The Age of Ra

''I know. But I saw those men die, with my own eyes. You weren't there. I was. You can talk casually about casualties, but watching it happen is a whole different thing. It's not something anyone can ever get used to. I just want you to bear that in mind, Steven. You sent four of your men out to their deaths. And they're only the first. There will be others.''

''Fair point,'' said Steven. ''Duly noted. What you haven't mentioned is that I nearly send you out to your death.''

''You didn't send me. I volunteered.''

''Even so, I could have said no. Would have, if you hadn't been so damn insistent.''

''The mission needed someone in charge who had proper military experience.''

''Well, for the record, I was worried sick all week. If you'd been killed, I'd never have forgiven myself. What was I thinking? I must have been crazy to let you talk me into it. Zafirah would have managed fine without you. Fuck it, I shouldn't even have sent her. She's not expendable. Neither are you.''

''No one is,'' David said firmly. ''That's what I'm getting at.''

''OK, OK.'' Steven put up his hands, surrendering. ''Enough of the lecturing. I understand where you're coming from. I don't disagree.''

''Just as I promised, I'm here to make sure you don't do anything rash.''

''My brother, my conscience.''

''Bingo.'' David drained his beer. ''And now I'm going to stop giving advice and ask for some instead.''

''Advice? From me? Well, there's a turn-up. Fire away.''

David hesitated, then said, ''Zafirah.''

''Zafirah? What do you-?'' Steven stopped, and his mouth curled into a sly smile. ''Oh, don't tell me. You're smitten. Dave's smitten with Zafirah. Who'd have thought?''

''I wouldn't say I was-''

''It's written all over your face,'' Steven said, the smile turning gleeful. ''And I can't honestly say I blame you. She's a looker all right. Nice tits. Firm, round arse. And those eyes…''

''You know her. Pretty well. Don't you?''

''Could say that. As well as anyone can get to know Zafirah. It's been three years — more — and I like to think she and I have a pretty good understanding of each other. Even so, I feel I've only scratched the surface with her. She doesn't let people in easily.''

''I've noticed.''

''Desert girl. Hard, hot, beautiful, inhospitable. And so now you're the mole-rat, wanting to make himself a burrow.''

''Don't take the piss.''

''I'm not taking the piss. I am surprised, though. She doesn't seem your type.''

''I don't have a type. Do I have a type?''

''Blonde. Wealthy. Brittle. That's the woman I always remember you going for.''

David cast his mind back over his past relationships. Girls like Kismet, Aida, 'Titi, Alex. Each had seemed as different from the others as trees in a forest. But they had all belonged to the same forest; that was undoubtedly true. The same species of tree, moreover.

''Alex wasn't blonde,'' he said, adding, ''Well, not naturally.''

Steven chuckled. ''A collar-cuff mismatch, huh? Well, be that as it may. Your choices were never anything less than classy. Never anything less than frosty, either. The kind of women you could keep at arm's length, because they didn't mind. That's how they kept you. Zafirah, though, she's a whole different proposition. And if you really want my advice…''

''I do.''

''I'd steer clear.''

''What?'' David was startled.

''For one thing, that's a father-fixated girl you're dealing with. She told you about her daddy, the great freedom fighter and martyr? She still worships him. He's dead and no man will ever live up to him in her estimation. So you're competing against his ghost, and you're unlikely to win. Plus, she's wedded to the cause. This cause. My cause. It's what drives her on. It's all she really cares about. There's an emptiness inside her and this is what fills it. This is what gives shape and meaning to her life.''

''Oh.''

''Oh? You haven't noticed?''

''I knew she was… committed,'' David said. ''I didn't see it as anything more than that.''

''Committed to the hilt. She wants the Pantheon's hold over the world broken as much as I do, maybe even more.''

''And in the meantime she's not interested in anything else?''

''Nothing you can offer.''

David pondered this. He supposed Steven was right. Steven had had three years to get the measure of Zafirah's character. By all accounts they had been working closely together.

Yet, at the restaurant the other night, Zafirah had referred to her father in disparaging terms, as a ''coward'', and had shown a trace of scepticism when talking about causes.

Perhaps Steven saw things that he, David, did not. Equally, perhaps he was mistaken.

There was a third possibility, and it put David in mind of Steven's account of his adventures after the sinking of the Immortal.

Perhaps he was lying.

David trusted his brother. On the big issues, not least his crusade against the gods, he believed Steven meant everything he said. But on lesser issues, personal matters, he was not so sure. When it was just the two of them together, Steven didn't always seem to be entirely on the level.

He realised, in a flash of insight, that there was a clear distinction here.

He trusted the Lightbringer. Steven, on the other hand, he wasn't so sure about.

What did that mean?

''Can I ask a question?'' he said.

''Of course,'' said Steven.

''Do you fancy Zafirah?''

''Sure. Why not? Who wouldn't?'' This was said dismissively, as if David had wanted to know whether he liked sandwiches.

''So you wouldn't be trying to put me off her for any specific reason?''

''Such as?''

''Well, to, you know, keep her for yourself.''

''Dave, you wound me,'' Steven said, mock-hurt. But not wholly convincingly mock-hurt. ''I'm your brother. I'm just looking out for your best interests, and I'm telling you — listen to me — Zafirah isn't for you.'' He repeated it, in case David hadn't got the message — ''She isn't for you'' — and his voice took on a strange, resonant timbre as he spoke. The words seemed to penetrate deep inside David's head and lodge themselves there.

''Anyway, for your information, I've bigger fish to fry than Zafirah,'' Steven added, sounding more like himself again. He yanked the Lightbringer mask down, tucking the base of it inside the collar of his undershirt. ''In case you haven't noticed, I'm rather busy saving the world at present.''

''I understand. I'm sorry.''

''You'd better leave.'' Steven's posture had shifted. Stiffened. ''Go get some rest. You said it yourself: you're exhausted. 'Bye, Dave.''

David, dismissed, walked back through the Valley of Kings to Luxor, and with every step he took through the necropolis he could think only of his brother's advice that he should leave Zafirah be. He could hardly think of anything else.

It made a kind of sense. Steven knew her. He was trying to protect David. He didn't see them as a good match.

Zafirah isn't for you.

She wasn't for him. That was all there was to it.