by D.A. Dean
Chapter 13: Price of the Prize
The contest was dragging on much longer than Seht had anticipated. Pushing back his hair, he yawned and then swiveled to eye three of his commanders standing to the side. Terin. Harian. Malik.
His shaggy black hair falling low over his forehead, hiding his bright blue eyes, Terin stood nearest, his slender fingers, so quick with his knife, flicking lightly against his leg. The lines in Harian's face deepening, he pushed back his shoulders, drawing fully to attention. Malik met his king's gaze, the intelligence in his eyes clear, Seht thought.
Yes, Seht liked the way Malik held himself, shoulders pulled down, creating a strong line, chest expanded, arms loose but angled toward his weapon.
Malik gave his head a bow and lifted his eyebrows.
So attentive. Seht shook his head in answer to the unspoken question. His gaze continued its search, past the commanders, to the side, the other side—where was Nephthys? He sat back, his fingers thumping his throne's gold rails, and frowned. She didn't even have the courtesy to give him a kiss before slipping off. Why did he bother trying to please her? She was never satisfied. Not like Isis with Osiris. Isis had appreciated Osiris' gestures.
Seht turned in his seat. Where was his counselor? Oh, well, Netum would show up. Maybe he was off hurrying things along. Surely he would sense Seht's growing impatience. Or perhaps he was arranging matters to create more of a show. His gaze again wandered to the warriors locked in combat on the field before him, sweat beaded over their twisting and lunging forms, their hands locked over spears, rocks, bare flesh. Couldn't they be more inventive? He gazed at the bodies, bloody and broken, strewn like wilted flowers across the scrubby grasses.
Boring. At least the villagers had the courtesy of screaming. They put on a show. These warriors wouldn't even offer a groan as they died. Well, maybe it was his own doing. After all, he'd demanded their silence often enough. And yet, for all the times their commotion had disturbed him when he was in his temple, they could at least give a few screams now.
How serious they look, he thought, studying the faces, aged by desert sun and hardened by battle. He considered the scars laced across the chest and arms of the tall, powerful-looking man fighting nearest him, the one with the shock of red hair and intense black eyes. How lovely they were, this man's scars, their mottled white tracing through the sun-reddened brown of his skin, winding like pale serpents across sandy dunes.
The red-headed warrior broke from his opponent's hold and pivoted. Roaring, he thrust his spear through his combatant's side.
Seht sat forward.
The defeated warrior held a moment, legs locked, hands trembling, staring at the wood pierced through him, before reaching around to feel its unyielding line exiting his back.
The red-headed man jerked the spear.
The blood that surrounded the loser's wound in a slow trickle suddenly gushed.
Straining, Seht could just make out the bits of torn flesh clinging to the wood. Well, here was something entertaining anyway. And about time. He fastened his gaze to the dying warrior's.
The warrior slid to the ground. His eyes dimmed.
The red-headed man withdrew his weapon and thrust it again, leaning into the stabbing blows.
The warrior's body twitched and was still.
"Yes, yes. Move on," Seht called and flicked his hand. It had been interesting for a moment, but he'd had grown tired of the man's repeated jabs against the motionless body. Still, he had to admit he liked this warrior's fervor. "Who is he, Terin?"
"His name is Kafar, O King."
"I believe he's my favorite. If he doesn't win, I'm sure his dying will be worth seeing." Seht turned his gaze, searching, along the field, but the scenes being played out were all dismally predictable. Men dropping to roll their opponents, hands reaching to break thick necks, stones lifted and flung to bruise flesh and shatter bone. Spears catching, penetrating. Spears thrust, deflected, thrust, and knocked clear, creating openings for knives. Longer knives forced back as smaller ones were stealthily inched near.
Yes, he'd seen this all before. How plodding they were, these humans. Oh, he could teach them about fighting. But not today. "Rouse me when the next round nears its end." He leaned against the low back of his throne, crossed a leg over its rail, and closed his eyes.
The village. Yes, there he'd had a good time. He recalled the looks on the villagers faces as they watched those around them dying, heard again their pleas of mercy, and then their screams. "Mercy." He snorted.
"O Sovereign King?" Terin took a halting step closer.
Seht glanced at him. "Well phrased. Yes, I like that. I suppose our meeting," he paused, his eyebrow arching, "provided you insights."
Terin's gaze dropped to the long, jagged wound, freshly scabbed, across his torso.
"You're blocking my sun."
Terin jumped back.
Seht lifted his gaze to the cloudless sky. Mercy. Why should he show mercy? The humans had offered him none. They had shown him no interest at all. Isis and Osiris they'd both feared and loved. Him, they hadn't even bothered to hate. Well, he held the humans' attention now.
A grunt recalled his focus to the contest. Ah, there was Netum. Yes, his counselor had taken it upon himself to give Seht something to watch.
Netum's dark green eyes sparkling with intensity, his burly legs bent, his large arms and hands hard at work, he pulled at the ripped flesh of the slain, spreading the bodies open piece by piece.
Netum's curling back of the corpses' skin reminded Seht of the blossoming of water lilies. "Now there's a human with a sense of style," he said. "You see, Malik? See what care he takes? See how he sits back to weigh his artistry? You could learn from him. Though I do give you credit for the arrangement of the bodies in the village this afternoon. You show promise. However, it was more rage on your part than a purely artistic sensibility."
"I will work to develop my skills to your pleasure, O King," Malik said and bowed deeply.
Seht nodded. He liked Malik. Here was a human who understood respect, who knew his place in the presence of a god, a king. A sudden stillness ended his musing. He swept his gaze across the field and found only one warrior remained standing, the man with the red hair, Kafar. Seht had missed the final battle. Jaw clenched, he turned to Terin.
Terin's face paled. "I was about to call your attention, O, King. You were speaking. Then it happened so quick—"
"Silence." Seht curled his lip and growled. His thoughts turned. He smiled, and Terin's pallor became ashen. "I believe another lesson is in order. Now you, Netum, and I have something to do tonight."
Terin flinched. "Yes, O King," he managed.
The victor dropped his spear and staggered forward.
Blood painted across his arms, chest, and legs, Netum leapt up, crossing quickly toward the throne to intercept Kafar. "You do not approach until you are called," he said, his voice, low, holding a fierceness.
Kafar spun to him and stared. "I'm not afraid of you."
Eyes narrowed, Netum angled nearer.
"Oh, it's alright, Netum," Seht said and spread his arms, deliberately mimicking one of Osiris' gestures, the one that had always caused Seht to roll his eyes, the one announcing Osiris was about to be magnanimous. "Considering his accomplishment, I'll forgive his lack of decorum."
"As you wish, O King." Netum bowed and stood aside.
Leaning forward, Seht gazed deeply into the eyes of his contest's winner. "Come closer, Kafar."
Kafar's legs shook, the blood spattered over them dancing.
Netum hit Kafar's back, shoving him forward.
Kafar stumbled and fell to his knees.
"Better," Seht said, adding a smile as an afterthought, and Kafar's trembling lessened. How simple they were, these humans. How simple and predictable.
Netum hastened to his position behind the throne, leaned forward, and murmured, "Should I get the sw
ord now, O King?"
The words buzzed unpleasantly in Seht's ear. Nephthys hadn't returned. Her presenting the prize was meant to be his gift of reconciliation to her. Seht scowled. "You ask me to repeat my orders?"
"Forgive me, O King. As there has been a change...in what we discussed, I meant only to confirm." Bowing, Netum backed away, turned, and rushed off.
Seht kicked at the rounded chunk of orange stone that had worked its way up through the sandy soil. He'd thought himself rid of the symbol, his followers closely obeying his command to find and clear each fragment. Still, pieces of carnelian kept finding places to surface. Feigning benign interest, he said, "Tell me. How many warriors did you defeat today, Kafar?"
"Twelve, O King," Kafar answered and pushed his hands together to halt their shaking. "O Great and Powerful Seht."
Twelve? Seht suppressed a sigh. "Impressive." What was taking Netum so long? Just as he was about to lose patience, his counselor strode forward.
"I have the sword, O King. I couldn't find," Netum paused then angled to whisper, "her."
Seht slapped the throne's rails. Damn Nephthys. Couldn't she see he was trying? She'd disappointed him again. Worse, it looked bad. Well, the hell with her. He'd make the presentation himself. He snatched the long, curved sword from Netum's hands.
Kafar tilted forward over his knees, his gaze fixed to the glinting blade.
Seht noted with satisfaction the astonishment and pleasure in Kafar's eyes. That was something at least. He pushed himself up from his throne. "Your prize."
Kafar reached toward the sword then hesitated.
Netum hissed. "Take it, you monkey."
Seht pushed away the irritation rising within him. He'd been looking forward to this moment. He wasn't going to let Kafar's ignorance, Nephthys' insolence mar it. He slapped the sword's grip into Kafar's hand.
Brow clearing, Kafar slowly turned turned the weapon, admiring its single-edged, curving grey blade, etched with symbols.
Yes, now Kafar was beginning to appreciate the gift. Satisfied, Seht nodded. "This sword is quite special. Aside from the fact it is fashioned of metal, offering you many advantages, as I'm sure you realize, it holds a great purpose. This weapon will bring the honor you've won the right to pursue. Yes, Kafar, with this sword," he paused, allowing the rush of pleasure, "you will kill the boy god."
Kafar darted his gaze up from the weapon. "Me?"
"You've defeated twelve of the best warriors in the land. Surely you don't fear a child."
"I fear no one."
"Except me, of course."
Immediately, Kafar bowed his head.
"As it should be."
"It is my honor to serve you, O King."
"Yes. It is. Now, about the boy. I leave it up to you how you'll find him. The priestesses will help if you find the proper ways to 'persuade' them, I would imagine. Nephthys will assist you, as well." Oh, yes, Seht would see to that. Ah, the boy wouldn't even know what hit him. Seht leaned back, relaxing against his throne.
But, no, he wanted Horus to be aware, to feel fear, anguish. He sat forward and tapped the blade with his ring. "Once you defeat the boy, Kafar, let him suffer a bit before finishing it."
"As you wish, O King."
Seht studied him, his irritation suddenly re-emerging to swell. "Don't you want to offer gratitude for the enormity of your honor?"
Kafar straightened. "Yes, O King. Thank you. It is a most high honor. It is—"
"Yes, yes, I know." Seht motioned to his commanders. "Have my throne returned to the temple." He waited a beat before turning again to Kafar. "Have any children?"
"O King, I—" Kafar stopped, anxiety entering his eyes.
Netum kicked him. "The king asked you a question."
"Three, O King," Kafar answered weakly.
Seht waited. "Boys? Girls?"
Harian said, "He has a son and—"
"I didn't ask you." Seht gave Harian a cool stare.
Harian stepped back.
Seht returned his attention to Kafar. "Go on."
Following Netum from the corner of his eye, Kafar nodded. "A son and two daughters."
"Two daughters." Seht stroked his chin. "How old?"
"Stop circling me, Netum," Kafar demanded. "I'm not too tired to take care of you, too."
"Kafar." Seht arched an eyebrow.
Kafar swallowed hard. "Forgive me, O King. My daughters are thirteen and eleven."
"Fine. I'll return them to you when you bring evidence of your victory." Registering the conflict that spread over Kafar's face, Seht cocked his head. "I offer you, through your daughters, yet another honor. Am I not generous?"
"You are m-most generous, O King."
"Get up. You have a task, and I have things," Seht paused, a slight smile playing across his lips as he thought of the amusements Kafar's daughters might present, "to do."
Kafar hastened to his feet. "O King, I've been told my wife is very beautiful. If you would like—"
"You try to curry still more favor? You insult the generosity I've shown by offering to me what is mine to take as I choose?"
"Prepare for his command," Harian whispered.
Terin wrapped his fingers over his knife's hilt.
Considering giving the order, Seht angled his head toward them but then laughed. "You've got nerve, Kafar, I'll give you that. Now go away before my mood changes. And don't dally with things. I've given you an opportunity. You have, hm, twenty days. Well? Go prepare. Netum will find you when Nephthys is ready to see you."
Complying, Kafar fled.
Seht stretched. "What fun. Yes, what fun, indeed. So, Netum. After Kafar's departure, you'll do what?"
Seht's counselor slid closer. "I will make the preparations myself, O King. The woman strung up by the wrists. The daughters free or bound?"
Seht examined his hand's finely-formed nail beds. "One free, one bound. Did he say he had a son, as well?"
Netum kept his voice unchanged, "He would make a fine audience, O King."
Seht stroked his lips. "Good." He lowered his hand to his thigh and angled to Terin. "The armies are prepared for the next assault?"
"All is according to your command, O Sovereign."
"Very well. I've given Kafar twenty days. I extend the people the same generous measure of patience. Twenty days for them to come to their senses and submit or come to know the fullness of my wrath."
Terin's brows twitched. He pulled back his shoulders.
Seht continued, "Have the warriors get the point across. Their boy god won't save them."
