He eyed the glittering wound on the side of a boulder where, during their outbound trek, Nebre had chipped away a piece of rock to mark their path. “I thank the lord Amon that we had the good sense to leave a clear trail when we entered these mountains.”
Nebre looked back over his shoulder. “I haven’t spotted anyone behind us, sir, which surprises me. If the man we fol lowed is trying to slay us, he’d surely come after us.”
“He has to have guessed the caravan’s destination-and ours. He may know a shorter way than the route we’re taking.”
“If only I’d been quicker with the bow! The threat of leav ing him untended where he lay would’ve set him talking soon enough. We’d have no further doubt as to why he’s been watching us.”
“He probably believes we’ll lead him to the gold Min nakht is rumored to have discovered.”
“We’ve found no gold, and User swears we never will.”
Bak scowled at the landscape around them. “Who knows what we’d find if we’d stay in one place and explore the land all around.”
“The watching man must know we’ve done no searching.”
“The merest thought of great wealth can besot a man far more than the strongest date wine-and a besotted individual is often a man of irrational determination.”
“What of Dedu and the other slain man? Did he fear he’d have to share with them?” Nebre asked.
“What of the man who went missing almost a year ago?
The one Amonmose heard of in Kaine. And don’t forget that
Nefertem swore his father was slain.”
“The foul deed of Senna, you think? To guide Minnakht would’ve been a desirable task, I’d wager.”
“If he slew Nefertem’s father so he might toil for Min nakht, why would he then slay Minnakht?”
While they puzzled over the problem, they turned into a wadi paved with loose stones ranging in size from a man’s fist to his head. They were forced to walk single file along a narrow path the nomads had painstakingly cleared by shift ing the rocks off the sandy bed of the watercourse. Low cairns rose at irregular intervals, marking the course of the track. Out in the open as they were, with no way to go other than the path they were following, they felt exposed, easy game for a man thinking to ambush them.
They hurried along, studying the landscape to either side, tense with anticipation. They must have been a quarter of an hour’s walk from the main wadi when they rounded a bend and saw a man on a hillside ahead, two hundred or so paces away. He was looking toward them across the mouth of an intersecting wadi as if he had anticipated their arrival. He was tall and slender. His kilt and tunic looked white in the uncertain light, making him appear more a man of Kemet than a nomad. Instead of spear and shield, he carried a bow and quiver. His features were indistinct from so far away, and it was impossible to discern the color of his skin in the late evening glow.
Nebre tore an arrow from his quiver, but was too confused to seat it. “Is he the man we saw before, or isn’t he? Can there be two of them, do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Bak admitted, equally at a loss.
The man stood where he was, watching them, as if waiting for them to draw near. What is the range of his weapon? Bak wondered. Is he carrying an ordinary bow? Or a composite bow such as those carried by Nebre and me? Far superior weapons to the older type, and with a range markedly longer.
Weapons not easy to lay hands on in a barren wilderness.
To leave the path and risk a broken ankle would have been foolhardy, and neither Bak nor Nebre was in any mood to turn around and run. Assuming the man’s bow to be ordinary, praying it was, they quickened their pace and forged ahead.
Scraps of white caught Bak’s eye. Several men striding into the wadi from an intersecting watercourse fifty or so paces beyond the hill on which the man stood. Kaha, Min mose, and Amonmose. Spotting Bak and Nebre, the portly trader placed his hands in front of his mouth to form a horn and shouted. Bak could not make out the words, but assumed a greeting. He raised a hand and waved.
“They must’ve thought us lost,” Nebre said, breaking into a smile.
Bak pointed toward the man on the hillside. “Shall we snare him?”
“Yes, sir!”
As they ran forward, the man hurried across the slope, moving to a spot from which he could see the Medjays and the trader. He stopped beside an upended slab of rock and peered around it. He must have realized he would be caught between Bak and Nebre and the other men, for he swung around, wove an upward path through the broken rocks clut tering the slope, and vanished over the hill’s crest.
“I couldn’t be certain,” Bak said. “He was too far away.
But he might well have been a man of Kemet.”
“Nomads sometimes move to Kemet, seeking a better way of life, and adopt the clothing and ways of our people.”
Amonmose, fully recovered from his experience in the flood waters, strode beside Bak with the vigor of a youth. “Perhaps the man you saw has come home to visit his kin.”
The evening had cooled, and a steady breeze blew along the eastern slope of the desert heights. In the clear air, the moon and stars glowed bright and clean, illuminating the hoofprints and droppings left by the donkeys in the caravan.
Their small party had followed the tracks down the main wadi and were crossing a low divide of gravel banks covered with sand, making their way to the next watercourse and the well.
“After following one man and losing him, you can imag ine how surprised we were to see another. If he was a differ ent man.”
“Are you sure the one who led you into the mountains is the same man who sent the boulder crashing down?”
“I’d wager my best kilt that he is. I know for a fact that he entered the gorge the night Dedu was slain.”
Thinking back over the chase through the foothills, Bak felt exceedingly frustrated. He had told Commandant Thuty that he knew nothing of the Eastern Desert and had thus far proven it over and over again. Their quarry had led him and
Nebre through the rugged landscape as if he held them on a leash, then had evaded them with the ease of a lizard in a thicket of thorny brush.
“I must admit I prayed you’d snare him,” Amonmose said.
“I’d not like to lead him to my fishing camp. If he’s treading the sands of this desert, slaying men for the fun of it, he might think my men fair game.”
Bak thought of the men who had been slain or had gone missing and might well be dead. Five men, at least four of them involved with exploring this vile land in search of riches. He doubted the fishermen were in danger, but still…
“Would it not be wise to send them across the Eastern Sea to the port that serves the turquoise and copper mines? They could sail out daily and would have a ready market for their catch. I think it safe to assume they’d be in no danger there.”
“Hmmm.” Amonmose’s brow wrinkled in thought. “The fishing is better around the islands on this side of the sea, but the men’s lives are worth more than a small profit.” He stubbed a toe on a rock, muttered an oath. “I suppose I’d have to cross the sea, too. They’ll need passes and other doc uments. Would you object if Nebenkemet and I travel on with you?”
Pleased that he would not have to cajole the merchant into accompanying him, Bak smiled. “You must vow that we’ll have no more swims in a flooded wadi.”
The trader laughed. “Not so much as a bath, Lieutenant.”
His good humor fading, Bak asked, “Now that User no longer has a guide, do you think he’ll alter his plan to remain in the Eastern Desert?”
“Ani’s been talking of turquoise since leaving Kaine. If he has his way, he’ll convince User to go on. If he can’t, I’m cer tain he’ll wish to tag along with us. Would User not be fool hardy to remain here, with no one to travel with but Wensu?”
Bak made a silent promise to himself to have a word with the explorer. Whether or not someone in his party had slain the man found dead north of Kaine, he wanted them all to stay together and to accompany him across the
