Shadow Hawk

by Andre Norton

  “This may be broken, brother. Brace yourself!”

  In spite of the pain in his back Rahotep stood against the wall, his arms outspread to balance himself, as Kheti inserted both thumbs into the ring. Muscles stood out on the Nubian’s shoulders, and Rahotep felt his bone and flesh caught in the pressure of those hands.

  “Ah--the metal is old and worn--” Kheti grunted with satisfaction. “Once more, brother--”

  Rahotep closed his eyes, felt a trickle of cold sweat course down his jaw. Then that terrible pressure was gone with the tinkle of metal against stone. His whole foot felt numb as if the circulation in it had ceased, but he stumbled forward without question as Kheti led him across the cell to stand under the opening.

  “Up with you now!” The Nubian’s hands closed on the captain’s waist, and Rahotep was heaved aloft. The torch was withdrawn abruptly, and hands came down to catch his upraised wrists. He was pulled up, out of Kheti’s hold, dragged roughly enough for it to seem for a moment that he was being pulled in two.

  He lay on his back in a corridor so narrow that his shoulders brushed either wall. And those there stood at his head and feet. But Rahotep’s dazzled eyes told him that they were his archers.

  “How--?” His question was never finished for there was a scuffle and he heard Kheti once more giving orders.

  “Close that stone tightly, you pig of Kush! Let these shaven skulls wonder if their own Great One made a meal of the captain behind their backs. That would be a good story to ram down their throats! Lord”--he loomed over Rahotep, giving him an officer’s greeting--”can you walk? We know not where this burrow leads, but it must have an end somewhere!”

  “Give me a hand up. If I have enough left of my foot bones”--Rahotep laughed a little lightheadedly--”I can assuredly walk. Where are we and how did you come hither--?”

  Kheti’s hands hooked in his armpits dragged him up, and the Nubian’s mighty shoulder was behind the captain as a support until he was able to stand steady.

  “We are in some hidden way of these sneaking priests--a long hidden way by the looks of this--” His bare toes scuffed in the thick dust on the floor. “Because we can heft stones past the moving of their slaves they brought us in to clear part of a ruined shrine built in the far past on which they plan to raise another lurking place for their magics. Today Mahu chanced to find in the wall a stone which moved under his hands when he cleared away some rubble. Tonight we broke out of the slave quarters and used that door--”

  “But how did you find me?” demanded Rahotep as he followed behind two of the archers, one bearing the torch, Kheti and the others at his back.

  “There was much talk of how you were kept in some secret place of the temple.” Kheti’s tone was hard; the hand he had kept on his captain’s shoulder as if to steer him aright tightened. “They were planning a mighty spectacle--”

  “With me to play the center of it!” Rahotep finished bleakly.

  “That is the truth you speak, Lord. Therefore, when this secret way led into the interior of the temple, as we could see through the spy holes in the walls, we kept outlook for aught which might betray where they had prisoned you.”

  “Aye,” Mahu the torch bearer broke in. “Look you, Lord!”

  He swung his brand closer to floor level, and Rahotep marked a handhold carved into the side of a block of stone, apparently to aid in its being pulled forward.

  “One of these we opened. We found a prisoner’s cell beyond--empty--except for the bones of a man long dead. So each we came to we inspected. And in the third we found you!”

  “But we are still in the Temple of Anubis then?”

  “We are, Lord.” Again Mahu’s whisper floated back. “This is an old pile much built over. I do not think the shaven skulls themselves know all its secrets. And if we do not find the other end to this burrow, we can remain hidden for a day, until the chase has spread out into the desert, and then retrace our way through the camp of the slaves.”

  “Meanwhile, we can learn more of the shaven skulls’ secrets,” remarked Kheti. “We search now for their treasure room--”

  “This is no time to think of looting!” Rahotep half stuttered. The Nubians, as followers of Dedun, would not balk at helping themselves to the offerings of a foreign god. But he was surprised to hear Kheti suggest something so far from their main objective of escape.

  “Not loot, Lord!” Hori’s tone was one of honest indignation. “We but take what is lawfully ours. These priests pounced upon our weapons as tribute to their Jackal. Give us our arms once more and we shall stand as men--”

  A low growl of assent echoed along the line of Scouts. And Rahotep made no protest when they halted now and again to peer through holes in the walls to see what lay beyond. Under those conditions Kheti’s search for the treasure chamber made very good sense indeed.

  The excitement of his liberation had carried Rahotep along as the swell of the flood waters carried debris downriver. But now his head whirled giddily and he steadied himself with one hand against the wall of the narrow passage, concentrating upon the important business of placing one foot before the other without losing his balance. They halted by another peephole, and through it came the sound of full-voiced chanting.

  Foggily Rahotep recognized a word here and a phrase there. The priests were forming a procession for a ceremonial visit from Pharaoh. What Pharaoh?

  “Sekenenre--?” He looked to Kheti for an answer.

  Only dimly to be seen in the limited light, the Nubian grinned.

  “Pharaoh is himself save for a bump on the head and a scratch on the chest, brother. Otherwise we all would have been dead long since!”

  That the captain could believe. But who--or what--had been the assassin he had driven off--and where had that other vanished to? Kheti, who had been watching through the spy hole, turned away with a sigh of mingled relief and satisfaction.

  “There they go, guards and all! Let us hope that they shall be some time braying to their Jackal. What is it, Mahu?”

  The foremost archer had slipped along the passage, around a corner where he had to scrape to get his bulk through. Now he looked back at them and beckoned violently.

  What Mahu had found was the room they sought. Narrow slits high in the wall brought daylight to the storeroom, and they saw shelves piled with coffers and jars. Mahu pointed excitedly to a rack on the wall wherein hung bows.

  “Aye, those are ours!” Kheti confirmed. “Now--how do we reach them?”

  He hunkered down on the floor of the passage and ran his hands along the wall, seeking an entrance here such as they had found to the cells. A pleased chuckle told them he had discovered it. And the others crowded back to give him room.

  The block, which was a narrow one, came away with difficulty, and the Nubian underofficer surveyed the opening dubiously.

  “More a path for a snake,” he commented. He made a try, but it was obviously too narrow for him or any of the archers. Rahotep edged forward.

  “This task is mine. Let me through!” His words came in a rush, for he did not honestly know if he still had strength enough to do what must be done. When Kheti got out of the way, Rahotep squirmed in. The rough stone of the opening raked his tender shoulders, bringing a sharp exclamation from him. But he persevered and, with a last kick, was through.

  Because he did not dare try to get to his feet, Rahotep crawled across the room to the rack. He crouched below it panting, while he nerved himself for the effort of getting up and freeing the weapons. Then he levered himself up with the aid of a coffer. One by one he loosened the bows, pulled the quivers of leopard hide off the hooks. The priests had been thorough in their claims for spoil. He found his belt with its fine dagger and the silver bracer that had been his only heritage from the Hawk slung over a peg at the end of the line and added them to his collection.

  It was when he took the bracer that he dislodged a box on the shelf below. The lid fell with a faint noise, and Rahotep stiffened, his breath coming
in painful gasps, his eyes on the outer door, bracing himself for the entrance of the temple guards.

  But the door remained closed; there was not the slightest sound from without. In the coffer, whose lid he had knocked off, lay a more than life-size, but a very lifelike, mask of a jackal. The animal’s own hide was stretched with skill over a light frame of wood and wickerwork, as he saw upon lifting it out.

  Plainly it had been intended to be worn over the head of a priest. There was a furred flap to lie about throat and shoulders. Fingering its ears, its furry hide, Rahotep knew now what kind of monster he had found in Pharaoh’s bedchamber. A priest of Anubis, wearing such a guise, could well be taken for a messenger of the God, not to be questioned by any man who saw him. The captain longed to take the mask with him as proof of his wild story of the assassin, but it was too bulky, and he set it aside with regret.

  Slowly, fighting his spinning head and trembling body every inch of the way, Rahotep crept back to the opening, pushing his loot before him. He was afraid he could not negotiate that small door again. But he thrust his hands through in half appeal and felt a warm, tight grasp close about his wrists, drawing him on.

  Of what happened after that he had no memory at all. When he awoke again, he was lying face down on a pile of mats. Flashes of burning agony broke through the steady pain he had known for so long, and he tried to twist away from the grip that held him fast under that torturing touch.

  “Quiet, brother!” The words again came out of the air above him, as they had in the crypt where Kheti had first found him. “Give me more oil here, stupid one.”

  Liquid dripped upon the captain’s back and was rubbed in in spite of his struggles. Then a hollow reed was put in his mouth, and he was ordered to suck. He did so meekly. The acid-sweet taste of wine that had been mixed with milk was on his tongue, and he swallowed.

  “You will live--” Kheti’s tone was meant to be light, but there was relief in it. “Those weals are already half healed and the oil will aid them.”

  Rahotep opened his eyes and turned his head. Before him was a wall, which had once been painted. Somewhere he could hear the splash of water and the mutters of men keeping their voices low.

  “Where are we?”

  Kheti came into his line of vision. He held a goodly slice of melon in one hand and was taking half-moon bites from it, licking juicy fingers in between times. Now he squatted so that he was closer to the captain.

  “Where are we, brother? Where but in the courts of the Jackal.”

  Rahotep tried to sit up and fell forward again.

  “We’ve been taken!”

  Kheti shook his head. “Not so, brother. We have us a snug lair. It seems that Mahu was right. In the old days this was a mightier shrine than it now is. And we have chanced upon a court where no one but the lizards and the birds have come for years. The guards are out beating the desert for their Nubian slaves, while we lie up here and are served with their best--for Hori and Kakaw are expert looters of their kitchens. It is a fine joke.”

  Rahotep began to laugh weakly. The whole situation was beyond any fantasy. It was lifted straight from some tale such as that of “Sinhue the Exile.” Either that or he had indeed “passed beyond” and this was life on the other side of the horizon.

  But fantastic though the situation was, it was true. The Scouts, because of their training, were able to conceal themselves in that deserted section of the temple that must once have housed many priests back in the days when Thebes was the capital of a wealthy Egypt. They pilfered supplies from the stores and they had a day and night of rest to consider and make plans for their future.

  Rahotep well knew that outside this very temporary hiding place their lives were forfeit on sight, unless they could reach the waste places beyond the reach of Pharaoh’s law. There was one alternative no one voiced--that of fleeing north and taking service in the ranks of the Hyksos. Rahotep himself fastened grimly upon one target, centering his whole mind upon it as he would aim an arrow at an enemy. He must somehow expose the plot of the priests--if by the favor of Re that was at all possible.

  They kept hidden during the day, sleeping by turns with the ease of men who had learned to take rest when and where they could between periods of grueling action. And it was after sunset when Kheti came out of the hidden ways with news.

  “Tothotep has visitors. Men gather in his inner apartment.”

  Rahotep sat up alertly. He was now far different from the miserable fugitive who had been carried there on the night of his escape. Though he moved cautiously and favored his back, his body was clean, and he wore a kilt of linen once more, as did all his men--the pure white of temple livery rather than the striped cloth of royal service. When they made their final bid for freedom, it was their hope to be taken for a detachment of the guard, darkness of night aiding in that deception.

  “Whom does Tothotep entertain?”

  “The Vizier for one--”

  Kheti had said only that much when the captain was on his feet.

  “Can they be watched and their words overheard?” he demanded sharply.

  “Aye. But this night we must move. The guards sent out to sniff our trail will be returning--”

  “Well enough. But also it might do better for us to hear what is said by these men.”

  Kheti caught at his arm. “You no longer serve the Pharaoh, this king who rewards a true man with the whip! Mix no more in the affairs of these shaven skulls and those who yap with them, brother.”

  Rahotep jerked free of that restraining grip. “Do you forget our oath before the altar of Amon-Re?” he countered. “Perhaps the Pharaoh believes that I have betrayed him, but before the gods I stand clean, and so I will hunt down those who have befouled our honor in Thebes.”

  Kheti was scowling. The warrior code of the ancients still had power over soldiers’ minds. Even in Nubia a measure of its power held. Reluctantly, manifestly against his inclination, he nodded at last. And he padded with Rahotep along the dusty inner passage until a gleam of light from a spy hole marked their goal.

  Tothotep indeed sat on the other side of that wall, while on a chair of honor the Vizier was enthroned, a concealing desert cloak and hood thrown aside. Two other men were there--the General Sheshang, and one who lurked in Tothotep’s shadow, sitting cross-legged on the floor in a scribe’s favorite attitude, his kilt stretched tight from knee to knee as a writing desk, though he did not hold a brush and his pen case was still slung on his shoulder.

  “I do not like it.” Zau spoke very low. The two at the spy hole had to strain to hear him. “Those Nubian archers may still cause trouble--”

  Tothotep smiled coldly, a smile that was worse than another’s frown. “They are a body without a head. Lacking their officer, they will flee into the wilderness, seeking to return to their own land. And from our present news from Nubia, they will find such a cold welcome there that they will trouble us no more, for our messenger has returned but this evening with the news that the Prince Teti has seized the rule. If our guards fail to track them down, it is of little matter to us.”

  “And their officer?” pressed the general.

  Tothotep’s expression was now slightly pained. “He is safe in our hands, Lord. At the proper time he shall be served as he merits. All is working as we have wished. And by nightfall tomorrow”--he paused and to Rahotep’s sudden discomfort his eyes fastened upon the wall behind which they stood as if he could see through that solid stone and mark them both--”by nightfall tomorrow the Great Seat shall be vacant once again and there will be wailing for a Son of Re passed to his horizon!”

  It was as if a serpent had hissed that. The plume in the general’s circlet jerked, the tip of his tongue showed, passed across his lips.

  “It is a dangerous game that we play,” he observed.

  “If you have made your preparations, Lord,” Zau snapped, “then there is nothing to fear. Our lord will be ambushed by the Hyksos in the valley as he returns to camp. His loyal bodyguard
will be slain to a man defending his sacred person. And Egypt shall welcome a new and untried young lord who can be more easily brought to listen to the words of the gods! Would you have us ruined, utterly overrun by the northern barbarians? With Nubia gone to the rebel Teti, we have only to cry war to be crushed between two grinder stones. Let Pharaoh lead us into battle against either host and the other will strike so that we end in their slave gangs. Better to pay tribute and give Apophis lip service then to be ground to dust!”

  “And that is the Truth of Maat!” Tothotep added.

  But the general was still unconvinced. “What if the Royal Heir does not heed your excellent advice in this matter? His thoughts have ever agreed with his father.”

  “The Prince Kamose is frail of body. There are many plagues that may attack a man.”

  “And Ahmose?” Sheshang asked doggedly.

  Zau laughed. “Ahmose is but a boy. He is under the hand of Sebni whose mind we know well. To him war is adventure. Perhaps he can be persuaded into turning his eyes southward to make a campaign against this Teti. Send him with a force--such a force as you could select for him, General, and the Prince Ahmose would not again trouble the Two Lands.”

  Tothotep arose suddenly. “We cannot fail! It is written in the bowl, the Jackal has signed an end to this reign and we but fulfill the duties of our order!”

  Zau drew the edges of his cloak about him. “See that you do your part, General. Let Pharaoh enter the Valley of the Lizard in his chariot, but when he comes forth, it must only be upon a warrior’s bier!”

  Chapter 11: PHARAOH DEPARTS TO THE HORIZON

  Rahotep fought down the excitement that was making his heart pump too rapidly. His breath came like a runner’s. The desert cloak muffled him well from any prying eye, or so he trusted. He had crossed the river from the temple to Thebes without any unmasking. But the hardest part of his exploit was still before him. He must leave the protection of the wall against which he had flattened himself, walk boldly between those sentries at the gate, giving the countersign, and find his way to Commander Methen’s quarters without being revealed for what he was--an outlawed fugitive.