by K. M. Ashman
Vampire
The Curse of Sekhmet
By
K M Ashman
Published by
Silverback Books
More books by K M Ashman
The India Sommers Mysteries
The Dead Virgins
The Treasures of Suleiman
The Mummies of the Reich
The Tomb Builders
The Roman Chronicles
The Fall of Britannia
The Rise of Caratacus
The Wrath of Boudicca
The Medieval Sagas
Blood of the Cross
In Shadows of Kings
Sword of Liberty
Ring of Steel
The Blood of Kings
A Land Divided
A Wounded Realm
Novels
Savage Eden
The Last Citadel
Vampire
Audio Books
Blood of the Cross
The Last Citadel
A Land Divided
A Wounded Realm
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Copyright K M Ashman 2013
All rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the copyright owner.
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All characters depicted within this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any real persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Prologue
The Kadesh Plains
Lands of the Hittites
1458 BC
Abasi walked slowly, picking his way amongst the dead and the dying, his leather sandals seemingly reluctant to break the tacky grip of the endless sea of human blood. All around the calls of the wounded echoed through the canyon. Some were begging for help, some were begging for death. Most were silently awaiting the arrival of Anubis to carry their soul to the afterlife.
The main battle had ended earlier in the day but this final skirmish had taken place in the hills high above Kadesh where Abasi’s chariots had pursued the last of the Hittite infantry. It should have been a foregone conclusion with hundreds of Hittite soldiers being despatched to meet whatever heathen gods they worshipped but it hadn’t turned out that way. It was not Hittite blood cloying at his feet, but Egyptian.
The Hittite ambush had been perfect. The entrance of the canyon was broad, but narrowed quickly until it was only wide enough for a few soldiers abreast to pass at any one time. The rocky cliffs on either side were high enough to prevent anyone from climbing up, yet well within the range of the hidden archers who awaited the doomed Egyptians. It had been a slaughter and hundreds of Abasi’s infantry had fallen beneath the hail of arrows before the lucky few realised they had been tricked and managed to escape the carnage.
Eventually Abasi’s scouts had reported the Hittites had withdrawn, and he had ridden up to the canyon to see the massacre for himself. It was worse than he had feared. Over seven hundred men had entered the canyons. However, less than two hundred had escaped with their lives, and many of them were wounded. This was a disaster for Abasi, not only in a military sense but on a personal level as well. Back on the Kadesh plain, the main battle had been won already. Ramesses himself had sent messengers to all junior officers to break off any engagements and rendezvous back at the river Orontes.
However, Abasi had ignored the orders and continued to lead his men in pursuit of the retreating army, caught up in the bloodlust that closely followed the day of triumph. If he had been successful, he would have returned a hero. No doubt, his Pharaoh would have rewarded him handsomely. Gold, wives, slaves, all such rewards awaited successful commanders on the field of war, whilst only shame, demotion and even death could be expected for those who failed.
Abasi knew that Ramesses would already be aware of his failure, and indeed of his insubordination. The best he could hope for was demotion to the ranks. If that was the case, at least he would have a chance to redeem himself in battle, and, perhaps in time, he would earn the Pharaoh’s trust once more.
But that was for later. First, he had to look after his men. All through the canyon, dozens of Nubian slaves carried water skins between the wounded, making them as comfortable as they possibly could. It would be at least morning before the Pharaoh could send any help to rescue the men and Abasi was determined to make their night as comfortable as possible.
‘Well, Ishaq,’ said Abasi, addressing the man at his side, ‘it seems that the gods have forsaken me today. If I had only taken the time to pay tribute at the Temple of Horus, then I would not be punished so.’
‘We cannot presume to know the will of the gods, Sire,’ answered Ishaq, a faithful servant who had carried Abasi’s shield into many battles over the years. ‘It just might be that they have a different path for you. Perhaps it is a greater one.’
‘I doubt it, Ishaq,’ said Abasi, ‘I have seen the wrath of Ramesses, and it does not bear countenance. No, I fear I have ridden at the head of my division for the last time, but that worry is for tomorrow. Tonight we will comfort our men. Discard your burdens and give the wounded your attention.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ said Ishaq and joined the others in administering what help he could. The survivors of the conflict lit fires and using the light of the full moon above, carried the wounded to glean what heat they could from the flames. The dead were left where they lay, and though Abasi knew that many would attract the attention of the jackals through the night, there was no other option. The burning of the corpses would have to wait until the morning when reinforcements would surely arrive.
Several hours later, the wounded were wrapped in the capes of the healthy and lay around the fires, staring into the dancing glow of the flames. Ishaq had made his own fire off to one side and shared the warmth alongside his master. Abasi was fast asleep, wrapped in a horsehair blanket supplied by one of his slaves. The night was half spent and the moon had long gone on her way, yet the canyon was surprisingly light as the reflections of the many fires bounced off the rocky walls. Ishaq dozed fitfully, as although there were guards all around the canyon; he knew that if the Hittites returned in any numbers, then they were doomed.
He sat up suddenly, unsure of what had awakened him, but aware that something was wrong. He looked around, trying to make out anything different above the groans of the wounded, before reaching over to shake Abasi by the shoulder.
‘What is it?’ asked the commander, sitting up instantly.
‘One of the guards is approaching, Sire,’ said Ishaq.
A soldier appeared out of the darkness and saluted Abasi.
‘Report,’ ordered Abasi, standing up.
‘Sire, there are sounds of chariots outside the canyon,’ he said.
Abasi turned to Ishaq.
‘Hittite?’ he suggested.
‘Has to be,’ said Ishaq. ‘Ramesses would not risk the rest of our chariots in the dark in this strange place.’
‘Then awaken the men,’ said Abasi. ‘Tell them to make ready and issue spears to any wounded who are able to bear arms. If the Hittite filth think we are done, then they are sadly mistaken. Our lifespan may be counted in hours, Ishaq, but by the
gods, I swear we will take many with us to the lands of the two fields.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ said Ishaq, and ran into the darkness accompanied by the guard.
Abasi picked up his leather armour and fastened it around his chest. As a charioteer, his lower body would ordinarily have been protected by the walls of the two-man chariot, so he wore no protection on his legs, but the bands of leather around his chest offered cursory protection from all but the strongest thrust of an enemy spear or an arrow fired from a close range bow. His sandals followed along with his leather headdress and despite the night’s coolness, he felt a bead of sweat running down his bald head.
He picked up his spear but as he started to kick the sand over the embers of the fire, Ishaq appeared once more, running up the slope of the canyon.
‘Sire,’ he gasped, ‘good news, they are Egyptian.’
‘Surely not,’ said Abasi. ‘Why would Ramesses send men out in the middle of the night?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Ishaq, ‘but they are definitely Egyptian, unless the Hittites have suddenly started to use two-man chariots, instead of three.’
‘I wouldn’t put anything past those heathen,’ said Abasi, ‘so if you don’t mind, I will withhold my celebration until I see the banner of Ramesses with my own eyes.’
A noise echoed through the valley and both men looked up to see lines of soldiers running along the tops of the canyon walls a few cubits above them.
Abasi’s eyes narrowed in thought. The silhouettes did indeed look Egyptian, yet the way they deployed concerned him. Within minutes the entire canyon was surrounded by the shapes of many soldiers, their silhouettes dark against the lighter night sky. Once again the only sounds breaking the silence of the night were the groans of the wounded. In the centre of the canyon, the remainder of Abasi’s command had gathered near the larger central fire, all looking up in confusion.
‘Hello,’ called Abasi to the men above, ‘who is in command?’
When there was no answer, Abasi turned to Ishaq.
‘There’s something wrong,’ he said. ‘Go down to the men, and tell them to take defensive positions in the rocks.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ answered Ishaq and turned to run back down to the main body of men.
‘Slowly,’ hissed Abasi, ‘do not arouse their suspicion.’ He watched Ishaq walk away, but before he had gone a few steps, the familiar sound of an arrow’s flight cut through the night sky, closely followed by the thud of impact. Ishaq fell forward in the dust, his hands clawing uselessly at the arrow through his throat.
‘What do you think you are doing?’ screamed Abasi. ‘Who is in command there? I demand to know!’
‘Silence,’ roared a voice from the darkness above, just as threatening as it was imperial.
‘It can’t be,’ thought Abasi, in confusion. ‘It sounded like Ramesses, but surely the Pharaoh would not come in person. He wouldn’t have made an appearance in the daylight, let alone the dark of the night in enemy territory.’
‘Sire, is that you?’ asked Abasi.
‘Do you not know the voice of your Pharaoh?’ answered Ramesses.
Abasi fell to his knees.
‘Sire, forgive me,’ he said. ‘I did not expect you, we are honoured.’ He prostrated himself face down in the dust.
‘Stand up, Abasi,’ ordered Ramesses, ‘and face me.’
Abasi stood and looked up at the silhouette of a man he had known as a living god for most of his life.
‘This has been a very bloody day, Abasi, and a triumphant one, the results of which will be carved on Stelae through my kingdom. Granite pillars will exceed the height of all others that have gone before. Stelae that will extol my triumphs and proclaiming how I, Ramesses II, defeated the Hittites in the greatest battle these lands have ever seen.’
‘May you be blessed by the gods, Sire,’ answered Abasi.
‘At one point I stood alone against a thousand chariots, Abasi. Yet the gods were with me and I smote my enemies as I would a fly. It was a sight to behold, Abasi, and minstrels will sing about my greatness for the rest of time.’
Abasi sighed inwardly at the boastfulness of the Pharaoh. He had known Ramesses for many years and whilst there was no doubting the king’s bravery, Abasi knew that any feats of courage on the ruler’s part would be exaggerated beyond all imagination. Such was the way of kings.
‘Lord, I would expect no less from a living god,’ answered Abasi.
‘Yet, if you had been there, Abasi,’ continued Ramesses, ‘you would have seen my majesty with your own eyes. If you had been there, Abasi, then my sword arm would not have been needed to save our armies from certain slaughter.’ He paused before adding, ‘If you had been there, Abasi, then there would not be the need for me to carry out the retribution that I now find forced upon me.’
Abasi’s heart sank. Ramesses had come to see him killed for his insubordination; that much was clear. However, he still wondered why the Pharaoh had come in person. It would have been just as easy to order one of the other officers to kill him. Indeed, if his Pharaoh had ordered it, he would have taken his own life gladly. At least there was some honour in that, but for the king to come in person meant he had something more in mind. Something special.
‘Sire, I thought I could secure another great victory in your glorious name.’
‘You defied me,’ said Ramesses.
‘I made a military decision, Sire.’
‘Which cost the lives of hundreds of men.’
‘Admittedly, and I take full responsibility. I accept your judgement and do not deserve to live, but it was my decision alone. My men are guilty of nothing more than obeying orders. At least, allow them to live.’
‘They are not your men, Abasi, they are my men and mine to do with how I see fit.’
‘Of course, Sire, I meant no insult. I am only concerned for their welfare. I have wounded here, and those who are fit have not eaten since dawn.’
‘It is a shame you did not have that sentiment when you sent them to their death.’
‘As I said, Sire, I made a mistake.’ Up above, a messenger approached the Pharaoh and whispered in his ear before bowing and retreating into the darkness.
‘Enough discourse,’ said Ramesses, ‘it seems our visitors have arrived.’
‘Visitors, Sire?’
‘Do not excite yourself, Abasi,’ said Ramesses, ‘I fear you will not extend them a welcome.’
‘And my men?’ asked Abasi.
‘Ah yes, your men;’ answered Ramesses, ‘thank you for reminding me.’ He raised an arm and dropped it sharply. Instantly, the night sky was filled with hundreds of arrows and the remainder of Abasi’s men fell screaming in a hail of death from their own countrymen high on the canyon walls.’
‘Nooo,’ screamed Abasi, watching helplessly as the last of his command died. When it was over, he turned back to face the Pharaoh.
‘Why, Sire?’ he shouted. ‘Yes, take my life. I deserve to die, but why my men?’
‘You dare to question my whim, Abasi!’ snarled the Pharaoh. ‘They were nothing to me. Their lives were mine to grant or deny as I decree, and today I decreed that they would die. I have done them a favour, for now their families and descendants will know they have died during a great victory led by a living god, and not as the victims of one man’s stupidity.’
Abasi fell silent as the reasons became clear. Apart from the king’s personal guard above, there were now no witnesses to this defeat, and Ramesses could bask in his embellished tales of victory with no possibility of any other version being made public.
‘And what of me, Sire?’ he asked eventually. ‘Am I to expect an arrow from an unseen assassin?’
‘No, Abasi, your indiscretion has actually provided me with an ideal opportunity.’
‘An opportunity, Sire?’
‘Yes, an opportunity to repay a pact made between gods.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You don’t have to understand, Abasi, just be thank
ful that today you are to witness something that is denied to most men. Today, you will be in the presence of not one, but two gods.’
Abasi withheld a gasp. Like all his countrymen, he was deeply religious and prayed to many gods on a daily basis. The revelation that he was to stand before another took his breath away.
‘Lord, I am truly blessed,’ he said.
‘Withhold your gratitude, Abasi, for you know not whom I invoke. Look to your rear and witness the approach of a deity.’
Abasi turned and looked down the canyon to where he could see movement. Though still quite dark, he could make out a column of figures, all dressed in white robes, making their way toward the dead and the dying. Behind them, a column of infantry stopped a hundred yards short of the wounded, and lined up side by side across the canyon, blocking any escape. Abasi stared uncomprehendingly, not sure what he was witnessing. The white clothed people seemed to be priestesses, and in amongst them he could see a litter being carried by four naked slaves, their jet black skin a sharp contrast amongst the swathes of white linen. An order rang out through the valley and all the soldiers, both in the canyon and up on the canyon rim, turned as one to face away from the scene unfolding in front of them.
The occupant of the litter stepped out, and with the help of the slaves, slowly made her way toward him. Abasi was transfixed. The woman was obviously extremely old and she struggled to walk the last few yards of the rocky path.
Finally, she stood before him, and Abasi felt sick at the stench of death she exuded. She was dressed in a wrap of pure white linen and her face was covered by a veil. The hands were the only flesh visible and Abasi could see they were virtual claws; such was the age of the woman. The very sight of her was enough to strike fear into any man’s heart and he knew that a terrible fate lay before him.
She looked up at the ridge and a barely audible voice seemed to drift from beneath the veil.
‘Is this the one?’ she asked.
‘It is;’ answered Ramesses, ‘and with his soul I repay my debt to you.’
