Warlock: A Novel of Ancient Egypt (Novels of Ancient Egypt)

by Wilbur Smith

  Nefer touched Hilto and Meren. Each knew his job. They crept forward again leaving Taita and Mintaka at the edge of the firelight.

  Nefer came up behind the nearest sentry. The sword had slipped from his lap and lay beside him in the sand. Nefer picked it up and in the same movement slammed the bronze pommel into the man’s temple. Without a sound the sentry toppled over and lay stretched full-length beside his fire.

  With the sword in his fist Nefer glanced across at the other fire. Hilto and Meren had dealt with the sentry, who lay curled up like a sleeping dog. Hilto had his sword. The three ran forward and reached the nearest chariot. The javelins were still in the side-bins.

  Nefer grabbed one. It felt heavy and comforting in his grip. Meren, too, had armed himself. Suddenly one of the horses whinnied softly and stamped its hoof. Nefer froze. For a moment he thought that they had remained undetected. Then a sleepy voice called from within the square of chariots.

  “Noosa, is that you? Are you awake?”

  A trooper staggered into the firelight, still more than half asleep, naked except for his loincloth. He held a sword in his right hand.

  He stopped and gawked at Nefer. “Who are you?” His voice rose in alarm.

  Meren hurled the javelin. It struck in the center of the man’s chest. He threw up his hand and slumped to the sand. Meren jumped forward and picked up his fallen sword. Howling like maddened djinn the three of them leaped over the shafts and rushed into the square of vehicles. Their shrieks had thrown the awakening men into wild confusion. Some had not even drawn their weapons and the captured swords rose and fell to a murderous rhythm. The blades dulled with blood.

  Only one of the enemy rallied and turned upon them. He was a big brute of a man, and he beat them back, roaring like a wounded lion. He aimed a full cut at Nefer’s head, and although Nefer caught it with a high parry, the blow numbed his arm to the shoulder. The bronze blade snapped off at the guard.

  Nefer was disarmed and his adversary swung up his sword and aimed at his head to finish it. Taita stepped out of the darkness behind him, and rapped him over the skull with his staff. The man collapsed, and Nefer snatched the sword from his nerveless fingers before it struck the ground.

  The fight was over. Five of the survivors knelt with their hands on their heads, while Hilto and Meren stood over them. Mintaka and Taita built up the fires, and by the light of the flames they made out that three of the troopers were dead, and two others gravely wounded.

  While Taita treated their injuries, the others used spare tackle from the chariots to pinion the hands and feet of the prisoners. Only then could they drink their fill from the waterskins, help themselves from the bread bag and cut slices of dried meat from the provisions they found.

  By the time they had eaten and drunk, the light of the new day was strengthening. It was another threatening scarlet dawn, and the heat was already suffocating. Nefer selected three chariots, and the best of the horses to draw them. They stripped the chosen vehicles of any unnecessary equipment, such as the troopers’ personal baggage and spare weapons beyond their own requirements. Nefer turned the unwanted horses loose and sent them galloping into the wilderness by waving a blanket in their faces.

  Every minute the ruddy light of that eerie dawn grew stronger, and they mounted in haste. When they were ready to leave, Nefer went to the group of bound prisoners.

  “You are Egyptians, as we are. It pains me deeply that we have killed and wounded some of your companions. This was neither our choice nor our pleasure. The usurper Trok forced this upon us.”

  He squatted down next to the big man who had nearly killed him. “You are a brave fellow. I wish that some day we could fight side by side against the common enemy.”

  The skirt of Nefer’s apron had drawn up as he sat, and the prisoner’s eyes went down to the smooth muscles of his right thigh. His mouth fell open. “Pharaoh Nefer Seti is dead. Why do you bear the royal cartouche?” he asked.

  Nefer touched the tattoo that Taita had inscribed there so long ago. “I bear it by right,” he said. “I am Pharaoh Nefer Seti.”

  “No! No!” The prisoner was agitated and afraid, as he had probably never been on a battlefield.

  Mintaka jumped down from the chariot and came to them. She spoke to the man in a friendly tone. “Do you know who I am?”

  “You are Her Majesty Queen Mintaka. Your father was my god and commander. I loved him well. Therefore I love and respect you.”

  Mintaka slipped her dagger from its sheath and cut away his bonds, “Yes,” she said. “I am Mintaka, and this is Pharaoh Nefer Seti, who is my betrothed. One day we shall return to Egypt to claim our birthright, and to rule in peace and justice.”

  Nefer and Mintaka stood up and she went on, “Give this message to your comrades-in-arms. Tell the people that we are alive and that we shall return to this very Egypt.”

  The man crept forward on his knees and kissed her feet, then he crawled to Nefer and picked up one of his feet. He placed it upon his own head.

  “I am your man,” he said. “I shall carry your message to the people. Return to us soon, divine Pharaoh.”

  The other prisoners joined him with protestations of loyal love. “Hail, Pharaoh! May you live and rule a thousand years!”

  Nefer and Mintaka mounted their captured chariot, and the freed prisoners shouted, “Bak-her! Bak-her!”

  The three vehicles pulled out of the wrecked camp. Taita rode alone in the van, because he was best able to resist the wiles of Ishtar the Mede, and to discover the true road that had been hidden from them. Nefer and Mintaka followed closely, and Hilto and Meren brought up the rearguard. They headed back the way they had come.

  They had gone only a short way, the valley of the sinking sands and the camp still in sight, when Taita stopped and looked back. The other two vehicles halted behind him. “What is it?” Nefer asked, and Taita held up his hand. In the silence they heard the distant sound of Trok’s division coming on along the far bank. Then suddenly, through the lowering red dawn, they saw the head of his column appear from out of the far dunes.

  In the leading chariot Trok reined in sharply and shouted at Ishtar, “By the blood and seed of Seueth, the Warlock has outwitted you again. Did you not foresee that they would cross back and seize the chariots of our picket?”

  “Did you also not foresee it?” Ishtar snarled at him. “You are the great general.”

  Trok threw back his whip arm to lash him across his tattooed face for such insolence, but when he looked into the Mede’s dark eyes he thought better of it and lowered the whip. “What now, Ishtar? Will you let them get clear away?”

  “There is only one road back for them and Zander is coming down it with two hundred chariots. You still have them between the grindstones,” Ishtar pointed out darkly. Trok’s face lit in a savage smile. In his fury he had almost forgotten Zander.

  “The sun has hardly risen. You have all this long day to recross the shale bridge and follow them up,” Ishtar went on. “I have their scent in my nostrils. I will cast my web to ensnare them and, like a faithful hound, I will lead you to the kill.”

  Trok lashed his horses forward and rode out onto the firm sand at the edge of the swamp, directly opposite the three chariots on the other bank. He managed to summon up a laugh and a wide smile that were almost convincing.

  “I am enjoying this more than you are, my friends. Revenge is a meal best eaten cold! By Seueth, I will enjoy the taste of it.”

  “You must catch your rabbit before you can cook it,” Mintaka called back.

  “I will. Be sure that I still have some surprises to amuse you.”

  His smile faded as the three chariots started forward into the dunes, Mintaka waving back at him gaily. Although he knew that it was her intention to anger him, it galled him so much that his guts felt hot and sour with rage.

  “Back!” he shouted at his men. “Back across the bridge.”

  As they went on, Taita looked to the sky more frequently, and hi
s expression was sober and thoughtful as the brimstone clouds sank closer to the earth.

  “I have never seen a sky like this,” Hilto said, when they stopped to water the horses in the middle of the forenoon. “The gods are angry.”

  It was strange how readily they found the true road. The fork where they had made the wrong turning was plain to see from far off. It seemed that they could not possibly have missed the tall cairn of stones that marked it, and the main road to the Red Sea, traveled by so many trading caravans, was more deeply trodden and apparent than the rudimentary track they had followed into the valley of the sinking sands.

  “Ishtar blinded us,” Nefer murmured, as they rode toward the crossroads, “but this time we will not be so easily duped.” Then he looked up uneasily at the sky and made the sign against evil. “If the gods are kind.”

  It was Hilto, with his warrior’s eyes, who picked out the dust cloud ahead of them. The low, clouded sky had obscured it until now when it was close. Hilto galloped alongside Taita’s chariot and shouted to him, “Magus! Those are chariots ahead of us, and many of them.”

  They reined in and stared ahead. The dust cloud was moving even as they studied it.

  “How far ahead?” Taita asked.

  “Half a league or less.”

  “Do you think that Trok has a second division coming up behind him?”

  “You know better than I do, Magus, that that is the common tactic of the Hyksos. Do you not recall the Battle of Dammen? How Apepi caught us there between his two divisions?”

  “Can we reach the crossroads before they cut us off?” Taita asked, and Hilto narrowed his eyes.

  “Maybe so. But it will be a close race for it.”

  Taita turned and looked back. “Trok will be on the road behind us already. We dare not turn back into his arms.”

  “It would be certain disaster to leave the road and enter the sands. We would leave a clear sign for them to follow. The horses would fail before the end of the day.”

  “No wonder Trok laughed at us,” said Mintaka bitterly.

  “We are once again between the hammer and the anvil,” Meren agreed.

  “We must run for it,” Nefer decided. “We must try to reach the crossroads and get onto the main road ahead of them. It is our only escape.”

  “At our best speed, then, even if we use up the horses in the effort,” Hilto agreed.

  They surged forward three abreast. The chariots bumped and swerved as their wheels caught the ruts in the track, but the horses were going well. The dust cloud ahead became more menacing as they ran toward it. The cairns of stones seemed never to grow closer. They were still more than five hundred cubits from the turning when the first chariots of the approaching division hove into sight, half obscured by dust and the awful yellow light.

  They stopped as though uncertain of the identity of the three racing vehicles they saw coming toward them, then suddenly started forward again, coming straight at the fugitives.

  Taita tried to force a last turn of speed out of the horses, but felt the weariness overtaking them. They held on until the last possible moment, but the enemy was charging head-on at them, and it gradually became certain that they could not reach the crossroads before them. At last Taita held up his clenched fist in the command to halt. “Enough!” he cried. “We can never win this race.”

  They halted across the track, the horses lathered and heaving for breath. The charioteers were pale under the dust that coated their features and despair bloomed in their eyes.

  “Which way, Pharaoh?” Hilto shouted. They were already beginning to turn to Nefer for leadership.

  “There is only one way open. Back the way we have come.” And then, so low that only Mintaka could hear him, “Into Trok’s arms. But at least it gives me a last chance to settle the score with him.”

  Taita nodded agreement, and was the first to swing his chariot into a tight full turn. He led them back toward the sinking sands. The others wheeled around and followed in his dust. At first the dust covered their view of the pursuit, but then a puff of hot wind blew it aside momentarily and they saw that they had already lost ground.

  They tore onward, but Nefer felt his horses start to fail. Their gait was heavy and labored, their legs flopping and their hoofs starting to throw out sideways. Nefer knew that it was nearly over. He placed one arm around Mintaka’s waist. “I loved you from the first moment I saw you. I shall love you through eternity.”

  “If you truly love me, then you will never let me fall into Trok’s hands again. At the end, it will be the way for you to prove your love.”

  Nefer turned to look down at her, puzzled. “I do not understand,” he said, and she touched the captured sword that hung at his side.

  “No!” He almost screamed the word, and hugged her to him with all his strength.

  “You must do it for me, my heart. You cannot give me back to Trok. I do not have the courage to do it myself, so you must be strong for me.”

  “I cannot,” he cried.

  “It will be quick and painless. The other way…”

  He was in such distress that he almost ran full tilt into the back of Taita’s chariot as it came to an abrupt swerving halt across the track ahead of them. Taita pointed ahead.

  Trok was there. Even at distance they could make out his bear-like form at the head of his moving column, coming straight toward them. They looked back and the other enemy was closing in as fast.

  “One last fight!” Hilto loosened his blade in its scabbard. “The first the worst. The second the same. The last the best of all the game.” It was one of the adages of the Red Road, and he quoted it with genuine anticipation.

  Taita looked up at the bile-colored sky as another sultry gust rippled his hair, like wind through a field of silver grass.

  Mintaka tugged Nefer’s arm. “Promise me!” she whispered, and his eyes filled with tears.

  “I promise you,” he said, and the words scalded his mouth and throat. “And afterward I shall kill Trok with my own hands. When I have done that I will follow close behind you on the dark journey.”

  Taita did not raise his voice, but it carried to all of them: “This way. Mark well my wheel tracks and follow them faithfully.”

  To their astonishment Taita turned his horses off into the sand heading at a right angle from the track, north into the unmarked shifting dunes. Nefer expected him to sink to the hubs immediately, but somehow he must have found a hard crust under the soft surface. He went on at a steady trot and they followed him closely, although they knew that this was a last, doomed attempt.

  Looking back, Nefer could still make out both clouds of dust from the two enemy divisions converging on them from the east and the west. There was not the least chance that, when they reached it, they would not find the place where the three chariots had left the track. Unless, of course, Taita could weave a spell of concealment to outwit Ishtar, but that was a despairing chance. Ishtar had proved that he was not susceptible to such trivial witchcraft and Trok with his own eyes must have seen them turn aside from the track.

  Yet when he looked ahead he saw that Taita had the golden Periapt of Lostris in his right hand and around his wrist he had wrapped the necklace that had been the gift of Bay. He was not looking back at the pursuit, but his face was raised to the menacing sky and his expression was rapt.

  Their plight seemed hopeless, but Nefer felt an illogical and perverse glow of hope. He realized that, in some mysterious fashion, the gift of Bay had enhanced the old man’s already formidable powers. “Look at Taita,” he whispered to Mintaka. “Perhaps it is not yet the end. Perhaps there will be one more move of the bao stones left to us before the game is decided.”

  Trok galloped down the track until he reached the spot where he had seen the three chariots turn aside and head into the dunes. Their tracks were so deeply etched into the sand that they might have been made by a single pair of wheels. At that moment Zander rode up from the opposite direction at the head of the secon
d column.

  “Well done! You have turned the quarry. We have them now,” Trok shouted at him.

  “It has been a good chase,” Zander roared back. “What formation do you want me to keep?”

  “Take the rearguard once again. In column of fours. Follow me.” As he turned off to follow the fugitives, his two divisions of chariots fell in behind him. He looked ahead. Taita and his tiny party had already disappeared into a funnel of high sandhills, whose tops were purple and blue. The depths between them were somber and shaded under the lowering sky. He had not gone two hundred cubits when the outside chariots of the column were bogged down in the soft sand. He knew then why Taita had maintained such a tight formation. Only in the center line was the earth hard enough to support a chariot.

  “In single line ahead!” He altered his formation. “Stay in my tracks.”

  The two combined divisions stretched out over half a league as they followed Trok into the uncharted wilderness, and the troopers looked up with mounting trepidation at the towering sand walls and the ugly sky above. Trok could not press his horses at the same killing pace and they came down to a walk, but he could judge by the tracks Taita had left that he, too, was moving more slowly.

  They kept on for almost another league until abruptly the land ahead changed character. From the soft sand waves rose a dark island of rock. It was like some small craft lost in the ocean of the dunes. Its sides were honeycombed and eaten away by the abrasive sandladen winds of millennia, but the peak was as sharp as the fang of some fabulous monster.

  On the peak, tiny with distance, stood an unmistakable figure, sparse and tall with a wild bush of silver hair that glinted like a helmet in the strange and awful light.

  “ ’Tis the Warlock,” Trok gloated to Ishtar. “They have taken refuge in the rocks. I hope they try to fight us there.” Then to his trumpeter, “Sound the battle call.”

  When Nefer and Mintaka saw the rock pile looming ahead they were both astonished.