slay a man when I have merely to mention my cousin’s name and my least significant wish becomes a command?”
This was a side of the inspector Bak had never imagined, and he liked him better for the admission. He yearned to respond, but could think of nothing appropriate to say. So they walked along together, saying nothing, their silence strained at first but soon strangely comfortable.
Late in the afternoon they stopped at a watch station located on a rocky knob that rose above the surrounding landscape. While Amonked spoke with the sergeant in charge, Bak looked off to the south, where the caravan was making its slow way across the rolling, sandswept land scape, leaving behind the river and the wrath of the people who dwelt along its banks.
A soldier on duty pointed out, some distance to the west, a half-dozen ant-sized figures. “I thought at first they were nomads coming to the river for water, but instead they trav eled a parallel course to the caravan. Now, with the sun at their backs, making it hard to see them, they’re getting closer.”
Bak shaded his eyes with his hand. “They’re up to no good, we must assume, but what do they hope to gain? Our archers could decimate so small a group in no time at all.”
The inspection party rejoined the caravan as the sun sank toward the western horizon. Bidding good-bye to the desert patrol, who hastened east toward the river, they walked forward along the line of donkeys. They found the men in the lead unloading their animals and setting up camp on a broad sweep of desert with a cluster of sandy hillocks off to the west. Seshu stood in the midst of the commotion, issuing orders with skill and authority. Leaving the others to go their own way, Bak and Nebwa walked to him.
As they spoke of the next day’s march, the lord Re set tled on the horizon, preparing to enter the netherworld. The yellow-gold feral dog to which the bundle of sandals had been tied crouched among the piles of supplies, waiting to steal any food it could grab. The creature raised its head and sniffed the air, drawing Bak’s attention. It stood, trotted up the shallow slope to the west, and stopped to sniff again.
The hair rose on the back of its neck and it began to bark.
Other dogs raced up from all directions and they sped out across the desert, barking for all they were worth. Nebwa and Bak exchanged a silent query: a gazelle? Or the nomads they had seen from the watch station?
Before they could go see for themselves, a half-dozen men crested a hillock. The dogs stopped to watch from a safe distance. With the light behind the men, detail was lacking, but Bak could make out long spears and shields.
The sun dipped below the horizon, lighting the sky in one last brilliant flash of color. The figures were for a short time fully visible. Six men of the desert, one standing out from the rest. A man clad in a red kilt, with a red feather rising above his hair.
Nebwa spat out an oath. “Hor-pen-Deshret.”
“The swine has come,” Seshu said with venom.
“He must be the reason we’ve seen no people along the river,” Bak said.
“I’d not be surprised.” Nebwa glared at the men across the sand. “He raided farms and hamlets all along the west bank, taking the animals and harvest for his people and impoverishing the farmers. After he became more daring, robbing caravans and gaining more booty in a single attack than he had during a dozen before, he continued to take what was theirs.”
“He’s come to look us over, to evaluate the risk and gain.” Seshu’s expression was bleak. “I feared something like this would happen. So rich a caravan draws raiders like ants to grease.”
Nebwa was equally grim. “For every man we see, he’ll have eight or ten behind him, camped out of sight some where on the desert.”
“He’s surely heard of Amonked’s mission,” Bak said.
“Wouldn’t he be wise to hold off, waiting until the army is torn from the Belly of Stones?”
“You don’t know Hor-pen-Deshret,” Nebwa growled.
“Greed drives him, not good sense. If he concludes this caravan is worth attacking-and he will-he’ll think of to day’s gain, not tomorrow’s.”
The men’s concern was contagious, infecting Bak. “What of the people along the river? Will they stand with us if we’re attacked? He’s their foe as well as ours.”
Nebwa shrugged. “They fear him greatly and they mis 172
Lauren Haney trust Amonked. To them, one evil may be no better than another.”
Bak muttered a curse. This was the longest stretch be tween fortresses, a three-day march across the open desert to Askut. He and Nebwa, the two sergeants, and twenty archers could easily hold off fifty or so men attacking en masse. But random attacks along the length of a moving caravan or an attack by a large party would be impossible to fight off. Unless… “Go find Lieutenant Merymose and
Sergeant Dedu. Those fifty guards must be trained to be soldiers immediately.”
Chapter Twelve
“I don’t see Hor-pen-Deshret among them.” Bak stared off across the desert at the half-dozen tribesmen who had kept pace with the caravan since they had broken camp at first light.
“Nor do I.” Nebwa, standing with him on a tall granite monolith that rose above the rolling sandhills, eyed the dis tant figures, his face grim. “He’s close by, though. I can feel him.”
“Strange that none of the desert patrols from Iken noticed any unusual movement over the last few days.”
“I’ll wager the swine came from straight out of the desert.”
Bak turned around to look at the long line of donkeys plodding south along the trail. The gentle morning breeze, its chill banished by the sun, was too weak to account for the clear blue sky above the caravan. The sand here was coarse and heavy, almost free of dust. Isolated granite ridges and knobs rose out of a seemingly endless blanket of gold, with long dunes trailing off from their downwind side.
He was worried. By crossing this segment of desert, avoiding the long bend in the river, they were shaving al most two days off their journey. But they had to pay for the shorter passage. The river would be more than an hour’s walk away for a man in a hurry, a march from dawn to dusk for the heavily burdened donkeys. Forced to carry water, each animal was laden with the maximum it could manage, slowing the caravan as a whole while at the same time saving thousands upon thousands of steps.
Taking a final, long look at the tribesmen, he said, “We must assume those men are an advanced guard, keeping an eye on our progress while Hor-pen-Deshret’s fighting force comes from farther afield. Two questions arise: How large will that force be? How long will it take to reach us?”
“He must know we’ve no intention of traveling beyond
Semna, and he’ll want to attack well before we get there.
Other than Buhen, it’s the only garrison with a full com plement of troops.” Nebwa climbed down the side of the monolith, taking care where he placed his feet on the eroded stone. “As for how many men he’s gathered, only the lord Set knows. He’s never been known to risk an attack unprepared.”
“This long stretch of open desert looks to me a good place to strike.”
“I can think of no better.” Nebwa eyed the distant men, his face dour. “I imagine he came yesterday to look us over, to see for himself the riches we’re carrying and the number of men he’ll have to face. If he liked what he saw… And how could he not?… he’ll think the gain worth the risk.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, making it look more out of control than usual. “Let’s hope he’s decided he needs more men and won’t strike until they arrive. He’ll have seen fifty spearmen and twenty archers, but he’d have no way of knowing the spearmen lack training in the arts of war.”
Bak followed him off the protuberance, and the pair set out across the sand, heading toward the caravan. “Last night’s session went better than I expected. If enthusiasm is any measure of success, Merymose will one day be a general. The guards who report to him, as soft as their lives have been in the capital, surprised me with their willingness to learn.”
“They’d better show enthusiasm. Their lives may depend on it.” A sudden thought banished the severity from
