The Captive Soul

by Josepha Sherman

  “Then what,” Methos asked with great restraint, “happened?”

  “More or less what you saw.” Her voice was infinitely weary. “Khyan and his men surprised me. I thought it was just the usual games. But then Khyan said that I was not worthy of you. And I—I discovered to my surprise that I still very much wanted to live.” She gave a bitter little laugh. “And so, by fighting to live, I have most probably condemned myself to death.”

  “No. You have not. Not if I can keep our crazed prince believing I’m his savior.”

  “Methos, my lord, I know something of that—no, no, I know you haven’t told me, but I have eyes, ears. You can’t go on playing this dangerous game!”

  “Believe me, this isn’t my idea of any sort of game. But so far I haven’t found any vital clue… not with those strong walls, those sturdy guard towers—”

  He stopped short, staring at Nebet. “What are you doing?”

  “My lord?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Why, nothing, my lord, merely seeing if the water in the washbasin is—”

  “The water!” Methos exploded.

  “My lord?”

  “Water, yes, of course, water! And no, Nebet, I have not gone mad. Good gods, woman, the clue was so obvious it was practically slapping me in the face!”

  “I don’t—”

  “I saw it, I saw the waterbearers coming into Avaris, and didn’t even realize. Nebet, do you know of any wells in this fortress? Anywhere in the town outside?”

  Wondering, she shook her head.

  “What about springs?”

  “I don’t know; I don’t have the freedom of the entire enclave.”

  “Then I’ll need to examine Avaris again myself. But, curse me for a too-clever fool, I think I may have found exactly what I needed to know.” He caught her by the shoulders. “I don’t want to leave you unguarded. Stay at my side, Nebet. Follow me about like a dutiful slave.”

  “I cannot.”

  “But—”

  “My lord, that isn’t the custom, a woman slave following her master in public. And we both know that any breach of custom is only going to attract attention. More, I think, than either of us wishes. Don’t fear, my lord,” she added with a smile. “I’ll be safe enough here.”

  “Maybe,” Methos said warily. “I don’t think the prince is going to remember his anger for very long. But you must stay out of his sight. The risk to you—”

  “My lord Methos, I have survived this long in this place by being cautious; I will survive a little longer.” But then she added with a wry little smile, “Now that I know you, my lord, I do, indeed, wish to live.”

  “Nebet, I…”

  But, overwhelmed by what he saw in her eyes and utterly astonished at himself, Methos could find nothing else to say.

  Why here? Why now? And why oh why, oh gods of utter farce, with her?

  And why not ask the lightning why it strikes while you’re at it? Methos answered himself scornfully, and left.

  The sooner he proved his theory to himself, the sooner he could safely get them both out of here.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Egypt, Avaris: Reign of King Apophis, 1573 B.C.

  Methos bided his time with an Immortal’s patience, not wanting to attract attention with any sudden activity. When he finally did stroll out and about Avaris, allowed a little more freedom now as Khyan’s friend, it was as a man seemingly at total ease. And, sure enough, no one really paid much visible heed—though Methos was very well aware that he was still being watched.

  Ignore them. You are merely a bored man wandering about without the slightest harm in mind. Just looking here… and here…

  He spoke amiably with a few people, seemingly at random, asked a few apparently innocuous questions, none of which could be put together into a treasonous whole by any spy, then wandered about a bit more—and all the while missed not a single detail of the citadel or town.

  And at last the evidence both of his own eyes and of the words of the people to whom he’d spoken seemed undeniable.

  It’s true: a weakness so obvious that they all missed it.

  In all this fortress, this vast, powerful fortress, in all the town crowded behind that so-threatening wall, there is not one source of fresh water!

  Nebet would, no doubt, be as astonished at the discovery as he.

  But when he returned, Methos found his room strangely empty, with the undeniable feel not of a temporary absence but of true removal.

  Refusing to worry, Methos stopped a passing slave, a thin, weary-eyed man. “Where is Nebet? I have need of her.”

  The slave would not meet his gaze. “Forgive me, my lord. I—I have not seen her.”

  “Now here’s a funny thing: I don’t think that you’re telling me the truth.”

  The slave shivered, one uncontrollable convulsion. “My lord, please…”

  “Am I asking so difficult a question? Let me repeat it. Where. Is. Nebet?”

  “My lord, forgive me, but I… have been told that… there is no one by that name.”

  Never panic, Methos warned himself. Show nothing more than the mildest of interest. “Now that,” he said casually, “we both know is a lie. A pity, because the woman is an agreeable convenience.” Just as casually, Methos caught the slave by the bony shoulders. “And now you will tell me the truth.”

  The slave made one token attempt at escape, then sagged in surrender. “My lord, forget that one,” he murmured. “She has been taken as a traitor.”

  Khyan.

  It was useless to go after that lunatic. Releasing the slave so suddenly that the man nearly fell, Methos instead went in search of King Apophis.

  Allowed into the royal presence with alarming ease, Methos warily began a careful web of mostly truth, observations of Avaris, touching on a warning of poor morale, making it seem a very real report by a man trying to establish a place at court.

  “Incidentally, oh king,” he added casually, “speaking of morale, my personal slave seems to have gone missing.”

  King Apophis smiled ever so thinly. “For a newcomer to Avaris, you do seem to have become a focal point for treason.”

  Ah. “Your pardon, but I don’t see—”

  “Have no fear. Were I accusing you, you would already be joining the little fool as part of the rites of Set.”

  “The slave? King Apophis, I know that she was foolish enough to struggle against Prince Khyan, but I had considered that matter settled.”

  “Really? Then you will be stunned to learn that the woman was part of the plot to assassinate me.”

  “Impossible!” Methos burst out in the tone of a man too stunned to be careful. “King Apophis, I—she—I couldn’t have been so wrong about her, she couldn’t—”

  “She was as false as that young fool we sacrificed.”

  In Apophis’s eyes was the satisfaction not of catching a spy in a trap but of seeing a clever man discomfited, and Methos realized, This is your doing. Not just to keep your brother content but to give my loyalty a final test. Ah, Nebet…

  “But she—was she put to the question?” he asked, the stammering quite genuine. “Was she working alone? King Apophis, is there a wider conspiracy? Gods, I slept with her—she could have killed me!”

  Careful, careful, a wary corner of his mind warned, the creation you’ve built up wouldn’t grow hysterical.

  True enough. Methos took a deep, deliberate breath. “King Apophis, if there is anything that I may do—”

  “The affair will be settled.”

  “Your pardon, oh king, but there was some insult to me, too. Give me the chance to avenge myself.”

  The king studied him for a long, thoughtful while. Methos stared right back at him, face set in the cold mask that revealed nothing but ruthlessness. “Would you do that? Are you that harsh a man?”

  Methos let not the slightest trace of expression cross his face. “I am what I am.”

  “So now! Yes, you shall attend,
and participate. And I am sure that you will not fail me. Come.”

  Now?

  For one insane moment, Methos thought of grabbing Nebet and cutting their way out of Avaris.

  Out of this monstrosity? Oh, indeed. And then I’ll mount a horse with wings and fly us away.

  There was, he knew with brutal honesty, nothing that he could do for her. Nothing.

  Except…

  I promised to set her free, Methos thought bitterly. And that, Nebet, that I shall do.

  At least she had not been tortured. There had not been time for it.

  Yet. As Nebet was stripped, refusing to show any sign of humiliation or even awareness of her surroundings, then was staked out on the ground, Methos could feel the rising tide of sadistic lust rising from the men around him. Torture there would be, he knew that, and it would not be so much in punishment or for information, but for no other reason than that the target was female and helpless.

  He watched the implements of torture set out with care and saw Khyan lovingly fingering a barbed whip.

  Sorry to disappoint you all, Methos thought.

  With one swift lunge, he snatched a sword from the nearest guard. Instantly, the others drew theirs as well—but Methos was not about to try any one-against-many suicide. His gaze locked with that of Nebet. Her eyes warm, she nodded once, understanding. A wave of quick memories stormed through him: Nebet laughing, Nebet tenderly touching his cheek, Nebet curled up beside him, warm and loving—oh gods, gods, to lose her now when they had just found each other, to be cheated of all the many joyous possibilities—

  I vowed to set you free! Methos thought wildly. I keep that vow!

  And he brought his sword flashing down in one quick, deadly, merciful blow.

  Unable to look at what he’d just done, Methos whirled to King Apophis, letting all his rage and anguish out in one roar:

  “We are avenged!”

  Gods, oh gods, if only he could attack, cut down Apophis, behead Khyan—

  Be beheaded himself by the guards before he could succeed—no. There was no vengeance in that.

  It took all of Methos’s will, all his experience in seeing the world’s horrors, to force his face back into a cold mask. Better, far better, to live to see Nebet avenged through the destruction of king and prince and their entire world.

  “A little hasty,” Apophis commented dryly. “But then, a man may be excused his anger when a woman has betrayed him. No, brother,” he added to the grumbling Khyan, “do not fret. We shall find you another prisoner to slay for the great god Set.”

  In another moment, Methos knew, even his most fiercely held self-control was going to snap. He let the sword drop, not daring to note how the blade was stained with Nebet’s blood. “If I may be excused?”

  Fortunately for Apophis and Methos both, he was waved away without another glance.

  You will die, Apophis, you and Khyan. And even your way of life shall be erased from history. I so swear it.

  That night Methos spent alone and in utter, silent anguish, trying not to think of what he’d done, trying not to remember all the other losses of a long, long life, trying to believe with all his heart that Nebet had passed the Egyptian trials of the soul, had been greeted by Osiris and the other kindly gods and been welcomed into that paradise that was just like the Egypt of the living, but without the pain, the scars, the grief…

  Oh, Nebet, Nebet…

  Hands over his face, he abandoned himself to utter pain.

  But after an eternity of night, the morning finally came, and with it new determination. Methos, weary and aching, eyes burning from lack of sleep, set out for one last royal audience. There was nothing more to be gained here. Save, if he stayed among these folk whom he had come to truly hate, his death.

  King Apophis was waiting for him, looking so cruelly complacent that Methos nearly broke and blindly attacked there and then. But he would not give this cold-eyed monster the pleasure of his death.

  “King Apophis, I have greatly enjoyed your hospitality in these last few weeks.” Amazing how urbane, how utterly removed from emotion, his voice sounded. “But now I feel I may be of greater service elsewhere.”

  “Ah, the woman’s death did affect you.” Dark humor glinted in Apophis’s eyes. “Betrayal is always painful.”

  “It is.” And shall prove most painful to you.

  But the king was continuing, “You have, indeed, proven your worth to us. And you are much beloved by our brother. Do you truly seek to leave?”

  In other words, do you, oh prince’s babysitter, mean to escape your charge?

  “Not to leave, but to serve!” Methos countered. “You know of my cleverness, oh king; I show no false modesty there. Have no doubts about how I feel toward Prince Khyan,” he added with careful wording. “But I know that you need to contact Pharaoh Kamose, create new terms with him.”

  “My courtiers,” Apophis murmured, “speak a bit too freely.”

  “Your Majesty, I have been at your court. I have eyes, ears. And I can add this fact and that fact together and make two: You know that Kamose is young, hotheaded, and ambitious, and you therefore must make him see you are his overlord before he grows too sure of his power.”

  The king neither agreed nor denied. “And what has this to do with you?”

  “Why, have you not already seen me debating at your court? Have you not already heard examples of my wisdom? Do you not already know I can be trusted?”

  “As long as it suits you.”

  “No argument there, Your Majesty,” Methos interjected smoothly. “But as long as you rule, you who wield the greatest power, it suits me to be trustworthy to you!”

  Daringly, he grinned, and saw the king’s grudging grin in return. Pressing the advantage, Methos continued, “And is not a trusted, clever ambassador of greater worth to a king than a mere… companion?”

  Apophis, like the politician all kings must be, dipped his head in reluctant agreement. “True enough.”

  “And have you, in all honesty, a more clever ambassador than I? One who knows more about Kamose and his brother?”

  “One who knows more about the lack of such ambassadors within my own court,” the king added dryly. “Very well, then. It will be you who takes my message to Pharaoh Kamose and informs him of the new concessions he must make as our loyal vassal.”

  “And if he kills the messenger of that ill news, why, then you have all the more reason to destroy him. Understood.”

  “Clever, indeed,” the king said with a wry twist of a smile. “Ah, but the desert and river are filled with perils! An armed escort will accompany you, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “As,” Apophis added with a thin smile, “will my brother himself.”

  Not taking any chances of my getting away, are we? “As Your Majesty wills it,” Methos said smoothly. “Prince Khyan and I shall go to Thebes together, and return with a message of utter submission.”

  Yours, that is. And may your submission, oh you slayer of the innocent, be most painful, lingering, and filled with despair.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Egypt, the Banks of the Nile: 1573 B.C.

  They sailed out of Avaris on the next morning’s tide, Methos and Khyan and the promised armed escort. Methos, still worn and weary with stifled grief, leaned on the rail for a last look at the fortress, saying a final silent farewell to Nebet.

  And a threat to the Hyksos.

  The next time I see you, oh Avaris, it will be as your destroyer.

  Khyan, fortunately, was in one of his silent periods, brooding like a child, seeing who knew what visions. If he had babbled or, worse, so much as mentioned Nebet, Methos knew he would not have been able to stop himself from blindly attacking.

  But whichever gods there might be not only kept Khyan still, they had also sent a strong wind to the south, carrying the ship swiftly up the Nile. Soon the Hyksos capital was out of sight. Methos straightened, feeling a psychic weight lifting from his spirit
at the sight of free, vast, near-eternal Egypt under the clear blue desert sky, at the Nile flowing past open land and plain, ordinary villages as it had for more millennia than any but an Immortal could understand.

  And he gladly shifted his thoughts from Avaris and the darkness within that place to the relative sunlight of the Egyptian court at Thebes—and to what by now must be the beginnings of a true army. Yes, and to what would still need to be done on that account….

  He and the royal Egyptian brothers had already agreed that they would need horses. But he’d told them that judicious thefts and a wait of three years or so would ensure the literal birth of a cavalry force. He would be able to help out with that; he had experience with horses where the Egyptians did not. And, of course, the Egyptians would also be needing schooling in the handling of war chariots.

  No, wait. Methos’s grip tightened on the ship’s rail. Interesting thought… yes…

  Yes, indeed. If his plan was correct, they would not need to depend on chariots or horses very much after all, only sufficient proficiency with the new weaponry… the bows and swords… and ships.

  No difficulty there. The Egyptians already had sufficient ships to launch a naval attack, yes, and to carry adequate supplies to keep their army fed—fed for however long it took for them to trap the Hyksos within their own fortress, their own waterless fortress.

  Methos deliberately let himself sink into all the myriad details of a military campaign. They left no room for other thoughts.

  Save for one: getting away from his unwanted escorts.

  There were horses on board. Once they put ashore for the night, Methos decided, he would be able to steal one of them, and, assuming that the beast had been broken to riding as well as chariot-pulling, escape cross-country, straight to Thebes.

  But as the day sank into night, Captain Intef, a solid man of middle years and miscellaneous ancestry, showed no signs of putting in to shore.

  Of course not, Methos realized. That cursed wind is still as strong as before. The captain’s not about to waste it.

  He endured. Endured Khyan’s overenthusiastic friendship, endured the prince’s just as overenthusiastic gloating over cruelties performed or yet to be performed. And through it all, he clung fervently to one thought: Nebet was free.