The Mazes of Magic (Conjurer of Rhodes Book 1)

by Jack Massa

  Peherenptah smiled and lifted a gem-inlaid goblet. “And now, priests of Ptah, I command you to drink wine and be merry! For we are blessed men and should honor the gods by relishing our blessings to the fullest!”

  * * * * *

  The drinking and entertainment continued, but presently Harnouphis retired to his own apartments. After dismissing his servants and concubine for the night, he carried a burning lamp to his study and locked the door.

  Along one wall stood a niche designed to house a modest shrine. Recently, Harnouphis had commissioned a carpenter to enclose the niche in a cabinet of fine cedarwood. The elegant doors closed with an iron latch, to which Harnouphis held the only key.

  Now he unlocked the cabinet and swung the doors wide. Inside, on the altar shelf stood a figure of Set a cubit tall, which Harnouphis had fashioned of wax and coated with lampblack. Before the god’s implacable figure lay candles, a censer, and the ceremonial axe.

  Harnouphis lit four candles and placed them in lamps of red glass. He fired a lump of frankincense, and the dense smoke writhed before the visage of the god. Far away, Harnouphis could hear the lively music of the banquet, mingled with bursts of laughter. The sounds of merriment fueled his fury.

  “Homage to you, O great god of the Palaces of Night, I know you and know your names: Set, Bebht, Smy, Typhon, Suti, Nupti, I, Harnouphis, call you now.”

  The soft, subtle voice came into his head: “I am here.”

  Harnouphis controlled his emotion with a supreme effort. “I greet you, Lord Set. We have suffered a ... setback, in terms of—”

  “You are enraged, Harnouphis. That is good. Rage properly channeled can bring forth momentous results.”

  “I ... did not expect this failure!”

  “There is no failure. I have not forgotten my promise to you. This is only one move in the game.”

  “But this was the first opening to appear in fifteen years. Now it is lost!”

  “Heed my words, Harnouphis. I can only approach the game from the pre-existing arrangement of the board. The piece called Paramses has always stood in your way. Now it is positioned for removal.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Look into your heart. Power arises from will, and will springs from desire. What do you desire now, at this moment?”

  Blood, Harnouphis thought. He had sunk to such a pit of frustration and hate that his soul cried out for the death of Paramses.

  “You see?” said the god. “You have the desire. Do you also have the will to make it manifest?”

  Did he? To murder a fellow priest—a monstrous crime. And yet, to shrink from the act would mean denying all his aspirations, all he would become—all he had already become.

  “I have the will.”

  “Then listen carefully. Your chance will come at the next full moon. You must employ the young scribe as my vessel, for I will need a firm grasp to tighten the snare....”

  * * * * *

  The first thing Korax noticed on entering the high priest’s study was the air of tension. Harnouphis and Mehen awaited him, both dressed for ritual in glossy black gowns and heavy pectoral collars. Both wore folded scarves on their heads and amulets of black obsidian in settings of jagged gold.

  The next thing Korax noticed was the game board on the ebony table. Today only two pieces stood on the board: a small, waxen figure of a man on the lowest level and an animal-headed god on the upper tier.

  “Sit down, Seshsetem,” Harnouphis told him curtly. “Drink this.”

  Korax received the tumbler and eyed it mistrustfully. When Harnouphis presented him with wine before a ritual, the drink always contained a drug.

  “Just a mild potion to help you relax,” Harnouphis said with a brittle smile.

  With sullen resignation, Korax swallowed the draught. Harnouphis and Mehen began to chant. Korax stared at the god-figure on top of the board, with its unrecognizable animal head. The image sparked a simmering fear. He had seen that image before, but the memory had gotten lost—or been stolen from him.

  Beyond the table, the terrace opened onto a quiet afternoon. The day was cool and overcast, a rarity for Egypt even in mid-winter. As the deep, rolling chant continued, Korax gazed into the gray sky.

  Presently, his vision drifted off across the terrace. It floated higher, a leaf borne aloft by wind, high over the walls and courts, across the broad, shimmering expanse of the Nile. It streamed out over the desert, a scarred terrain of broken rocks, withered grass and low, sandy hills.

  Abruptly, his awareness swooped down and blinked off.

  Stunningly, he came awake in the body of an animal, a huge predator cat. Air bristled on sensitive whiskers and filled his brain with overpowering smells. Sand yielded under his paws as he prowled, sure-footed, on coiling, powerful legs.

  Topping a ridge, he lifted his muzzle to the wind. A new smell reached him—salty, musky, the scent of prey. A ferocious hunger burned in his belly.

  He ran down the hill, loping, gathering speed.

  Over the next rise the prey came into view: a group of men, two horses. Korax feared they were too many. But the cat charged, heedless of any danger. The men appeared to be a hunting party, a noble and his attendants. They huddled around a chariot, examining a broken wheel.

  Smelling the approaching cat, the horses neighed and reared. The nobleman tried to grab the reins, but in their terror the horses knocked him to the ground. They ran off, dragging the broken cart amid shouts of confusion. The attendants saw the charging cat, but instead of rushing for weapons, they stood gaping, paralyzed. In a moment, they broke and fled in panic.

  The nobleman scrambled to his knees, looked about desperately. But his javelins had been carried off in the chariot. The man screamed as the cat sprang.

  His teeth sank into flesh, tearing tendons. Warm, delicious blood gushed over his tongue.

  The man gave a horrible scream and batted at the cat. Growling, the beast pressed the struggling body to the earth with a paw and bit deeper into the throat. The struggles weakened. The body spasmed and lay still. The cat raised his gory muzzle, peered about and growled, then bent his head to feed....

  Writhing, yowling, Korax awoke. He knelt on all fours on a colorful carpet—his master’s study. Harnouphis and Mehen stood over him with gleaming eyes and enthralled expressions. Past their shoulders, Korax glimpsed the game board. The god-figure now stood on the bottom level, over the wax man-piece, which had been torn in half.

  Korax stared at Harnouphis, a sickening comprehension rising in his mind. Perhaps the fury of the predator still lingered, or perhaps only his mortal outrage impelled him.

  Howling, he sprang at the high priest and sank fingers like claws into the neck. Locked together, they staggered back against the table, Harnouphis grunting.

  “What have you done to me?” Korax screamed. “What have you done?”

  Mehen came to his master’s aid. Together, he and Harnouphis pried Korax’s hands loose, allowing the high priest to slide away.

  Korax collapsed over the table, wailing. “No more! You won’t use me again for your crimes!” He thrust out his arms and swept the game-board from the table. It fell to the floor, shattering.

  Harnouphis had snatched up a ceremonial staff. When Korax straightened and tensed to attack again, the high priest was ready. The butt of the staff sprang out and struck Korax between the eyes.

  Korax sank to his knees, stunned, clutching his brow. But in a moment he lowered his hands, murderous rage burning in his heart.

  “Stay down!” Harnouphis commanded, brandishing the staff before the Greek’s face.

  Korax struggled to rise. Harnouphis’ eyes stabbed into his soul. Korax stared back, blazing with wrath and hate. Straining, he pulled his feet under him. But as he tried to straighten up, his sinews turned to water. He collapsed onto his elbows and knees.

  “Foolish young man! Do you think to match wills with me?”

  The staff struck the back of his head. Korax dropped on
his belly, groaning.

  “Do you think because the god uses you as a vessel that you have any power? You are nothing! You are a reed I use to write with, and like a reed I can snap you at will. Do you hear me?”

  A serpent of fire slithered around Korax’s spine and squeezed. He writhed on the floor, screaming in agony.

  “Do you hear me?”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “Then listen well, Seshsetem. You will forget everything that happened since you swallowed the wine. You will remember nothing of this! In a few moments, the pain will subside. Then you will rise and leave my chambers. You will go quietly, and be ready to come again when you are called.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  News of the death of Paramses spread like a contagion through the Mansion of Ptah. To lose a first servant so soon after his appointment, and a man so robust and talented—this was a great calamity indeed. For long hours, the Inner Circle met in their sanctuary to discuss the implications of the terrible event, seek to divine its meaning, and reach some conclusion about what to say to the populace.

  Harnouphis kept his countenance somber and went quietly about his duties. But he could hardly contain his excitement when, three days after the tragedy, he was summoned to the private apartments of the new first servant Peherenptah.

  The Sem-priest rested on a tiled balcony, watching the sunset from a broad, silk-covered couch. With his silver gown, fringed wig, and kohl-darkened eyes, he cut a figure of opulent repose. Behind him, a slave girl attended with ostrich-plume fans, ready to stir the air should it suddenly turn unpleasantly warm. Near the couch, four voluptuous concubines knelt on cushions, dressed in gold pectoral collars and little else. Seated by the balustrade, a pretty musician in a sheer gown gently plucked the strings of a lute.

  “Welcome, Harnouphis. Thank you for coming. Please ...” Peherenptah waved a ringed hand at a couch only a bit smaller than his own.

  Harnouphis sat down facing the Sem-priest.

  “Some pomegranate wine, perhaps.” Peherenptah crooked a finger and a slave girl presented Harnouphis with a painted, gold-rimmed cup.

  Peherenptah sighed and sat upright. “I need to speak with you regarding this terrible accident.”

  Harnouphis stared soberly into his wine. “Such a shock.”

  “Certainly. And so unusual for an experienced huntsman like Paramses. From what we know, a whole series of mishaps conspired together. First the wheel of his chariot broke at the hub. While they were trying to fix it, the animal came. The men all agreed that the cat was huge, a black leopard—extremely rare in these parts. Still, it does not explain why experienced retainers fled, nor could they explain it themselves. And then, instead of carrying off the body, the cat devoured only a small part of it and left the rest.” He shook his head in bafflement. “Very hard to understand.”

  Harnouphis kept his expression dutifully grave.

  “But we must look to the future,” Peherenptah declared. “No doubt you have noticed how my governing style differs from that of my predecessor. I insist on attacking problems, not letting them fester. That is why I moved with such dispatch to appoint Paramses. And that is why you are here now.”

  Harnouphis experienced a flutter of anticipation but kept his expression neutral.

  “I will speak frankly. Paramses was chosen over you—and the vote was close—because some of us felt that he would function better as part of the Inner Circle. I’m sure you know that in group ritual, smooth interaction of personalities is crucial. You, Harnouphis, have always struck some of us as a mystery man, a bit of a loner.”

  You mean low-born, Harnouphis thought bitterly. Not of your class.

  “Now, obviously, we must again fill an open chair on the Dais. I tell you frankly, Harnouphis, no other second servant approaches you in qualifications. The appointment can be yours. Are you interested?”

  “Of course. I would welcome the opportunity to rise in service to our god.”

  “Excellent.” Peherenptah smiled and leaned back on the couch. “I only need to assure myself that you are a man we can all work with. That is why I invited you to my residence, so we could talk privately ... socially, as it were.”

  Taking the cue, Harnouphis reclined on his elbow. “I thank your Excellency. What can I say or do to assure you that I would be a worthy choice?”

  “Well, there is the question of your assignment for one. When I advanced to Sem-priest, it left the job of chief steward open. Brother Shepseskaf graciously agreed to step into that toilsome post. Of course, that left the opening at chief treasurer, which we expected Paramses to fill. Naturally, you are even better qualified, having served as Shepseskaf’s subordinate all these years. I would hope you would accept that position.”

  Harnouphis smiled easily. “It seems eminently suited to my experience.”

  “Exactly!” Peherenptah sat up again. “Now as chief treasurer, you would administer both revenues and expenditures. In the time I’ve had to review our budgets, I’ve noticed a number of areas where I believe improvements are needed. In fact, I intend to reorganize all of the temple’s finances eventually. As chief treasurer, I would rely on your support.”

  “Of course. I would consider that my role.”

  “Some accounts need immediate attention,” Peherenptah stressed. “In particular, there is the budget for the Sem-priest’s household—woefully inadequate. Our departed brother Neksapthis must have practiced an amazingly penurious existence. I assure you, I have no intention of doing likewise.”

  Harnouphis tilted his head with mild surprise. The petty libertine’s first concern was that the temple support his own lavish lifestyle. Well, the answer was obvious.

  “I promise you, Excellency, my gratitude to a Sem-priest who sponsored my candidacy would compel me to ensure that all his needs were met to his complete satisfaction.”

  “A wise and perfect answer,” Peherenptah exclaimed happily. “I can see you are a man we can work with very well. But let’s not talk any more business tonight. Rather, let us relax as two gentlemen and enjoy ourselves.”

  He clapped his hands smartly and the concubines glided from their cushions. The lute came to life as the four women paraded sinuously toward their master.

  “Do you like what you see, Harnouphis?”

  Sexual congress as a social pastime was an imported custom, practiced by only the most decadent of the Egyptian upper class. Harnouphis found the notion distasteful—but not so distasteful that he would dream of rejecting the Sem-priest’s hospitality, especially on this occasion. Besides, Peherenptah’s concubines were magnificent.

  “Your women are most enchanting, Excellency. You are a very lucky man.”

  Peherenptah smiled effusively as he stroked a naked thigh. “And I enjoy sharing my good fortune with my friends.”

  * * * * *

  Tiers of white candles blazed and danced before the statue of the goddess. Wrapped in her golden wings, Isis gazed down serenely from her pedestal at the front of the chapel.

  Korax had placed his mat against the rear wall so he could rest his back. The chapel was located off a back corridor of the House of Life, a place for initiates to meditate and commune with the goddess. Lately, Korax had come here every evening, attempting to settle his mind sufficiently for study. Some nights, he remained in the chapel till dawn.

  Most of the candles were burning low, and Korax was alone in the darkened shrine. It must have been some hours past midnight when Amasis entered. Wearily, the old priest trudged to the front of the chapel, raised his hands in supplication, and prayed quietly. Korax shifted into deeper shadow, gripped by an unreasonable terror that the hierogrammat would spot him. He wondered if he could slip out without being noticed.

  But already Amasis had turned. He crossed toward the door, then stopped and looked at Korax. After a moment, he nodded slightly and moved on.

  Then he halted a second time, shoulders tensing. He peered intently at Korax, who climbed reluctantly to his feet.
r />   “You are here very late, grandson,” Amasis whispered as he approached.

  “Yes, Excellency.”

  “Pardon my noticing, but you seem disturbed.”

  Korax quivered slightly, too afraid to answer.

  Amasis tilted back and covered his heart with a hand. “What is troubling you?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know ... I cannot tell.” Korax’s tone revealed desperation. “My spirit is consumed with grief and dread ... but it has no cause, no sanity.”

  “How long has this been so?”

  “I-I cannot say. I have no rest. And when I do sleep, I wake from horrible dreams.”

  “Of what do you dream?”

  “I cannot remember.”

  Frowning, Amasis grasped the young man’s wrist and peered into his eyes. “Don’t look away,” he ordered, when Korax instinctively lowered his face.

  Blinking, Korax obeyed. Amasis’ eyes narrowed with concentration, then widened with empathy and worry. When he released his grip, his face evinced a troubled confusion.

  “Have you asked the goddess to intercede?”

  “I pray to her every day, morning and night.”

  “And has she answered you?”

  “She came to me once, in a dream. But that was months ago. Since then, she is silent. I feel so terribly lost.”

  Amasis pursed his lips. He pondered for an interval, then seemed to decide something. “Continue to pray to her, grandson. If there is a cure for any sorrow of this world, she in her mercy provides it.”

  Amasis turned to leave, then paused with another thought. “You know, it is permissible to fall asleep in the chapel. Perhaps you could rest more peacefully here.”

  Korax nodded, and the high priest withdrew.

  Alone again, Korax sat slumped against the wall. His distraction and fear had grown worse than ever, worse even than his days in the slave yards. At times he felt so troubled he thought he would weep. But the release of tears never came.

  He watched the statue of Isis for some time, praying for mercy, for his suffering to ease. Then he prayed for her guidance, that she show him the path he must take. Eventually drowsiness overtook him, and he fell into a sleep.