Dancer of the Nile (Gods of Egypt) (2 page)

Head high, Nima walked into the center of the circle, lifting her arms to the sky in a graceful arc. She nodded, and a soldier with a small flute launched into a discordant tune while the man next to him pounded a steady drumbeat on an overturned kettle. On tiptoe, Nima pirouetted into the first steps of a dance.

Kamin watched in disbelief at first.
Is she a kidnapped priestess, doing some sacred dance?
Clearly, she was well trained, her movements rhythmic despite the wretched music. As the dance progressed, he sensed she was cutting some movements short, editing others out completely, trying not to arouse her volatile audience too much.
I don’t know about them, but she’s certainly having an effect on me.
This woman is as good as the best dancers in Thebes.
A vision of how her slender body would appear, bare-breasted, clad only in the short fringed skirt of a Theban dancer, flashed in his mind’s eye.

Angrily, he shook his head, the rope cutting into his neck.
I should be trying to escape while they’re all distracted, not mooning over some dancer like a cadet.
Surreptitiously, he reached out to catch the lip of the bowl, drawing it closer. He smashed it on a rock next to him, keeping the biggest jagged fragment and hastily sweeping sand over the others. Moving slowly, so as not to draw attention, he sawed at the tether holding him by the neck to the chariot wheel.

Finishing with a series of acrobatic moves, Nima practically landed in the lap of the junior officer. He shoved her to her feet, goggling anxiously at Amarkash, who was stalking toward them, snatching her dress from the ground as he came. She moved to meet the captain, accepting her garment and shrugging awkwardly into the garment.

Sorry the dance had ended, although puzzled at the awkward finale she’d done after the skill of the performance, Kamin narrowed his eyes, leaning against the wheel to ease the strain on the rope at his neck. The woven hemp was proving frustratingly impervious to his jagged shard.
Is she trying to conceal something?

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Amarkash was yanking at her arm, the younger officer shouting and the soldiers scattering as she brandished a knife she’d evidently stolen from the man she had jostled.

Nearly breaking her slender wrist, Amarkash wrenched the blade free. He flipped the knife to the other officer with a curse, then dragged Nima into the tent, closing the panel behind them. A single scream from the tent, followed by silence, left Kamin cursing, bile rising in his throat.

Next morning, the girl was sullen, fresh bruises on her face when she walked out of the tent behind Amarkash and was assisted into the chariot by a soldier. Wrists tightly bound behind her, she stayed in the chariot or next to it during the hours of marching and the few stops made for resting the horses and men. Nima never glanced at Kamin. After a quick assessment at the start of the day to reassure himself she was more or less unharmed, Kamin deliberately averted his gaze. Something about her, not only the undeniable beauty, but also her bravery in this situation, touched him. Her attitude made him all the more determined to rescue her as well as extricating himself from the current predicament.

 
If only they didn’t guard me so closely on the march.
He glanced at the four soldiers marching in formation around him, spears and knives ready to take him down if he made any move to escape.
His planning centered around a break after dark.
They’re much less alert once they’ve made camp and had dinner.

 
During the rest breaks, Amarkash personally gave Nima water to drink and allowed no opportunity for her to share. Soldiers provided Kamin with small sips of water every other rest stop, with much jeering and insults. He didn’t care. Let them enjoy themselves as long as they gave him the precious water. Maintaining his strength was essential in this heat, not his dignity.

The column stopped before sunset, camping in a small oasis.
 

Curious about what would happen this evening, his attention was drawn to Nima, in tense discussion with the Hyksos captain.
 
As he watched, the ropes on her arms were slashed, and she was given a small basket. Escorted by a soldier, she harvested plants of some sort from the overgrown gardens left by the former residents of the tiny oasis.

Going to the fire where her big stewpot glowed red hot, Nima busied herself with serious cooking. Pleased by her grace, her beauty, her stubborn refusal to give in to the terror of her situation, Kamin found some relief from his own aches and pains in observing her activities.

Him, they could only torture and kill. They could inflict much worse on her. Plainly, the Hyksos soldiers harbored some lingering hope of being allowed to assault her, touching her lasciviously whenever the captain’s attention was elsewhere.
But the captain has staked his claim, and they all fear him enough to restrain themselves until he tires of her, which I suppose is a mercy.
Nima slapped one man’s hands away with a curse.
She’s strong.
Kamin looked again.
Or in shock.
 

Tonight’s meal smelled even better than the stew the night before. Sundown breezes brought a whiff his way, causing painful cramps in his gut, which grumbled.

Finally, after the officers and the soldiers had been fed, she scooped a bowl full of stew from the kettle and sauntered in his direction, her walk unhurried. Kamin enjoyed the view, realizing with a little jolt of dismay how eagerly he was anticipating even the most fleeting contact with her.

She set the bowl in his outstretched palms and looked him straight in the eyes, her own gaze intense. “Don’t eat it,” she said in a barely audible whisper, before walking away without a backward glance.

The guards watched him so he made a show of fumbling with the bowl, as if trying to get a better grip. He allowed the bowl to slip from his fingers, struggling against the ropes in a convincing show of desperation, attempting to catch it as it rolled off his fingertips. The bowl shattered on a rock, splattering him with stew. The guards standing nearby howled at his predicament. Kamin glared at them before bringing his greasy fingers to his lips, as if to lick some nourishment at least. Tempting as the aroma was, he didn’t actually touch his tongue to the drippings.
 

I hope she knows what she’s doing.

Kamin set himself to the task of blocking out the pain from his wounds, his hunger pangs – worse now that food had been so close – and the ache in his shoulders from the tight restraints.
Whatever she’s planning, it’s time to get ready. Although, given her clumsy attempt to steal the knife last night, there isn’t much hope there. We may not get another chance before reaching the main camp.

Hours passed. Using another jagged shard from tonight’s ruined dinner, Kamin made progress on the rope at his neck, moving slowly and deliberately. The guards didn’t pay any attention to him.

Although he would have liked the soldiers to be distracted from his own escape attempt, Kamin was glad Nima wasn’t forced to provide another after-dinner dance tonight. Much as he’d enjoyed the performance, it wasn’t worth the risk of tempting a camp full of frustrated soldiers to mutiny. Maybe the officer had reached the same conclusion after last night’s dance.
 

As time passed with no visible repercussions to those who had eaten the dinner, Kamin grew impatient, a little angry at having his hopes raised, apparently for nothing.
But this rope is getting looser. I’ll be able to make my own break for it well before dawn at this rate.
And then he’d have to decide what to do about rescuing her.

The moon was high in the sky, big and luminous, when the first man—a guard standing by the line of horses—dropped his spear and tumbled to the ground like a tree falling. Kamin tried to assess the man’s condition from a distance.
Dead, I hope.
Another soldier hastened toward his fallen comrade, but his steps grew wavering and uncertain, and he, too, collapsed. All around the camp’s perimeter, men now lay sprawled on the ground.

Kamin contemplated the flaps of the captain’s tent, willing Nima to appear. He had no idea how long they might have.
Hurry, girl.
Impatience thrummed through his veins, and he pulled at the ropes binding him.

A small patrol had left the oasis, going into the desert for some reason and, try as he might, he couldn’t remember if they’d eaten her treacherous stew before setting out. If not, those men would rejoin the column by daybreak. Sawing faster at his bonds, Kamin felt the skein unraveling.
Legs next, then retrieve a knife from one of the fallen soldiers to slash the rope on my wrists, and the odds will definitely be in my favor.
He focused on the tent flap again.
Your scheming will be for naught, little dancer, if you don’t get out here. Now.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Holding his breath, Kamin stilled, poised for action. A moment later, Nima ran out, a knife in her hand. Sprinting straight to him, she slashed the partially cut rope at his neck, then the one binding his wrists. “Hurry,” she said, reversing the knife with a skillful flick of her wrist and handing it to him. “Meet me at the horses.”

He sawed at the ropes on his legs, which had been intricately knotted at his knees and ankles.
I don’t need her to tell me we’ve got to move fast.
 

Alarm spiked through his body as a yell sounded from across the camp. A Hyksos soldier stood there, gazing at the scene in disbelief. Redoubling his attack on the ropes, Kamin wondered where the man had come from, why he was conscious. The enemy soldier drew his sword and ran toward Kamin, shouting curses.
 

Abandoning the ropes, still hobbled at the knees and ankles, Kamin prepared to defend himself as best he could with just the knife. The man swung the sword around his head, blade whistling through the air, preparing to decapitate Kamin. Suddenly, the
 
Hyksos grunted and stumbled, momentum driving him forward to collapse heavily on top of Kamin, despite the latter’s effort to roll out of the way.
 

Shoving the body aside, Kamin brushed a knife buried hilt-deep in the soldier’s back, right through the heart. Amazed, he raised his eyes to find the girl standing by the fire, white-faced with shock.
She threw the blade, saved my life?
Savagely slashing the last loop of rope at his ankles, Kamin surged to his feet, grabbing the loose sword as he stood.
Why isn’t she moving? Is she hurt?

She watched him stride across the campground but made no movement, other than to sway a bit. Reaching her, he realized she trembled from head to toe, probably frozen in horror at the results of her own actions.

“No regrets, you had to do it. He would have killed me,” he whispered, patting her shoulder. “You made a lucky throw.”

She nodded, taking a ragged breath. “Not—not luck. My step brothers taught me to throw but I’ve never actually—” Words choking in her throat, she swallowed hard.

“We’ve got to move,” he said, taking her by the elbow and breaking into a run, forcing her to keep up. “Are the others dead?”

“No, the goddess didn’t provide death-dealing plants. The old garden here had herbs I could use to make men sleep but not die, especially not diluted in stew.” Breaking free of his grasp, she ran to grab a knife from an unconscious soldier, slipping it into the cord serving her as a belt.
 

Good idea. She has excellent instincts.
Kamin stripped a shield from the same soldier, then they sprinted together to the horse line.

She’d already gotten one horse hitched to a chariot before coming to check on him. Kamin set the sword and shield in the vehicle and grabbed the halter of another horse. “Where did you learn to harness teams?”

Nima was following the horse line now, loosening the straps holding the animals to the tether and flapping her arms to make them shy and bolt. She frowned over her shoulder at him. “My family travels by oxcart. I figured ox, horse, four legs, not much difference.” Impatiently, she shoved at a horse nibbling her sleeve. “These damn animals won’t move.”

“Leave them, there’s no time. It’s a solid plan, but we can’t help it if the horses refuse to bolt.” He checked the straps she had fastened and found everything in order and tight. Glancing into the chariot, he was relieved to find a war bow strapped to the side and a full quiver of arrows, then turned to see what the girl was doing. Nima was running at him, a soldier’s cloak in her arms. Holding the reins, he stepped into the chariot and offered her his hand.

Glancing at his nearly naked body, she thrust the cloak at him. “You’ll get cold. I grabbed one for myself as well.”

Taking a second to impatiently fling the cloak over his shoulders and fasten the clasp, he set the horses off in a full gallop, rolling into the desert away from the small oasis.

“I made sure we had water, if you’re thirsty,” she told him, gripping the rail as the chariot sped along over the uneven ground. “I know they hardly gave you any today. There was nothing I could do about it, I’m sorry. Oh, and bread, I brought a loaf as well.”

He gave her a quick, admiring glance. “You have all the contingencies covered.”

She shrugged, gazing off at the desert, long straight hair flying in the breeze. “Where are we heading?”

“For now, in the opposite direction from the patrol the officer sent out earlier in the evening.” Kamin applied the whip lightly to the horses.
Don’t want to wear them out too soon. “
Did those soldiers eat your remarkable stew before they left camp?”