pen-Deshret plans.”
The old man gripped his staff, preparing to stand. “You will stay here through the night.” He gave Bak a humorless smile. “I’ll not have you slain by those wretched tribesmen before the battle begins.”
Bak pulled the leather thong from around his neck, un tied the knot, and held out the ring. “When I told Amonked
I wished to give you a gift, he offered this symbol of his esteem.”
Rona took the ring, studied it, and for a moment Bak feared he had forgotten to breathe. “I’ve seen nothing so magnificent in all my many years. Nothing.” His eyes nar rowed. “Does he hope, with this ring, to make me indebted to him? To oblige me to tell my people they must fight for you and then smile at the loss of the army along the Belly of Stones?”
“The ring is a sign of his regard, that’s all. He hoped you’d show him a mutual respect, and you have. You’ve warned us of the multitude we must face and you’ve told us where we can find them. I’d hoped for more, but the lord Dedun has conspired against me, it seems.”
The lord Dedun and Baket-Amon’s chief wife.
Chapter Fourteen
Bak and Pashenuro left the village at first light and hurried to the nearest watch station, a couple of meager mudbrick buildings built on a high knoll to shelter the half-dozen soldiers posted there. They had expected the station to offer a good vantage point from which to see the caravan ap proaching from the north, but its expansive view proved unnecessary. Men and animals were less than three hundred paces away, breaking camp and preparing to depart. Seshu had kept them marching until nightfall, not stopping until they neared the river and its precious water.
They went first to the station, where they found the men on duty speculating about the tribesmen watching from afar. The sergeant in charge was dismayed to learn of the much larger gathering near Shelfak. He produced the highly polished mirror he used to pass on messages to north and south and, at Bak’s direction, signaled a warning to Askut.
When the inspection party climbed the knoll, Bak drew
Amonked and Nebwa aside to make his report.
“So the local people won’t help us,” Amonked said.
Nebwa screwed up his face in disgust. “Not unless Bak snags Baket-Amon’s slayer. No surprise there. Even then
I’d not want to count their numbers before seeing them in the flesh. Rona can recommend whatever he likes, but if the people think they’d be better off with you dead, they’ll simply close their ears and get on with what suits them.”
The inspector pursed his lips, irritated by so blatant a truth. “Do you have any idea who the slayer might be?” he asked Bak.
“None.” Another truth hard to take, one Bak could not gloss over.
Amonked’s tone sharpened. “Then the wretched creature could as easily be in Buhen as here.”
“Every instinct tells me you brought him with you from
Waset and he’s traveling with us now.”
“I’d feel better, Lieutenant, if you spoke of reason, not instinct.”
“My life has twice been imperiled. One time in Iken, where a man waylaid me in the dark with a dagger…” He spread wide the neck of his tunic, displaying the scabbed over wound. “… and again the night the donkeys were disturbed, when a man with a bow sent arrows my way.
I’d like to believe both attacks occurred because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Instinct, however, tells me that two assaults in two days are not coincidental. As
Hor-pen-Deshret doesn’t know me and would have no rea son to wish me dead, the attempts must’ve been made by one who fears I’ll lay hands on him.”
“I had no idea. Why did you not tell me earlier?”
A third truth, Bak felt, needed to be aired. “Because you’ve the most obvious reason for slaying the prince.”
“I see.” The inspector stared at him, his face drained of feeling, as bland as the sculpted demeanor of his illustrious cousin. “I assume you wish me to plead with my fellow travelers to confess to murder.”
Bak had an idea he was being needled. “I’d be satisfied with the truth, sir.”
“Anything else you’d like, Lieutenant?”
Bak stifled a smile. Now he was sure the inspector was being facetious. “The caravan should reach Askut around midday. Rather than letting it go on while you inspect the fortress, as we’ve been doing, I suggest we make camp there, giving the donkeys a respite and the rest of us additional time to prepare for battle. With the tribesmen no more than a half day’s march south of Askut, we’d be tempting the lord Set if we moved on.”
The caravan turned off the desert trail to follow a branch path down a dry watercourse to the river valley. Hurrying on ahead, Bak, Seshu, and Nebwa selected a campsite on a modest grass- and weed-covered rise that looked out over a patchwork of fields almost ready for harvest. Beyond lay the river, where wide channels untroubled by rapids flowed to either side of several large islands.
The fortress of Askut crowned the summit of the island directly to the east. The towered structure was smaller than
Buhen and triangular in shape to better fit the contours of the land, a long and narrow protuberance of rock and sand dotted with trees and what looked from a distance like gar den plots. The walls were a mottled white, which spoke of a multitude of minor repairs or the need for a coat of fresh plaster.
The small garrison, one company of a hundred men plus officers and support personnel, told of a long period of peace, a relaxation of vigilance, and an assumption that infrequent punitive expeditions would be the extent of their soldiering.
Bak turned his back to the river to look at the campsite, where Seshu awaited the lead string of donkeys. The ani mals had just begun to file out of the wadi, ears cocked, pace quickened to a fast clip-clop, at the sight and scent of fresh, green vegetation on which they could graze.
“I’d offer a dozen fat geese to the lord Amon if I could face Hor-pen-Deshret here,” Nebwa said, eyeing the camp site and surrounding terrain. “If only we could find a way to lure those swine off the desert.”
The wadi mouth held Bak’s attention. “The trail through that dry watercourse offers a possibility almost too good to be true.”
“An ambush, you mean.”
“I can think of no better way to narrow the odds-and we must narrow them. According to Rona, we’re already outnumbered, with more men joining Hor-pen-Deshret each day. Even with help from Askut, they’ll surpass us in num bers.”
The feral dogs raced out of the wadi. Barking at cousins loping across the fields from the nearest village, they sped toward the cluster of houses, which promised fresh pickings if not a warm welcome.
“To form so large a coalition, the snake must’ve dangled dreams of vast wealth before the eyes of every chieftain within a week’s walk of the river. I’m surprised at the re sponse, though. They’re usually more independent, not so eager to share hard-won spoils.”
“If we could toy with those dreams…” Bak’s voice tailed off. He tugged the dried seed head off a stalk of wild grass, his thoughts racing. “I’m uncertain of details. But if we could somehow convince them we’ve all along been transporting greater wealth than they ever imagined, riches that will be gone in a day or two…” Bak’s eyes fell on the first of the donkeys carrying Amonked’s personal pos sessions and he recalled how wrong he had been in thinking the inspector a man of wealth. A common mistake, he felt sure. “If we could lead Hor-pen-Deshret to believe Amon ked fears for his life and plans to travel from Askut to
Semna aboard a ship, where no one can lay hands on him or the riches he carries, I’d wager that’d draw that wretched bandit here, just where we want him.”
“Yes!” An evil smile touched Nebwa’s face. “Under or dinary circumstances, he’d never attack us in a spot so
