by Jim Johnson
Zezago stood up and stretched, then reached for his knee-length kilt and strapped it around his waist. “Now, that Ranger. I’m confident he’ll want to lead the survivors to Fort Sekhmet. It’s the only refuge anywhere close, and he’s both wounded and shepherding wounded villagers.”
He glanced at the construct. “Of course not. They’re wounded and have few horses. They’ll be forced to move slowly. Easy targets.”
Zezago slipped on his dark robes and then wrapped his headcloth around his head and neck. He pulled his sword and scabbard off the tent pole, and then moved toward the tent flaps. The construct pushed one of them aside, spilling sunlight into the tent.
Zezago nodded. “See to cleaning up the tent and then prepare my things for a hard ride today.” Without waiting for an answer, he left his tent and headed toward the edge of his camp, enjoying the early warmth of the morning sunrise on his face as he took in the measure of his operation.
His slaves and constructs were already clanging away with hammers and chisels at the old quarry’s dull gray limestone walls. Some of the workers piled the seemingly-endless stream of fist-sized limestone rocks into wagons. Other constructs wheeled those wagons to a larger tent at the outskirts of the camp, on a rocky rise overlooking the camp. There, he would conduct rituals to turn those rocks into more heart amulets for use in bringing new life to the bodies and mummies his men were bringing to the camp.
The camp itself was set into a narrow valley surrounded by limestone cliffs, and soldiers with rifles and keen eyes were stationed at regular intervals around the cliff edges. There weren’t as many cooking fires burning in front of his men’s tents, and he was again reminded of the losses he had suffered.
Smoke from the cook's fires suggested that the morning meal was underway. He signaled one of his soldiers over from where he ate with some friends. "Your boss is returning to the camp, but while he is away, I'm making you the camp chief."
The soldier blinked at him, gaping around a mouthful of eggs and bacon. Before the man had a chance to embarrass himself further, Zezago added, "Your task is to assemble thirty fighting men, an equal number of constructs, and get them all ready to ride out. Can you handle that?"
The soldier nodded, swallowed noisily, and then opened his mouth to speak. Zezago cut him off with a curt nod and a wave of his hand. "Then get on with it."
As the man scampered off in the direction of the limestone quarry, Zezago strapped his sword belt around his waist and settled it more comfortably on his hip. He strode over to the cook's tent, near a pair of large cooking fires and a goodly but dwindling supply of barrels, crates, and sacks of provisions. It took a few minutes for the cook to notice his presence, but once he did, he rushed over and bowed deeply.
Zezago smiled and nodded at the man. "The aromas in the air tell me you have something special planned for the morning meal, Knefa."
Knefa lifted his head and furrowed his brow. "It's little more than camp bread and a few goose eggs the scouts were able to forage, Master Deshi. And the last slabs of salted bacon. But, you flatter me."
Zezago smiled. "I value your efforts, even out here in this awful wilderness. Would that were were back home among comfortable walls and more plentiful provisions, eh?"
Knefa lowered his eyes in deference. "I hope I am not overstepping my place when I say that I hope our time away from the comforts of home is brief."
Zezago's smile faltered, but he rallied and grinned. "A good hope." He turned serious. "After the morning meal is served and completed, prepare trail rations for myself and thirty men. We'll be riding out shortly."
Knefa stared at him, then nodded. "Will you need me to accompany you?"
Zezago fished around in one of the supply barrels arranged around Knefa's tent and pulled out a spotty pear. "That won't be necessary. I need you here to continue feeding the workers and the guards left here at camp. The rest of us will be out in the field campaigning. I expect we'll be gone a couple days, three at the most."
"I'll see that it's done, Master Deshi."
Zezago saluted him with the pear before turning and heading back toward his tent. He’d get ready for battle and then join his soldiers and ride out to meet Qebsenuf. Then, they’d all intercept and capture that Ranger and the others. When Zezago brought them all back here, he would delight in breaking their spirit.
He glanced up at the rising sun and the cloudless blue sky, and smiled as he took a bite out of the pear. It would be a fine day for a hunt.
CHAPTER 3
RUIA WORKED WITH HER FELLOW VILLAGERS to gather supplies and load them into the better of the two covered wagons. Once the supplies were loaded, she started helping the children and the wounded into the wagon as well.
One of the villagers, Sefer, glanced at her as he helped little Nauny up into the wagon. “Do you think we can trust this Ranger, Ruia?”
“I’d say we do, Sefer. Even wounded, he’s a better fighter than any of us. If we have any hope of reaching the fort, we’ll be better off with him than not.” She glanced at the other villagers, who had turned curious eyes on her. “I, for one, trust the Ranger. I think you should, too.”
Sefer nodded, apparently satisfied, and then turned back to his work. Another villager, a regular troublemaker named Setesk, rolled a barrel over to the wagon and pushed it over onto one of its ends. “You sure going to the fort is a good idea, Ruia? I think we’d just be better off heading home.”
A couple of the villagers muttered agreement. One of the little boys started to wail. Ruia shook her head and then lifted her hands high, remembering how the justified dead Elder Intef did so time and again to get everyone's attention in the village hall. "Please. We don’t have time to argue."
Setesk scratched at the stubble on his chin with a grimy hand. "But the village is our home. We should rebuild. Show them bandits that while they can kill some of us, they can't break our spirit."
The villagers listening in muttered, sounding like they agreed with Setesk. Ruia raised her voice to be heard over all of them. "There's nothing to stop the bandits from coming after us again. And we'll be fewer than before, and they'll just keep coming until we are all killed, turned into slaves, or..." she paused, horrified at the thought that leapt to her mind. "Or be turned into one of their unliving creatures."
Surprised looks, sobs, and muttered prayers answered her. Ma Pemra raised her hand. "How far is the fort from here?"
Ruia said, “The Ranger said it’s at least fourteen hours from here. But that’s one horse and one rider."
“One horse and rider, moving fast.” She turned to see Tjety move up to join her and the others at the wagon.
He continued, “We have six horses, including my own. Two of them will be pulling this wagon. There’s no way we’ll make that kind of time with a wagon and wounded. We'll push to make the best time we can, but I expect we'll have to make camp tonight somewhere on the other side of the river and then reach the fort sometime tomorrow.”
Tjety glanced at her and nodded. She blinked, the enormity of the task before them fully sinking in.
Ruia sighed. "So. A very long, hard day and night and another day ahead of us. We have some food, but we'll have to forage on the way."
One of the younger boys, Henturu, piped up. "We could fish in the river along the way!"
Ruia nodded. "If we can take some of the spare rope, we may be able to fashion some fishing nets. Good thought, Henturu.” She glanced at a pair of older mas from the village, twin crones, Gheti and Matti. "Do you two feel up to knotting a couple of fishing nets?"
The older of the two sisters, Gheti, nodded. "Whatever it takes, my dear."
Ruia nodded, then raised her hands again. "Then let's get moving. Gather what you can easily carry. We leave as soon as possible."
She backed off from them and turned to join Tjety. The villagers sat as a group for a few moments, stunned and weary, but then in ones and twos moved to finish the last of their tasks.
Tjety said, "You and th
e others fought hard. You should be proud."
She looked askance at him. "I don't think it's fair of me to feel proud when so many of us have been lost." She waved at the empty uncovered cart, the one that had so recently been full of her dead friends and da and brother. She looked away before tears could spring to her eyes again. “I sure hope we’re making the right call.”
Tjety reached over and lifted her chin up with a gentle, calloused hand. "We're making the only choice that makes any fuckin’ sense. We can't go back to your village and the only place we're going to find a healer for the wounded anywhere around here is Fort Sekhmet. The governor's palace in Port Raferdam is at least two weeks’ ride. Too damn far."
He then glanced west, toward the low foothills leading to the mountains. "Out there somewhere is our enemy. We depleted his numbers, but I'm sure he has more to spare.” Tjety slapped his good hand against his thigh, just above his leather greaves. "And I bet Qebsenuf is going to tell his boss how few we are, and they’ll send enough to overwhelm us."
She frowned. "What can we do to slow them down?"
Tjety scratched at his stubble. "First thing is to get your people on their way toward the fort. Have some of them catch fish if they can do it quick and if you think it'll give them something to do other than walk and pray." He looked pensive, then added, "You should stay with the wagon. Do your best to keep everyone together and don't let anyone wander off alone, not even to relieve themselves in the woods."
"Why?" she asked.
He pointed toward the woods and hefted a broken heart amulet in his hand. "We have no idea if any of those unliving things are still out there. We killed…destroyed…several of them last night, but I don't know how many there were to begin with. Do you?"
She thought about it but shook her head. "I didn't spend much time looking at them, much less counting them."
He nodded and stowed the broken amulet in his satchel along with a couple others. "We pair everyone up. Two stand a better chance of fighting one of those things than one. They're not very smart and they're not very fast, but they're tough and stronger than they look. Beat them, knock them down, and break them apart."
She replayed his words and then frowned. "Where are you going to be? You said you wanted me with the caravan..."
"I'm going to be lagging behind. I want to make sure we're not followed. But, if we are, I will do what I can to discourage the enemy from approaching too quickly.” He flexed his wounded arm, winced, and then added, “Maybe I’ll ask a couple of your villagers to come with me. I don’t think I can do much alone.”
He raised a hand when she took a breath to protest. "I won't be far behind. Heker may look chunky, but he can eat up a lot of ground quick. He has a little bit of a runner in him."
She followed his gaze to his horse. She turned back to him, hating the petulant feeling welling up in her. "Are you sure you have to ride behind? I bet I’m not the only one who would feel safer knowing you're with us."
He shook his head. "I will be with you, Ruia. But I need to slow down our enemy. I think it's the only way we'll make it to the fort with any hopes of getting there with most of your—our people together."
She stared at him for a long moment, then slowly nodded. "All right, then.” She nudged her chin toward his sling. "And what of you? That wound does not look good, Tjety."
He flexed it and covered it with his hand protectively. "It's damn sore but I think I'll be all right. I burned out the worst of it last night.” He shrugged and then smiled, but she didn’t see any truth in his eyes.
He added, “I’ll take a minute before we leave and change the bandage. This one is filthy."
And it was. She wrinkled her nose at it, hoping the smell was coming from the dirt and grime, and not the wound itself. She had seen a deep cut fester on one of her friends, and it had been an ugly sight. Her friend had been left with a scar, though now she was dead, so it probably didn't matter anyway.
"All right. I'm not happy about it, but we'll do it your way, Tjety."
He stood up and offered his hand to her. "Thanks, Ruia. I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't for you. I’m grateful."
She felt the tears welling up in her eyes again, and he must have sensed it because he held her hand a little longer, and then gently pulled her to him and hugged her. She was crushed against his leathers and linens, and she could smell his wound and sweat and the blood that had dried on him.
A strange calmness washed over her, and she felt a flutter deep in her stomach from what he’d called her hekau. She frowned, realizing somehow that the sensation wasn't of her making. She glanced up at him. "What...what was that?"
"That was a little flexing of my hekau to help give you strength. I hope you don't mind."
She took a half-step away from him, trying to ferret out her feelings. The sadness that had been about to overwhelm her had lessened. She could still feel the grief, like a dam waiting to burst, but instead of one that felt like it was about to overflow and break through at any moment, it now felt like it had been strengthened by something, maybe faith and willpower of some sort that wasn't entirely hers, but not entirely unwelcome either. She reached up for the amulet around her neck and held it tight. It pulsed in time with her heartbeat and her reinvigorated hekau.
"Thank you. I feel...better?" She shrugged, then raised her free hand. "But...I want you to ask me before doing something like that again."
“I’m sorry, Ruia. I didn’t mean to impose. I’ll ask first in the future.” He tried a smile. “I have plenty to learn too.”
She nodded but didn’t return the smile. “We should get moving.”
“Right.”
She led the way back to the wagon. Tjety moved over to a small group of villagers and started asking around for volunteers. In short order, two men, Mut and Khepri, and a woman, Yufa, offered to help. Tjety led them to the wagon with the weapons and helped them load up with pistols and rifles. He sent them over to the horses and then returned to Ruia.
“Take the rest of the weapons out of the wagon and spread them around to whoever can use one. Save enough shots to fire three times into the air if you run into serious problems. I’ll try and keep an ear open for you and I’ll come riding as hard and as fast as I can.”
Ruia pulled herself up into the wagon with the rest of her people and glanced at Aniba, the village’s best horse driver, who had hitched two horses to the wagon.
Aniba settled onto the seat and nodded to her. “Whenever you’re ready, Ruia.”
She turned to Tjety. He stepped back and raised a hand. “Get moving, Ruia. Remember that no matter what you hear, don’t stop for anything. Get these people across the bridge and then to the fort.”
She nodded. “Good luck, Tjety. May the gods ride with you.” She felt a twinge from her amulet and fancied she caught a glimmer of the Lady Mayat in the depths of her mind’s eye.
He nodded, and said, “May they ride with us all.” He stepped away from the wagon and raised a hand to her in farewell.
Ruia matched the gesture and then stepped past her friends in the wagon and pulled herself up to the seat next to Aniba. “Let’s move.”
She forced herself to look forward as Aniba guided the horses and wagon to the old trader’s road and headed south, the villagers able to walk falling into place around the wagon. But her thoughts were with Tjety and the villagers they’d left behind.
CHAPTER 4
ZEZAGO RODE AT THE HEAD OF his column, thirty armed men on horseback and thirty constructs strong. He hated taking labor off the quarry, but didn’t have much choice. The living slaves were too likely to try and escape, while the constructs would follow orders without question.
Zezago followed the old path down the quarry line to the dried-out causeway that once connected the quarry to the Iteru, and then followed that along a wide curve to the southeast until the causeway ran into the trader’s road. He knew the road eventually ended up at Kekhmet’s capital far to the south, though he had not yet ve
ntured so far. Someday he’d get there, with a mighty column of unstoppable immortal soldiers at his back, but that day was yet some time in the future. There was much to do to get to that point, and the current issues he had to deal with were hampering his progress at every step.
He rode in silence, feeling the sun warm his face and his body through his dark robes and headcloth. It looked like it would be a bright and clear day, a good day for chasing down slaves and pressing them into his service.
After a brief rest for a high noon meal along the side of the road, he encouraged his men back into the saddle and pushed them onward. As they rode, a lone rider coming north made him pause, and then he brought the column to a halt as the rider approached. He smiled darkly as he recognized his lieutenant.
As he rode up, Qebsenuf covered a confused look with a bow from the saddle of his weary-looking horse. “Master Deshi.” He brought his head up and stared at the array of troops and constructs.
Zezago said, “Our meeting is well-timed, Qebsenuf. I see you are short a number of slaves and all of my men.”
Qebsenuf shifted in his saddle. “My apologies, Master Deshi. I present myself to you for punishment. I was unable to secure Meret and his charges. He and his companions lingered at the village for too long and were beset by a Ranger of Mayat. This same Ranger we took captive and beat severely, but he was able to rally the survivors and gain their freedom.”
Zezago smiled, patient. Qebsenuf couldn’t possibly know that he had observed the end of the battle from the air. “And your men?”
Qebsenuf shook his head. “Dead on the field. I managed to escape before I met their fate.” Qebsenuf added, “I am sorry, Master Deshi. I have failed you.”
Zezago raised a hand. “You did fail, Qebsenuf, but you are not solely responsible for this debacle. I place blame at the feet of Meret as well.” He paused, considered the circumstances. “A Ranger of Mayat, you say? Tell me more as we ride.” He heeled his horse forward, signaling to the troops to follow.
