“No guards?” Khenet let out a low whistle. Sheer stupidity on the nomarch’s part.
Narmer shook his head. “My wife is a serving woman here in the residence. She said when he works his black magic, Smenkhotep boasts of being protected by the minions of Qemteshub and wants no human guards. She told me you were locked in the holding cell tonight.”
“The nomarch may be right about the evil one protecting him,” said the corporal, making a hand sign against black magic. “The thunder and lightning rage outside and the ground shakes.”
“Have you posted guards at the outer doors?” Khenet didn’t care about the weather or the earthquakes right now. The battle with Qemteshub and his minions will happen inside this palace, not out there. “I don’t want to be disturbed until matters between Smenkhotep and me are resolved.”
“I left two trusted men at the portal, yes. No one will gain entry.” Narmer nodded with satisfaction.
Pointing his sword at the open cell door, Khenet gave a peremptory nod. “Show me the way to the nomarch’s sanctuary.”
* * *
The three men waiting in the sacrificial chamber wheeled as one when Tiya walked in. They were priests of Qemteshub, thin, white-haired, wearing robes of scarlet and gold matching the one she wore, colors reversed. She’d seen more than enough of their kind when the Usurper Pharaoh had sat on the throne, working to give the entire country to their enemies.
The priest closest to Tiya walked over and laid his palms on her breasts. Dedumes clenched his hand in her hair to hold her in place.
“Excellent.” The priest nodded, admiring the glowing stones. “She does have power, as you hoped, my lord—an amazing amount of power.”
That’s what happens when you inadvertently trap a goddess inside a human’s body. Tiya struggled a little against their hold.
“We should be able to open the portal tonight, don’t you think?” Smenkhotep asked eagerly. He seemed younger and more vigorous to Tiya’s eyes with each passing moment. The power he was siphoning through the purple stones was enhancing his stamina, and she prayed he wouldn’t become so powerful that Khenet couldn’t defeat him.
Even as she thought of her warrior, the nomarch spoke of him. “Have you seen the brute they sent with her? Pharaoh’s brother? He’ll more than do as a sacrifice to entice Qemteshub to my nome.”
The priest mulled the idea over for a short time. “Qemteshub enjoys the sacrifice of a warrior, true. And the blood, liver and soul of a soldier related to Pharaoh will call the Exalted Being, signal to him you’re a power wielder worthy of his attention.”
Smenkhotep rubbed his hands together. “Let’s make my new wife comfortable, as comfortable as one can be during events of this nature. Now, don’t be frightened, my dear. You’ll be unharmed, no matter what. You’re precious to me.”
Tiya ached down to the marrow of her bones as the goddess raged inside her, struggling to break the restraining effects of the purple stones. Maybe if I can get even one bracelet off, Nephthys could exert some power and help me free her the rest of the way. She twisted her body, trying to loosen the scribe’s grip. “Please, I don’t want to wear this, it’s too heavy for my neck—”
“Enough whining.” Smenkhotep slapped her hard across the face. The pain was shattering, accompanied by waves of nausea and vertigo that ripped through her body. The scribe let go of her hair and Tiya fell to her knees, her hand going to her split lip. She tasted the hot blood.
* * *
When he emerged into the corridor behind Narmer, lights and voices drew him to the left, toward the sacrificial chamber. The small column of men kept a tight formation behind him. Stalking his prey like a cat, staying against the walls, using the shadows, Khenet arrived at the room. A breeze blew from the chamber, full of unpleasant, swamplike odors. Cautiously, he peered around the frame of the open door. Although the lights flickered in the chamber, his enhanced vision allowed him to see well enough to plan his next move.
Smenkhotep, my Tiya, and maybe three more men. Nephthys must be hiding inside Tiya, biding her time. Waiting for my death under the sacrificial knives. Khenet risked a second glance, taking in the room, double-checking the relative locations of its occupants.
“This is my task,” he whispered to Narmer. “You and your men guard the entrance to the outside and keep his human hounds at bay, should any show up.”
“You’ll need help in there, sir,” Narmer protested. He got a better grip on his sword. “We want to fight.”
Resting his hand on Narmer’s shoulder, Khenet did his best to be tactful. “Lady Tiya and I have special weapons, one or two safeguards, to help us in the battle against Qemtusheb’s servants, if Smenkhotep manages to summon them.”
“The nomarch plans to summon the uttukai?” Narmer recoiled and the men behind him made hand signs against evil. “Those who carry the blood and souls of human sacrifice to their master?”
Khenet nodded. “Smenkhotep intends them to feast on my soul. So while I appreciate your courage and willingness to wade into the battle I believe if the demons rise from the Underworld, it’d be a massacre.” He saw the soldiers nodding, trusting in his battle plan. “I must do this part alone, with whatever help the Lady Tiya can give me. Now get going. Knowing you guard my back will free me to concentrate on my mission.”
Saluting, Narmer deployed his meager troops as Khenet reached out to get a grip on the door and make his entrance.
* * *
Smenkhotep yanked Tiya back by the hair. Bringing his face to hers, he spoke in a deadly, low voice. “You’ll wear the entire parure of jewelry. These gems are the same stone I use to guard my borders—you saw how I embedded them in the nome’s gate? An ancient tribe that lived here centuries ago mined the stone for use as part of their religion. I’ve figured out how to harness the full power of the gems for my own purposes. You must be in contact with the stones, so I can summon and channel your full power.”
He pulled her toward the giant black lava altar that dominated the chamber, walking around it to stand with his back to the wall. The sacrificial stone table stood waist high before them. “You’ll have a place of honor next to me here while I shed the blood of the Egyptian warrior. The utukkai will harvest his liver and his ka as my sacrifice to call their master. Your power will enhance the sacrifice and shorten our wait for Qemteshub’s arrival.”
“You can go to hell and take your vultures with you.” Wrenching free, Tiya retreated from the insane gleam in his eyes. Her freedom was short-lived as Dedumes grabbed her upper arms from behind and held her close, his arousal pressed against her lower back.
“Let go of me, you lecherous hyena.” She contorted her body to create a space between herself and the scribe. “You disgust me.”
“We’re wasting time,” Smenkhotep said, spitting his angry words. “If she won’t obey, we’ll chain her to the wall.”
Tiya struggled in earnest then, kicking at the scribe. He laughed, enjoying her struggles. Spinning in his embrace, which he apparently did not expect, she kneed him in the groin, and his hold broke. She had no clear plan other than to get as far away from these loathsome people as she could.
The Hyksos priests closed in on her from the other side of the altar, creating a cage with their joined arms, cutting off any escape until Smenkhotep could grab her again. There wasn’t much room to maneuver, only five or six feet between the altar and the outside wall. She wasn’t setting foot on the stained sacrificial stone, not even to escape.
A shout from across the chamber froze everyone in mid-motion, including Tiya.
“Take your cursed hands off my lady.” Khenet stood inside the door across the cavernous room, sword poised to cut down the opposition.
Chapter Thirteen
For a heartbeat, confusion hampered the participants in the struggle. Khenet glanced toward Tiya for a
split second, reassuring himself she was unharmed, then his focus was again all for the nomarch. An avenging force of nature, Khenet advanced toward the altar, crossing the great expanse of bare floor where several hundred worshippers could easily have stood, if Smenkhotep had wanted an audience.
“Did you know this room is built over one of the entrances to the Lake of Fire?” Smenkhotep said in a conversational tone, pushing Tiya away from him. “Legend has it that the palace was deliberately situated by the ancients to cover and seal the entrance to hell. The purple stones were supposed to lock the demons into their realm. Only my research has shown me a way to open that portal again, using the power of the gems for other purposes.”
“How fitting then, that I’m here to prevent such a catastrophe from happening, as my people are the ones who locked the monsters in hell the first time,” Khenet said, now only a few feet away from the little group.
Before anyone could stop him, the nomarch grabbed the nearest Hyksos priest, who had been staring aghast at Khenet. Slitting the distracted man’s throat in one smooth move, Smenkhotep shoved the unlucky sacrifice onto the black lava altar. Blood from the dying man’s gaping wound poured over the stone, and smoky tendrils rose from the rivulets of fluid.
Tiya tried to seize her chance, sidling away from the magician, but he yanked her close to his side once more. Watching her fight to escape, Khenet was amazed at the surprising strength the nomarch possessed in his bony hands, easily resisting her efforts to pry his fingers off her wrist.
Struggling with her, Smenkhotep yelled at the two surviving priests. “Chant the spells, damn you! What are you waiting for—call the utukkai who serve your master. Use the sacrifice I’ve made, summon the demons to help us, or your blood will stain the altar as well.”
The two Hyksos exchanged nervous looks, staring wide-eyed at the four corners of the room. There was no escape except through the door and Khenet stood between them and it, sword raised. Venturing in his direction would bring only death. First one priest, then the other, fell to his knees, resting his hands on the edge of the veined black altar stone, singing a series of guttural syllables.
Khenet reached the altar and moved counterclockwise past it, toward Smenkhotep and Tiya, ignoring the priests for now as they posed no physical threat. Dedumes was next in his way but the scribe fell gibbering to his pudgy knees, begging for mercy. With a contemptuous glance, Khenet strode past him.
Tiya screamed a warning as the scribe stood, drawing a wicked dagger from his robes, falling upon Khenet from the rear. The blow was deflected by the leather straps of Khenet’s breastplate. Wheeling with a curse, he knocked the knife from Dedumes’s hand and, swinging his sword in one powerful arc, severed the man’s head from his body. Blood ran onto the floor, joining the pool dripping from the top of the altar. The sluggish red flow became a stream, spreading out to stain the empty floor between the altar and the doorway.
The earth trembled under them, loud thundering noises rising from the subsurface.
“What’s happening?” Tiya gasped, bracing herself against the wall with one hand.
“The portal to the Lake of Fire is opening,” the nomarch said, triumph making his voice thick. “The blood of human sacrifices activates the mechanism. And attracts the utukkai.”
The once-solid paving stones became translucent, transforming into cloudy glass everywhere the blood ran, although the floor directly beneath the altar remained unchanged as if it were bedrock going to the core of the world, strong enough to support the weight of the great black stone and the remaining people.
Below the floor-turned-to-glass, scarlet and black flames swept like a wildfire going uphill, running in waves toward them from the direction of the door. As if the flames were melting the floor from underneath, cracks appeared, tiny at first then moving in jagged lines through the glass with a cracking, ripping sound. Huge chunks of the glass surface between the doorway and the peninsula, where the altar remained safe, fell off into the lake below, raising plumes of sparks and fire.
Khenet retreated one step at a time, closer to the sacrificial stone, careful not to touch it.
“The lake of fire,” Smenkhotep proclaimed, waving his arms in satisfaction. “We’ve successfully opened the portal to the Underworld. Qemteshub’s minions will soon arrive to feast on our offering as the scrolls promised they would. They’ll take the choicest bits to Qemteshub, proving to him that I am a force to be reckoned with, and that it is worth his while to ascend from the depths of Hell to bargain with me. I’ve demonstrated my power as a mighty sorcerer and wielder of black magic.”
“Khenet, behind you, something’s coming this way through the lake.” Tiya jabbed one finger at the roiling fire.
Half turning, he saw the foaming red wake of a huge creature swimming through the fiery waves, straight toward the small island of stone floor girdling the altar . He stepped farther from the edge, until the backs of his knees hit the stone. He kept sword and knife at the ready.
A grotesque, misshapen head broke the surface of the flaming lake, watching them from a ring of eyes. The beast opened its mouth, revealing rows and rows of triangular fangs. Roaring a challenge, the creature reared on its hind legs, walking upright through the waves of fire, taking its final step out of the fiery pit to ascend the altar. Crouching on muscled haunches like tree trunks, the beast bellowed defiance, whipping a sinuous tail tipped with a stinger like a sword and eyeing all of them like prey. “Who calls the utukkai from their slumbers? Who dares petition the mighty Qemtusheb for favor?”
What evil powers this insane man has tapped! “At all costs keep out of its reach,” Khenet yelled to Tiya, heart pounding with fear for her. How long till the crazy nomarch decides he doesn’t need her, sacrifices her to save himself?
While he was distracted with worry for Tiya, another peril assaulted Khenet.
Tiya’s screaming alerted him as smoky tendrils from the boiling lake thickened, swirled and solidified into long tentacles, reaching to ensnare him. He realized he was in trouble as the smoke curled to touch his biceps and ankles and he felt the bite of ropes on his skin. Slicing his sword through the sinister, unearthly restraints, he cursed fluently, calling on his own gods in his native tongue. Parting with a hiss, the smoke dissipated where the blade passed but in a heartbeat new, thicker tentacles protruded, reaching to ensnare his sword arm. Awkwardly he hacked them away.
From the corner of his eye he caught a movement and swung about to watch the demon on the altar rising to its feet, transforming into a misshapen semblance of a man, taller, with an outsize, horned head and six arms. Pointing its longest arm at him, the demon said, “I see the intended sacrifice—his soul will be a rare sweetmeat for my master. We’ve not had the like in centuries.”
Bellowing its pleasure in its own guttural language, the creature reached for him but he sliced off the thick arm. Thank Tla’amu for the gift of godly strength. I’d be exhausted and easy picking for the demon by now otherwise. The limb immediately regenerated as a suckered tentacle, the center of each sucker bearing a shiny stinger. Khenet wove and dodged, trying to ward off the demon, careful not to cut any more tentacles and thereby create new problems.
But the beast sprouted the evil-looking suckers on its arms, and sent three suckered arms at him at once. He slashed through two but the third encircled his waist. Pain radiated through his entire body as the minion tightened its grip, lifting him off the floor. Dropping his sword, he sought to unwind the slimy rope of muscle from his waist, stabbing at it with the dagger.
Next second the tattoo on his arm became a living thing, slithering down his skin before his disbelieving eyes, coiling on his wrist, then launching itself directly into the minion’s face. Sinking dripping fangs into its quarry’s cheek below the ring of bulging eyes, the ebony snake pumped venom into the disgusting flesh, twisting and resisting any attempt by the uttukai to dislodge it.
As the tentacle around him weakened and lost its grip under the enchanted snake’s assault, Khenet fell to the side, rolling away from the lake’s rim to scoop up his sword again.
Clutching its face, the minion took faltering steps backward and fell into the lake of fire, sinking below the raging waves with a raw scream that vibrated throughout the room. The snake dropped to the surface of the altar, coiling tightly and in the blink of an eye, launching itself back at Khenet. The serpent wound around his arm, fading from living creature to ink. Only the green eyes remained alive, alert, watchful.
Khenet looked up from the tattoo as a new utakkai stepped from the waves, red lava and orange fire dripping from its body. This one grew until its shoulders bumped the ceiling. Some force apparently kept it penned on the altar, like the first one had been, shrieking defiance, ropes of spittle falling from its horrific mouth. He could only be grateful the edge of the altar was the boundary of the creatures’ territory. So far at any rate.
Scrabbling in a panic, one priest knocked the other off his feet, sending the man to the floor beside the altar. With the sound of a whip cracking, the demon snapped out a tentacle, ensnaring the priest in a relentless grasp. The demon flicked its tail and skewered the Hyksos in the chest. Throwing its prize into the lake of flames, the demon turned back to Smenkhotep, Tiya and the one remaining priest.
Another equally horrific denizen surfaced, spitting out the bones of the skewered priest. The new arrival chewed lazily, mouth open, contemplating them all with its ring of eyes. “Tasty enough for me, yet nowhere near rich enough for my master,” said the uttukai, licking its lips with a spiky red tongue as it lolled in the flaming lake near the edge of the floor.
If they can’t venture beyond the altar, I can ignore them for a moment and deal with Smenkhotep. They’re terrifying, yes, but just a distraction for now. And they won’t summon their master unless I yield my soul and die. Khenet looked over his shoulder at the nomarch, still clutching Tiya, and stalked toward them, sword at the ready.
Warrior of the Nile (The Gods of Egypt) Page 20