The Dark Lord

the Nile Gate revealed the course of battle. Somewhere in the east, beyond the massive rampart and moat under construction at the edge of the suburbs, the Roman Legions were fighting a delaying action, hoping to buy time for the city. Their failure to halt the Persian advance burned in Thyatis' stomach like acid, making every grain precious, the relentless passage of the sun a goad lashing her impatience.

Heedless of who might see, Thyatis stomped down a flight of ancient steps and into a dark-walled alcove. Her fist, gloved in leather and iron chain, slammed on an age-blackened door. The portal rang hollowly, once, then twice. There was no answer.

Thyatis squinted from beneath the cowl of her hood, noting with interest the absence of anyone sleeping or sitting in the alcove. She smiled grimly. The Hunter watches over all places, both the low and the high.

Time was short and the Roman woman turned back to the door. Her fist slammed against the ancient wood again, making a dull booming sound in the room beyond. She began to consider how to break down the portal.

—|—

'What are you doing here? You should leave!' Penelope, old wrinkled face twisted into a ferocious grimace, leaned on a reed cane in the doorway of the dining hall. Shirin rose from a bench, laying down a jeweled clasp on a neat bundle of her clothing. The pin was bent and she had been examining the fragile copper to see if the tip of her hand knife would do for repairs. The low-ceilinged hallway outside the hall was filled with women hurrying to and fro. Everyone was packing in great haste, loading wicker baskets and wooden trunks with the contents of the Temple.

'I wish to speak with the Priestess,' Shirin said, a sharp tone in her voice. 'Is she still in the temple?'

Penelope laughed, limping into the room. The Temple healer had poked and prodded the swollen, purplish bruises, eliciting a hissing gasp from the old woman. Shirin guessed the ankle was broken, though she refrained from comment. She doubted Penelope would accept any advice.

'You'll see no one, now, dearie.' Penelope pointed with her sharp chin to the east. 'An old enemy rushes closer—and we'll soon be gone.' The Egyptian woman laughed, deep-set wrinkles crinkling up around her eyes. 'Like ghosts, into the sand and sea.'

Shirin's lips thinned in anger. 'What about the duradarshan? Will you leave the weapon for the Persians to find? To use against Rome?'

Penelope stared at her for a moment, then sat gingerly on the edge of the table. 'You've not been long in the Order, have you?' The old woman eyed her suspiciously. 'The Daughters of the Hunter care little for the empires of men... we are not Roman slaves! I do not know,' she said in a haughty voice, 'how things are done in the house of the Queen of Day, but here, here you are in Egypt and our kingdom is ancient, far older than these Roman upstarts! They are only flowers on the desert—come and gone in a season.'

'You will be Persian slaves soon,' Shirin replied testily. 'Their priests are not fond of other faiths, not like open-handed Rome. You will find life under their sway far less pleasing! But I care nothing for Rome either—what of the device? You looked in the tomb and found nothing—does it lie somewhere else?'

'I don't know,' Penelope said, shrugging thin shoulders. 'The annals of the Old Time say two of the duradarshan were brought into Khem—which is Egypt—after the Drowning. Legend and rumor say Kleopatra the Betrayer found one, carrying it to her grave. Yet you and I both stood in her funeral chamber and saw nothing—only withered bone and bandages.' The old woman spread her hands. 'Perhaps the rumors were lies, the legends baseless...'

'And the other?' Shirin stood over the own woman, her smooth forehead wrinkled in irritation. 'Where does it lie?'

'Bah!' Penelope stood abruptly, then staggered, forgetting her weak ankle. Shirin caught her by the shoulders and helped her take up her cane. Penelope's expression grew sour and she pushed the Khazar woman away. 'I do not need your help, Roman. Why should I tell you such a thing?'

Shirin stepped away, reining in growing anger. 'I oppose these Persians, even if you do not. They serve a dangerous priest, allied with the enemy of all which lives! I will see their plans and stratagems confused and set to naught, with or without your help.'

Penelope grunted, raising an eyebrow at her bravado. 'There is no one here who can help you. Our mistress has already departed for a place of safety and soon we will join her. You may do as you wish.' Again the bitter laugh. 'If you can do anything at all.'

Shirin stared at the old woman, restraining bitter words. The desire to strike the obdurate Egyptian swelled in her breast. Violence wins nothing here, she reminded herself, struggling to control her temper. Shirin decided to try a different trail in the prickly grass. 'Tell me one thing, Penelope. You said Kleopatra was the last of the Temenid kings of Macedon—how did this happen? I thought...'

The question drew a guffaw of mocking laughter from the old woman. She grinned evilly at Shirin, wagging a wrinkled bony finger. 'A pretty piece of gossip, child. Why should I say anything at all?'

Shirin's hand darted out and snatched the woman's cane away. Penelope goggled, shocked by such rude behavior and Shirin caught her as she fell. The Khazar glared at the Egyptian, teeth gritted, incisors bared. 'I saved your life in the tomb. Now tell me.'

'So you did.' Penelope groped for the cane, sweat beading on her seamed old face. 'Great Alexander had a son—a posthumous son—by the Empress Roxane. Young Alexandros was sent to Macedon to rule as king on his father's throne. But his grandmother Olympias, who proved a veritable tyrant, seized the boy's regency. One of her enemies was Cassander, who raised rebellion against her and overthrew Olympias' regime.'

The old Egyptian smirked, making a ripping motion with her hands. 'The mob beset Olympias and tore her to bits—limb from limb.' Penelope laughed hollowly, enjoying her ghoulish tale. 'A Bacchanalian end for her. Her wiles could not deliver her from the rage of the commons. Poor Roxane was strangled, dying far from home and her family, without friends, amid so many enemies. The boy Alexandros? He was thought dead as well, drowned or left with his throat cut.'

'But he did not die,' Shirin snapped. 'He came to Egypt? Saved by who? By the Daughters?'

'Hah! Never.' A feral light gleamed in Penelope's eyes and she made a crushing motion with her hand. 'Wily Ptolemy stole the boy away, while Cassander slaughtered Olympias' supporters and stole her armies. Young Alexandros was brought to Egypt in the company of Ptolemy's new queen, Eurydice. The court was told the child had been born on Cos... his old name was never spoken and the young boy took his new father's name, Ptolemy the Second. In this way, the blood of Zeus and Herakles flowed down into Pharaoh.'

'I see.' Shirin released the woman and put the cane in her hands. 'Now, tell me—'

A loud crash interrupted, causing both women to turn in surprise. Out in the hallway the Daughters carrying baggage stood frozen, staring in surprise down the passage. One of them hurried into the dining hall, sweating and wide-eyed.

'Mistress Penelope! There's a Roman soldier here—she broke down the outer door with her bare hands. She demands the priestess attend her immediately!'

'What?' The old Egyptian woman spat on the floor. 'Throw her out!'

'We tried,' the messenger said, rubbing a violent bruise on her cheek. 'She's a Daughter, from the Roman temple.'

'Two in a day?' Penelope turned to Shirin, but the Khazar woman was gone, making the old woman blink in surprise.

—|—

Thyatis growled, storming down a narrow passage, head tilted to one side to avoid the low, triangular ceiling. She had her spatha in both hands, blade partially drawn. A clutch of women fell back as she advanced, hampers and baskets held before them in a wicker barrier. 'Where is the priestess in charge of this pestilential hole?' Thyatis felt no qualm at shouting in the sacred precincts.

The acolytes cowered behind their baggage, but an arched opening appeared on her right. In the room beyond an elderly Egyptian woman was sitting at a table, a perplexed expression on her face, chin resting on her hands, curled around the head of a cane.

'Are you the Hunter's Daughter?' Thyatis stabbed the sheathed sword at the old woman.

'And you would be?' Yellow teeth bared in a cheerless grin.