He backed away, raising his hands. She hissed, exposing inch-long fangs. Her form blurred as she moved, faster than the human eye could see. Fortunately, Arkhan was no longer human. He slapped aside the blade and wrapped his fingers around her throat. She dropped his sword and suddenly a panther was raking its hind-claws across his torso. Surprised, he released the creature. Neferata resumed her shape and her blow caught him in the chest, rocking him back.

Magic crackled on the tips of his fingers. Nagash had taught him those first halting, clumsy spells but in the centuries since, Arkhan had become a sorcerer in his own right. Death and the loss of flesh had done remarkable things for his concentration. Neferata hesitated, a smile curling at the edges of her lips.

Snarls and shrieks suddenly echoed from every corner of the gallery. Vampires flung themselves at the liche. Pale fists and hooked talons tore at him and Arkhan spat hoarse syllables as he unleashed his magics. A vampire screeched as it was engulfed in black fire and reduced to a charred skeleton. He swept his arms out, creating a wall of flame between him and them, driving the creatures back in a spitting, hissing mass. But not all of the creatures retreated; through the flames came a black, feline shape, yellow-eyed and snarling.

The cat smashed into him, its claws raking his mouldy clothes and scraping bone. As he grabbed for it, its shape expanded, lengthening and stretching with a sound like butchery in reverse, until the vampire called Naaima was gripping his skull between two deceptively powerful palms. He felt his skull flex in her grip and prepared to flense the meat from her bones with a word. But, as suddenly as she had attacked, the vampire was again a cat, which eeled out of his clutches and padded away. Arkhan spun. Neferata lay sprawled on the steps, watching him as the cat climbed into her arms.

‘Impressive,’ Neferata said, stroking the cat. She quirked an eyebrow mockingly as he stalked towards her. A dim flicker of anger pulsed through him, but quickly faded. He relaxed, letting the threads of magic he had bound to him unravel.

‘Was that another test of my worth?’ he grated, gesturing to his sword where it lay on the floor. It shuddered and shot towards his hand. He sheathed it with a flourish. Neferata clapped.

‘No,’ she said. ‘It was a reminder of your place.’

Arkhan said nothing, waiting for her to continue. She sniffed. ‘This is my place of power, liche. Not yours and certainly not Nagash’s. He is old and brittle and not what he once was—’

‘He is more,’ Arkhan interjected.

Neferata paused. ‘Perhaps… The fact remains, he holds no power here.’

‘He will not accept that,’ Arkhan said, looming over her. Neferata gazed up at him, unconcerned.

‘He will have to,’ she said, rising, still holding the cat. ‘Neferata serves no man, whether he’s dead or alive.’

‘He will command you, as he commands me,’ Arkhan said, his eyes blazing. ‘You will have no choice…’

‘I have defied Nagash’s will before,’ Neferata said. ‘I have defied and defeated his servants and I will do so again to hold on to what is mine.’

Arkhan stood silently, watching her. Then, in a whisper, he said, ‘Tell me…’

Lahmia burned and Neferata ran.

Quicker than thought, with no more weight than a shadow, she ran, and the city died around her, one street at a time. Black smoke weighed down the air and hungry flames crawled across the stone and clay and thatch. There was an ache in her chest, though whether it was from the destruction of all that she had built or the dagger that had so recently been thrust into her heart by Alcadizzar she couldn’t say.

Behind her, hooves thundered suddenly in pursuit. She heard the calls of the riders; they thought her easy sport, one more lost woman in a fallen city. One more woman to be served as always happened when cities fell. Pale lips skinned back, revealing teeth like razors, and dark eyes flashed. Rage, sudden and overwhelming, hammered at her temples, and she skidded to a stop, dust and smoke curling around her slender frame.

Clad in ragged silks and ruined armour, she spun to face the riders, fingers hooked like the talons of a lioness and her jaws wide, her fangs flashing in the light of the fires that curled and crackled around her. The lead horseman jerked back on his reins, his eyes widening in surprise. There were three more behind him, clamouring for a share of the spoils.

Then, in a whip-crack of startled air, she was moving. She swung low, letting a spear skid over her shoulder. It scored a trail of sparks across the back-plate of her iron cuirass as she drove her shoulder into the horse’s chest. It bugled in surprise and reared, hooves gouging the air. Snarling, Neferata sliced open the animal’s exposed belly with her claws. The horse screamed and toppled, carrying its rider with it. The man’s screams joined those of his mount as he was crushed beneath its weight, but Neferata didn’t stay to listen.

One foot on the dying animal’s thrashing hindquarter was enough to propel her into the air. She swam through the smoke, piercing it like a stone from a sling. Her hands and feet caressed the long skull of the next horse as her weight broke its neck and knocked it down. The rider drew the curved blade at his side as the animal fell and her palm caught him in the jaw. Bone splintered and burst at her touch and he catapulted backwards as she snatched the sword from his hand.

A spear skipped across her pale cheek, releasing a trickle of black, sour blood, and she shrieked, battering the weapon aside with her new sword. She twisted and spun as the horseman charged past her, and caught the blade of his companion’s spear as it dipped for her belly. She wrenched it and its wielder from the saddle and slammed him to the ground. Stamping on his throat, she yanked the spear from his grip and sent it slicing through the air towards the remaining horseman.

His horse bucked and kicked as it fled past her, back the way it had come, dragging the body of its rider behind it. Neferata touched the wound on her cheek. It was already closing. Hunger flared through her, causing her vision to dim and redden at the edges.

She was tired. And hungry as well; she hadn’t fed in what felt like days. Behind her, she heard the jangling rattle-call of a ram’s horn and the stomp of marching feet. The riders hadn’t been alone. She looked at the sword in her hand and her grip tightened. She had time. They were not so close that they could catch her. She could escape.

Or she could fight them. She could fight all of them. They would never find her, never catch her. She could kill them all, one by one, until they fled the city. She closed her eyes, imagining it. Then she snorted and shook her head.

‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I couldn’t could I?’ Not alone at least. Alone, she was nothing more than a monster. The word pricked her like a hornet’s sting and she growled. No, she needed to flee. To rebuild and regain what she had lost here, somewhere else.

A moan caught her attention. She swayed towards the first horseman she had downed. The animal was dead, but its rider lived, albeit crushed. He groaned and shoved at the beast feebly. One arm was pinned beneath the horse’s weight, and his face was turning purple. Something in him had been broken, she knew. She could smell it rising off him like the sweet tang of roasted pork.

Neferata stabbed the sword down into the ground and sank into a crouch. The rider’s eyes bulged as she crawled slowly across the horse’s body towards him, her eyes gleaming like twin black suns. She drank in the rank musk of his fear as she reached for him, the tips of her fingers caressing his cheeks and chin. He was barely more than a boy.