02 - Nagash the Unbroken (37 page)

“Pay heed to the throne of Lahmia,” the grand vizier intoned, his voice
echoing in the nearly empty chamber. “The court of Neferata the Eternal is
convened. Let all bear witness to her glory.”

* * *

“The last of the annual tribute has arrived,” Ankhat said, scanning the
contents of the ledger in his hands. “Zandri has come up short again.”

Neferata sighed. “What is the excuse this time?”

Ankhat shrugged. “Pirates, of course. Cut down profits on the slave trade by
nearly a third, according to them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are they telling the truth, Ushoran?”

The Lord of Masks shook his head. His network of spies now reached from one
end of Nehekhara to the other. Lahmia was the centre of the civilized world,
richer by far than any of the other great cities combined. The yearly tribute to
pay off the interest on their debts saw to that. There were a great many
powerful people who resented that fact. “Zandri’s navy is as strong as ever,” he
said. “There hasn’t been a pirate spotted in her waters for more than a
century.”

“And does Numas support Zandri’s reckless behaviour?” Neferata asked.

Ankhat snorted. “Given how much we’re paying them for grain? I should hope
not.” The city of Numas, situated on the wide Plains of Plenty, had long been
the chief food producer in Nehekhara. Now, with reports that the fertile banks
of the River Vitae were shrinking, and the desert encroaching on the other
cities more and more each year, their power and influence had grown tenfold.
Even Lahmia found itself increasingly beholden to the distant city, as
increasing numbers of bandit gangs drove farmers off the Golden Plain.

“Numas has given no sign of support for Zandri,” Ushoran agreed. “The west
has changed a great deal in the last two hundred years, and the only real common
ground the two cities ever had was their brief allegiance to Nagash. If
anything, I suspect that Zandri is growing bold in response to Numas’ growing
stature.”

“And does Numas pose a threat to us?” Neferata asked. Naaima chided her often
that she saw potential threats everywhere these days. When one ruled a de facto
empire, it was the only way to survive.

Ushoran gave another of his shrugs. “Now? No. A hundred years from now?
Perhaps.”

Neferata sighed. “How quickly they seem to forget,” she growled. “Three
hundred years of peace and prosperity has evidently spoiled them. Perhaps a
punitive expedition to Zandri is in order.”

Ushoran glanced at Ankhat, who shifted uncomfortably.

“For that, we’ll need an army, I suspect,” Ankhat said.

Neferata straightened. “What happened to the army we
had?”
she
demanded.

“Three hundred years of peace and prosperity,” Ankhat replied. “Lamashizzar
began reducing the army right after the war, and it was allowed to wither ever
since. There didn’t seem to be a point to maintaining an expensive army when the
trade policies were working so well, and besides, it’s highly unlikely the
dragon power has retained its potency after so long in storage.”

Neferata glowered behind her mask. There likely wouldn’t be any more
opportunities to buy the exotic powder, either. The Eastern Empire was still as
secretive and isolationist as it ever had been, but Ushoran’s spies in the trade
cities hinted that there had been great upheavals inside its borders. Prince
Xian Ha Feng, scion of the Celestial Household, had defied the edicts of the
Emperor for two years after his first taste of Neferata’s blood, effectively
resolving the matter of Lahmia’s debt to the Empire.

When he was finally recalled by his august father, the prince left for the
Silk Lands with two more vials of the queen’s blood, and promises of much more
in the future. But shortly after Xian’s return, all contact with the Empire
abruptly ceased, and all foreigners were barred from its trade cities on pain of
death. It would be more than a century before contact was restored, whereupon it
was learned that the old emperor had met with sudden misfortune, and issues of
succession had turned violent. Prince Xian disappeared into the chaos of the
civil wars that followed, and none knew his fate. The current emperor’s view on
Nehekhara was one of benign disinterest.

“What have we been doing with all the money that was supposed to be going to
the army?” she inquired.

“Some of it went to the navy,” Ankhat said. “Most of it went to expanding the
City Guard and adding patrols to the trade routes across the Golden Plain.”

“And much good that did us,” Neferata replied sourly. “No wonder Zandri feels
free to withhold tribute.” She pointed at Ankhat. “That policy changes now. How
long will it take to raise a new army and train it?”

Ankhat blinked. “I don’t know for certain,” he replied. “I seem to recall
that it took your father decades—”

“That was because he was negotiating with the damned Easterners,” Neferata
said, and then cast a guilty look at Naaima.

“Abhorash could tell us,” Ankhat replied. “If he was here, of course.”

Neferata glanced at Ushoran. “What of Abhorash?” she asked. “Any word?”

The Lord of Masks shrugged once again. “There are rumours he was sighted in
Rasetra last year,” he said, “The last I knew for certain, he was heading into
the jungles, but it’s been twenty years now. He could very well be dead.”

Abhorash had been the last member of the cabal to accept the poisoned cup;
later even than Naaima by more than a decade. Having witnessed the voluntary
transformation of the rest of Neferata’s cabal, he wanted no part of an
existence that would prevent him from fighting on the battlefield. He believed
that more than a hundred and fifty years of loyal service to the throne was
enough to ensure that he would never betray the cabal, but Neferata was not
convinced. Finally, she lost patience. When he came to the palace to receive his
elixir from the queen, she gave him the poisoned cup instead.

He had been furious upon awakening as an immortal, and refused to accept what
he had become. Incredibly, he’d denied his thirst for many nights, as though it
were a sickness that could be overcome, until Neferata had begun to think the
mighty warrior might actually waste away. But then, one moonless night, Abhorash
succumbed. By the time the sun had risen once more, twelve people—men, women,
even a small child—had been slain across the length of the city. Ankhat and
Ushoran had scoured the city in search of Abhorash on the following night, but
the champion was nowhere to be found. He’d fled the city, and no one in Lahmia
had seen him since.

“Abhorash isn’t dead,” Neferata declared. “There’s nothing in the southern
jungles—or anywhere else—capable of killing him. When he discovers that for
himself, I expect we will see him again.” She glanced at Ankhat. “In the
meantime, my lord, we need an army.”

Ankhat bowed. “I will inform the queen of the new policy at once.”

A group of priestesses slipped into the chamber, bearing goblets to quench
the court’s thirst. Midnight already. They’d been discussing matters of state
for six hours. The notion surprised and dismayed her.

Neferata accepted the first goblet and drank it down, then watched the others
drink. The transformation affected each of them differently, she knew. They all
dealt with the thirst in their own ways, and it was reflected in the way that
they fed. Ankhat took the proffered cup, studied its depths, and then drank it
slowly, like wine. Lord Ushoran took his cup in an almost absent fashion, his
brooding mind distracted by one intrigue or another. He drank the blood in swift
gulps; for him it was fuel, and nothing more. Zurhas eyed his goblet with dread,
yet he accepted the cup with a grimace and drank it down in a single swallow.
Naaima accepted hers with studied calm, as with everything else she did, and
drank it without evident interest or emotion.

W’soran shook his head curtly, refusing the cup as he always did. Neferata
wondered at his appetites, and how he managed to indulge them.

Once the priestesses had withdrawn, Neferata sighed. “Is there anything else
to discuss?”

Ankhat and Ushoran consulted their notes. “More reports in Numas of strange
clouds seen over the mountains to the east,” Ushoran said. “King Ahmose is
thinking about sending an expedition to find its source.”

“Much good may it do him,” Neferata said. “Anything else?”

To her surprise, W’soran spoke up. “I have a request,” he said.

“Go on.”

The old scholar raised his chin, almost in challenge. “I would like access to
Nagash’s books for a time,” he said. “I want to begin a new field of research.”

“And what would that be?” Neferata asked, though she had suspicions of what
it might be.

“An aspect of necromancy,” W’soran began.

“We’ve discussed this before,” Neferata growled. “Many, many times—”

“Not raising the dead,” W’soran interjected. “Not that. My interest lies in
raising spirits and communicating with them. If I recall, Nagash made some notes
regarding summoning circles in one of his books.”

Neferata thought it over. “And what do you hope to gain from this?” she
asked.

W’soran shrugged. “Knowledge, of course. What else?”

Her first instinct was to refuse, but she knew that W’soran would ask for her
reasons, and she had none. “Very well,” she said. “But I expect to be kept
apprised of your efforts.”

“Of course,” W’soran said, and gave a small bow of gratitude.

“There is also the matter of Khemri,” added Lord Ankhat. “The rebuilding of
the city is nearly complete, and the inhabitants are clamouring for a king. Will
you approve of such a thing?”

The news surprised Neferata, though she chided herself that it had been
centuries since she’d made her pledge to help the late King Shepret restore the
ruined city.

“I see no reason why not,” she said at length. “It’s been almost four hundred
years. Nagash is nothing more than an evil memory now. And the sooner that
Khemri has a king, the sooner we can stop subsidising the city’s construction.”

“Perhaps it’s best to wait and see if the would-be king lives to claim the
throne,” Ushoran said wryly.

Neferata turned to the spymaster. “What does that mean?” she asked.

“The Queen of Rasetra is with child, but she has never been a woman of robust
health,” Ushoran said. “The pregnancy has been very difficult. From what I
gather, there is little chance that the baby will survive.”

Ankhat nodded. “She is here right now, in fact, praying at the temple.”

“What?” Neferata said, sitting straight upon the throne.

“She’s holding vigil in the presence of the goddess, praying for her child’s
life,” Ushoran explained. “A pity it will do her little good.”

Neferata did not reply at first. The silence stretched, until Ushoran began
to look uncomfortable.

“Is there something wrong, great one?” he asked.

Again, Neferata did not immediately reply. When she did finally speak, it
caught them all by surprise.

“Nagash is just an evil memory now,” she repeated. “A legend. One that grows
more nebulous each year.”

Ankhat frowned. “So we hope,” he said warily.

Neferata nodded—thoughtfully at first, then more decisively. “The baby will
live,” she declared.

Ushoran gave her a bemused look. “How can you be so certain?”

“Because I am going to save him,” Neferata replied. As she spoke, the idea
took shape in her mind. “The queen will remain here in Lahmia as our guest, for
the duration of the pregnancy, and I will give her an elixir mixed with my
blood.”

The news stunned the cabal. Ankhat and W’soran looked visibly shaken. “What
makes you think she would agree to such a thing?” Ankhat said.

“She travelled, heavily pregnant, for weeks, just for the chance to pray for
her son’s life,” Neferata snapped. “That woman is prepared to do anything to
save her child.”

Ushoran frowned. “But to what end?”

“When the child is born, he will remain here until his majority,” Neferata
declared. “It’s past time that the heirs apparent to the great cities came to
Lahmia for their education.”

The spymaster gaped at her. “Hostages. You’re talking about hostages.”

“Not at all,” Neferata replied. “I am talking about shaping the future of all
Nehekhara. Think of it: what if, in a hundred years, we ruled an empire from
here to Zandri, and we did so
openly?”

“The other cities would never stand for it!” Ankhat exclaimed.

“They would if the kings supported us, and soon they will,” she countered.
“We’ve existed under the shadow of Nagash for too long. I’m
tired
of
hiding. After everything I’ve done, everything I’ve
sacrificed,
all I’ve
done is trade one prison for another.” Her fists clenched. “No more. Do you
hear? No more.”

She rose from the throne. “Instruct the queen to draft the summons to the
other cities,” she said. “I will speak to the Queen of Rasetra personally. I
want the first children here within the next year. Offer to lower their yearly
tribute if you must.”

“And if they refuse?” Ushoran countered.

“They won’t, once we hear how the temple saved the future King of Khemri,”
Neferata said. “We will show them that we are not the children of Nagash. We are
something altogether different. In time, they may even worship us as gods.”

She left them in shocked silence, her mind whirling with possibilities.
Naaima followed behind her, for once surrendering her composure and dashing
after her mistress.

“You’ve frightened them,” she whispered in Neferata’s ear as they rushed
through the dark halls of the inner sanctum.

“We’ve all been afraid for too long,” Neferata replied. “I meant what I said.
I’m tired of skulking here, while the world turns without me. Perhaps Abhorash
had the right of it all along, fleeing Lahmia and seeking his destiny
elsewhere.”

“This has nothing to do with destiny, or with compassion,” Naaima replied,
her voice taut. “This is about Khalida—”