Warrior of the Nile (The Gods of Egypt)

by Scott, Veronica

  Jerking away from the nomarch, she attempted to cover herself with her ripped tunic, backing away. I wish I had the Isis dagger—I’d stab him now gladly!

  He followed, matching her step for step, like a jackal hunting prey. “Pointless to be shy. I’m your husband now, lord and master.”

  “He isn’t,” she said, pointing at the scribe. “Do you plan to parade my body to all your courtiers and servants then? Is this how a wife is treated in Viper Nome?”

  “Oh.” Smenkhotep stared over his shoulder at the scribe. “Dedumes, turn your face to the wall while she dresses for the ceremony.”

  “Ceremony?” Tiya looked at the bed and shuddered, her stomach turning in revulsion.

  “Not a wedding feast—something much more important. I’m sure you expect me to bed you promptly. We’ll get to that soon enough.” Smenkhotep ogled her, dropping his hand to his crotch. He stroked his rising cock, bunching the fabric of his kilt. “You do quicken my loins, by the gods, but the moon is in the most propitious phase tonight for what I must do. Tomorrow will suffice for satisfying the needs of the body.”

  “I—I don’t understand, my lord.” Except she did, and her heart beat harder.

  “You don’t need to understand anything,” he said. He brushed one hand across her breast, lingering over the mark. “Oh indeed, you have the power.”

  Tiya thought he stood a bit straighter, became less shaky. He believes I have some power—can he use it to enhance himself, like some bloodsucking leech? The idea made her skin crawl.

  While she studied him in horrified fascination, Smenkhotep—he did look healthier, she decided—grew impatient. “Take off the cheap dress you arrived in and don the raiment I have prepared for you, there on the bed.”

  Tiya shot a wary look at Dedumes but he stood with his broad back to them. She walked to the bed where a ceremonial dress of pleated gold cloth had been laid out. Smenkhotep advanced a step or two toward her. Hastily she untied her sash, allowing the clothing to drop to the floor, then reached for the required garment. She let the dress fall from her hand as if it were in flames when she realized the symbols of Qemteshub were embroidered into the fabric and appliquéd at the hem. Rubbing one hand on her hip as if to wipe away contamination, she confronted her husband. “You ask me to commit blasphemy against the Great Ones of Egypt?”

  “They hold no sway here, girl. Qemteshub is the deity of the Viper Nome. You’ll swear your fealty to him as well, later tonight. Now change into the dress or I’ll dress you myself. Precious time is passing.”

  Licking his lips, Dedumes peeked at her bare body over his shoulder.

  Quickly she pulled the garment over her head and fastened the beaded belt. Smenkhotep wolfed down some of the less disgusting morsels of food.

  “Good, good. Now come here, girl.” He crooked one finger at her.

  She drew herself to her full height. “My name is Tiya-ami-kitara.”

  “I don’t care overmuch what your name might be. All I care about are the marks you bear, which signify that you hold immense reservoirs of power, according to the old scrolls I study. Power I can tap into to assist my spells in accomplishing what I need to do. Sit here.” He righted the chair. Opening a wooden casket sitting on the table, he withdrew a complicated necklace of the same purple stones she’d seen at Khenet’s ancient temple and at the gate, looping the strands around her neck. The necklace covered her entire chest in an intricate fall of glowing stones.

  Gasping, Tiya staggered as the goddess hidden inside her erupted in a blaze of anger, sending heat and pain through her entire body. Smenkhotep was busy fastening bejeweled cuffs to Tiya’s wrists. Dedumes came to kneel in front of her, affixing matching anklets, which might as well have been shackles, they were so heavy. Head pounding in time with her heartbeat, Tiya struggled for each breath. Nephthys raged within Tiya’s heart, apparently imprisoned by the strange purple gemstones. Smenkhotep had no idea he was not only tapping into residual power in Tiya’s body, due to her lineage, but also the raw power of the goddess herself.

  “I need to lie down,” she pleaded, raising a hand to her forehead. “I’m so dizzy.”

  “You should have eaten when you had the chance,” Dedumes said spitefully as he and the nomarch yanked her to her feet.

  “It’s a short walk to the chamber, then you’ll be in a more comfortable position,” Smenkhotep informed her.

  “Please, I don’t want to wear all this jewelry.” Tiya plucked at the stones on her chest. They were warm to the touch, glowing. “It’s overwhelming.”

  “Most women covet such spectacular adornment.” Smenkhotep’s brow furrowed as he eyed her.

  Tiya’s vision was flickering, mostly red, as the spirit of Nephthys stormed through her mind and body, seeking escape. The goddess seemed to have lost the ability to control Tiya’s mind and actions, instead becoming a separate, angry presence inside her, making her dizzy and clumsy. Fumbling with the clasp on the bracelet at the Great One’s insistent command, Tiya let out a small cry of surprise as Smenkhotep slapped her hand away. Grabbing her by the elbows, he and Dedumes dragged her into the hallway, heading for the ceremonial chamber.

  Chapter Twelve

  Trying to ease the wrenching strain on his shoulders, Khenet stood straight. If his arms became numb before the guards came to fetch him, all his plans would be for naught.

  If only this were a place of ancient power, like the old temple. I might be able to draw upon some remnant of energy to help myself. To help Tiya. What was it Pharaoh said about the force or power watching over me? He hummed an old chant under his breath, trying to remember words long forgotten. Frustration simmered in him as he struggled to dredge up the words he’d not heard since he was a child. Those who had adopted him had been kind but hadn’t encouraged him to continue the worship of his own god. He’d tried to keep the memories fresh, gone off on his own at times to practice the rituals, but the gaps in his learning were huge.

  “Set’s teeth, I must be mad to think I can escape this trap.” Khenet yanked at the chains in fury and despair for a moment before leaning his head back on the cold wall. “Last Man of Avsarum—what a joke. I am he sure enough, but where are my powers? I ask you, Tla’amu, where are the gifts due to the Last Man?” He yelled into the cold black cell with all his might, livid with anger that he was impotent to save the woman he loved when it came down to the last moments of their lives.

  He went on the alert as he heard the sound of footsteps coming closer...inside the cell itself.

  “The gifts have been flowing to you since you crossed the border of our ancestral homeland. Do you not feel them?” The aged priest who’d ministered to the spiritual needs of Khenet’s boyhood village stepped forward from the shadows, seemingly as real as Khenet’s chains.

  Falling back against the wall, Khenet said, “I’m going mad then, having my nightmare in the daylight now?”

  The priest stopped a foot or two away, shaking his head. “Never will you dream of us again. You’ve met the woman who matches you, completes you in heart and power, so you’ve no need to dream of us, of what once was. We pass peacefully into our afterlife now, thanks to her love for you. You’ve returned to the land of our forebears. All our people’s prophecies near completion, but there are things you must do to profit from the promises made to the Last Man.”

  Khenet stared at the apparition for a moment before closing his eyes in despair. Is he even here or am I hallucinating? Some trick of Qemteshub’s, or Nephthys’s? “I can’t do anything chained to this wall, priest.”

  As soon as the words left his lips, Khenet felt heat on his wrist. He opened his eyes, blinking against the faint torchlight. The precious beads in his amulet glowed, the runes inscribed on them dancing and writhing across their translucent surfaces. The beads pulsed, flattened and ran together in a swirl of glowing colors, expanding
on his wrist.

  The light now illuminated the entire cell, rats squealing as they ran for cover. Afraid to hope, forgetting to draw breath, he watched the cascade of color flow along his arm, changing from the original warm brown of the carnelian stone into a rainbow of colors—red, yellow, blue, green—running up his skin like veins. Purple light played over the entire scene. There was no pain, no sensation at all, but, as he watched, the colors streamed onto his shoulder. The tattoo on his bicep—a mere outline since his boyhood—filled out, became a swirl of symbols, surrounding a black, winged snake. Coiled along the muscles of his upper shoulder and arm, the reptile appeared ready to strike. The snake’s eyes filled in with the last drops of shimmering emerald green, sparkling with life.

  Khenet startled in surprise and he yanked his arms away from the wall. His right arm was pulled tight by the chains but his left arm throbbed with sizzling power and came to rest on his chest, dragging the chains clear out of the wall.

  A popping sound filled the cell, and sparks flew from the tattoo’s eyes, a tiny shower of color in the semi gloom of the cell. The sparks ate away at the manacles on his wrists and ankles, reducing them to dust. Khenet collapsed to his knees with bruising force on the stone pavement, one hand bracing himself and the other touching the tattoo gingerly. He snatched his fingers away as the snake’s tongue whispered across them.

  “It’s done. The symbol has been finished, as you deserve,” said the priest. He raised his hands, then crossed them over his chest, bowing to Khenet. “Completing your tattoo has been my honor and my final task before I too can step away into the afterlife. I wish you well in the trial that is to come, Last Man.”

  “Wait!” But even as that imperative syllable left Khenet’s lips, the priest had gone in a flare of purple incandescence, and he was alone in the cell, kneeling on the cold stones.

  When he examined the tattoo as best he could in the uncertain light, the reptile was a flat painted enhancement on his skin, not a living creature. Clawing his way to his feet, he braced himself on the wall. Stretching cramped muscles, Khenet felt reinvigorated, full of strength. He was conscious of energy thrumming through his body. He could feel every beat of his heart, the power of his lungs as they took in the cool air, the flexing of his muscles as he stood to his full height and spread his arms, marveling at the sheer wonder of what had just transpired. I’ve never felt so alive, so invulnerable, so prepared to take on anything the universe throws at me. Nephthys, Qemtusheb—they have no idea what they’ll be facing! The flame of the torch caught his eye and he saw each color as a separate, living entity, with the hot red core pulsing as if to give him a message of hope. He could hear miniscule drops of water coalescing from thin air onto the cold stone walls. The tattoo was a part of his arm, all coiled power and promise, each scale in the design outlined in darker black ink, faintly touched with green. He wanted to laugh; he wanted to shout; he was so full of emotions that he felt as if his throat might burst with trying to express them all.

  Is this gift of inhuman strength going to last? What else does the tattoo bring me, I wonder? If only I could have asked the priest some questions! But he remained an unarmed prisoner and, although he felt ready to take on an army and win, there was still the issue of getting wherever he needed to be to face Qemteshub and his minions.

  Rubbing his arms against the chill, he surveyed the cell. I can surprise those mercenary scum when they come to open the door. They won’t expect me to be unbound. No squad of mere mortals can hold me back now.

  There was a sound at the door, unnaturally loud to his heightened senses. Khenet whirled and narrowed his eyes. So soon? Maybe something has disrupted the nomarch’s plans, which will work for me nicely.

  Assuming a fighting stance out of direct line of sight of the door, he waited to ambush whoever came through.

  With much creaking and groaning, the panel slowly opened. Khenet grabbed the first man through the door, seizing his sword with the right hand and throwing the man away in the air with his powerful left. The soldier landed against the stone wall head first and crumpled to the side as Khenet raised the blade to defend himself against the others.

  But the next man held his hands up, empty. None of the guards had drawn their weapons.

  “Peace, warrior—we mean you no harm.” It was Narmer, captain of the guard from the outer nome border. Gesturing at the six men behind him, he said, “We came to help you, to fight by your side.”

  Suspicious, Khenet kept his sword at the ready. “Why?”

  “You’re Pharaoh’s representative, one of his Own Guard. We’ve prayed and hoped the new Pharaoh would send troops to retake this province.” Narmer exchanged looks with his men. “We’re loyal to the Great Ones and to Pharaoh, and there are many others like us in the ranks.”

  Khenet walked the ragged line of soldiers, the men straightening to attention under his regard. Shaking his head, he stated the bald truth. “I’m one man, alone. There are no other soldiers coming. Consider well before you cast your lot with mine.”

  “We don’t care.” Narmer pointed at his motley troop. “I wanted to sound you out on the possibilities when we met at the border. Though I was unable to speak with you alone, my men and I talked after you left the wall. We decided that if there was any chance to depose Smenkhotep, it would be now, with you as our leader. If we fail, then at least we’ll have died honorably, in the service of Egypt, not as lackeys of Smenkhotep. Our hearts will weigh true in the Scales, qualifying us to enter the blessed afterlife.”

  The soldiers all nodded.

  “It burns a man’s heart to serve a ruler who does black magic,” said one.

  “A sorcerer who summons the Evil One Qemteshub against his own people deserves no loyalty,” agreed another.

  Khenet looked at the circle of soldiers, half-starved but standing proudly now that they’d begun to mount a fight against their oppressor. “I’m honored to go into this battle with you as my comrades.”

  Narmer pointed at the golden hawk insignia on Khenet’s leather straps. “You’re of Pharaoh’s Own Guard. His brother, I’m told?”

  Khenet nodded.

  “Then who better to seize the nome in the name of Pharaoh? The people don’t love Smenkhotep. He keeps control with threats and terror. He hired a pack of vicious mercenaries. His imported thugs are the only ones well fed in this province.”

  Khenet nodded. “I’ve seen that for myself today.”

  “They do as they please while we, the men of Viper Nome, those who should be protecting our own, have to stand by, hold ourselves apart and look the other way as mercenaries make free with whoever and whatever takes their fancy.”

  “Your cousin Waset spoke of the situation, when I met him in Dendaret,” Khenet said. “Now I’m here, I understand he didn’t exaggerate. Your people are starving.”

  “Smenkhotep unleashes his mercenaries like wolves on the women and children of any who oppose him.” Narmer lowered his voice. “There was a priest of Horus who tried to rally our people, attempted to build a resistance. When Smenkhotep learned of this, he had his thugs torture the man to death in the city square.” Voice shaking, Narmer said, “We had to stand by and watch or our own families would have been sold as slaves. Fortunately, the main group of the mercenary raiding party has been gone a ten-day now. Fewer enemies for us to fight tonight.”

  “Those men won’t be returning,” Khenet informed him with satisfaction. “All dead.”

  Narmer’s jaw dropped and there was muttering in the small group of soldiers. “You killed them? All by yourself? Truly you are a mighty warrior.” Eyes narrowing, the captain examined Khenet. “You seem different from this afternoon, taller, more forceful—as if you’ve become a larger-than-life version of yourself.” He gave a little shake. “Maybe it’s the light in this cell playing tricks on my eyes.”

  “Certain physical gifts h
ave come to me today,” Khenet agreed. “I stand now in the land of my forebears and can command powers unknown to your treacherous nomarch.”

  Reaching out one hand, Narmer made as if to touch the newly completed tattoo on Khenet’s arm, before thinking better of the gesture. “Of a certainty you didn’t have this when I met you at the gate today.”

  “No,” Khenet agreed, glancing at his arm, wondering yet again how the coiled snake might aid him when the final battle arrived.

  “A further sign that our time is now.” Narmer gestured to a man standing by the wall. “Give Pharaoh’s man his own sword, quickly. And his knife.”

  Khenet traded weapons with the soldier, relieved to have his own heavier blade in his hand. He stuck the knife in its scabbard. “I’m sorry about your man there.” He jerked his head at the soldier he had disarmed, who still lay crumpled beside the wall.

  “You had no way to know,” Narmer said.

  “He’s not dead, sir,” reported the grizzled sergeant who had been checking on his comrade’s status. “Geb has a thick skull. He’ll have one hell of a headache tomorrow, though.”

  A low laugh rippled through the ranks.

  “He forgot when you’re dealing with Pharaoh’s Own, you need to expect the

  unexpected,” Narmer said, pointing at Khenet. “Do you have a plan, sir?”

  Khenet shrugged. “Find Smenkhotep and kill him. Free my lady.”

  The soldiers exchanged looks, a few shuffling uneasily.

  “Simple plans are best when you’ve no time to prepare,” Khenet said, hearing the mutters of doubt. “Surprise is our best weapon.”

  “This wing of the palace has been emptied tonight,” Narmer said. “Smenkhotep, his chief scribe, your woman and the priests of Qemteshub keep vigil in the ceremonial chamber at the end of the corridor.”