The Company of Shadows (Wellington Undead Book 3) by Richard Estep

that the smile he wore was genuine. The Sultan seemed truly pleased to be back.
    “As have I.” The smile widened into a broad grin. He stepped forward, so that the two of them were a mere arm’s length apart, and folded his arms across his stout chest.
    “Your goddess has permitted you to return, then?” As glad as he was to see the Sultan once more, Arthur simply couldn’t resist that little opening salvo. Was it just his imagination, or did Tipu momentarily wince?
    “The Dark Mother is not my goddess. It would seem that she is no longer…displeased with me.” Tipu’s gaze shifted from left to right and back again, as though he were searching the shadows for any unseen listeners that might be lurking there. Apparently satisfied that there were no eavesdroppers, the potentate seemed to relax just a fraction.
    “Of course. Forgive me. I had forgotten that you are a Muslim.” Wellesley had genuinely intended no offence. The last time that he had seen the Sultan, Kali had appeared in person and dismissed Tipu in a rage, flinging him violently away as an angry child might discard a stuffed doll. He may believe in a different deity, but it hadn’t saved him from the wrath of the Dark Mother, as her followers liked to call her. It had fascinated Wellesley at the time that Tipu’s own god had not intervened, and he wondered whether it was because they were in Kali’s lands now, and therefore subject to her whims no matter which deities they personally followed.
    “I would expect nothing less from an infidel.” Tipu’s smile and the gleam in his eye robbed the words of some of their sting. He seemed to be quite over the whole unpleasant business.
    “Touche.”
    A moment of companionable silence passed between them. Finally, the vampire said, “I must confess that I am still not entirely sure whether you are real or not.”
    “What else might I be?” The Sultan seemed interested in Wellesley’s response.
    “A figment of my imagination. A dream. A shadow. Nothing more than a memory.”
    “Ah. And what does your gut instinct tell you?”
    “I am a general. I try to think with me head, not my gut.”
    “Are you claiming that instinct has no role to play in generalship?” Tipu cocked his head to one side.
    “That is not what I am saying at all. However, it should never be allowed to supplant reason.”
    “I tend to agree, Irishman. As with so many other things in life, instinct makes for a good servant and yet a very poor master.”
    Wellesley inclined his head, conceding the point. “When one considers the fact that arguing with a figment of one’s own imagination would be tantamount to lunacy, I am therefore forced to give you the benefit of the doubt so far as your objective realness is concerned.”
    Tipu let out an explosive, braying laugh. Even Arthur smiled, the corner of one mouth quirking slightly at the audacity of his reasoning. Then the potentate’s expression grew more somber.
    “I am given to understand, General, that you encountered my daughter on the battlefield yesterday.”
    “I did.” Arthur let it hang there, saw no reason to deny the truth of it, and wondered where Tipu was going with this particular conversational thread.
    “If you believe that you have killed her, General Wellesley, then you are quite correct.”
    Arthur raised an eyebrow, surprised at the Sultan’s apparent lack of displeasure where this fact was concerned. “I would tell you that I am sorry for your loss, my dear Sultan, but we both know that would be a falsehood.”
    “Quite alright, my dear vampire. For you see, if you think that Jamelia has given up on her quest for vengeance against you, you are hopelessly deluded.”
    “But how – oh, I see.” Just like that, realization dawned on Arthur. “I had thought for a moment that you were speaking in riddles…it would not be the first time, after all. Should I then take it to mean that your daughter has recently joined the ranks of the risen dead?”
    “I