02 - Nagash the Unbroken (16 page)

Neferata smiled to herself as she watched her handmaiden drink. Once upon a
time, she could have ordered Tephret to partake of the wine, but now she could
command others with nothing more than a gentle suggestion. Moreover, they
wanted
to obey, as though nothing might please them more. It was another
gift of Nagash’s elixir, she knew. It had manifested itself over time, growing
in power as she and Arkhan continued to refine the necromancer’s formula. Until
now, the queen had been careful to use her newfound gift sparingly, but tonight,
she would test it to its limits.

They sat and talked quietly for hours. Tephret drank wine while the two of
them talked of times past, while Neferata kept a careful watch on the moon’s
stately progress overhead. As the hour drew close to midnight, she took a deep
breath and said, “How long has it been since you left the Women’s Palace,
Tephret?”

The handmaiden paused, her lips working silently as she tried to puzzle
through the question. It was fairly late, by the queen’s standards, and Tephret
had consumed the better part of an entire jar of wine.

“Blessed Asaph, let me see…” the handmaiden muttered. “It would have been the
sixty-second year of Geheb, I believe. That was the year I was presented to the
king, and he made me your handmaiden. I was just eight years old. That was…”

“More than a hundred and fifty years ago,” the queen observed. She considered
Tephret for a moment, then reached over and plucked the empty bowl from the
handmaiden’s grasp. “Walk with me,” Neferata said, taking Tephret’s hand and
gently pulling the old woman to her feet.

Tephret frowned in bemusement. “Where? Is it time to return to the
bedchamber, or do you wish to visit your cousin Khalida?”

The queen shook her head. “Khalida is gone, remember?” she reminded Tephret.
“She was married to Prince Anhur, years ago. Now she rules as Queen of Lybaras.”

“Oh, of course,” Tephret said, chiding herself. “Forgive me, great one. My
memory plays tricks on me sometimes.”

The queen squeezed her hand. “There’s nothing to forgive, except that you
forgot to call me by my name. Now come.”

“Where are we going, then?”

“Into the palace proper,” the queen replied. “You’ve been shut up in here too
long, Tephret. It’s time to set you free.”

To the queen’s surprise, Tephret stopped dead in her tracks, pulling against
the queen’s grip with surprising strength. “We can’t!” she said, her eyes
widening. “It’s not allowed!”

Neferata turned, stepping close to the aged handmaiden and peering deep into
her eyes.

“Do you trust me, sweet Tephret?” she asked.

The handmaiden fell silent, a reply half-formed on her trembling lips. She
met the queen’s eyes and relaxed at once.

“With my life,” she answered faintly. “But… but what will the king’s servants
say? What about your mask?”

“They will say nothing,” Neferata said firmly. “Tonight of all nights, we
will go wherever we wish, and we will not hide who we are. Do you understand?”

“No,” Tephret said, shaking her head. “But that’s no matter. I go where you
go.”

Neferata squeezed her hand and smiled. “That’s right, dear one. Just follow
me.”

The queen led her most favoured handmaiden down the lamplit corridors,
through rooms and galleries that they had both known all their lives. Servants
made way for the pair, marvelling at how queen and handmaiden walked
hand-in-hand, like close friends. They spoke to one another as they walked,
sharing memories and laughing softly at one another’s tales.

They passed through the Hall of Reverent Contemplation, still lost in times
past. Tephret barely paused when the queen reached the end of the hall and
pulled open one of the heavy outer doors. As luck would have it, a pair of
palace servants were just passing the chamber as the queen emerged. One of the
servants, a younger woman, took one look at the queen and fainted. The other was
transfixed, his eyes wide and his jaw hanging open as Neferata approached.

“Tend to your companion,” she said, peering into the servant’s eyes. “And
tell no one of what you saw.”

Trembling, speechless, the servant fell to his knees and pressed his forehead
to the floor as the queen and her companion glided past.

Tephret followed the queen like an obedient child, clutching the queen’s hand
and staring openly at the unfamiliar surroundings. Neferata felt giddy, her
pulse racing as she openly walked the halls that she’d been forced to skulk
through for nearly a year. Other servants crossed her path, and each one she
left prostrate on the marble tiles, stunned and quivering in shock. She relished
their stunned, slack-jawed expressions, their instant subservience. This is how
it shall be from this night forward, she swore to herself. I shall walk these
halls whenever it pleases me. I shall see my children again. And no one will
dare say otherwise.

Moving openly, Neferata covered the distance to the abandoned wing of the
palace much faster than expected. For a moment, all she could do was stand at
the servants’ entrance. Her heart was in her throat.

Tephret was weaving on her feet. The late hour and the wine were weighing
heavily on her. “What are we doing here?” she said bemusedly.

The queen drew a deep breath. “I have a gift for you,” she said. “It’s not
much further now.”

The handmaiden peered through the doorway. “It’s so dark in there.”

“I know,” Neferata said. “I know. Just hold my hand. Everything will be all
right.”

And with that, her course was set. She could not turn back now. If nothing
else, her pride wouldn’t allow it.

Tephret followed her into the darkness without hesitation. She said not a
word as they walked through the dust and debris, nor did she fret at the sounds
of creatures scurrying just out of sight. All she did was tighten her grip on
the queen’s hand, and pressed on.

Neferata scarcely paused as she pushed open the door to the sanctum, as
though she was entering nothing more than a room inside the Women’s Palace. She
took Tephret to the banked brazier, and then stirred the coals to sluggish life.

The handmaiden turned slowly in place as the orange light filled the room.
Her gaze drifted past the laden bookshelves, the stained divans and the
cluttered worktables. Neferata saw the look of innocent wonder on her face and
realised that the old woman was looking for the gift she’d been promised. She
watched as Tephret’s eyes moved to the ritual circle at the far side of the
room… and then she saw the huddled form of Arkhan, just at the edge of the
light. Immediately, Tephret turned towards the immortal and then gripped the
queen’s arm.

“Someone’s there!” she hissed, her voice quavering.

“I know,” the queen said. “It’s all right, Tephret. There’s nothing to fear.”

Arkhan stirred, his head rising slowly at the sound of the handmaiden’s
voice. He leaned forward, into the firelight, and Tephret saw his face.

“Oh!” Tephret cried, her eyes widening in terror. She pressed a hand to her
mouth, even as her voice built to a scream. “Oh, merciful gods. Asaph protect
us!”

Neferata batted Tephret’s hand aside and seized her by the chin. “Hush!” she
commanded, turning the handmaiden’s head so she could stare into her eyes. “Do
not be afraid. There is nothing to fear, do you understand?”

Tephret’s voice fell to a whimper. Neferata heard a rattle of heavy, iron
links, and then Arkhan spoke.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. “What’s
she
doing here?”

“It’s time,” the queen told him, never taking her eyes from Tephret. “It’s
been a month. Lamashizzar will gather the cabal together to create his elixir.
Correct?”

“Yes,” Arkhan replied. “But what does that have to do with her?”

“Then this is the moment we’ve been waiting for,” Neferata replied. “But
before we confront the king, we’ll need to be at the peak of our strength.”

The immortal let out an exasperated sigh. “All right, but that doesn’t
explain—”

Neferata tore her gaze away from the handmaiden and fixed Arkhan with her
stare. “Months ago, you told me that the elixir can be made even more powerful
using a living vessel.” A small part of her mind was surprised at how calm she
sounded.

Arkhan was taken aback. “No,” he stammered, shaking his head. “You
misunderstand. She… she’s too old—”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Neferata snapped. “She’s alive, and
she’s here. If you are half as skilled as you claim to be, you should be able to
make this work.”

A moan slipped past Tephret’s trembling lips. She was weeping now, trembling
from the strain of containing her fear. “What’s going on?” she asked in a
fearful, almost childlike voice. “What are you talking about? I don’t
understand…”

Neferata touched a finger to the handmaiden’s lips. “Hush, dear one,” she
said, and forced a smile. “You’re about to receive your gift.”

She took Tephret’s hand and led her across the room. She held the
handmaiden’s gaze the entire time.

“You’ve done so much for me,” Neferata said to her. “For so many years you’ve
served without hesitation or complaint. And now, dear one, I’m going to set you
free.” The queen manoeuvred her into the centre of the circle and placed her
hands on the woman’s cheeks.

“Don’t be afraid,” the queen said, drawing on the power of the elixir
coursing in her veins. “Everything is going to be all right. Stand here but a
moment, and then no one in all Lahmia will ever command you again. Do you
understand?”

Slowly, by degrees, Tephret relaxed. When she spoke again, her voice sounded
small and frail. “I understand, Neferata.”

The queen smiled, tasting tears on her lips. “That’s right, dear one.” She
leaned forward, touching her forehead to Tephret’s. “You’ve done so very much
for me, for so many years. You’ve earned your rest. Part of you will be with me
always,” she said, and then stepped back until she stood outside the circle.

Arkhan was waiting for her. The immortal’s expression was strange and
troubled. “You do not understand,” he said, so softly that only she could hear.
“If you truly love her, then you must not do this.”

The queen studied Tephret for a moment, then shook her head. “No,” she said.
“It’s too late for that. I need her, this one last time.” She turned to the
immortal, and bore down on him with the full weight of her stare. “Do what you
must,” she told him. “The king will be here in little more than an hour.”

Arkhan stiffened. “Very well,” he said in a hollow voice. “Prepare yourself,
great one.”

Neferata nodded, wiping more tears from her eyes. “I am ready,” she said.

The immortal bowed to her, then went to a nearby table. She watched,
surprised, as he picked up a small knife and tested its edge against the ball of
his thumb.

She was not prepared for what happened next. She was not prepared at all.

The sound of footfalls echoed through the darkness. Neferata focussed on the
sound. Her senses were sharp as a razor; she could hear nine distinct sets of
footsteps. One moved with catlike grace, which she took to be Abhorash, the
king’s champion. Two more were loose-limbed and clumsy. The drunkards could be
virtually anyone.

The steps drew closer, then suddenly there was a hiss of surprise, and
everyone stopped, just outside the sanctum door. Neferata heard Lamashizzar’s
voice, whispering urgently. Doubtless he’d seen the light of the brazier seeping
beneath the sanctum door.

She heard a rasp of metal—it rang faintly, and she could tell it was sharp
iron by the note, as distinct as a musical tone. Then came the catlike tread,
and after a moment the door to the chamber swung slowly open. Abhorash entered,
sword ready, with the king and the rest of the cabal close behind.

Neferata waited for them at the edge of the ritual circle, her head held
high. Arkhan stood to one side, his hands clasped behind his back. Behind them,
Tephret’s bloody remains still lay sprawled in the centre of the circle. The
queen’s hands were spread at waist level, palms out, like a welcoming goddess.
Her linen robe, from neck to sleeves, was stained crimson, and her chin was red
with fresh blood.

Abhorash, the grim, implacable warrior, recoiled from the sight of Neferata
with a cry of shock and wonder. Even Lamashizzar, who had known her all his
life, was momentarily stunned by the sight of her naked, bloodstained face. The
rest of the cabal looked upon her as though she was the vision of a vengeful
goddess, come to wreak a terrible judgment upon them. Ubaid sank to his knees
with a groan, his face filled with rapturous terror.

Given the scene spread before him, it was a wonder that the king could manage
find his voice at all.

Lamashizzar took a halting step towards Neferata. “How dare you!” he said.
The words welled up from his throat in a choked whisper. “This is an outrage. An
offence against the crown!”

Neferata met his gaze without flinching, yet it was not her husband she saw.
Her mind’s eye could see little past the horrors of the hour before. She could
still hear the echoes of Tephret’s screams in her mind. She had lingered for a
very long time, given the hideous things Arkhan had done to her. The queen had
watched every agonising second of it. She had owed poor Tephret that much.

“This,” Neferata said in a leaden voice, “is for the future of Lahmia. You
have forgotten your duties to your people, brother, so I am taking matters into
my own hands. Starting now.”

Lamashizzar’s face went pale with rage. “You stupid, arrogant bitch!” he
growled. He rushed towards her, seizing both of her arms and shaking her
roughly. “When I get you back to the Women’s Palace I’m going to flog you within
an inch of your life! Do you hear—”

Neferata’s small, slender hand moved too fast for mortal eyes to follow. She
laid her palm against the king’s chest and pushed, and Lamashizzar was hurled
backwards as though he were nothing more substantial than a straw doll. Abhorash
dodged nimbly aside, leaving the king to crash into the drunken forms of Lords
Adio and Khenti. They fell to the ground in a tangle of thrashing limbs.