by Dakota Chase
I could smell blood on the hot desert wind. The metallic stench of it filled my nose; it was so strong I could almost taste it, like when you get a bloody nose and the blood slides down your throat.
Grant was on my right, his chariot nearly even with mine as we crested another dune. Before us was spread a scene that could’ve been taken straight out of the movies, except I knew there were no special effects here, no CGI. Every drop of blood was real, and every one of the hundreds of bodies that lay broken on the sands had once been a living, breathing human being.
If I hadn’t been scared before, I was now. I could hear my blood pounding in my ears, and the hands that held my reins shook.
Thousands of men fought with swords and spears. The Hittites had chariots, too, but theirs were bigger and heavier than the Egyptians’, and each was pulled by four horses. I could see many of them bogged down in the softer sand. They were also clumsy; they tried to wheel and turn, but couldn’t do it very quickly. They were powerful, though, and the ones that didn’t get stuck in the sand plowed through Tut’s infantry like rocks through paper, mowing men down and trampling them under sharp hooves and wooden wheels.
Tut’s chariot plunged right into the thick of the battle, dragging Grant’s and my chariots with him. I was busy trying to steer my horses around the bodies and away from the charging Hittite chariots, but I saw Tut’s scythe flash bronze in the sunlight, slashing at the enemy.
I lost sight of Grant. The Hittites had forced him off to the right, separating us. I jerked the reins hard to the right, and the horses turned, racing across the battle line toward where I’d last seen him. “Grant! Grant!” I screamed, knowing my voice couldn’t possibly be heard over the thunderous noise of the battle.
The feet of the armies and the horses kicked up the sand; it was flung by the wind into my face, scraping my skin raw like sandpaper. It bit into my eyes, making them hurt and tear up, until everything looked blurry.
A Hittite chariot closed in on my left, driven by a man with black hair and wild eyes. A second man stood with him on the chariot, holding a sword. Before I could maneuver my chariot away, the second man’s sword flashed toward me.
It was probably only instinct that made me raise my shield. I certainly didn’t intentionally block the shot, but it worked. The sword bit deeply into the shield, slashing it neatly down the center, but I didn’t get so much as a scratch, although I felt the blow travel painfully up my arm into my shoulder.
I heard a voice screaming loudly, and it was only after my horses pulled my chariot away from the Hittite’s that I realized it was coming from my own mouth. I screamed myself hoarse, until my voice sounded as rough as the sand that blew all around me.
That was the moment it really sunk into my brain. This wasn’t a game. It wasn’t a play, or a movie, or bunch of guys re-enacting an old battle. It was real. Men were dying all around me. Some of them weren’t even as old as I was, barely more than kids themselves. Their screams of pain rang in my ears. I heard them calling for the gods, for their wives, their children, and their mothers, crying in pain, and calling for help that never came.
What had Grant and I been thinking? This was stupid; no, more than stupid—it was insane! We didn’t belong here. We should be back at the Stanton School, going to class and slacking off on our homework! Where was Grant? I pictured him dead, crushed under his overturned chariot or hacked into pieces by the Hittites.
I finally spotted him off to the right, his chariot racing toward me. I felt an enormous wave of relief at the sight of him, particularly since he looked okay and still had all his body parts. I pulled hard on the reins, slowing my horses to a walk. When he got closer, I read my name on his lips, although I couldn’t hear him over the noise all around us.
He was pointing behind me. I twisted my head, squinting to see through the flying sand.
I knew immediately what Grant was pointing at. It was Tut, and he was in trouble. His chariot had stopped moving; one of his horses was dead. It had fallen to the ground, tipping the chariot precariously to one side. He was surrounded by Hittites, and although he was striking out with his scythe, he couldn’t fight them all off for long.
Where were his guards? Where was Aye? Did Aye know Tut was in trouble and think to let the Hittites kill Tut for him? Was that his plan all along? Was that why he’d taken Nefertiti and attacked the Hittite camp to begin with? Was it all a set-up? Did the scientists get Tut’s age wrong after all? Did he die, not when he was nineteen, but seventeen? Was today the day?
Not if I could help it.
All these thoughts raced through my mind, but my body was acting on autopilot. Without even realizing I was doing it, I turned the horses and raced toward Tut. My spear was too long for me to wield while trying to drive the horses, so I slipped my knife out of its sheath. It felt heavy in my hand, but my fingers closed around the ivory handle hard enough to ache.
My horses reached the crowd of men gathered around Tut’s chariot, their sharp hooves knocking men this way and that. I didn’t look to see if any of the men who fell were hurt or dead; my only concern was getting to Tut.
A sword flashed toward me and I slammed my knife into the arm that wielded it, down to the hilt. I pulled it out, and the man fell away from my chariot, blood spraying from his injured arm.
It was the first time I’d ever intentionally hurt another human being, but that thought didn’t register on me until much later. Oh, I wasn’t a wuss—I’d been in fights before, sure. A punch here, or shove there, but it had never been anything serious. Not like this, at any rate. At the moment, though, all I knew was fury and fear, and all I could see was an opening that led to Tut. I steered the horses into it and pulled up alongside Tut’s chariot. “Get in!” I yelled, swiping to the left and right with my knife, not even counting how many times the blade met with flesh.
Tut hopped quickly from his chariot to mine, crowding in close behind me. Heck, we’d ridden double in a chariot before; I saw no reason why we couldn’t do it again. “To the front line!” he cried.
“Hell, no!” I screamed back. “I’m getting you out of here!”
“I must fight!”
“You did! Your men can finish this for you!” I argued. I yanked on the reins and the horses wheeled, racing back toward Grant’s chariot.
All around us, the Egyptian army was cutting through the Hittites like an electric razor buzzes though hair. The Hittites’ heavier chariots weren’t made for the soft sand of the Sahara. They got stuck often and couldn’t maneuver as easily. The Egyptian’s lighter chariots were remarkable; it looked almost as if they were surfing the sand, wheeling and turning easily.
Some of the Egyptian chariots had problems, too. Some of them lost wheels, and some hit slopes in the sand that threw the rider, but for the most part, they handled the sand well. There were men on foot racing behind the chariots, taking out the Hittites missed by the archers. I felt sure the battle would soon be over, and the Egyptians would come out on top.
My chariot was closing in on Grant when I felt a blow to my arm. It hurt badly, burning and aching, and I nearly dropped the reins. Still, I was so hopped up on adrenaline that it didn’t slow me down. I kept snapping the reins, urging the horses forward at full gallop until I reached Grant, then on toward the river.
Grant’s chariot kept pace with mine, and we splashed into the river at the same time. It was only when we were safely on the other side, and I saw Tut’s servants racing to meet us, that I pulled the horses to a stop.
I looked down at my arm and saw that it was covered in blood, with the feathered butt of the arrow sticking out of it.
The last things I saw as blackness began to cloud my vision were Grant’s horrified expression and the amulet around Tut’s neck, twinkling in the sunshine.
Chapter Twenty
I never saw the archers return with the news that the battle had been won, and Tut was victorious. The last thing I remembered was lying inside Tut’s tent, waiting for his physicia
ns to remove the arrow from my arm. I don’t remember any of the procedure, since they’d fed me some bitter liquid that made me sleep—one of the few lucky breaks I’d gotten since landing my butt in ancient Egypt, I suppose. Grant said it was pretty nasty from start to finish.
He told me later that the arrow had hit bone and hadn’t gone all the way through. The physicians had to chop off the feathered butt of the arrow, and then push the arrowhead out through the front. Sure enough, when I woke up, I had fresh wounds on both sides of my arm. It was bandaged with linen, but blood seeped from the holes and marked where my wounds were.
It hurt pretty badly, but I figured I’d live. I could move all my fingers and my wrist, and knew I was lucky that the arrow hadn’t broken my arm. I felt a little feverish, though, and was worried about infection, since I knew the Egyptian physicians didn’t have access to antibiotics. Wouldn’t it just suck to have lived through a battle and getting shot by an arrow, only to die from an infection?
“Hey, you’re supposed to be resting,” Grant said when I finally woke, sat up, and looked around. He was sitting on the floor nearby.
I blinked in surprise. We were in my room in Tut’s palace! There was the window overlooking the garden, and the cheetah table I’d admired. “How long have I been asleep?” I asked, confused. The last thing I remembered was crossing the river to the camp from the battle, and lying inside Tut’s tent.
“Almost two days. Whatever they gave you to knock you out sure did the trick. You’ve been snoring since they took the arrow out of your arm,” Grant said. “How do you feel?”
“Like I was shot by an arrow.”
Grant frowned at me. “That’s so not funny. You scared the crap out of me, Aston. What were you thinking? You could’ve been killed!”
“Well, maybe it wasn’t the most brilliant idea I ever had, but all I could think of was that if the Hittites killed Tut, we’d never get the amulet, and we’d never get home,” I said. “Besides, I’m a hero!”
“You were almost a dead hero. I swear to God, if you ever do anything so stupid again, I’ll kill you myself!” Grant retorted. His eyes were snapping fire, and I could see how upset he was.
“Why, you keep talking like that and somebody might think you actually care about me,” I teased, grinning at him.
He turned red and sniffed. “Oh, shut up. I just don’t want to have to explain to Merlin why I had to leave your sorry dead butt in Egypt.”
A servant came into the room and bowed before us. “Pharaoh wishes to see the young masters,” he said. “He waits in the Great Hall.”
“I’ll go. You need to rest,” Grant said, getting to his feet.
“No, I’m fine. I’ll go, too,” I protested.
“Aston, I don’t think—”
“It’s just my arm, Grant. I’ll be okay.” Sheesh. He could be a real mother hen when he wanted to be.
I stood up and swayed a little as the blood rushed to my head, and pain washed through me. Grant took my good arm to steady me. “Oh, yeah, you’re fine, all right,” he said sarcastically.
“I am fine. I just got up too fast,” I insisted. My cheeks burned because I was a little embarrassed. I wanted him to see me as a hero, not as a wimp who fainted because of a little scratch on the arm.
Not that it was a little scratch. I was shot by an arrow, I reminded myself. Still, feeling woozy detracted from my tough-guy image.
“Jeez, you’re stubborn as well as stupid,” Grant said with a sigh. “Come on, I’ll help you. You’ll only try to get there on your own if I leave you here.”
“Damn straight,” I said. I’d tough it out. Besides, I liked feeling Grant’s hand on my arm, and liked more the look of concern in his eyes. It didn’t matter that he’d called me stupid. The truth was that he was worried about me, and he wouldn’t be worried if he didn’t care about me.
That thought put a smile on my face despite the pain in my arm. I remembered panicking when I couldn’t find him during the battle, and the relief I’d felt when I finally saw him, and knew he was all right. I realized I didn’t just like Grant—I cared about him, too.
Boyfriends, I thought, smiling. Yup. Definitely, boyfriends.
“What are you grinning about?” Grant asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Oh, nothing,” I said. I tried, but I couldn’t stop smiling, even though my arm hurt.
We made our way slowly to the Great Hall. Grant refused to let me walk faster than a snail’s pace. “Shut up,” he said when I complained. “If you pass out, who’s going to have to lug your heavy butt back to the bedroom? Me, that’s who.”
“I’m not going to pass out.”
“You lost a lot of blood,” he said. “And they don’t do transfusions in ancient Egypt.”
I wondered exactly how much was “a lot.” Maybe that was why I felt so weak and shaky, and not just because of the pain. The thought made me feel a little better. “Okay. Slow it is.”
Slow it was, too. It took us a full ten minutes to walk down the hall, navigate the stairs, and wind our way to the Great Hall.
Tut was waiting for us. He was sitting on his throne and wearing both his pharaoh hat and his fake beard. His face was stony; I couldn’t read whether he was happy or angry from his expression.
Wow, I thought. Whatever he wants, it must be serious if he’s dressed up in his king clothes. Grant had already told me Tut had won the battle, but maybe he was angry because I’d made him go back to camp instead of staying to fight.
Aye was there, too, but his thoughts were easy to read. He hated Grant and me. His eyes shot daggers at us as we walked past him toward the throne. I wondered if it was because I’d taken Tut away from the battle or because I’d saved Tut’s life.
“Aston and Grant, you have proven your worth in battle. Against my foes, you have remained true to Egypt, and your blood has been shed to keep her safe. We are grateful for your friendship,” Tut said, speaking very formally. It was one of the few times I could remember that he called me by my full name and not the nickname he’d given me, although I truthfully didn’t miss being called “Ass.”
“We’re glad you won, Tut,” Grant said.
I nodded. “Yeah, and we’re happy you’re okay.”
“The gods smiled upon us, my friends. Many were not so favored. May Osiris find their hearts worthy of Paradise,” Tut said. I could see the sadness in his eyes as he thought about his men who’d died in the battle. “But today is for rejoicing. To celebrate, I have ordered a feast prepared. All the dignitaries in Memphis will be in attendance. It is in your honor, my friends. Go now, and prepare yourselves. I will see you again at the celebration.”
We were dismissed. Grant and I exchanged looks as we walked back the way we’d come. A feast? We didn’t want to party... we wanted to go home. Somehow, someway, we needed to quit fooling around and get our hands on that amulet today.
The feast was held in the Great Hall. Cushions had been laid over the tile floors, two long lines of them stretching from the double golden doors at the rear of the room all the way up to Tut’s throne.
People arrived in a steady stream. Some men wore the usual kilts; some wore shirts as well, or robes over long skirts. Women wore dresses dyed in bright colors. Everyone wore jewelry—golden necklaces set with green, blue, and red stones, armbands, hair combs, and earrings.
Tut sat on a pile of cushions in front of his throne at the head of the makeshift table. He smiled as a servant escorted us to him. “Welcome, my friends!” he said. He raised his hand and silence instantly descended in the room. “Greet Aston and Grant, friends and heroes of Egypt!”
The crowd cheered, and Grant and I waved as we sat down, one on either side of Tut. I sort of felt like a rock star—the people kept staring at us, and whispering back and forth between themselves. It made me a little uncomfortable as I wondered what they were saying about us.
Tut introduced us to a few people. The only name I recognized was General Horemheb, who had led Tut’s troops
into battle two days before. He nodded when we were introduced, but his eyes were hard. I realized he didn’t like us much, either.
A thought hit me then. Had I been wrong about Aye all along? Was it General Horemheb who’d killed Tut? He was a powerful general with the strength of Tut’s army behind him. I supposed it would be possible for him to take the throne if Tut was gone.
Maybe it was Aye and Horemheb both, I thought. Maybe they’re in it together.
And maybe it was neither of them. The people at the feast were the elite of Egyptian society. Anyone in the room might be wealthy enough or powerful enough to take the throne.
Had we saved Tut from death during the battle only for him to be murdered later? I didn’t know the answer. I only hoped we’d planted enough doubt in his mind that he’d be careful and not trust anybody blindly.
Tut was recounting my daring rescue of him during the battle, although I noticed he put a different spin on it. In his version, I merely aided him in destroying the gang of Hittites who were attacking him. According to Tut, he’d been having no real trouble holding his own against them. I supposed he couldn’t admit needing help. It wouldn’t be good for his god-on-earth image. I also noticed he didn’t mention me driving him away from the battle.
I smirked and tried to hide it. To listen to Tut, you’d think he was there until the bitter end.
“My friends, Egypt owes you her gratitude. Name your reward, and I will see it done,” Tut said to us.
Grant and I gaped at one another. Reward? Anything? We both knew immediately what we wanted to ask him for... the amulet!
But would he give us his good luck charm? He’d had it since he was an infant, he’d told us.
Well, I thought, there was nothing to be lost by trying. We had to get it somehow, and being given it as a reward was better than stealing it.
“Um, actually, Tut, we sort of like your amulet,” I said, pointing to it.
Tut’s eyebrows shot up. “My amulet?”
“Yes,” Grant chimed in. “We would like to be able to show our president how the great pharaoh of Egypt protects himself from evil.”