by Jim Johnson
Contents
Ranger of Mayat
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Flight to the Fort
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
House of the Healer
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Pronunciation Guide
Particulars
Pistols and Pyramids #1:
RANGER OF MAYAT
CHAPTER 1
THE BLOOD-RED SUN TJETY HAD been squinting at all day set slowly behind the western mountains. Something had pissed off the sun god Re today, but what specifically was far beyond his mortal imaginings. Not that he gave a damn, anyway. He had his own problems to deal with that the concerns of a fucking god were not something he was going to worry about. The gods could handle themselves just fine.
Tjety swayed along on Heker’s back, the horse and blanket underneath him providing modest warmth on this early spring evening. He blinked eyes bleary from long hours staring at water and dirt and the vast expanses of Kekhmet’s northern frontier. The rippling waves of the swollen Iteru, Kekhmet’s largest river, glittered darkly in the setting sunlight. He’d been riding parallel to the river for the past two weeks, following its engorged flow steadily northwest along the coastline. The river, like his trusted steed, had been constant companions on his otherwise lonely exile to the Kekhmet frontier, and he was damn sure he’d have gone crazy without them.
He tried to focus on the river’s flow to center his thoughts, but a sudden primal surge of fear crashed into his trail-numbed senses and startled him out of his reverie. He pulled back on the reins out of reflex and brought Heker to a halt.
He tapped into his hekau, the ethereal wellspring of life, and opened up his senses to locate the source of the panic and terror surging around him. As a Ranger of Mayat—a sworn protector of justice and truth—he’d been trained to flex his hekau to detect disturbances. What he sensed now was vague and unfocused, but carried sufficient weight to unbalance the goddess Mayat’s cosmic scales of order and harmony. The forces of chaos and unrest, trappings of Mayat’s sinister counterpart Isfet, had to be active somewhere nearby.
Heker nudged his nose down to the lush grass growing along the river, tugging at his reins. Tjety clucked at his mount and pulled back, lifting Heker’s head. A few stray bits of clover and grass floated down to the ground.
Tjety leaned forward and stroked Heker’s muscular neck. “Sorry, my friend. We’ll eat later. For now…” He trailed off, distracted by another shudder in his senses. He nudged Heker’s flanks with sandaled heels and pushed him into a walking gait. The terror he sensed was palpable—the source had to be close.
He guided Heker on, following the old trader’s road laid out alongside the river. The path was well-worn and hard-packed from countless years, though the clumps of fresh grass and spreading weeds poking out among crumbled pave-stones suggested that the road wasn’t used with much frequency any more.
He wasn’t surprised—there were almost no active communities remaining this far out on the Kekhmet frontier other than an occasional fishing village or military outpost. The war with the Hesso had, over the last hundred years, forced thousands of Kekhmet citizens to evacuate their homes and head far south toward the more defensible provinces near the capital of Waset City.
He had been exiled to roam the frontier for the past two weeks and had passed several abandoned villages scattered alongside the river and had seen nothing poking out of the dirt but crumbling mudbrick walls and the occasional outline of ancient stone foundations. Those foundations had once supported more permanent structures that had long since been dismantled to be reused for other building projects.
And he’d seen a few of those projects along the trail as well. Shrines to various gods located just off the road or close to the river above the flood line, assembled with whatever bits and pieces were available but surely built with reverence and love. He’d paid indifferent respects at one such shrine, dedicated to the river god Hapi, though he had also taken the time to offer more dedicated prayers, some food, and the last of his good beer to the goddess Mayat and also to Kekhmet’s primary deity, Amun-Re.
He figured the gods were busy frittering their time tending to the other realms over which they kept a watchful eye, because, as far as he could tell, none of his prayers had been acknowledged, much less answered. He suspected that the gods were, as usual, being unsympathetic and selfish. Fuckers.
With no new surges through his hekau, he eased off enhancing his senses in order to conserve his strength. He nudged Heker into a trot, then transitioned to a canter. He tried to recall if he had felt any similar chaotic ripples recently. Nothing during his time at the Asyut garrison for certain. And he hadn’t noticed anything unusual when he was at that riverside shrine, and that was two—no, three—days ago. After that it had been all hard riding and scouting. This morning he’d woken up with a beastly headache after enjoying the last dregs from his flask last night.
No, whatever he was sensing and feeling now had to be something more recent, more immediate.
He flexed his hekau to call up a mental map of the region. He’d never been this far north before. But, before leaving Asyut two weeks ago, he had studied the most recent maps the Rangers and Pharaoh’s scouts had on hand.
The map’s latest updates included his destination, Fort Sekhmet, and a pair of inhabited fishing villages situated along the river—one close by and the other several days’ ride to the north. He was nearing the first village now, hoping to wrangle a bed and a meal out of the locals before moving on to the fort in the morning. Maybe even find a willing bed-mate, though he was so tired that he suspected he’d fall asleep as soon as he stretched out on the ground.
The sharp report of a gunshot cracked through the air.
“Shit!” Tjety pulled on the reins in reflex, bringing Heker to a sudden stop. The shot was nowhere close; certainly not aimed at him. Rough laughter floated through the tall river weeds rattling in the evening breeze.
A second gunshot sounded. Tjety focused his hekau and got the impression of sudden pain somewhere ahead. The shots and the feelings had to be coming from the nearby village.
He dug his heels into Heker’s flanks and pushed
into a quick trot. He steered toward the village with his knees as he reached down and released his pistol’s restraining strap. He rested his right hand on his pistol’s worn, warm juniper grip then drew the weapon, thumbing back its hammer in a smooth, practiced motion. With his left hand he loosened his short khopesh in its scabbard, though he wasn’t sure the blade would see much use if there were gunmen to face.
Tjety took a deep breath, centered the nervous energies coursing through his hekau, and rode toward the village, tamping down an unfocused sense of dread.
CHAPTER 2
THIN LINES OF GRAY SMOKE SLITHERED into the gloaming sky. As Tjety and Heker crested a slight rise in the hardscrabble road, the humble rooftops of at least twenty mudbrick buildings moved into view. The small village was tucked into a clearing set between the road and a wide bend in the river. It wasn’t hearth smoke coming out of chimneys or cooking pots—the buildings had been set afire.
Bodies lay scattered throughout the small village and near the river. Woven baskets of fish, no doubt the day’s catch, were strewn about, the contents rotten. Tjety rode closer into the village, senses alert and his mouth set in a firm line against the murder and waste on display.
A third gunshot rang out. A gangly man dressed in rough linens and leathers and a dirty homespun headcloth strode out of a house’s open doorway and then holstered his still-smoking revolver. The man spat into the street and then looked toward the village’s large conical storehouse. “Pashet! Uni! I’m done here. Let’s get moving.”
Two more hard-looking men stumbled out of the storehouse, their arms filled with baskets of foodstuffs and supplies. They were likewise dressed in rough riding leathers and plain headcloths.
Tjety gritted his teeth. Gods-damned clanless border brigands. He walked Heker along the far side of the village, careful to keep the burning mudbrick homes between him and the three bandits.
The older of the two looters called out. “Come an’ take yer fill, Meret. Stuff ain’t gonna last. Me an’ Uni got our shares.”
The gangly man, Meret, moved toward his allies and tossed them a few choice swear words in guttural Hesso. Tjety didn’t know the language well, but a quick flex of his hekau was enough for him to get the sense of the words.
Meret said, “We was told to finish off the villagers, Pashet, not loot the place. We gotta get the caravan moving before Master Deshi gets dirt all up in his nethers again.”
The youngest bandit, who by process of elimination had to be Uni, stumbled, which caused his precarious armload to topple over. Grain and assorted vegetables spilled onto the ground. He cursed at the mess and then gestured toward one of the dead villagers. “They ain’t gonna need it no more, Boss Meret. Ain’t no sense leavin’ it to spoil, yah?” He glanced at Pashet, as if seeking confirmation or reassurance from the older man.
As the three brigands fell to arguing, Tjety realized that surprise was on his side, right now. He gathered his reins in one hand and heeled Heker into a gallop. He gripped his pistol at the ready and tore around the buildings toward the bandits, crying out a wordless challenge.
The bandits were faster than he expected. Uni dropped the last of his stolen goods and went for his revolver, clearing the holster just as Tjety blasted two rounds into his chest. The young bandit crumpled to the ground, his pistol dropping from his grip as his mouth fixed itself into a silent “O” of surprise.
“Who the fuck are you?” Pashet cried out as he dropped his stolen booty and drew his revolver. He managed to get a wild shot off before Tjety’s next bullet caught him in the left shoulder and spun him around. Pashet staggered his way toward one of the nearby buildings.
Meret chose to dive into an open doorway, making Tjety suspect that perhaps he was the wisest of his little band.
As Tjety guided Heker through the village, he took careful aim toward Meret's cover, hoping for a clear shot, but the bandit didn’t present himself. Tjety wasn’t about to waste ammunition firing blindly.
The bandits weren’t so conservative. From inside the building, Meret leveled his own pistol against the doorway and returned fire. Hasty shots streaked past Tjety and hit the ground near Heker's hooves, sending up thin plumes of dirt.
Tjety used nimble knee-work to guide Heker toward a wide alley formed by a pair of homes. He kicked a leg over Heker's head and dismounted. He placed a hand on his horse’s flank. “Keep yourself safe, boy,” he whispered.
Tjety moved over to the corner of the closest building, careful to stay out of sight of both Meret and Pashet. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he broke open his pistol and pulled out the spent casings. He dropped one hand to the ammunition stored on his gun belt and quickly reloaded. As his hands worked, he risked a glance around the corner. He flinched back as several rounds crashed into his cover. Bits of debris puffed into the air.
Meret yelled out. "Pashet! You all right?"
From somewhere around the corner, Pashet mumbled, "Bastard got me in the shoulder. And he killed Uni!"
Tjety cocked his reloaded pistol and leaned against the wall. He glanced to check that Heker was safe but got an eyeful of angry horse staring at him with flaring nostrils and pinned ears.
Tjety made a conciliatory gesture. "Calm down, snake-face. You'll have your chance."
Another pair of rounds plowed into the dirt nearby. He leaned around the corner enough to snap-fire in Meret's direction but missed. They could both play the distraction game.
"Meret! Pashet!" Tjety pressed his back against the wall as he called out in his shaky Hesso. "I’m a Ranger of Mayat! Throw your guns out into the street and surrender!"
He wasn’t too sure about the translation—he might have just told them to go screw a hippo sideways. Should have spent more time learning the language, but fuck it.
He got a string of rich Hesso curses and a withering burst of fire in response. He ducked his head as his cover fairly exploded, shards of dried mud and plaster flying everywhere. He flexed his hekau and scanned the area he'd found himself stuck in. Someone ran along the ground beyond his vision. The ripple in his senses suggested it was the wounded Pashet looking for better cover.
He glanced at a nearby building and decided to change things up. He whistled Heker over. As soon as his mount was close enough to touch, Tjety pulled himself up onto his back and used him as a stepping point to get up onto the low roof. He shooed Heker away with a wave, then crouch-walked toward the center of the roof. Staying low, he caught sight of Meret creeping toward the corner of the building. Tjety moved to the roof edge and took aim.
Pashet cried out a warning. Tjety had missed him lurking behind a watering trough. Meret dove for cover as Tjety snapped off a shot, just missing the man again. Pashet took the opportunity to level his pistol at Tjety and squeezed off a careful round.
The shot grazed Tjety's boiled leather shin guard with enough impact to make him stumble. Tjety felt himself going down, so he tucked and rolled right off the low roof and onto the ground below. He came up out of the roll shooting, and caught Pashet with a pair of shots. Tjety had enough time to register the bandit sprawling before he had to take cover from Meret's renewed fire.
Tjety called out again. "Give up, Meret! Pashet is down now too!" Tjety forced down the anger coursing through him and tried to bottle up the strange sense of battle elation coursing through his veins. It had been a damned long time since he’d gotten into a scrap.
He discovered that he actually didn't want Meret to surrender; he wanted to keep trading lead until one of them was left bleeding in the dirt. His heart raced and his vision tunneled down into the moment.
Tjety heard Meret swear again and then caught the sound of leather soles slapping against dirt, fading fast. He reloaded his weapon again, noting that his belt loops were nearly empty. The pack on Heker's back contained more rounds, but they might as well be all the way back in Waset City for all the good they'd do him right now.
Frowning at the sound of Meret's feet running away and ignoring Pashet's
groans of pain, he reached out with his hekau. He scanned for Meret, and...there!
“Fuck!” Several living shapes flickered within his hekau, and as he made sense of their forms, his guess was confirmed by the thunder of several horses galloping as Meret led them around one of the homes and into the village’s main thoroughfare. He had just enough time to stagger out of the way before Meret and the horses powered past him.
Tjety fan-fired his pistol toward the bandit, aiming high to avoid striking the blameless horses. Meret jerked in the saddle and cried out, but somehow kept his seat. He and the horses soon galloped out of view.
Tjety sprinted toward a water bucket to use it as a platform toward another roof, but his leg, bruised by Pashet's earlier bullet, gave way as he planted his foot. He crashed into the barrel and rolled onto the ground, upending the barrel in the process and turning himself and the dirt underneath him into one big sodden mess. The sounds of the running horses faded toward the north.
As Tjety gingerly got to hands and knees, Heker trotted over and nudged him with his long nose, whuffling a query that sounded rather disgusted.
Tjety grabbed handfuls of mane and, with Heker's help, got his feet back underneath him. He stared toward Meret's fading hoof falls, a grim smile creasing his face. He was sure he’d hit the bastard at least once—he wouldn’t get far.
He reached down and grabbed his pistol out of the mud and flicked it with a shaky hand. A thin arc of sludge slapped into the dirt. He took a moment to adjust his tangled sword sheath and kilt, and then limped toward where he'd seen Pashet fall. Time to get some fucking answers.
CHAPTER 3
PASHET CRAWLED ALONGSIDE A GUTTED HOME, one arm tightly pressed against his chest, wheezing and leaving a muddy trail of blood behind him in the dirt.
Tjety limped up, cocked his pistol, and leveled it toward the back of Pashet’s head.
Pashet started at the sound. He took a rattling breath face-down in the muck, and then pushed himself over onto his back. He squinted up into the rising moonlight.
Tjety forced his battle lust into a corner of his mind. "Why did you attack this village?"