Dancer of the Nile (Gods of Egypt) (24 page)

“Ah, the lover,” he sneered. “You abandoned your woman in the middle of the desert and now you come to reclaim her? I’ll slaughter you first, and then her blood will stain the altar, bringing Qemtusheb to give us victory.”

”You got one thing right. You have to kill me first,” Kamin taunted, anxious to keep the enemy’s attention on him. “If you’re skillful enough.”

 
Amarkash adjusted his leather shield and bounded forward, his sword meeting Kamin's in a violent clash of metal. Kamin whirled and got in a blow before his off-balance opponent could recover. The Hyksos’s leather tunic protected him to some extent, but blood spurted where Kamin's sword had landed. Without mercy, Kamin pressed his advantage.

Tiring, Amarkash retreated toward the altar, stumbling over another corpse.

Afraid of what the man might do to Nima, Kamin outflanked his opponent, forcing him away from the stone. Apparently calling on some inner reserve, Amarkash tried to go on the offensive, but his strength waned. Kamin sidestepped the assault, bringing his sword around with enough force to sever Amarkash’s head.

Breathing hard, Kamin staggered to the altar and hurled the gruesome corpse of the priest he’d shot away from Nima, letting the man’s body slide to the floor. Unfastening his scarlet cloak, he prepared to swathe his beloved in its folds to shield her bruised, battered body from anyone else’s eyes.
Horus, please, let us have been in time.

***

The world spun around Nima, confused glimpses of battle, sounds of anger and fear.
 
In his dying throes the priest had plunged his knife into her shoulder and then fallen across her upper body, where he lay for long moments, his grotesque face turned toward her, sightless eyes wide, his blood mingling with hers on her bare shoulder. She knew men fought viciously beside the altar. Kamin, dueling with Amarkash, moved in and out of her limited range of vision, sword slashing in a battle to the death. She thought other Egyptian soldiers thronged the chamber, skirmishing with the priests and Hyksos, judging by the noise and the cursing in both languages.
 

Am I hallucinating from the incense and loss of blood?
Dizzy, she shut her eyes against the view of the dead priest, until suddenly his body was yanked off her, Egyptian curses filling the air.

“Hang on, beloved, stay with me.” Bending over the altar, Kamin draped his cloak across her nearly naked, bloodied body. “You’ve been so brave, so strong. You can’t die.”

The restraints were struck from her wrists and ankles. In the next moment, Kamin lifted her in his strong arms, wrapped in the cloak, and held her close against his pounding heart. "Bring a doctor!"
 

She tried to raise her hand to caress his face but had no strength left. “Kamin,” she whispered.
 

Eyes narrowed, jaw set, he brushed a kiss on her lips. “Don’t talk. Save your energy.” Raising his head, he spoke to whoever surrounded them, frustration and anger in his voice. “Where in the seven hells is that damn doctor? I ordered him to stay close.” Kamin cradled her tenderly. “We have to stop the bleeding.”

“I—I tried to be brave, for you.” She touched his chin with the tips of her trembling fingers. She believed he kissed her hand, but the world went black, vision and hearing fading away.

“Nima, wake up. Don’t leave me.” Kamin swallowed against the lump in his throat, studying her pale, bruised face. He could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her neck, which was somewhat reassuring. Keeping pressure on her wound to stem the bleeding, he raised his voice again. “The doctor is a dead man if he doesn’t arrive in the next breath. Where is the fool?”

“Here, my lord, let me examine the patient.” The Egyptian physician pushed his way through the group of men and bent to examine the jagged slash in Nima’s shoulder.

Tiy laid a hand on Kamin’s shoulder. “Perhaps if you bring her over to the long table by the side wall, the doctor can perform his treatment more effectively. I know you don’t want to be parted from her, but we have to finish mopping up the resistance in the fortress. She’ll be safe here under physician Djal’s care, and I need you elsewhere.”

After the nomarch swept the surface clean of candles and containers, Kamin did as suggested, tenderly placing Nima on the low table against the side wall. The doctor immediately cleansed the ugly wound, after which he spread a sweet-smelling herbal paste on it. Kamin paced along the line of soldiers, staring into each man’s eyes for a moment before moving on to the next warrior. “This woman is my life. Her bravery is the only reason we found this fortress. Swear to me you’ll guard her as fiercely as I would—”

The burly sergeant, his Pharaoh’s Own Regiment badge gleaming, saluted and spoke for all of them. “No harm will come to her while any of us draw breath, sir.”
 

Nodding in agreement, the other men in the squad formed a half circle around Nima and the doctor, facing outward into the room, swords drawn and ready, shields raised to form a barricade against attack.

“I want her out of this hellhole as soon as she can be safely moved,” Kamin said, looking to see what progress the doctor was making.

“I’ll personally oversee the lady’s transfer to a tent in our encampment,” the sergeant answered. Stepping closer to Kamin, the grizzled soldier lowered his voice. “She’s one of us now, sir, given what she did for Egypt, and you know we protect our own.”

Putting his hand on the other man’s shoulder for a moment, Kamin nodded his thanks. “You give my mind some ease.”
 

“Come, my friend.” Tiy gestured with his sword. “Work remains to be done here.”

Kamin ran his hands through his hair, glancing hungrily at Nima one more time before wheeling to glare at the altar. “Aye, and this cursed black stone is one question. We can’t allow the altar to remain as a magnet for evil or a shrine for any other adherents of Qemtusheb, once our army has withdrawn.”

Tiy walked toward the blood-soaked stone, Kamin a few paces behind. “I could leave a detachment stationed out here to watch over it, but I don’t much like the idea. I don’t have men to spare right now, and the site is so isolated.”

A falcon swooped in to sit on the terrace railing, Kamin and the nomarch swinging around to face it. Gliding from the rail, the bird morphed into a man in midair, standing tall and fierce as his golden sandals hit the floor. Arriving without sword or shield this time, the god still wore the towering red and white crown and a warrior’s uniform and breastplate. Horus’s eyes remained the moon and sun, casting light and color in his godly guise.

Kamin went to one knee, his friend the nomarch following suit. “Lord Horus.”

 
“So, warrior,” the god said to Kamin, smiling a little. “Did I keep our bargain to your satisfaction? The woman lives. I battered my wings against the barriers of evil at the end to distract them while you broke down the door.”

“I am ever grateful, my lord,” Kamin answered. “I only pray she survives the priest’s dying blow.”

Horus stared beyond them, seeking out the spot where Nima lay unconscious. “Your woman has the heart of a warrior. I’ve taken her under my wing; she’ll survive today’s events. “ He raised one hand. “Hear my decree and promise—I’ll attend the judgment of your heart and hers in the Afterlife and speak as your witness when that day comes. Your hearts beat as one now and neither shall be left to mourn the other when your allotted days in the Black Lands are complete.”

Kamin struggled to find the words to express his gratitude for this unprecedented honor. “You bestow a rare blessing, Great One.”

But the god apparently had a new concern. Frowning, Horus contemplated the altar. “Once your army has departed, I’ll deal with the destruction of this bloodstained stone. I’ll call upon Anubis and
 
the goddess Nephthys, and together we’ll blast this abomination into the lake of fire, close the door Qemtusheb’s priests partially opened. Let no man or woman remain behind, or they too will die.”

The nomarch nodded. “As you command, Great One. Thank you for ridding my province of this evil talisman.”

Horus made a dismissive gesture. “Go now, finish the human business of conquering this fortress. Depart at first light tomorrow morning. I’ll stand guard over the altar stone tonight to ensure no minions of evil penetrate the Red or Black Lands before we can lay waste to the entire area.”
 

Kamin and Tiy bowed to acknowledge the god’s command. In a heartbeat, Horus disappeared from the terrace, becoming a massive falcon who flew to drift in lazy circles on the thermal currents rising from the valley floor outside the fortress.

“Are we the only ones aware of the Great One, then?” Kamin asked, glancing at the squad of soldiers to the side of the room.

“Horus must have willed it so. Interesting company you kept in the desert, my friend,” Tiy said to Kamin as they hastened from the altar room to supervise the final surrender of the garrison. “Perhaps one man in a million receives a promise from the gods to stand witness to his worthiness for entrance to the Afterlife, unless he be a Pharoah." Tiy shot a quick sideways glance at him. “You know, you’re the last man in our company of comrades I’d have picked to marry a dancer. Your Nima must be rare indeed. I’m eager to become better acquainted with her.”

“Just don’t ask her to dance for you.” Kamin drew his sword as they quickened their pace to join an ongoing skirmish at the far wall. “I’ve learned I’m an extremely jealous man.”

***

Nima awoke on a clean bed, covered by a soft linen sheet in a small tent by herself. Her shoulder was bandaged but throbbed and hurt, which stopped her from shifting too much under the sheet. She wore a plain beige linen nightgown, and a fringed blue and green shawl lay across her chest.

“Ah, excellent, you’re finally awake.” A strange man stood in the entrance to the tent,
 
black
 
lacqured box of instruments and nostrums dangling by an ivory handle from one hand.
A doctor, thank the gods. Perhaps he can give me something to blunt the pain in my shoulder.
With deep relief, she glimpsed Egyptian soldiers standing guard beyond him before the tent flap fell shut.

Lying against a smooth wooden headrest, she considered his words, puzzling over which question to ask first. “What did you mean
finally?
How long have I been unconscious?”

“Three days.” He came to the bed to take her pulse with cool hands, check her forehead for fever. “I am Djal, physician to the nomarch.”

“Where are we?” She was relieved to see that, although the tent was sparsely furnished, it was unmistakably Egyptian. “Not—not at the Hyksos fortress?”

He shook his head. “No indeed, you are with the nomarch’s army, traveling to his capital city of Tentaris after the great victory. The men carry you in a shaded litter during the day’s march, surrounded by a special force of guards. From Pharaoh’s Own Regiment, mind you.” The doctor clucked his tongue in awe at the honor she’d been accorded. “I attend you closely at all times, as ordered. And General Kaminhotep comes throughout the day to check on you. He sits with you through the night, until it is time for camp to be struck in the morning and the march to resume. He’ll be relieved to find you so improved tonight.”

“General?”
What do I have to do with an Egyptian general?
Pulse quickening, a small trickle of fear ran along her nerves.

The doctor nodded, his eyes narrowed. “You were unaware of his rank? They tell me he travels undercover sometimes as part of his duties for Pharaoh. Perhaps he felt it unwise to reveal his true identity to you when you were both prisoners?” He stepped away to a long table at the other side of the tent, opening jars and small baskets, pulling out ingredients according to a recipe on a small papyrus scroll he took from his belt pouch.

Busy mixing a potion for her to drink, the chatty doctor added an aside over his shoulder. “The general is Pharaoh’s cousin as well, served with Nat-re-Akhte since before he ascended to the throne. Pharaoh holds him in high regard and trust. An excellent connection for me to make, thanks to you. He’ll be grateful for my skills.”

The doctor rambled on about his hopes for an appointment to the royal court based on his care for Nima. She stopped paying attention to his social-climbing plans. She lay still to avoid disturbing her shoulder and bringing on the waves of pain. Focusing on the seams in the roof of the tent, she tried to make sense of this new information.

Kamin, high-ranking? A noble related to royalty? Tears pricked in Nima’s eyes. Not a humble soldier suitable in station for a tavern dancer to marry.
Why didn’t he tell me? Why did he let me dream?
Angrily, she brushed the moisture from her cheek with her good hand. She didn’t know whether to be angry, terrified or distraught at the prospect of what he might offer to one such as her
.
Her thoughts whirled until her head ached and she grew dizzy with anxiety.
I love him with all my heart, but I vowed never to take a concubine’s position in any man’s house. Do I have the strength to refuse him?

Numbly, she drank the nasty concoction Djal handed her.
Don’t doctors have any potions with a pleasing taste? Would honeyed medicine violate some secret oath?
Impatiently, not waiting for his potion to take effect, he unwrapped the bandages on her shoulder to examine and cleanse her wound, and the hurried motion added nausea to the dizziness already assailing her. Her breathing became labored, the fears about her future causing her chest to grow tight. A sharp stab of pain all through her upper body as the physician probed the wound was the final insult, making the world reel, and Nima passed out.