“Something about a lake. And deer—no,” she corrected herself. “A herd of gazelles. Was it a dream?” She fingered her clean blue dress, though he had no memory of her putting clothes back on.
Reaching out , Kamin plucked the purple and pink flower from her hair, handing it to her. “No dream.” He stood up. “I think we were lucky to survive.”
Still sniffing the flower’s fading perfume, she clasped the hand he stretched out to help her and came to her feet. “You kissed me. I remember now.”
“I want to do it again.” He pulled her close. She came into his embrace easily, pressing herself to him, raising her face for his kiss. Keeping the caress light, a brief meeting of the lips, he ignored the surge of arousal sweeping through his body. He took her hands and kissed the palms lightly before releasing her and stepping away. “But now is not the time or the place.”
She put her arms by her sides. “I can’t argue. My spine is tingling. I’m expecting the pain of an arrow striking home any moment.” Shivering, she raised her eyes to the rim of the tiny hollow in which the ancient temple lay in ruins. “We’d be easy to capture here.”
He was belting his sword on. “Agreed. We need to move out.”
“Why is this pack so heavy?” Nima opened the flap, peering at the contents inside. Reaching in, she brought out a plum as big as his fist and showed it to him. “The bag is full of fruit from—from there. Do you think we dare eat it?”
Hands on his hips, Kamin blew out his breath then shook his head at the glowing purple fruit. “I don’t know. I’ve been told if you eat anything in the underworld, you won’t be able to leave. Water is fine because it flows between here and there, but not food.”
“But we have left. You rescued us. We’re in our proper place, our world.” Nima stamped one foot on the dusty pavement for emphasis. “Surely whoever or whatever loaded this bounty into our pack didn’t mean us any harm.”
“Horus didn’t mean us any harm, but he sent us to shelter in a place where we would’ve been trapped in eternal sleep. Or worse.” Hating to disappoint her, Kamin nonetheless took the pack and set it on the ground. “Even though I’m guessing the servants of the gods must have given us these gifts, I say we leave all of it here, as an offering to the spirits of this old temple. A token of our thanks for sheltering us.” He pointed at the blossom in her hand. “That as well.”
She did as he requested, laying the flower on top of the leather pack. Within moments, the petals shriveled and faded, decaying as they watched. Nima glanced around the ruins, rubbing her arms as if chilled. “I really want to be away from this place.”
“No argument from me,” Kamin said. He held out his hand, and as soon as she clasped his fingers, he led her off the frescoed terrace by the shortest route.
Making quick work of the hike to the lip of the bowl-shaped depression, Kamin stopped in his tracks so suddenly Nima bumped into him. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
She stepped around him since he made no move to prevent her and came to a sliding halt herself. The sandy soil was crisscrossed with tracks—men, horses, chariot wheels. Kamin walked closer, kneeling to check the imprints. “Hyksos all right. Their wheels are built differently than ours, wider.” He stood, dusting his hands. “But these tracks are at least two days old, judging by the condition of the horse dung.”
“Two days?” Mouth open, she gaped at the large area the enemy had occupied. “But when we arrived here yesterday, there were no tracks.”
Kamin retrieved the pack. “I think we were in that corner of the Afterlife longer than we realized. Horus’s plan worked to the extent the Hyksos obviously didn’t find us. But now they’re somewhere ahead of us on the route to the Nile, and we’ll have to be even more careful.”
“I wish they didn’t want to recapture us so badly,” she said as they hiked through the churned-up ground and struck off to the east. “This trip is full of enough perils without those jackals breathing down our necks every moment.”
“On the positive side, it shows how important my information must be,” Kamin said. “All the more reason we have to make good time and get to the nomarch as soon as we can.”
***
They spent the day sheltered behind a small rock formation at the foot of a great sand dune. It wasn’t a secure location, and neither could settle in to rest. By midafternoon they’d mutually agreed remaining was a waste of time, and they marched into the desert, still bearing east.
Hours later, Nima toiled up the rise in front of her and stumbled to a halt, grateful for a sunset breeze brushing the sand. Beside her, Kamin was staring into the shimmering distance, his face set in unhappy lines. Following the direction of his gaze, shielding her eyes with one hand, Nima said, “What is that?”
“A caravan. We’ve come to one of the major north-south caravan routes.”
She turned to him in surprise. “You don’t sound pleased. Can’t we blend in with them, travel with them?”
“Caravan masters want to be paid for providing transport and safety.” He frowned at her. “Not only do we not have anything to buy our passage with, the Hyksos are probably still chasing us and they do have gold to buy friends, informants and allies. Best we wait for this caravan to pass and then go on our way.”
“Too late. I think we’ve been spotted.” Nima pointed at the road, where a small group of men on horseback had broken away from the long column, galloping toward them in a cloud of dust.
“Set’s teeth, just what we don’t need. Stay close and let me do the talking.” Drawing his sword, Kamin pulled her closer, shielding her as best he could while the men rode up and encircled them.
“What do we have here?” asked the lead rider, staring at them while his horse tossed its head, chomping on the bit.
“Travelers, like you,” Kamin answered neutrally. “We’re waiting for your caravan to pass, and then we’ll be on our way.”
Chewing on a carved sliver of ivory clenched in his remaining teeth, the man studied them, while his companions waited in silence. “You travel lightly.” He waved one arm in a broad gesture, tassels on the horse’s reins dancing in the breeze. “And the desert is vast.”
“We’ll be fine, thank you.” Kamin kept his eyes locked on the leader. “No need to tarry on our account.”
The caravan crew member took the sliver of ivory out of his mouth, picking thoughtfully at his gums for a moment. “What kind of a host would my master be, allowing you to trudge through the sand when you could travel with us in comfort?” The words were kind, but the voice was mocking. “He bid me fetch you.”
“We don’t travel in the direction you’re going.” Jaw set, Kamin hefted the sword, raising it in a threatening gesture. “Our road lies to the east.”
“Sit by our fire this evening at least.” The persistent rider gestured to the road in the distance. “We’re making camp now, at the well here.”
Nima could tell Kamin was annoyed, as his voice got deeper and his words even more clipped each time he replied to a comment. “We’ve no gold to pay for the privilege.”
“Have I asked for payment?” Making a mock bow over his patient horse’s neck, the other man spoke again. “My master insists. A caravan wins favor in our gods’ eyes when we help a struggling traveler.” The dark eyes stared boldly at Nima. “And his woman.”
Kamin put his free arm around Nima’s waist. “Exactly. My woman.” He ignored her surprised, sideways glance. “I tell you again, we’ve no desire to join your campfire, this night or any other.”
“But we are many and you are only one, warrior.” The threat was clear. The other riders crowded in more closely, the loose circle becoming the unmistakable jaws of a trap. The man grinned. “Put away your sword and accept our kind invitation.”
Grabbed without warning by a pair of stout arms, Nima was torn from Kamin, lifted into the air, landing on the saddle with a thud, and held close to the caravan rider who’d snatched her, the smell of his sweat and musk an unpleasant aro
ma. She cursed him in Egyptian and several other languages, trying to pry his arm away from her waist as he laughed and wheeled the half-rearing horse in a grand gesture that made her dizzy. The ground was frighteningly far away from a horse’s back. Her captor set his steed racing for the caravan road. Hands locked around the raised front of the elaborate saddle, she turned her head once, worried for Kamin. The rider’s flying robes blocked her view. The horse’s rapid motion across the ground gave her vertigo, so Nima squeezed her eyes shut and prayed to whichever Great Ones might be listening
The caravan was spread out around the large stone wellhead. Men were unloading weary, protesting camels and donkeys. Gaily striped tents were being raised. All manner of people bustled around. The workers stopped their activity, eyeing Nima curiously as she was carried through the chaos to the largest tent. Checking his horse in another showy move, the rider handed her down, where she was enfolded in someone else’s grasp the moment her feet touched the ground and hustled into the tent.
“Let me go,” she said, jerking her arm free and elbowing her new oppressor sharply in the ribs. “What have you done with my companion?”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be here in a moment, lovely one,” said a deep, melodic voice.
Angry, she turned, raising her line of sight a foot to take in the owner of the sensual voice—a tall man waiting behind her, hands on hips, legs akimbo. Good-looking in a rough-hewn fashion, long black hair tied back with a leather thong, he had ritual scars dotted on both cheeks. Dressed in dusty blue and brown robes and odd leggings tucked into his boots, he wore an elaborate collar of hammered gold beads. An unfamiliar circular emblem in the center matched the scars. Bowing, he thumped one fist over his heart and threw out his other arm expansively. “Caravan Master Ptahnetamun, at your service. And you are?”
“Nima. I didn’t ask to be your guest,” she said, straightening her dress as best she could.
“No, but I give my hospitality anyway,” he answered with a flash of white teeth. “We don’t often encounter travelers in this stretch of the desert. You’re a blessing from the gods.”
“A blessing?” I don’t like the sound of that. Frowning, Nima took an instinctive step away from the caravan master.
Ptahnetamun bowed his head, grinning even more widely. “Your arrival represents something new to relieve the boredom of our travel.”
Said the cat to the mouse. Not much liking the tone of the conversation so far, she racked her brain for some way out of the mousetrap. Hearing horses behind her, Nima turned, relieved to see Kamin jump down from the mount on which he’d been forced to ride double. His sword was missing, which wasn’t an encouraging sign about the truth of their situation as guests.
“Of course you’ll be in my debt,” said their titular host, walking over to a small table and lifting a wineskin. He glanced over his shoulder.
Ignoring the assembled caravan members, shoving his way through the crowd, Kamin strode over to her. “Are you all right?”
Managing a smile, Nima nodded. “I’m fine. This is Ptahnetamun, the caravan master.”
Arm around her waist, Kamin ignored the horn cup the man was now holding out to him. “All we want is to continue on our way.”
“Spoken like one accustomed to command,” Ptahnetamun said, raising his eyebrows as he lifted the cup to drink deep. Wiping his mouth on one flowing sleeve, he handed the cup to a servant girl standing behind his seat. “But I command here.”
Leaning slightly into Kamin for reassurance, Nima asked, “What do you want of us?”
“I told you—diversion, amusement.” His wide smile returning, the caravan master waved the now refilled cup his servant had just handed him. Half the contents sloshed onto the rugs covering the tent floor. “Profit perhaps.” He drank what remained in one gulp.
“We don’t wish to travel north, and we’ve no gold to pay for provisions or shelter. You’ll realize no profit from us,” Kamin said.
Ptahnetamun eyed him for a minute. “By the look of you, you’re fugitives. Escaped slaves maybe?” He waited, but neither Kamin nor Nima spoke. Idly scratching at one of his facial scars, he turned to the man who’d led the group that took them prisoner. “There might be profit in having these two as my—guests, eh? Whoever is looking for them might appreciate our help.” Rubbing two fingers together in the universal sign for coin, he guffawed, the rest of the audience in the tent joining in raucous laughter.
He knows something about us. Maybe the Hyksos have put out word they’re searching for us. Realizing Kamin’s abilities as a fighter weren’t going to save them this time, a sketchy idea taking shape in her mind, Nima took a deep breath to soothe her nerves. “You can’t have it both ways, sir,” she said when the laughter quieted, laying one hand on Kamin’s arm as a calming gesture. Please, Great Ones, let him follow my lead now. “Either we’re going to be your guests or your prisoners.”
“Good point.” Ptahnetamun poured himself another round of the wine before sitting down. “It seems we’re on the horns of a dilemma.”
He likes toying with us. Hoping she’d found a way out of the situation, Nima took a chance. “Are you a gambling man?” She pointed at the object taking up most of the table beside him. “Do I see a senet board?”
He rubbed his hand across the game board inlaid atop the gleaming container. “Indeed it is. You play?”
As if she had all the time in the world, Nima walked to the game box, deliberately making her stride slow and sensuous, like the opening steps of a dance. Bending to give him a good view of her shapely bottom outlined by the dress pulled tight as she leaned over, Nima opened the bottom drawer of the case and plucked a shiny black pawn at random from inside. With an elegant gesture, she turned and extended her hand to the caravan master, the pawn sitting on her flat palm. “I challenge you to a game.”
He stroked his bearded chin, leaned back as he braced one foot on a trunk and made a show of considering. “For what stakes?”
“If I win, you give us shelter for the night, and we go our separate ways in the morning.” She set the pawn on the board in the starting square. “If you win, we’re yours to do with as you please.”
“Nima—” Kamin’s protest was instant and angry. In two steps he was at her side, yanking her to face him. “What are you—”
Wrenching herself loose, she ignored him, facing Ptahnetamun again. “I’ve lived in border towns all my life, so I’ve heard of the honor code governing caravan masters. I want your word you’ll abide by the outcome of the game.” She held up one hand before he could speak. “No, I want your blood oath on it.”
Jaw dropping, Ptahnetamun stared at her while his men muttered and even the serving girl looked impressed by Nima’s boldness.
“Well? Do you agree to my terms or don’t you?” Nima drew herself to her full height and tried to feel impressive, despite her dusty clothes and tired body. He can’t back down from this challenge in front of his crew. I hope. Since he hesitated, she taunted him, paraphrasing a saying she’d often heard in the taverns where she danced. “Be aware I’ll pass you by as one who sails with the breeze, blessed by the Sun. I’ll be entering the House of Repeating Life while you, my opponent, will be stopped.”
Next minute, Ptahnetamun threw back his head, roaring with laughter. “Spoken like a true gambler. I like your spirit, woman.” He pointed at Kamin. “Does your warrior agree to what you propose? The deal must include you both.”
“Will you give us a moment?” Pulling Kamin aside, Nima turned so the gawking caravan crew couldn’t see their faces. Kamin’s cheeks were red, and his frown was truly impressive.
Putting both hands on her shoulders, he gave her a little shake. “What in the seven hells are you doing?”
She laid her hand gently over his mouth, leaning close as she whispered, “Trust me, please, Kamin? If he swears me a blood oath—”
Shoving her hand away, he rolled his eyes. “And if you win,” he said furiously. “The throwing sticks are bound to
be false-weighted somehow. It won’t be a fair game, not some friendly match in the tavern for mugs of beer.”
“I’m hoping the sticks are false.” She smiled mischievously, letting her smile fade as he continued to glare at her. “Please? I know the stakes are high, but we’re not getting out of here otherwise. You’re one man surrounded by dozens, and he sees profit in selling us. This is the only way we stand a chance of escaping.”
“You’re asking me to risk the success of my mission for Pharaoh, for Egypt, on how well you can cheat a cheater?” He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his brow.
“Blood oath?” Ptahnetamun asked from his position next to the game board.
Going on tiptoe to look over Kamin’s shoulder, Nima said magnanimously, “Nothing less. I’ll swear as well,” drawing a quickly smothered laugh from the ever-increasing crowd at her back.
“She’s set the stakes.” The man who’d taken Nima on his horse came forward to offer the caravan master his dagger. “Challenge has been made.”
“And accepted!” Ptahnetamun slammed his cup on the table so forcefully the base cracked. Rolling back his sleeve, he extended his thick wrist. “I swear by the twin gods of the caravan road to abide by the outcome of this senet game. She and her man go free in the morning if she wins.” He leered at Nima. “But she’ll be on her back in my bed by dawn if I win.” The crowd roared with amusement at this sally. Gesturing at Kamin, he finished his boasting. “Be sure I’ll sell his carcass for a tidy profit.”
Nima said nothing, but laid her wrist across his. After searing the tip of his blade in a candle’s flame, the caravan worker nicked each of them in turn with his dagger. Their blood dripped onto the candle, which blazed up in a purple and red explosion of sparks for a second. “Oaths accepted,” the man declared.
Ptahnetamun and Nima turned to Kamin.
“My word as a warrior of Pharaoh, I’ll accept the outcome.” Kamin’s oath was given through clenched teeth.
“Done!” Ptahnetamun wrapped a scrap of black cloth around his wrist as Nima pressed hers against her side to stop the blood flow. “We’ll play this monumental game later, in the evening after the work of setting up camp and caring for the animals is done. Take these two away until then.”
Dancer of the Nile (Gods of Egypt) Page 7
