Warrior of the Nile (The Gods of Egypt)

by Scott, Veronica

  “We’ll wait then.” Khenet turned to Nephthys-Tiya. “Did you wish to leave the chariot, my lady?”

  She was all innocence and sweetness, but fire blazed in the depths of her black eyes. A faint buzzing echoed in his ears, and Khenet’s gut clenched. Enjoying his reaction, she laughed. “Indeed. I am tired of this mode of travel. And extremely tired of your company.” She accepted his help to leave the chariot, although the horses stood rock steady. The touch of her hand left his skin itching. He escorted her to a nearby rustic bench in the shadow of the wall, apparently meant for people who had to wait to enter the nome.

  “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” the captain of the guard asked. “It may be a long wait. We’re low on supplies but I can spare something if you have need.”

  “We’re fine, thank you.” Khenet assessed the man, studying his lean features. “You remind me of someone, but I can’t quite place the face. Have we ever met?”

  The soldier shook his head. “No, my lord. You may have met my cousin in Dendaret. Waset? He commands the garrison there.”

  “Ah, yes. We passed a pleasant evening in the officers’ mess,” Khenet said. “He can hold his beer, round after round till lesser men fall under the table.”

  The provincial officer laughed. “Indeed.” He stuck out his hand. “Any friend of my cousin’s is welcome here. I’m Narmer.”

  They shook hands and the Viper Nome soldier leaned against the wall as Khenet got Nephthys-Tiya settled on the bench. Khenet suspected the man was lingering on purpose, perhaps wanting to have some private conversation, but Nephthys-Tiya kept him by her side. I can’t discuss anything meaningful in her hearing. After a few more pleasantries Narmer returned through the gate, which closed ponderously behind him.

  “While we wait, mortal, let me assure you, I’ll be allowing my daughter to waken as we share this body. I’ll let her ka watch all that is done to you, before she herself dies.” Nephthys-Tiya fanned herself with languid motions.

  “Why do you hate us so?” Khenet asked. “She’s your descendant and we’re both loyal Egyptians.”

  “Appealing to my softer side? Pleading for mercy at this late hour?” Nephthys-Tiya was contemptuous.

  Through clenched jaw, he made one more attempt to save Tiya. “Not for myself, but surely you could spare her life!”

  “Humans are but tools to accomplish the goal, pawns to play in the game,” the goddess said. “I deal in concerns far loftier than any puny life one of you has to live. Which reminds me, best I don’t greet my husband-to-be smelling of the sacred lotus. Even he might suspect something was amiss.”

  A hot breeze blew past the bench, enveloping them both for a moment in a swirl of dust, and as the motes drifted to the ground, Khenet realized the heady perfume of a goddess was no longer evident. She’s cunning and arrogant all right. We’re going up against a formidable foe, my love and I, not even factoring in Qemteshub. He shifted on the wooden seat, inching farther away from his companion, and felt the reassuring prick of the Isis dagger against his bare skin, where he’d hidden it inside the back of his waistband, covered by his tunic. I pray we get the chance to use this gift.

  Nephthys-Tiya didn’t speak to him again and Khenet concentrated on regaining mastery of his own body, hoping the wasp venom was dissipating with each passing moment.

  It was probably an hour later they heard trumpets calling from the other side of the wall.

  “Our lord is here now,” the sentry called somewhat unnecessarily. “Prepare yourselves to greet him.”

  The gate swung open slowly. Nephthys-Tiya rose and walked forward. “Bring the packs,” she said over her shoulder. Khenet hoisted the small trunk and the embroidered sack and followed.

  Smenkhotep stood inside the line of the wall, not setting foot outside his own nome. Khenet eyed him curiously. The nomarch was tall, thin and balding. Tremors passed through his body every few moments. His long fingers clenched and unclenched on a green and turquoise robe he carried in his arms. His sunken eyes were brown, glowing with near insanity. He had a wispy brown beard, barely concealing a mouth full of uneven yellow teeth.

  As Nephthys-Tiya came closer, the nomarch spread out the full-length hooded garment he was carrying. “Allow me to welcome you, my lovely bride, and garb you in my first gift of many.”

  Presenting the picture of a happy bride to be, she simpered and preened as he draped the garment over her head and shoulders, then fastened the clasp, set with malachite and coral. Khenet noted the nomarch was careful to remain in the shadow of his gate. When his bride was virtually hidden in the generous folds of fabric, Smenkhotep drew her inside, past a line of glowing purple stones set into the gate, on the ground and above their heads. Khenet paced after, tethered on his invisible leash, unable to do anything other than what the goddess in disguise desired. He felt a small pulse from the matching purple gem hidden inside his amulet as he walked by the guardian stones and suppressed a smile of hope.

  A fabulous litter awaited, carved from gilded wood, with black ostrich plume tassels at each corner. The cushions were purple and black and red, decorated with golden ribbons. Smenkhotep handed his betrothed in with a flourish, and the four brawny servants lifted their burden with ease. Clambering into his chariot, the noble drove along behind. Khenet was brusquely directed to another chariot, the packs taken away from him by soldiers, and like an exotic caravan they arrived in the capital city.

  As they drove slowly through the streets, he took stock. The people they passed were apathetic, dull-eyed, hardly even glancing at the procession, certainly not cheering. The streets were in poor repair, full of potholes that kept the chariots bouncing and made the litter bearers step carefully to avoid toppling Nephthys-Tiya to the ground. Refuse and litter were everywhere. Khenet spotted no children and few women, heard no laughter. Many buildings had been abandoned. At the market stalls, the fruit and vegetables were small, withered. Little or no meat was on offer.

  The nome doesn’t prosper under this black magician. That explains why he sends bandits to steal from the caravans. His paid soldiers appear well fed, though, just as Waset told me, back in Dendaret. The men at the nome’s border crossing, under Narmer’s command, were clearly suffering from low rations. Smenkhotep must not fear any invasions from Egypt. Such men are ill-equipped to fight.

  The poor state of the roads made the journey to the palace a long ordeal. Here the buildings were in somewhat better repair, although shamefully rundown to Khenet’s eyes. Well fed, swaggering soldiers, most of non-Egyptian stock, were everywhere. Waiting on the stairs was a short, fat scribe, flanked by a small crowd of nobility, judging from their garb.

  The scribe waddled forward and bowed to Smenkhotep.

  Khenet heard one of the mercenaries behind him muffle a snort. Someone else cursed under his breath. This unpopular one isn’t starving. He must eat enough for three people to be so fat.

  Strutting to the litter, bony chest thrust out with pride, the nomarch assisted Nephthys-Tiya in rising to her feet, then pirouetted her to face the scribe, pushing the voluminous hood clear to reveal her face. “Meet my bride, Dedumes. The new Pharaoh has chosen to honor the previously negotiated marriage pact down to the last detail, as we hardly dared to hope.”

  “We’re blessed, my lord. Welcome to the Viper Nome, my lady.” The man bowed his head slightly to Nephthys-Tiya. Exchanging sidelong apprehensive glances, the other people in the courtyard let out a smattering of cheers and clapping.

  Smenkhotep patted her hand. “No need for further ceremony, as I am the ruler in this place, wife. I’m sure you’re as eager as I to enjoy our wedding feast and the wedding night.”

  Toying with the braided ties on the overgarment, Nephthys-Tiya cast her eyes down, the epitome of a modest maiden. “Oh, my lord, it’s true we’ve waited so long for this joyous moment.” She gave Khenet a smug look as he stood in the middle
of Smenkhotep’s soldiers.

  Khenet ground his teeth.

  “Go with my chief scribe, my dear.” Smenkhotep transferred her hand to the pudgy paw of Dedumes. “He’ll show you to your quarters where I hope you’ll find the arrangements to your liking. We’ll feast together and drink our first cup of wine as man and wife at the appointed hour.”

  Bowing her head, Nephthys-Tiya was all compliance and good cheer. “As you wish, my husband. What of my companion?”

  Displaying his yellowed teeth in a too-wide smile, like a predatory fish, Smenkhotep made a small shooing gesture. “I’ll see to the captain’s lodging and entertainment, my dear. You need have no further concern for him.”

  Nodding, she swept away without a backward glance.

  Khenet felt a pull deep inside himself, as if deep set hooks were sliding away, and thought maybe at least some of Nephthys’s compulsion was ebbing. Perhaps the venom dissipates in my blood? She probably expects Smenkhotep to deal with me now. The guards had been fidgeting anxiously during the brief ceremony of welcome so he’d surreptitiously positioned himself in the best possible location for self-defense, hand on the hilt of his sword.

  No sooner had the last of the noble party filed inside behind the scribe and Nephthys-Tiya then the mercenaries attacked Khenet. Trying to keep the chariot behind him, he had his sword out and swinging before the first two thugs had more than managed a step in his direction. They have to take me alive, but I don’t need to preserve their skins. His arms felt like lead and his legs barely held him upright. A lingering effect of Nephthys’s control? Khenet battled on, but the odds were too heavily against him. Buffeted by a stunning blow against the back of his head, he collapsed in the dust of the courtyard. His adversaries flung taunts at him for failing to live up to the storied reputation of Pharaoh’s Own Guard. He cursed them as his arms were bound and he was dragged to his feet to face Smenkhotep. Safely off to the side, the nomarch stayed out of danger through the brief scuffle.

  Khenet spat at the nomarch’s feet. “How dare you treat Pharaoh’s representative in such a fashion?” A guard cuffed him across the face. Khenet surged toward the man and head-butted him to the ground. His captors piled on to yank him away. It took the combined effort of six men to subdue him.

  “Oh, you’ll be honored and receive all the attention Pharaoh himself would garner from me, were he here. A pity he can’t be.” Smenkhotep came closer, hopping onto the stairs like a bird of prey, positioning himself above where Khenet was restrained, a murderous look on his face. “But as you will be dead by morning, there’s no need to waste scarce food and drink on you.” He waved a bony hand to the left. “Take him away until I have further need of him.”

  The guards wrestled Khenet out of the courtyard and along a dank corridor. Shoved into a dismal cell, he was chained to the wall, then left alone. The heavy door slammed shut as the last mercenary walked away.

  A small torch guttering in a rusting iron bracket on the opposite wall was his only source of light. Leaning his head against the cold wall, Khenet considered. He was free of the Great One’s compulsion. She must have decided I was safely stowed away, waiting to play my part as human sacrifice later tonight.

  I hope Tiya will be all right. His heart beat harder at the idea of Smenkhotep laying hands on his beloved. Acid seared his throat and he swallowed, clenching his fists. Nephthys made it abundantly clear she didn’t care what was done to Tiya’s body now, so long as the Great One got closer to her ultimate goal of destroying the portal that could bring Qemteshub into Egypt.

  I need some allies. Smenkhotep has Qemteshub. Nephthys is her own force of destruction. And then there’s me, stuck in this dungeon. Squinting in the gloom, he assessed the condition of the chains, tugging at them experimentally. No matter how falling to rack and ruin the nome was, this prison had been sturdily constructed. He wasn’t getting loose. And, even if he did, there was the stout door between him and freedom.

  Shutting his eyes, he tried to empty his mind of all the worries about Tiya. She was in the keeping of the Great One, and she had proved capable of caring for herself. Fear for her served no purpose, distracted him from what he needed to do. The aches in his bones and head where he had been beaten, the cold stone at his back, the fetid odors of the cell, the skittering of bugs across his feet—he blocked them all out. Smenkhotep won’t find it easy to kill me. Let me grab a weapon from a careless guard and the odds will flip in my favor. They haven’t seen warriors of my caliber here in a long time. Khenet nodded to himself. Be ready, be alert. Look for the right moment to hurl the Isis dagger at his rotting heart.

  * * *

  Nephthys had allowed Tiya’s ka to reawaken as she stepped down from the litter, remaining in tight control, however, cruelly denying Tiya the chance to take one last look at Khenet as she left the courtyard. A final punishment, she knew, for having defied the Great One the night before. I don’t care—it was worth it to be with Khenet, to finally make love to him. To know he’s mine and I am his. The scribe led Tiya through drafty winding halls and into the nomarch’s private chambers. The assorted nobles had bowed as she walked past them but didn’t follow. She had no idea what the group did next, nor did she care. Apparently, they’d been assembled for the express purpose of observing her arrival.

  The goddess seemed content to let her deal with whatever was going to happen, gradually allowing Tiya more and more control of her own body as she walked with Dedumes. Tiya could feel the presence of the Great One in her head and heart, however, like a distant humming. Distracting, the noise made her dizzy. I almost prefer the times when she takes total control and banishes my ka. At least then I don’t have to see or feel what’s happening.

  Tiya’s heart was frozen, iced over with a great sadness for Khenet. The next time he came into her presence would be at the moment of his death, followed shortly by her own, unless they could somehow act on their sketchy plans. I hope he can use the golden dagger of Isis whenever the right moment presents itself. He was correct about having more chance to use it than I will.

  “We’re to wait here for my lord’s arrival,” the scribe said, closing the door behind them. He stationed himself in front of the embossed panel. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Tiya eyed him. His tone was barely civil, and the touch of his clammy paw had made her flesh crawl. Turning to take in each unpleasant detail, she examined the chamber to which she’d been brought. From the nature of the clutter and disarray, it was obviously a man’s room. Clothing, scrolls and plates of half-eaten food were everywhere. She sniffed and raised her chin. “I prefer to retire to my own chambers after my long journey. I wish to refresh myself before dinner.”

  The scribe gestured to a tray on the table. Two glasses of wine sat there with some sinewy meat and a loaf of oddly lumpy bread. “Dinner, my lady.”

  Tiya squinted more closely and saw flecks of mold. “Is this some kind of joke? I ate better food on the trail. Take this away and have a suitable meal brought at once.”

  Walking to the table, Dedumes picked up one of the rolls and nibbled at it. “This is the best there is. Your husband will eat it, you’ll see. You’ll find our nome is not as rich and spoiled as Thebes. Smenkhotep lives simply, investing all his energy and treasure into his research.” The scribe’s tone was fawning, worshipful.

  “Research?” Wrinkling her nose, Tiya retreated a foot or two. This man is disgusting. He must pour the cheapest perfume over his head.

  Wiping his fleshy lips with the back of his hand, Dedumes gestured in circles with the other. “Magic, all things to do with magic.”

  The goddess stirred lazily deep in her mind but, after a few breathless moments when nothing else happened, Tiya sat, inspected the food, and crumbled a portion of bread. A bug fell out and crawled away. She flipped the plate on the floor. “I’m not eating this.”

  “Go hungry then.” Dedumes l
icked his fingers one by one, his pink tongue swirling over his digits suggestively, never taking his eyes from her face. “More for me.”

  “You take airs above your station, scribe. I’m from one of the first families of Thebes and I won’t be spoken to in such a fashion.” Oh, if only Khenet could hear me now, with his distaste for the high-and-mighty Court ladies. Tears rushed to her eyes making her blink hard. Surely he’s still alive. They have to keep him alive until whatever mad ceremony is initiated, don’t they?

  Fidgeting, Dedumes blinked his piggy little eyes. “I apologize, my lady. It has been many years since the nomarch had a wife. We’ve grown unused to the refinement a noble-born woman brings to the palace.”

  No one ever told me he was married before. Tiya kept her spine straight, not wanting to touch the stained cushion at the chair’s back. She didn’t want to bother making conversation with the odious chief scribe. Until the moment Nephthys chose to appear and end her life, she was on her own.

  Smenkhotep burst into the room, nearly bowling Dedumes over. Jovial, the ruler was

  rubbing his hands together.

  Rising, feeling a frantic need for a barrier, Tiya interposed the chair between them. It was his face on the third pawn Isis showed me!

  “The plan falls into place. Indeed it does.” Snatching a goblet, Smenkhotep drank deeply before throwing it aside. The crack of the shattering clay as it fell on the tabletop made Tiya jump. “Pharaoh must think he got off lightly, sending me a bride with no dowry, no attendants, to secure my loyalty. Little does he realize by agreeing to the terms I sent his predecessor he’s given me a great treasure.” He snapped his fingers at Tiya. “Show me the marks, girl, and be quick.”

  “Marks?”

  “Don’t play coy with me.” After throwing the chair out of the way, the noble reached out, grabbing her by the wrist. “Your marks of Nephthys. I want to view them. Now.” Rotating her wrist cruelly, he peered at the small cartouche birthmark. Tiya let out a cry of pain. Ripping her dress from her upper body to have a better view, Smenkhotep peered at the matching mark on her breast. Biting her lip, red staining her cheeks with embarrassment, she caught Dedumes leering lasciviously at her bare body.