Path of Shadows lb-8

by Lauren Haney

  The deepening shadows of the peaks to the east were spread ing across the landscape, harbingers of night. At least the heat of the day was waning.

  “There you are, sir.” Suemnut stopped and pointed almost straight down.

  Bak looked upon the wadi below with mixed emotions. He thanked the gods that their goal had shown itself at last, but it looked impossibly far away. Huge slopes of broken red sand stone fanned out below them. A thin pale line traversing the lower incline marked the path to the wadi floor. Acacia trees sent long, late-evening shadows across the broad strip of bur nished sand, which meandered away between high reddish hills, maybe spurs of the mountain of turquoise.

  “We’re not far from the nearest slope of fallen rock,” the sergeant said. “After we reach that, it’s simply a matter of placing one foot in front of the other.”

  The troops who had passed them by, physically fit and ac customed to the descent, were nowhere in sight. Bak as sumed they had gone around a shoulder of the mountain or had descended into a ravine and would reappear on the path below. Or they might have already reached the wadi and walked on to Huy’s camp. A depressing thought considering the distance he and his companions still had to travel.

  With a quick glance backward to be sure the men for whom he was responsible were keeping up, Suemnut walked on. Bak also looked back. Psuro was close behind, walking with Nebre, trying to convince him that even if they had gone after the man with the sling, they could not have caught him.

  The Medjay, furious at having to let him slip away yet an other time, wore a scowl that would have sent fear into the heart of the lord Set himself. Bak, who felt no less angry, sympathized.

  Bak sat on a thick pillow stuffed with straw, his leg stretched out before him in the faint hope that he could ease the pain in his thigh. No amount of pampering would heal the injury, he knew. Only time would erase the ghastly black bruise and the constant nagging ache.

  Lieutenant Huy, eager for another game of senet, had urged him to accept the pillow. Now the officer sat on a stool on the opposite side of the game board, setting up the playing pieces. As before, he had taken the blue spools for himself and had given Bak the white cones. Lieutenant Nebamon sat on a rock, his back to the wall of the rough stone structure

  Huy and his scribe used as a dwelling and office. His face was hidden in shadow, while the light of the torch mounted on the wall behind him illuminated the game board and the two men preparing to play. A yellow dog lay at Nebamon’s feet, twitching and moaning in its sleep.

  Bak allowed Huy to take three of his pieces before he asked, “How many men who toil here are nomads?”

  “Twenty or twenty-five. They labor atop the mountain, carrying away waste taken from the mines, helping in the quarries, and performing any number of other tasks that are easy to learn and require physical strength rather than wit or talent.”

  Huy studied the pieces on the game board. Blind to an opening Bak had given him, he made an ineffectual move. A partially smothered chortle escaped from Nebamon’s lips.

  If Huy noticed, he gave no hint. “Three women and their children remain in this camp to care for the livestock we keep, while their men toil on the mountain.” He studied the board, then nodded his satisfaction. “You’ll have noticed that any number of nomads come and go, seeking to trade or to cadge some small item they need.”

  Bak was forced to take the spool Huy had moved. “Do any men come from the Eastern Desert?”

  “Not many,” Huy said, blinking surprise that he had lost a piece, “and they seldom remain for long.” With his mouth tight and determined, he moved another spool. “The local men look to us as a source of wealth. They resent sharing with outsiders.”

  “Are any here now?”

  “Possibly. My scribe would know.”

  “All who wish to toil at the mines report to the scribe when they arrive,” Nebamon explained. “Each day a man remains, his foreman makes a mark on a shard. When he’s ready to leave, the shard goes to the scribe and he gives the nomad a token to deliver to the port for payment in kind.”

  Bak muttered an oath. A man could pass through the camp and climb the mountain of turquoise without ever report ing his presence. An individual from the Eastern Desert, shunned by one and all, might come and go virtually unno ticed or, more likely, would be looked upon as invisible. He was willing to wager a month’s rations that the man with the sling had walked in and out without so much as attracting a glance.

  Bak lost the game by a narrow margin and insisted Neba mon play the next. He found losing to be much more difficult than winning. Offering the caravan officer the pillow, he moved to the rock. The dog woke up, curled into a tight ball, and went back to sleep with a grunt of contentment.

  While the officers played, Bak’s thoughts turned to the at tack earlier in the day and to the man who had used the sling.

  The watching man, he felt sure. Had someone in User’s party told him they meant to come to the mountain of turquoise?

  Or had he simply followed them, with no one noticing? His knowledge of the wadis and mountains on this side of the sea was especially puzzling. While Bak and his Medjays were tied by their ignorance of the land and its people to the cara van and the army, as were User and his party, their foe trav eled with no such constraints. How did he manage?

  The question turned Bak’s thoughts to Minnakht. He had vowed to stay close, but had he? Bak thought about the man he had met in the Eastern Desert, the man he had heard so much about through the last few weeks. A man of courage who traveled the barren land undeterred by adversity. One who… suddenly, without conscious intent, a new idea leapt into his heart, a thought that would not be dislodged.

  “Do you know of a place nearby where a man might find wa ter, where he could stay alone and undisturbed by other men?”

  “Where you find water, you’ll find nomads.” Huy’s voice was curt, agitated. “Women and children bringing their flocks to drink. Sometimes a man or two.”

  Realizing something was wrong, Bak glanced at the senet board. Nebamon had taken more than half his fellow officer’s pieces.

  “The closest spring is at the copper mines west of here,” the caravan officer said, capturing another spool.

  Bak did not know if Nebamon’s thoughts were elsewhere or if he believed Huy had had enough pampering for one night. “I’m seeking a more solitary place, one where a man might slip out of sight should nomads bring their flocks.”

  Huy gave his opponent a cool look. “Your return journey to the port often takes an inordinate length of time, Neba mon. Puemre tells me that you stop at an oasis north of here, allowing your troops to play when they should be hastening to the sea with their valuable burden.”

  Noticing the venom in Huy’s voice, Nebamon looked more closely at the board. He was clearly surprised by what he saw. “Often? No. Now and again, yes.” He placed a white cone in jeopardy, glanced at Bak, grinned sheepishly.

  “There’s an open, running stream in the next large wadi to the north. The journey to the port is longer, but I sometimes return that way, giving my men an opportunity to bathe themselves and the donkeys. The water has an odd smell and we can’t drink it, but washing away the dust refreshes man and beast alike.”

  He studied the game board as if trying to decide what he should do next. “A few nomads go there, but a man who wished to remain unseen could easily walk a short way up the wadi, where the stone has been carved by wind and water as if by the hand of a man.”

  Bak watched him sacrifice another white cone. From the look on Huy’s face, he would soon be placated. “With no drinkable water, he couldn’t stay there for long.”

  “There’s a larger oasis closer to the sea and to the south.

  We get water there for use at the port. It’s frequented by the nomads, so a man couldn’t remain unseen for long, but he might slip in and out at infrequent intervals, taking only enough time to water his animals and fill his jars.” Neba mon moved another cone into the path
of the spool Huy was driving toward the final square. “Do you think the man who attacked today might be camping at one of those oases?”

  “Perhaps.” Bak shifted his position, waking the dog and the pain in his thigh. “You must remember that I’m also look ing for Minnakht.”

  “He’s not been seen since he left the port,” Huy said, his disposition soothed. “Most men believe he sailed back to the

  Eastern Desert.”

  Bak stayed as close to the truth as he could. “I vowed I’d follow his path from the beginning of his journey to the end.

  I know he visited the mountain of turquoise and the copper mines west of here. There’s a chance that he sailed away from the port, but returned to this barren land. A place with water would be a necessary destination.” Noting the doubt on their faces, he gave them a humorless smile. “Unlikely or not, I must leave no possibility unexamined. If I find no sign of him, I must return to the Eastern Desert and remain in that wretched land until I learn his fate. I prefer the company of men of Kemet to seeing nothing but footprints of nomads who vanish each time we draw near.”

  Giving him a quick, sympathetic smile, Nebamon offered up his last white cone.

  Huy made a final move. “You wish to visit those oases,” he said, his voice ringing with triumph.

  “You’ll have to go by yourself,” Nebamon said, hiding a smirk from the victor. “I can’t take the caravan the long way around this trip. We’ve another load of supplies awaiting us on the vessels on which you crossed the sea.”

  Bak thanked the gods. If the man he sought had indeed gone to one of the oases and if he saw an approaching cara van, he would slip away faster than a desert fox. “Can you give me a man to serve as a guide?”

  “I can send a nomad with you,” Huy said. “One I often trust to carry messages to the port.”

  “Such a man would serve me well.” Not merely because he would know the wadis better than any soldier, but because the man he hoped to find would have no reason to hide from one who wandered this land. “I’d like first to see the copper mines. When do you plan to move on, Nebamon?”

  The caravan officer dropped his playing pieces into the drawer and smiled. “You’ve had enough of the mountain of turquoise, Lieutenant?”

  “More than enough,” Bak said, glancing at his throbbing thigh.

  “I thought to leave tomorrow before nightfall.”

  “I’ll tell User and the others.” Bak stood up, yawned. “I wish them to travel to the port with you, not come with me. I trust you’ve no objection?”

  Nebamon gave him a long, speculative look. The kind of look one man gives another when he suspects him of a hid den purpose. “User’s good company, and so is Amonmose.

  I’ll keep them and the rest out of your way.”

  “You understand what you must do.” Bak spoke softly so his instructions would not carry to User’s camp or to any soldiers.

  He sat on his sleeping mat, his leg stretched out, trying again to ease the ache in his thigh. His Medjays sat around him, leaning close, faces intent. The yellow dog, which had followed him from Huy’s dwelling, lay at his feet. The sky was black, the multitude of stars resplendent, the moon large and luminous.

  “I’d rather stay with you, sir.” As if seeking support, Kaha glanced at Psuro, sitting beside him on the sand. “Cannot

  Minmose or Nebre deliver your message?”

  Minmose squirmed, uncomfortable with the thought, and

  Nebre grunted. The sergeant remained mute.

  “They can’t speak the tongue of the men of the Eastern

  Desert,” Bak said. “You can.”

  “They understand no more than half of what I say.”

  “As long as you can convince them that you must speak with Nefertem, the rest matters not. Once you reach him, you’ll have no trouble. He speaks our tongue as well as you or I.”

  “What if I never get to him?”

  Bak’s patience was coming to an end. He understood

  Kaha’s reluctance to go off by himself into the wilderness, but an order was an order. “I told you before: seek out a fam ily of nomads, show them the pendant, and say you must go to Nefertem right away. Someone will take you to him.”

  The Medjay, who could not have missed the impatience in

  Bak’s voice, stared unhappily at the chunk of quartz in his hand. “If I manage to speak with him, what am I to tell him?”

  “Tell him I’ll soon cross the sea, returning to the Eastern

  Desert. I hope to be traveling with Minnakht. I wish Imset to meet us when we disembark at the quay where our sover eign’s cargo ships anchor at the eastern end of the southern route to the sea. The boy must take us to Nefertem, whom I hope to meet at the place where he found this.” Bak lifted the pendant from Kaha’s hand and held it up, letting the quartz dangle from the leather thong.

  Several dogs began to bark, momentarily distracting them, and a sheep voiced alarm. The dog at Bak’s feet raised his head and cocked his ears to listen. Bak guessed a predator of some kind was lurking close by in the dark. A ewe had given birth to a lamb during the day. The fragile creature would be a tasty morsel for a large feline or a hyena.

  Bak returned the pendant to Kaha and handed him a tight roll of papyrus. “Take this to Lieutenant Puemre. In it I ask that he rush you across the sea to the Eastern Desert. The traveling ship we saw at the port, which he uses to carry mes sages, is manned by soldiers and is fast. You should have plenty of time to contact Nefertem.”

  “Am I to await you at the shore with the boy?” Kaha asked.

  “You will stay with Nefertem.”

  Kaha gave him a dismal look. “I’m to be his hostage.”

  “I plan to give him what he wants. He’ll not harm you.”

  “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, sir?” Psuro walked with Bak around the walled pen in which the sheep and goats were kept. They looked to be the sole men awake in the warm, still night. “How can you be so certain we’ll find Min nakht at one of those oases?”

  The yellow dog, lured by the other dogs who dwelt in the camp, had run off into the darkness, his voice merging with theirs. Their furious barking gradually faded away as they chased the predator away from the camp. The flock, which

  Bak and the sergeant had found milling restlessly within the rough stone walls, had begun to settle down. The lamb was safe among them.

  “If we don’t find him, if he didn’t follow us as he vowed he would, I must still meet with Nefertem. We alone can never hope to find one man in an area as vast as the Eastern Desert.

  We need the help of a tribal chieftain, one whose people can sweep across the landscape, letting no one and nothing slip out of their grasp.”

  “They didn’t find him before, sir.”

  “They didn’t know what they were looking for.”

  “You vowed to tell no one that he still lives. Now you plan to tell Nefertem. Is that wise, sir? What if he’s right and the nomads wish him dead?”

  Chapter 17

  “You’re staying behind?” User, shaking the dust from his tu nic, eyed Bak with suspicion. “Did you not vow to snare the man who’s been prowling the Eastern Desert, slaying first one man and then another?”

  “I will snare him,” Bak stated.

  He stood at the edge of User’s camp, studying the men scattered around. He had caught them filling the time with small tasks while they waited for Nebamon’s order to load the donkeys for the short trek to the copper workings and the longer journey to the port. His Medjays were similarly occu pied in their own camp. The sun hung low over the western peaks and the day was beginning to cool, so their departure was imminent.

  “Clearly, he followed us across the Eastern Sea,” Amon mose said, looking up from several unusual barbed harpoon points he had received in trade with a nomad. “His ambush on the mountainside left no doubt that he wishes you dead.

  Would you not be safer if you remained with us?”

  “Four men have
died within a few paces of your camp site,” Bak reminded him.

  “And yours,” Wensu muttered.

  “If the slayer follows us rather than you, more may die,”

  User said in a grim voice. “We’ve neither the means nor the ability to protect ourselves, as you well know.”

  “Your trek to the port with Lieutenant Nebamon should be safe enough,” Bak said. The cargo ships moored there will sail as soon as they unload the remaining supplies and load the copper and turquoise he’ll deliver to them. I suggest you cross the sea on one of those vessels. If you remain on board all the way to the southern trail, you can cross the Eastern

  Desert with the soldiers who’ll transport the stones and cop per to Waset. Any caravan carrying so precious a load is bound to be well guarded.”

  “I say we do as the lieutenant suggests,” Wensu said. “I, for one, have had enough of sand and rocks and death.”

  “Yes, that would be best.” Ani looked resignedly at the three small bags of stones he had collected since leaving

  Kaine. “I feel I’ve seen very little of what I came to see, es pecially in the Eastern Desert, and-for the very practical reasons Lieutenant Bak long ago pointed out-I’ll not return to the royal house with many stones, but I’ve no wish to see other men slain to satisfy my desires.”

  User studied the two men he had led into the desert. His face wore no expression, but Bak could guess his thoughts.

  In spite of his preference to travel alone, to seek gold and precious stones unencumbered, he had agreed to bring them along in exchange for payment in kind-and because he did not wish to vanish as had Ahmose and Minnakht. Better to return to the land of Kemet with nothing to show for the jour ney than to risk their lives and his.

  “In many ways, this trek has been easy, but the toll on men’s lives…” The explorer’s voice tailed off in resigna tion. “I concur. Best we sail on one of our sovereign’s ships and cross the desert with the army.”