Rise of the Horned Warrior

by Dan Hunter

  With thanks to Martin Howard

  First published in the UK in 2013 by Usborne Publishing Ltd., Usborne House, 83-85 Saffron Hill, London EC1N 8RT, England. www.usborne.com

  Text copyright © Hothouse Fiction, 2013

  Illustrations copyright © Usborne Publishing Ltd., 2013

  Cover and inside illustrations by Staz Johnson. Map by Ian McNee.

  With thanks to Anne Millard for historical consultancy.

  The name Usborne and the devices are Trade Marks of Usborne Publishing Ltd.

  All rights reserved. This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or used in any way except as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or loaned or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Epub ISBN 9781409568445

  Batch no 02927-02

  British Museum endorsement

  Copyright

  The Sacred Coffin Text of Pharaoh Akori

  Map of Akori’s journey through the Underworld

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Collect all of Akori’s quests

  Quest of the Gods website info

  Collect the cards and play the games

  The storm howled through the bleak palace, carrying with it the foul stench of the Underworld. In the palace hall, torches made from human bones burned wildly. Their sinister light flickered upon the monstrous faces of the statues all around. With a clap of thunder a chill wind swept into the hall. It rustled the robes of the demon-boy, Oba, sitting stiffly on a vast black throne.

  Oba, once the Pharaoh of the great lands of Egypt, now ruled the Underworld. Osiris, the true King of this land, had been imprisoned by Oba’s ally, the evil God, Set. But ruling one kingdom was not enough for Oba. He would not be content until he had taken control of all of Egypt once more.

  A flash of lightning lit up Oba’s face. It was set in an expression of fury. He was thinking – as always – of Akori, the boy who had defeated him and taken his place as the Pharaoh of Egypt. A crack of thunder, even louder than the last, interrupted his thoughts. In the dim light of the fiery torches, Oba looked around. Every surface of the hall was covered in hieroglyphs. Words of dark power crawled across the walls. Pictures of fearsome Gods with human bodies and animal heads glared at him. Then, as another blinding flash of lightning lit up the room, their glares seemed to transform into looks of terror.

  Oba frowned. He could hear a terrible rasping sound behind him. A blast of hot air stung the back of his neck and his sweat prickled on his skin.

  “Is your plan ready?” a voice growled, more terrifying than death itself.

  Oba looked over his shoulder. Set was standing behind him, his jet-black eyes glinting with rage. Since being banished to the Underworld Oba had become accustomed to all manner of evil demons and Gods, but none were so fearsome as Set, the Lord of Storms. He had the towering body of a human giant and the scowling head of a monstrous beast. Oba couldn’t help shuddering.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he said in a bad-tempered voice, trying to disguise his fear.

  “Is your plan ready?” Set repeated, striding in front of Oba. The whole hall shook with every step he took.

  “Yes,” Oba said quickly, gripping the arms of his throne. “But what about your part of the bargain?”

  Set’s eyes gleamed from black to red. “Every day I have Osiris imprisoned, his power drains like the blood from a sacrificial pig,” he rasped. “The outer caverns of the Underworld are filling with the dead and they are becoming more unsettled and angry by the minute.” The Dark Lord gave a fearsome grin, baring his long, sharp teeth. “I have sent some ahead to the land of the living to begin our assault. Soon, we will be ready for the full attack. They will make an unstoppable army!”

  “And I will lead them into battle and take Egypt back from that farm boy, Akori.” Oba spat out the name of his hated enemy. “I will rule in both worlds. The living and the dead will all grovel before me. I will be greater than any Pharaoh in history.”

  Set frowned. “But how can you be sure of victory against the farm boy when he has beaten you before?”

  Oba’s mouth twisted into a snarl almost as ugly as Set’s. He smashed his fist into the arm of the throne, causing a thick cloud of dust to rise. “Akori is nothing. A common farm boy. A worm,” he shrieked. “He has been lucky, but this time he will not win. This time I have set a trap he cannot possibly survive.”

  “What is this trap that you speak of?” Set asked.

  Oba looked upwards. “Lord Baal, thunder your worst!” he cried. A bolt of lightning lit up the hall.

  Set threw his head back and began to laugh. “Ah. You have come up with a fine trap indeed.”

  Outside, black clouds swirled, spreading across the Underworld. And, as if joining in the laughter, thunder rumbled in the dark sky.

  The Pharaoh Akori looked out of the window of his palace. On the horizon a cluster of dark storm clouds were gathering like an advancing army. Akori gripped the handle of his khopesh and frowned. “Oba’s power is growing. I can feel it,” he said.

  As if on cue, a huge bolt of lightning split the sky in two, bathing the palace in a cold, white light.

  “I know,” said Akori’s priest and trusted friend, Manu, as he stoked the fire. “For two days now, this storm has been building and still it doesn’t rain. Something isn’t right.”

  The door creaked open. Both boys turned to see the old High Priest of Horus shuffle in. Ebe the cat jumped down from her seat on the window ledge and padded over to him. The old man smiled as the Cat Goddess rubbed against his legs. Even when she had taken the form of a servant girl in his temple, Ebe had never spoken, but she always found a way to make her feelings known. The High Priest bent down to stroke her, but when he stood up again his expression was grave.

  “Akori? Are you here?” he asked. Despite his sightless white eyes, the old High Priest’s gaze was directed towards Akori, as if he could sense the young Pharaoh watching him.

  “Yes, I am here,” Akori replied. He strode over to the old man and helped him sit down on one of the benches. Manu came over and sat beside them.

  “I’m afraid I have some very troubling news from my friends among the priesthood,” the High Priest said.

  Akori and Manu stared at him.

  “What is it?” Akori asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  The High Priest took a deep, wheezing breath. “They all speak of the same thing. Sinister noises coming from tombs and burial chambers, moaning and scratching. It is as we feared. The dead are rising.”

  “Oba,” said Manu, his eyes wide. “It has to be. Only the Lord of the Underworld has the power to make the dead walk in the lands of the living.”

  “Their souls are in torment,” the High Priest said. “With Osiris imprisoned, none may be judged and the dead cannot rest. Oba must be planning to s
end them against Egypt soon.”

  Akori imagined a terrifying army of the dead sweeping across the land. It had been bad enough on his last quest when he’d had to fight a gruesome collection of animal corpses after they’d escaped their tombs. But how much harder would it be to stop dead warriors than dead dogs and baboons?

  A chill crept up Akori’s spine. No, I will not be frightened, he told himself silently. All of Egypt depends on me. I will stop Oba and release Osiris, whatever it takes. He looked down at his golden coat of armour, given to him by the God Horus – and the red Pharaoh Stone glowing in its collar; the Stone of Courage. He’d won it after defeating Sokar, one of the corrupted Gods working for Oba, ripping the Stone from the belly of the monstrous Guardian of the Gate. But Horus had said that he must defeat five Gods and win all five of the stolen Pharaoh Stones before Osiris could be freed. Akori got to his feet and began pacing up and down.

  “We have to stop Oba before his army of the dead grows too strong,” he said. “We have to go deeper into the Underworld. If only Horus would instruct us about our next quest.”

  Outside there was a mighty crash of thunder, causing the palace itself to shake.

  “The God of Thunder certainly seems angry,” Manu said, looking towards the window nervously.

  Akori peered outside. The dark storm clouds had moved a lot closer now, casting huge shadows upon the land. He touched the Stone of Courage on his collar, and felt new hope flood through his fingers and into his heart. He turned back to the others. “We cannot wait any longer,” he told them. “I’m going to summon Horus.”

  From her seat on the High Priest’s lap Ebe looked at Akori and nodded her pale head. Akori smiled at her. Ebe might be a small cat right now, but when she took on her Goddess form she became a formidable wildcat. Akori was very grateful to have her by his side.

  “Follow me,” Akori said.

  Together, they walked past giant, carved pillars of golden stone to a looming statue of the falcon-headed God, Horus. They all kneeled at the foot of the statue. Ebe sat proudly alongside them, her tail curled around her front paws. Noticing that Manu was shaking slightly, Akori squeezed his shoulder. Manu might feel more at home in the palace library than he was on quests to battle with evil Gods – but Akori knew that nothing would stop Manu joining him on their next mission.

  Manu flashed Akori a nervous grin, then bowed his head.

  Akori closed his eyes and began to pray.

  “Lord Horus, Protector of Egypt, hear the prayer of your Pharaoh and champion,” he said loudly. “Help me to overcome the enemy who would let evil loose across your lands. Help me to—”

  Akori stopped speaking as he heard a scratching noise coming from a stone door set into the wall.

  “Horus is coming,” said Manu, his voice hushed with awe. “He’s answered your prayer.”

  But, as the scratching became louder, the old High Priest began to frown. “That is not the way Horus would come,” he said. “That door leads to…” His voice trailed off as the door began to open.

  A quivering hand reached out of the darkness. A hand wrapped in tattered bandages. Rotting flesh hung from the bones. Another hand gripped the edge of the door, wrenching it slowly open. Stone rasped on stone.

  “That door leads to a shrine to the royal ancestors!” the High Priest shouted in warning.

  The door creaked open. The mummy of the Pharaoh Amenhotep, dead for five hundred years, lurched out of the darkness. Beetles swarmed from his empty eye sockets and gaping mouth. Behind him came two more mummies, their ripped hands reaching blindly.

  “They must be his servants,” Manu cried.

  Akori scrambled up, Manu beside him. At his feet he heard Ebe hissing. His mouth went dry as he looked into the face of Egypt’s ancient King. It was impossible to believe that the horrifying figure swaying before him had once been in his position, as Pharaoh of all Egypt. The mummy’s bandages were shredded and stained. Scraps of tattered skin flapped from bare bones. Then the festering eye sockets fixed upon him. Hands raised, reaching for Akori’s throat, Amenhotep opened his mouth and screamed his rage.

  Before Akori could stop Amenhotep, Manu stepped forward. “I’m in charge of this shrine,” he shouted. “How dare you set foot in here without being called. Begone!”

  “Manu, no!” Akori yelled.

  But it was too late. The mummified hand of Amenhotep shot out and gripped his friend by the throat with an unnatural strength. Manu was no longer shouting. All that came from his mouth now was a horrible gurgling sound. His face began to turn the purple of beetroot.

  “Leave him alone,” Akori bellowed. His fist blazed through the air, carrying with it every ounce of strength in his body. It hit Amenhotep’s jaw with a cracking sound, spinning the dead King and sending him flying back into his two groaning servants.

  Manu collapsed to the floor.

  “Stop this!” the High Priest commanded.

  Akori looked over his shoulder. The old man was on his feet and hobbling forward.

  “Get away!” Akori shouted as he bent to help Manu up.

  But his words were ignored. The High Priest’s normally gentle face was transformed. His white eyes burned like ice. “In the name of Horus, I command you to leave this place,” he thundered, one hand raised. There was no trace of age in his voice now. This was the voice of a man who had been High Priest for a lifetime. A voice that could not be disobeyed.

  The Pharaoh and his servants shuffled back slightly, moaning.

  Then they stopped.

  Amenhotep laughed.

  Akori felt his heart lurch in his chest. Amenhotep’s low, rattling chuckle was full of misery.

  “Horusss?” said the dead King, in a whisper that sounded like the slithering of worms in the dark. “Horusss doesss not command usss. We sssserve different masssters now.”

  “Set and Oba,” snapped the old priest. “But in life you were a great Pharaoh. Why now, in death, do you serve evil?”

  “There isss no choice,” hissed Amenhotep. “We mussst obey the Lordsss of the Underworld.”

  “And what does evil demand?” asked Akori.

  Once more Amenhotep’s swarming eye sockets turned towards him.

  “Kill,” the dead Pharaoh groaned, taking a lurching step towards them.

  “Get back,” Akori said to the old High Priest.

  The High Priest stood motionless. “But…”

  “That is an order from your Pharaoh,” Akori said, carefully circling Amenhotep. His khopesh was in his hand, the razor-sharp edge of the golden blade glittering. “Go to the great hall. If we fail, someone must warn the people about Oba’s plans.”

  The old priest nodded, backing away as swiftly as he could manage. “Akori –” he began, as he opened the door – “do not destroy Amenhotep unless you absolutely have to.”

  Suddenly, Amenhotep lunged at Akori, a shower of beetles falling from his mouth. Keeping the curved sword between them, the young Pharaoh leaped aside with a speed the mummy couldn’t match. “Why can’t I destroy him?” he shouted to Manu, confused. “I mean, he is already dead.”

  “Amenhotep’s soul has been judged and should be at rest with Osiris,” Manu said breathlessly as he fended off one of the mummified servants with a piece of firewood. “Set has wrenched it from the place it belongs and sent it back to its body. If you destroy Amenhotep here, his soul will never find its way back. He will never find peace.”

  “But he wants to kill us,” Akori said, ducking as Amenhotep made another grab for him.

  “Amenhotep is Set and Oba’s slave now, but he is your ancestor,” Manu gasped, as the servant lunged towards him. “Once Osiris is released, his soul will return to its resting place.”

  Akori frowned. “Well,” he said, “if we can’t destroy him, we’ll just have to send him back where he came from.” Leaping forward, he smashed his shoulder into Amenhotep’s chest. “Get back to your tomb!” he shouted.

  The dead Pharaoh’s fingers clawed at Ak
ori, gripping his arm and pulling him into a deadly hug. Rotting limbs began tightening around him, squeezing the air from his lungs.

  “You mussst die,” moaned the ancient Pharaoh.

  The smell of death filled Akori’s nostrils as he found himself face to face with his ancestor. The magical armour Horus had given him could turn blades and stop arrows, but it was little good against the crushing embrace of a mummy.

  “Yes, but not today,” Akori hissed. His arms were held tight but his legs and head were free. With an almighty roar he brought one of his knees up into the mummy’s stomach.

  There was the terrible crunch of breaking bone, followed by a groan. The mummy’s grip loosened. Akori whirled around in a low, roundhouse kick that took Amenhotep’s legs out from beneath him. The mummy smashed to the floor.

  Quickly, Akori glanced around. One of the servant mummies had cornered Ebe. The small cat hissed and spat as the bandaged corpse moaned in triumph. But, just as it bent down to crush the life out of her, Ebe stretched her back. And kept on stretching, until the tiny hissing cat was the size of a lioness. Huge paws landed on the mummy’s shoulders. Claws ripped downwards, tearing bandages from paper-thin skin and ancient, brittle bone. The mummy staggered back. Ebe swatted at the flailing body as if it was a ball of wool.

  Then Akori heard a shout from Manu. He spun around just in time to see Amenhotep’s other servant attacking Manu, who staggered back against a pillar. Knees folding, he crumpled to the ground as the mummy advanced. Just as it reached for Manu’s bruised throat, Akori leaped onto its back. He began raining blows on its head with the hilt of the khopesh.

  “Touch him again and I don’t care what happens to your soul,” he yelled as the mummy groaned in frustration, trying to pull him off. But before it could get a grip on him, Akori leaped down. He landed a kick at the base of the mummy’s spine that sent it flying into the wall.

  As Akori regained his balance he saw Manu gaping in horror at something over his shoulder. Instinctively he ducked at the same time as he whirled round. Amenhotep was standing there, his rotting hands clutching at the empty air where Akori’s head had just been.