Servant of the Gods Read online

  The memory of their last night, of touching her and being touched, moved through him and his body tightened…

  Gravely, but with her brilliant eyes sparkling, she lowered her head with a small smile to answer his own, clearly having noted his rise in status as he’d noted hers and as pleased to see it.

  That was gratifying as well, that she held nothing against him for her period of enslavement.

  With difficulty, Irisi drew her eyes away.

  Anticipation was so thick in the air it was nearly palpable. Folk chattered and whispered to each other, speculating. Wondering. Fearful looks and wards against the evil eye were pointed surreptitiously at Kamenwati, in hopes the gesture might ward off any chance of his ascension to the throne.

  Music played as servants and slaves offered delicacies. Dancers spun, their cymbals rang, feet and skirts flying as other dignitaries arrived to fill the hall, each with his or her own attendants.

  Another group of entertainers tumbled in from among those in the hall, the flute players doing standing somersaults, others bounding into handsprings, cartwheels as some of the men spun on their toes, arms outstretched. It was a fine display of acrobatic skill. There were gasps of appreciation and wonder around the room.

  However, the last of the guests had arrived. Narmer gave a nod and the trumpeters blew a light fanfare as he rose to his feet, clapping his hands for attention.

  This was most unusual, Narmer himself speaking.

  For some reason, Irisi glanced back at Kamenwati and saw him frown a little, his eyes narrowing in a clear displeasure and dismay before he shuttered his expression.

  Kamenwati didn’t like it. It was most unusual for Narmer to speak for himself. Nor had Narmer spoken to him of this save to summon him to the palace. He’d been suspicious of such a thing, though. To break protocol in such a way… Somehow it boded ill. And he didn’t like that one bit. Still, he’d prepared, just in case.

  The hall fell silent as the King came to his feet.

  “Many of you have counseled that I should name my heir,” Narmer said, gesturing at his many advisors, Kamenwati among them, and the priestesses and priests. “And many has been the debate as to who that should or shall be. I’m happy to announce that today I shall name that one. To my joy and pleasure, my beloved Suten Hime, Paniwi, is with child.”

  The words couldn’t have come as more of a surprise to anyone there, least of all Kamenwati.

  Paniwi had tried to conceive many times and miscarried three, to great grieving through all of Egypt. If they were making this announcement, though, then the worst days had passed. They were certain. Standing, Paniwi smoothed her hands over her robes, revealing her swelling belly. She smiled radiantly.

  Kamenwati went rigid, his stomach curdling. Rage turned his vision red and prickled his skin.

  All the priests and priestesses glanced around, feeling the same tingle of magic that Irisi did and each stiffened but only she was watching the acrobats and flute players. Her gaze seemed drawn to them.

  They’d slipped their flutes under their belts with the others there as the horns sounded. Now, they drew a different set from their belts and put the ends to their lips as the tumblers dove forward.

  Darts flew from the flutes to strike the Nubian guards.

  To a one, the guards clapped hands where the darts stung them. Instinct and training took over. Automatically they swarmed the King and Paniwi, putting their bodies in the way of danger, even as they stumbled and fell. Poison in the darts doing its deadly work. One among them shoved the Grand Vizier aside as they leaped to protect their King, as was their sworn duty.

  Pinned to the floor by the bodies of his guards, Irisi saw Narmer struggle to free himself and defend both himself and his consort.

  Almost everyone else froze but Irisi. Combat-hardened and prepared, she leaped forward, conjuring up her swords. She spun them in her hands to get a feel for the weight of them once again as the acrobats tumbled and sprang past those few who tried to intervene, racing toward the King.

  No others had been allowed weapons within the King’s presence, and so no others were armed, save for the Nubian guards.

  The assassins were clearly equipped. Knives appeared from their sleeves and from sheaths at the backs of their necks. They slashed at any who got in their way.

  Irisi put herself between the assassins and the King.

  One threw a blade at her but her whirling sword caught it. It spun and clattered away across the room as the crowd scrambled to escape the deadly onslaught.

  Irisi set herself as they launched themselves at her and was surprised to find someone at her side.

  Khai, joining her, snatched up the swords the Nubian guards had dropped as they fell.

  Although Khai hadn’t felt the magic, he’d clearly seen the sudden tension among the priests and caught movement from the corner of his eye.

  Motion and danger freed the priests and priestesses from the momentary paralysis of surprise.

  As with Irisi, he was accustomed to action.

  They met in the center of the room, facing the assassins.

  Then their opponents were on them and it was simply a flurry of blades, defense, Irisi countering two as Khai took the other two.

  Irisi saw the flute players lift their flutes again and blew.

  “Darts,” she cried in warning, in case Khai and the others hadn’t seen.

  Banafrit called up the wind with a gesture, blowing the darts away as she ran with the others to protect the King, his consort, and the child yet to be.

  Djeserit and Kahotep pulled the massive bodies of the guards away, demonstrating astonishing strength.

  Launching a kick, Irisi drove one of the assassins into the path of an oncoming missile as she spun to avoid an attack by his partner. The first assassin fell to the dart as the other lunged. Behind and beyond them the flute players pulled the last of their flutes from their waistbands, yanking them apart to reveal longer blades concealed within them.

  Khai called, “’Ware,” as he backhanded one and kicked another back far enough to take him in the throat with his borrowed blade.

  Seeing the acrobats come in a tumbling run, Irisi nodded in answer. He watched as Irisi demonstrated her own skill at acrobatics as she raced after them, springing into a standing flip to land between them and the King, stopping instantly to spin and drive her sword through one assassin as the rest spread out around her.

  In some part of Khai’s mind, he noted that she was lovely to watch while fighting. There was something incredibly graceful about it. She was beautiful and deadly. Nor did he have to watch for her – she seemed to know instinctively where to be – or to have a care for his back, and he for hers. It was a pleasure to fight with her, back to back, side by side, as if they were matched and well matched at that.

  The priests and priestesses had dragged the bodies of the Nubians free, giving the King and consort a chance to escape, closing around them as a human shield.

  Irisi looked back over her shoulder as the flutists converged on Khai.

  She didn’t try anything fancy, she just ran, dropped and slid feet first on the highly polished marble floor with her swords up to guard, sweeping the feet from beneath many of them. One saw her coming and leaped over her. Trained acrobats, they still scrambled at the unexpected collision of her body with their ankles.

  Khai thrust one of his swords through an acrobat, caught one of the flutists across the arm with the backswing even as Irisi rolled to her feet to face another.

  “We need one of them alive,” Khai called, as he fought the other flute player and the wounded one, “to know who it was that hired them.”

  She nodded in response.

  It was clear that the knowledge that they might live to be questioned only seemed to make the assassins more determined to fight and die. A flute player attacked with a ferocity and desperation unbounded by fear for his life.

  Khai faced the same.

  Spinning on her toes, Irisi attac
ked in turn, but not her own opponent. Rather she struck at the unwounded one of Khai’s, knowing her own opponent would be caught off guard by her action as he watched for an opening. She gave Khai one instead.

  The surprise attack caught the flute player’s attention, taking him off guard. Seeing his advantage, Khai hit him squarely with a punch. The man staggered back and collapsed as Khai dodged the blade of the wounded one.

  For herself, Irisi sensed the imminent attack against her undefended back and arched, crossing her swords above her head to catch the descending blade, trapping it even as she continued the turn, spinning into a kick that nearly took the man’s head off.

  He collapsed, unconscious.

  Two.

  All the rest were dead.

  She looked at Khai briefly, letting out a breath and then she felt a shiver of magic.

  “No!” she cried, and leaped toward their opponents.

  The two unconscious men writhed, struggled, their hands going to their throats as they choked and fought the magical constriction.

  Frantically, Irisi tried to ward them… Too late.

  She kicked one of the flute-swords aside in frustration as Khai knelt next to one of the men, and placed a hand on that one’s chest to check for life before swearing softly.

  “Dead,” he said.

  All around them was shocked silence.

  The King and Paniwi had been escorted to safety by the priests and priestesses.

  All that remained in the Hall now were some few of the guests who hadn’t been able to flee and some of the dignitaries who’d been shielded by their own guards…

  And the Grand Vizier.

  Looking into Kamenwati’s impenetrable dark eyes and empty expression, something inside Irisi shivered as a cold chill ran down her back. She’d learned his ways well during that year she’d been in his house.

  He wasn’t pleased…but why?

  Instinctively, she warded both herself and Khai against magic, keeping the wards invisible to all but the most careful eye.

  Khai saw Irisi’s sudden watchfulness and turned, feeling eyes bore into his back.

  Both of them watched as the Grand Vizier turned and strode away.

  Softly, Irisi said, “He was the only other with magic in the room but for me.”

  “It could have been someone outside,” Khai said, but he knew the rumors, too.

  Those strange and beautiful eyes of hers lifted to his.

  “It could,” she agreed.

  But it hadn’t been. And she knew that he knew it as well.

  “He’s a dangerous enemy,” Khai warned.

  Irisi laughed a little, remembering Kamenwati’s threat. “Too late.”

  For both of them, Khai feared.

  As a general, he had some protection even against the Vizier as did Irisi as Priestess… Still…

  Irisi was here in Thebes…alone…

  Chapter Ten

  Narmer paced angrily within the relative safety of his own private hall, his jaw tight. While less grand than the great hall it was still quite beautiful, the golden marble of the walls softening the cold square lines of the room. In niches all around were the figures of the Gods, painted and gilded, none of them more than an arm’s length tall.

  Irisi found Isis among them. The Goddess’s eyes seemed to look warmly on her before Irisi turned her gaze back to the others.

  The Queen-consort also watched the King, her dark liquid eyes showing only a slight trace of her own fear. Her hand was laid protectively over her belly and the child within it as she reached for Narmer. His grim visage softened a little as he took her hand, lifted and pressed it to his mouth. There was love there, and fear and anger, clear for all to see.

  None of the priests and priestesses had left as yet. The captain of the King’s Nubian guard stood by the window, glowering, his anger and grief reflected in his bowed head and every line of his body. Replacements for the dead guards stood in place at the doors and near the King.

  So, too, were gathered the King’s chief advisors and councilors. Including Kamenwati.

  All attention was on the King.

  He’d removed the false beard and his crown, wearing now only the robes he’d worn in the great hall and his other jewelry.

  A tall man of regal bearing, his face was narrow, his cheekbones high, his eyes long and narrow, his dark hair fell as straight as rain to his shoulders. He was a strongly built man, broad in the shoulder, powerful in the chest.

  This was a rare and privileged moment, for all of the circumstances of it, to see Narmer in his own quarters and Irisi knew it, standing at Banafrit’s side once again. Irisi’s ribs hurt, low on her back where she’d taken a kick she didn’t remember and a cut on her upper arm stung. Blood still flowed sluggishly from it.

  Khai was little better, having taken a cut across his chest that must hurt. A bruise darkened his cheekbone.

  Briefly again, their eyes met. It seemed that something shivered between them…

  “Both died?” Narmer demanded, his lips tight.

  Khai answered, being the higher ranked.

  “Yes, my Lord King. We took pains to keep two alive for questioning but they died. The priestess felt magic.”

  It was a shock for Khai to realize he didn’t know her name any more than he had on the night he’d lain with her, or the day he’d sold her. He only knew her as the foreign slave, now priestess.

  Under the gaze of the King and the Grand Vizier, the woman who’d once been his slave didn’t lift her eyes to Khai’s again, staying…contained…if not humble.

  It wasn’t in her to be meek or mild, Khai thought, not as he remembered and kept his smile to himself.

  “Is this true, Lady Irisi?” Narmer said, turning to her.

  Even now Irisi found it odd to be addressed so, she who’d been born to a farmer, and been both mercenary and slave, especially by the King.

  For the first time, she met his gaze directly. “Yes, my Lord King. Two were alive but unconscious…and then they died.”

  “Magic.”

  Irisi nodded. “Yes, my Lord.”

  It would be…unwise…to make accusations…more unwise to lie to the King.

  Angry, frustrated, and frightened, Narmer threw up his hands.

  “Why?” he demanded of everyone and no one.

  He looked to his Grand Vizier Kamenwati and then to his Generals. “Have you heard anything? There’s been no word of unrest or you should have told me of it.”

  Bowing, Kamenwati shook his head, keeping his voice even. “No, my Lord King. There’s been nothing.”

  The Generals, too, shook their heads.

  Khai said, inclining his head. “It’s not your way, my Lord. We offer terms. If they’re still determined to fight then we fight. But we treat them well once the fighting is over, unless they give us cause to do otherwise. We give them no reason to hate us. Only a fool leaves an embittered enemy behind to be governed, and another, harder, battle to fight at your back.”

  “Then why?”

  Silence was best as Khai couldn’t answer that question. With an effort, he didn’t look at Kamenwati.

  As General he had a great deal of power but not enough to offset that of the Grand Vizier. He dared not accuse him without more information, whatever his suspicions.

  It had long been whispered that Kamenwati wished to be King, although none did so in the King’s or Kamenwati’s hearing, and none out loud. Khai had had few dealings with the Grand Vizier in his rise through the ranks and was grateful for it. Those who pleased Kamenwati found themselves bound to him for his favors; those who didn’t found that luck deserted them.

  Sensing the tension, Banafrit spoke up.

  “Even in the most peaceful times there are always some who are bitter, angry, and feel themselves ill treated, my Lord King,” Banafrit offered, “Perhaps once we discover from whence these acrobats came we’ll have more answers for you. For the moment, though, we simply don’t know enough.”

  Na
rmer looked at the two who’d saved his life, one of his Generals and a priestess of Isis. If not for them he might be dead – he, his beloved Paniwi, and the child yet to be born as well.

  “This is small thanks to you both for saving my life,” he said, unusually apologetic for a King but he owed them that much. “And that of my consort and my child.”

  High Priestess Banafrit looked proud. He couldn’t blame her, her acolyte had done well. Unless he missed his guess, Banafrit was grooming the foreign girl to be her successor. That would be interesting.

  He let out a breath.

  “What is it you would ask of the King in thanks for his life?” he said.

  Both shook their heads.

  He might have laughed and considered it sophistry if it had been any other than these two or one or two of the priests. Others might have courted favor but not Khai, nor this foreign girl. He fixed her with his gaze, demanded her acceptance on this.

  Meeting that look, feeling both Banafrit’s and Kamenwati’s eyes on her, Irisi sighed. “My Lord, it is only my duty…”

  Which was nothing more than the truth.

  “Name it,” he said, firmly.

  What did she need? Little. She’d been given much by the Temple… More than she’d ever known.

  Taking a breath, Irisi looked at her King evenly but respectfully. “I have a home here, a place where I’ve long had none. For myself, I ask nothing, but Sekhmet’s priestess made me a gift of four lion cubs. They have no place to hunt. Would you give me leave to hunt on your preserves, once a month, so they should know what it is to hunt live prey?”

  Narmer was nonplussed.

  Lion cubs.

  Sky blue eyes looked at him then lowered respectfully.

  So little to ask. There wasn’t enough gold so precious as Paniwi’s life, or the child yet unborn, but she didn’t ask it.

  Smiling, he said, “Twice a month.”

  The Priestess bowed her head in assent.

  The King turned to his General.

  Another foreigner this Khai although he’d been born in Egypt, but he’d ever been faithful, dependable. He too bore the wounds of battle, taken in his King’s defense.