. Khalida rose smoot
hly, turned and lunged, stabbing the ground with the staff as Neferata rolled as
ide desperately. She came up with a howl and the khopesh drew sparks as it bit i
nto the staff. Cousin strained against cousin for a moment before they broke apa
rt and circled one another.
What did you come hunting, cousin? Khalida said. You found it, I d wager, or
you d never have gotten close to us.
Neferata smiled wickedly. No?
You are a distraction. Wave with the right while stabbing with the left,
that was what you taught me, Khalida said. You let us capture you, confident that
you could escape, and all to distract us from what? It was not you who controlle
d the dead, was it?
It is of no moment, now. How long have you waited for this, little hawk? N
eferata said, avoiding the question. How long have you yearned to have me all to
yourself?
Centuries, Khalida answered bluntly. You are a question which nags, cousin.
I would have answers.
Neferata looked puzzled. Then she laughed harshly. You are not a child, K
halida. I no longer have to answer your foolish questions.
Do not be afraid to ask questions, little hawk, Neferata said, leaning ove
r her as she studied the scrolls. Only by asking can you learn what is necessary.
Why don t you age? Khalida said, not looking up. She felt Neferata tense.
I-that is not necessary for you to know.
Are you blessed by the gods?
Neferata pushed away from the table and laughed softly. Yes, of sorts. Re
ad me what you have written.
It was a poem, Khalida said, easily blocking Neferata s blow.
What was a poem? What are you muttering about, liche? Neferata hissed, scr
ambling back as Khalida swung her staff.
It was a poem about you, about queens and their masks. You read it at the
feast that night and embarrassed me in front of Anhur, she said, and Neferata bl
anched at the mention of her husband s name. He was one of the few who had not awo
ken. Anhur of Lybaras remained in his tomb, sleeping. Later, he said it was then
that he began to look forward to our marriage.
 I-you were always so boyish, never sitting still, Neferata said, shaking h
er head, her eyes unfocused. He needed to see that there was more to you than the
warrior. He needed to see that you had a mind and a soul. Not like Lamashizzar.
Khalida struck. Her staff whistled as it descended towards Neferata s head
. The vampire caught the staff-head in her hand and flung it aside. The khopesh
drew dust from Khalida s side. She stepped back, feeling nothing. Did he weep for m
e? Neferata said nothing. Did you? Khalida pressed.
I never stopped, Neferata hissed, striking with the speed of an asp. It wa
s Khalida s turn to grab her opponent s weapon. She jerked Neferata off her feet and
sent her tumbling to the ground. Neferata snarled and whirled, backhanding Khal
ida as she closed. Both women picked themselves up slowly.
Yet you continued on, Khalida said. Lahmia burned, cousin. And Lybaras, and
Khemri and all of the cities of the Great Land, they all burned because of you.
No! Neferata screamed, lunging wildly. Khalida interposed her staff, catch
ing the khopesh. No sparks this time. Instead, driven by Neferata s savage strengt
h, the blade sank into the staff. They spun in a weird parody of a child s dance.
And now you serve him who burned them, Khalida said. Now you bow and scrape
at the Usurper s feet; are you his dog, Neferata? Are you a tool, Khalida said, fo
rcing Neferata back.
No man commands me, living or dead! Neferata snapped, wrenching the khopes
h free. Blade and staff connected in a flurry of ringing blows. Not Lamashizzar,
not these dead kings and certainly not Nagash. Neferata winced even as the words
left her mouth. Khalida broke from her.
The asp conceals its fangs, until it is within striking range. Serve, unt
il you can strike, Neferata said, tapping the pile of scrolls with the one she cl
utched in her hand. The cities strive against one another, pitting strength again
st strength. But
War has more than one form, Khalida said, repeating her cousin s words. Nefe
rata smiled and tapped Khalida s nose with the scroll.
Exactly, she said. Weakness can be as deadly a weapon as a sword or spear,
if wielded expertly. I show the other cities our weaknesses and let them draw th
eir conclusions, while hiding our strengths. Strike when your opponent believes
he is strongest, for that is when he is not paying attention.
I learned much from you cousin, Khalida said. I learned to use weakness as
a weapon.
Yes, and in the end, it got you killed, Neferata spat. The khopesh sang of
f the staff.
You hid your strength. I did not know how far you would go to satisfy you
r ambition, Khalida said. You killed me, cousin, and you killed our people, all fo
r your ambition. Can you do it again?
What? Neferata said, hesitating.
Khalida spread her arms. Strike, Neferata. Strike and be free. Neferata sp
rang forward, khopesh raised. But she did not strike. The blade trembled in her
hands. Her face contorted as if she were in pain. Strike, Khalida hissed, Strike!
Neferata blinked. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out. Her eyes wide
ned and Khalida wondered what she was seeing. Were the blood-drinkers as prone t
o waking dreams as the dead? I-I can t, Neferata hissed, the words leaking out from
between her fangs.
Khalida closed her eyes. Again she saw the battles of Sartosa and Bel-Al
iad and even that first, final, fatal fight with her cousin s tormented features a
bove her, begging her to live. Neferata had not struck then either, Khalida sudd
enly recalled. And, remembering, she lunged. Time slowed. She extended her staff
forward like a spear. She could easily perforate her cousin s breastbone and burs
t her heart with a single thrust. Instead, Khalida twitched her wrists, letting
the head of the staff brush Neferata s side. To any watching, it would appear that
she had misjudged the angle of the blow in her eagerness. As she d hoped, Neferat
a s arm instinctively snapped down, trapping her staff. She caught Neferata s sword
arm and released her staff, turning both hands to grappling with her cousin, wre
stling for the blade. Neferata hissed and snarled as they fought and Khalida twi
sted the blade so that it was caught between them. Then, with an exhalation of d
usty air, Khalida jerked Neferata forward and was impaled on the curve of the kh
opesh even as she had been centuries before.
She sank down, dragging Neferata with her. She heard an angry roar from
the assembled kings, but paid it no heed. There was no pain, only satisfaction.
Weakness was a weapon. Men, dead or alive, did not understand that. Nagash did n
ot understand that. But she did. And she understood one other thing.
Neferata stared down at her. What-what
You never struck me. Not once, Khalida said. Even now, even with him riding
you, you did not strike me. That hesitation had proved what she had not even dar
ed to hope. It proved that within the fury crouching over her, there was somethi
ng besides the blood of Nagash. That Neferata was still Neferata, despite everyt
hing. Changed, mad, but still the same haughty, cunning, cruel and kind cousin s
he remembered.
She grabbed Neferata s hair and pulled her close. Listen to me, cousin. It
is my turn to be the teacher. When your opponent smiles in triumph, spit into hi
s teeth and when he laughs loud, laugh louder. Spite is your greatest weapon, be
sides your mind, because in spite, all things are possible. Kings can be made to
grovel for spite. Peasants may be raised to lofty heights and the strongest war
rior gutted, all for spite. Spite is whimsy sharpened to a killing point and wit
h it you will be unpredictable.
What are you saying? Neferata said, staring at her in incomprehension.
Deep wells fill slowly, Khalida said, stroking her hair. And they empty qui
ckly. She released Neferata. Neferata stood quickly and reeled back. Khalida lay
back and twisted her head. Nekaph strode towards them. She raised a hand. Justice
is served, Herald of Kings, she said. She has won her freedom.
Nekaph looked down at her. He knew what she had done. She could see it i
n the glowing pits of his eyes. Would he deny her? Would he strike regardless? Ar
e you certain? he said.
She has won.
Nekaph looked at Neferata, who faced him without flinching. Then, with a
n imperious gesture, he said, You may leave, freely and unmolested, Queen of Lahm
ia. But if you ever set foot within the Great Land, you will not find me so merc
iful.
Neferata smirked and made to speak. But she fell silent as her eyes met
Khalida s. Khalida thought of those who had tried to control her cousin. Kings and
priests and gods had failed, and been trod beneath Neferata s sandaled feet for t
he trying. What hope had some old dead thing like Nagash? Neferata might serve h
im now, but she had served Lamashizzar as well, and Lahmia and Nehekhara and Asa
ph. Neferata does not kneel. No one commands her, Khalida said softly, wishing she
could smile.
A confused expression passed across Neferata s face and Khalida knew that
her cousin had heard her. Neferata turned and walked away. The legions of the de
ad stepped aside, forming a corridor of bone and bronze for the last Queen of La
hmia to leave the Great Land.
Be true to your ambition, cousin, Khalida whispered. Sink your fangs deep a
nd do not let go. Then the Queen of Lybaras closed her eyes and fell into the wai
ting ocean of better times, when a girl had learned the forms of war and weaknes
s from her beloved cousin.