King of Kings

by Wilbur Smith

  Amber lifted her head. The evening was just coming on. Let him visit all the horrors of hell on her; she would not submit to this monster, no matter what it cost her. She carefully worked the steak knife out of her sleeve, feeling the warm steel, the edge serrated to tear apart animal flesh, ready to do what she needed to.

  “You have something else in common with Osman Atalan.”

  “Do I, my dear? What is that?” he said, bending toward her with an indulgent smile.

  “Someday, Penrod Ballantyne will kill you both.”

  She spun around and drove the steak knife upward into his eye. He screamed and dropped to his knees, and Amber threw herself off the edge of the mountain.

  •••

  Penrod and Ryder looked at each other as the cry of agony echoed down to them.

  “Amber’s work,” Penrod said with grim pride.

  “Probably,” Ryder replied. “But it has lost us the element of surprise.”

  “Not at all,” Penrod said, removing his revolver from its holster and checking it. “She’ll run. They’ll be chasing her. That means they’ll scatter and be too occupied looking for her to realize we are picking them off one by one. It is the perfect diversion.”

  “She’ll not come down the main track,” Ryder grunted.

  “No,” Penrod said, “which means she could find herself at a dead end. I suggest we go through the camp and follow her trail. The aim is to follow her rather than waste time killing the bandits still in camp. So we move fast, add to the confusion and keep going until we reach her.”

  “Agreed!” Ryder said, and they began to run up the steep incline.

  •••

  To anyone other than Amber, it would have seemed like suicide. The amba seemed to drop away at murderous angles with the main track providing the only possible route to and from the summit, but Amber had been hunting and exploring the land around Courtney Camp for years. She had learned that the mountains of Tigray were more forgiving to those who knew them well: cliffs were secret stepladders, the worn stone had weathered into a thousand handholds, one could always find ledges overhung with vines and smooth, shallow angles where a person might rest as they climbed, or slow their descent. The important thing was to stay low, close to the hidden chances, trust yourself to find them, and never, never look down.

  Amber slid and tumbled for over thirty feet down the incline before she could check her descent, then she began moving sideways as quickly as she could. She found fragments of an old path mostly eroded into almost nothingness, some ancient way carved by a forgotten hermit, but enough for her. She could hear Kendal’s voice shouting orders above her, calling for ropes and his rifle. She hoped he was in a great deal of pain. It sounded as if he were. She continued her half-controlled descent, trying to ignore the sounds of pursuit behind her. The track disappeared entirely here and she was forced sideways again, across a rain-warped smoothness of stone. Her right foot found a crevice, but as she searched for another with her left, the toe of her slipper caught on a knot of rock and fell from her foot. Before she could stop herself, she turned her head to watch it fall. It disappeared downward for a hundred feet, bouncing and spinning off the sheer walls till it was only a glimmer of red, then disappeared completely from view. She felt her heart beat faster, and her fingers began to sweat and cramp. She had to move, had to find the will from somewhere. She heard Kendal’s voice again, shouting commands in his terrible Amharic. She breathed softly in and out, as if she were preparing to fire her rifle, then released the hold she had with her left hand, reaching up for a fresh grip. She found one, solid under her hand, and pulled herself up, then began moving across and upward, slowly at first, then with increasing confidence and speed as the pain and panic faded, until she had crossed the glassy cliff face and fallen onto another remnant of the path. Now she could stand upright without clinging on to the wall. She paused for a moment, letting her heart slow. Above her she heard the quick popping concussions of gunshots, a ripple of them, but too distant to be fired at her.

  •••

  Penrod and Ryder almost ran into three of the bandits who had been sent down the main track. The shifta were dressed in a mix of traditional clothing with military-issue jackets, rifles over their shoulders and large knives through their belts. They spent their last moment on earth staring, stupefied at these two white men charging up a path where they had no right to be. One was broad-shouldered as a young ox, the other with the lithe grace of a cheetah.

  Ryder and Penrod both shot twice and all three shifta fell backward in the dust, a neat hole in the center of their foreheads, their blood and brain matter spattering the track behind them. The man in the center died with two bullets in his brain.

  By the time they reached it, the camp was in chaos. A slave girl saw them and screamed. Penrod and Ryder raised their revolvers again and brought down the fighters on either side of her. Two others, shielded by the shadows cast by the huts and canvas tents, managed to get off a round each before plunging into cover. One shot went wide, and Ryder felt the second bullet graze his neck, a sharp nick, but he could tell that the shot had done no serious damage. He did not even put up a hand to touch the wound.

  “Look!” Penrod shouted, pointing to the lip of the plateau, where stakes had been driven into the ground, with rope looped around them. He was already running across to them. Ryder holstered his revolver and followed him.

  •••

  This half-eroded section of track led downward from the ledge. Hope leaped in Amber’s heart. She kicked off her remaining slipper. This time she did not wait to watch it fall but ran down the steeply sloping path. She heard a scream behind her, one of a shifta who had failed to find a way across that glassy section of the cliff. She hoped it was one of the men who had taunted her as she tried to escape the first time, and she glanced over her shoulder as she dashed forward. Her leading foot met not solid earth but air. Even as her momentum carried her forward, she twisted her upper body hard and grabbed for some hold, any hold. She grabbed on to the roots of a thorn bush and managed to haul herself backward. She landed heavily and felt a sharp pain as her ankle gave way. Dazed, she clung to the solid ground for a moment, then raised her head and looked about her. She had ended up on a wide granite ledge, a freak of geology that extended some ten feet out from the side of the cliff. The stone she clung to was polished smooth. Above her she could see a deep and narrow cleft running from the top of the amba, and where her ledge and the cliff wall met, the side of the cliff had been worn into a shallow bowl. She realized that when the rains came the cleft must become a waterfall, and her perch had been left like an eagle’s nest, high and isolated, as the softer rocks were worn away around it.

  She pulled herself upright, and the pain in her ankle shot up her leg, making her gasp and grab for a hold on the wall of sandstone beside her. She looked over the edge. The mountain had decided to betray her after all. No hidden track led down at a manageable angle from here, only a sheer, uncompromising drop to the rock-broken valley floor far below, scattered with great blocks of stone worked free by the action of wind and water.

  If she had time, or even the shortest length of rope, she might find a way downward. She leaned out a little further in search of some possible hand- or foothold, and as she put weight on her ankle it threatened to give way beneath her. That told her all she needed to know. She had no chance of leaving this ledge, unless it was with Kendal, her captor, or by leaping to her death. She heard his footsteps coming closer down the last remaining stretch of forgotten track before it disappeared completely at this precipice. So be it, she thought, and with one hand on the cliff wall to save her ankle, but with nothing but the cool air of Tigray at her back, she waited for him to find her.

  •••

  It was only a minute, but in that time she thought of Saffron, Ryder and the children, and sent them her love and hoped for their happiness. She did the same for Rebecca and her children by Osman Atalan. And then she thought of Penrod. She
prayed he had survived the battle and would not grieve for her too long. For all the pain she had suffered, she would never regret for an instant loving him. She hoped Saffron would find some way to explain that to him. The thought of him brought tears to her eyes and she blinked them away, determined to see clearly in the last moments of her life. She thought of the book she had written, and what she had done for the camp and the refugees who found their way to her, starving, but left with new strength and hope. She thought of her orchards and how soon the rains would come and they would flower and her bees would get to work once more filling their hives. She thought of Hagos and wondered if the lioness was raising cubs of her own somewhere. Finally she thought of her mother, dead so long ago she was only a lost, vague memory, and of her father. She was ready to join them.

  Kendal came slowly down the last few feet of the path. He was alone. His right eye was roughly bandaged and blood spattered his collar.

  “Miss Benbrook,” he said, and bowed as if they were meeting at the home of some mutual friend to take tea.

  “Your grace,” she said.

  He stared at her for some time, his head slightly on one side. “So you have chosen hell,” he said at last. “Very well. Or perhaps I shall take you here and now. If you please me, I might let you live a few more hours. If you do not, then I shall throw you off the cliff myself and Penrod can find you there.”

  She did not flinch, blush or turn away. “Let me save you the trouble,” she said instead and took a step backward.

  “No!” Kendal hissed, holding out his hand, and Amber could see it was shaking. “You will die by my hand! Mine! Kill yourself and I shall skin Ryder and Saffron’s children in front of them!”

  How strange, she thought. He does not like to have his toys taken away from him. It was some small recompense to see how much her suicide would anger him. She allowed herself the luxury of enjoying his desperation for a moment.

  “I will pour molten silver down the throats of every woman in the camp and hunt your refugees for sport!” he hissed again.

  He was getting too close. It was time for her to make the leap. His words meant little or nothing to her. Ryder would protect his family and their friends, and as soon as Penrod found out the duke was still alive, he would track this snake down and kill him. She was already slipping her foot backward along the smooth stone, feeling for the edge of it under her toe. Then she looked over Kendal’s shoulder and saw a figure . . . No! Two figures on the track, moving quickly and quietly toward them. She recognized Ryder’s broad shoulders, then her lips parted in a soft gasp. The second man was Penrod.

  She tore her blue eyes from the face of the man she loved and fixed them on the duke. “Kendal, do you remember I told you that Penrod Ballantyne would kill you?”

  He was still reaching for her; only inches remained between them now.

  “Yes, and that is proof of what a little dreamer you are!”

  “Well, he’s going to kill you right now,” she said, and smiled sweetly.

  Kendal’s eyes went blank as he heard the sound of a revolver’s hammer being cocked. He spun around and found Penrod behind him, with the Webley service revolver aimed at his chest, his finger resting on the trigger.

  “No!” he hissed. “It’s impossible!”

  “But here I am,” Penrod replied evenly.

  “Not you! Not yet! Damn you, Ballantyne!” Kendal threw himself toward Penrod, his hands high, as if he could catch the bullet out of the air.

  Penrod squeezed the trigger and the revolver leaped in his grip. A spurt of smoke and flame shot from the muzzle. The bullet smashed through the duke’s splayed fingers and drove on into his chest. As he reeled backward, trying to keep his footing, Amber stepped gracefully aside and he teetered on the brink of the abyss, windmilling his arms.

  “Farewell, your grace,” Penrod said, before firing a second shot. It drove Kendal back into the void. All three of them froze in the silence that followed, and then breathed again at the sound of Kendal’s body striking the rocks hundreds of feet below them.

  Amber was suddenly very, very tired. Her legs buckled under her and she slumped to the ground. Ryder ran across the ledge toward her, dropping to his knees beside her and gathering her into a fierce bear hug.

  “My God, Amber! Are you hurt? Tell me you are not hurt. If you are, my wife will never speak to me again.”

  She gave a snuffling, tearful laugh and locked both arms around his neck.

  “I am well, Ryder. Only I’m afraid I’ve made rather a mess of my ankle. Thank you for coming for me.”

  He kissed the top of her head like an affectionate brother. “You knew I would. And I had some help, of course.” They both turned their heads and looked at Penrod Ballantyne, who was still standing in the same place that he had fired the shots, with the smoking pistol in his right hand.

  “Hello, Penrod,” Amber said.

  Penrod would never forget that moment, seeing her face, not through his field glasses but with his own eyes for the first time in years, with the splendor of the Tigray landscape disappearing into the haze behind her.

  “Amber,” he replied, and for a moment he could say no more.

  “Can you stand?” Ryder said gruffly, clearly not wishing to be involved in a grand romantic reunion.

  “Just, but I cannot walk. I am sorry to be so helpless. The path ends here, and I don’t think I shall be able to climb back up the way we came even with your help.” She frowned, then brightened suddenly. “Ryder, perhaps you might go back and fetch some rope, and you can haul me straight up to the summit from here. I am sure Penrod will look after me while you are gone.”

  “What an excellent plan,” Penrod said, holstering his revolver.

  “Excellent plan be damned,” Ryder said. “Any number of your friend’s bandits might still be about the place, not to mention that sideways climb a hundred yards back.” He looked down at Amber. “How you managed to get across in that ridiculous skirt, I have no idea. You must be part monkey.”

  She giggled. “I rather like this skirt.”

  “I’m sure a couple of bandits and that climb would give you no problems, Ryder,” Penrod said lightly.

  “If you’re so damn confident, go yourself.”

  Amber sighed happily and settled herself more comfortably on the cool stone. They would work everything out now. She had done her part, and Penrod was here. She thought of herself as the queen of infinite worlds.

  Ryder still had his hand on her shoulder. “We’ve lost the mine, al-Zahra. Kendal destroyed the Lion Dam on the night he took you. We can’t make up the shortfall of silver in a month and I don’t think we’ll be getting any more extensions from Menelik. I’m sorry.”

  She smiled up at him. “Can’t you just give Menelik the silver Kendal stole, Ryder? It’s all up there in the cabin. I suppose he couldn’t sell it with the war going on.”

  Ryder grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes wide. “What? It’s there? It’s all there?”

  She grinned. “Yes, I counted. I found it while I was looking for this stupid bodice.”

  Ryder let out a whoop of joy, which echoed between the mountains with the music of Amber’s sudden laughter.

  “Hey, Mr. Ryder! Miss Amber! Are you well?”

  They looked up and high above them Amber saw a face peering down and a waving hand.

  Ryder jumped to his feet. “One of my men from the mine,” he said quickly to Penrod, then shouted up in Amharic. “Geriel! Thanks be to God, I am well. What are you doing here? And watch your back—I don’t think we dealt with all of the shifta.”

  Geriel’s rich laugh tumbled down toward them. “Mrs. Saffron persuaded Ras Alula to send you some help as soon as the battle was won. He sent myself and Maki and twenty others. No bandits left now, my promise to you.”

  “Then you had better find some ropes, my friend.”

  •••

  Neither Amber nor Penrod would leave until they had seen the dukes’ body, so they spent t
he night in the bandits’ camp. Ryder reclaimed his silver ingots, counting them more times than Penrod thought was strictly necessary, while the treasures the shifta had amassed in their months of looting were quietly requisitioned by Alula’s men. Penrod and Ryder were offered the pick of the European luxuries the duke had accrued in his short career as a bandit, but they had as little use for them as the Abyssinians. Amber insisted on taking the jewelry with her in the hopes she could find its rightful owners in the fullness of time. After a small struggle with her conscience, she decided to keep the skirt and bodice and the jeweled combs for her hair.

  The slave women and girls who had been serving the bandits offered their devotion and service at once to Geriel and Maki. Ryder was confident they would be well treated.

  As dawn broke, the party made its careful way back down the track. Where Amber could not ride, Penrod carried her. Ryder suspected he did so more than was strictly necessary. At the foot of the path they circled the amba until they found the broken corpse of the Duke of Kendal. Ryder stayed with the men and the animals while Penrod and Amber approached more closely.

  “Did you know he was still alive?” Amber asked as they looked down at the corpse, broken across the sandstone.

  “I suspected it,” he said, “when Sam Adams told me his secretary Carruthers could not be found and said the face of the corpse in the Cairo house had been completely obliterated. I could find no trace of him in Europe, however—nothing but a wisp of a rumor once in Bohemia, that was all. I suppose he sold the mask of Caesar in some flea market to fund his escape.”

  Amber frowned. “An ivory mask? A carving?”

  “Yes.”

  “He did not sell it. He showed it to me. He had it in his pocket.”

  Penrod bent over the body and searched the jacket, then withdrew the rosewood box. He stepped back to Amber’s side and opened it. The face of Caesar stared back up at them, undamaged. Amber reached out and brushed the ancient Roman’s lips with her fingertip.