Servant of the Gods Read online

  Khai looked at him. “My men need more arms, more tents.”

  Shaking his head, Narmer waved, looking at his aides. “Make it so.”

  Nothing for themselves, either of them.

  They were both mad and Narmer prayed he’d have more of that insanity around him. It seemed he’d need it.

  Assassins.

  Anger sparked again at the thought. To have attacked him in his own Hall…

  Already, Mdjai, the head of his Nubian guard pressed more men on him, more protection.

  Still…

  Narmer looked to Paniwi, his beloved, and thought of the precious life within her.

  It would be as Mdjai asked, for her sake and for the sake of the heir and child she carried.

  “And a hundred gold coins to each.”

  With a nod and a wave he dismissed them all.

  It was no little sum the King had given them. Had Irisi had it those years ago, she could have bought her freedom with it, if Kamenwati would have granted it, and had coin to spare…

  Chapter Eleven

  It was a quiet group that dispersed into the halls of the King’s palace after the events of the evening. Some went their own way while others huddled with each other to speak in whispers. Banafrit glanced over her shoulder as Kamenwati was surrounded by his sycophants, some of the other advisors and councilors, striding away at their fore as they badgered him with requests for answers and instructions. Some of the other priests and priestesses went their separate ways, also, not wishing to be involved in the politics.

  But not all.

  The priests and priestesses of most of the major Gods walked with her. Her own beloved Awan, High Priest of Osiris, was at her side. Kahotep, Djeserit, Nafre, Irisi, and a few of the others joined them.

  “You say Kamenwati was the only one remaining in the great hall when the two acrobats died?” Banafrit asked Irisi in a low voice.

  This might be their last and only chance to speak of it unobserved. Kamenwati would take no chances and he had spies everywhere.

  Surprisingly, another voice answered, a deeper one.

  “With all the fighting going on the room was mostly empty,” General Khai said. “Only Kamenwati remained.”

  Banafrit was alarmed to find the General joining them. No few of the other Generals owed a debt to Kamenwati in one way or another. Irisi caught her eye and gave a slight nod. Banafrit looked into the General’s eyes and saw what was there in them. So they weren’t alone in this. At least one of the Generals was with them, too. That was good. Narmer’s chief General, Akhom, was questionable while General Baraka – commander of the charioteers – was known to be in Kamenwati’s favor. For the moment. Kamenwati’s favor tended to shift with the wind.

  It had taken careful consideration for Khai to risk this chance meeting, but after what had happened in the great hall… His concern aroused, he knew he needed allies.

  Looking to Irisi, he knew he had at least one ally among these here. Her eyes sharpened, brightened as they met his.

  “General Khai,” Banafrit said, acknowledging him.

  He nodded as gravely back at her.

  Banafrit looked around her at the others.

  Not a one among them but didn’t guess, Banafrit knew, that Kamenwati was behind the assassination attempt. The timing had been too perfect, with the announcement of the King’s heir. They all knew of Kamenwati’s ambition, and all had felt dark magic move among them. He alone had the best and strongest reason to want the King dead and at this particular time, when the King had been expected to announce his heir. If the King had died as intended, then Kamenwati would likely have been the next King. The announcement that the Queen Consort was with child must have been a shock but Kamenwati had been prepared all the same.

  A softer voice said, bitterly, “When Kamenwati should have been with his King although Narmer won’t acknowledge it, for the hold the glamour has on him.”

  Djeserit.

  “Even if he wasn’t, Kamenwati will simply say he was making sure the assassins were no longer a threat,” Kahotep, the High Priest of Horus, said. “He has a facile tongue, has our Kamenwati.”

  “You felt the magic, Irisi?” Djeserit asked.

  Irisi dipped her head in assent. “It was magic that took both lives. They were unconscious, helpless, of that I’m sure.”

  “As did we all feel it,” Banafrit pointed out, “when the first move was made and the guards slain.”

  “But to kill the King,” gentle Nafre, priestess of Hathor protested. “To put that weight on his soul…”

  With a sigh, Irisi said, “Not on his soul, not by Kamenwati’s lights, but on another’s. That’s why I fled his service. Kamenwati demanded that I kill in the ring. To do so in honest battle, for a cause each side believes to be just, that’s one thing, but to kill for sport…for entertainment?”

  She shuddered.

  All here knew her history, she knew, it was no secret.

  “I couldn’t,” she said. “It was my soul, after all, that was truly at risk. Mine the hand that would have done the deed. As with these acrobats. When they heard General Khai say he wanted one of them kept alive, they fought all the more ferociously, all the more desperately. Even to face Ma’at with the innocent death of another on their souls, they feared being taken alive more than they feared death and that judgment.”

  Nafre looked at her in shock. It was clearly incomprehensible to her.

  “It’s true,” Khai confirmed as they all stepped out of the King’s palace and into the night. “I saw that as well.”

  “But why?” Nafre said.

  Kahotep said, kindly, “You’ve heard the rumors, Nafre.”

  Though his words were mild, his face was grim, his jaw tight.

  Kahotep knew none of them hadn’t heard such, nor had they not had their share of slaves and servants seek refuge from the Grand Vizier’s ‘care’. To a man and a woman, all those that escaped refused to speak Kamenwati’s name, much less tell of what went on in his compound but all were truly convinced of their peril.

  A dozen faces turned to Irisi, questions in their eyes they dared not ask.

  Irisi shook her head. “I never saw it, or he’d never have left me go free. Nor did I wish to try for fear of what I might see and be helpless to prevent, but I heard whispers. Valuable slaves went missing, never to be seen again.”

  Those deaths still weighed on her.

  “I could do nothing. At night I was kept chained,” she said, quietly, absently rubbing her wrists where the scars of the rough chafing iron were only beginning to fade.

  “So,” Djeserit said, “what can we do?”

  “Little, without proof,” Banafrit said.

  Quietly her Awan, her beloved husband, offered, “There are ways…if I can get my hands on the dead assassins. They should be brought to me in any case.”

  “Go carefully, Awan,” Banafrit cautioned. “Kamenwati has a great deal of power and influence among the King’s councilors.”

  Not that Awan wouldn’t know this, she knew.

  “And among the army,” Khai added, “some of the Generals owe their positions to Kamenwati’s influence.”

  Khai spoke carefully around General Baraka, rather than have his words come back on him.

  “Tread carefully there, my Lord General,” Banafrit said. “Kamenwati is a powerful enemy.”

  Khai nodded. “I know it well.”

  “So,” Banafrit said, “we tighten our protections around the King, Paniwi, and the child.”

  “And then what?” Djeserit said, her eyes burning red in the darkness.

  Shaking her head sadly, Banafrit said, “We wait for Kamenwati to make another move. Or until we have proof of his involvement, something we can take before the King. Enough to make him believe, despite Kamenwati’s glamour.”

  They dispersed into the darkness, going their separate ways, their hearts heavy.

  The outer compound was largely silent. The stars wheeled coldly through the
sky above. Kamenwati strode into his house, throwing off his kilt as he entered and leaving it for a servant to catch as he turned for the stairs to go below. The Gods help the servant who allowed even one thread to touch the floor.

  Below…below it was not silent.

  Thick walls muffled the sounds of misery and pain as Kamenwati took his frustrations out on those who couldn’t fight back.

  It would be more difficult now. Having lost some of their own, the King’s guards would be that much more alert, more prepared. It was likely Mdjai would’ve ordered more guards around both Narmer and his consort.

  Paniwi.

  Anger surged.

  If it hadn’t been for the interference of that damnable slave, that priestess of Isis, they’d both be dead and he would be King. Kamenwati ground his teeth tightly.

  Once again she’d put his plans to flight.

  Had it not been for her and that other, General Khai, Kamenwati would have been wearing the crown of Egypt this day.

  If she’d been here in his hands…his rage was savage as he spent it on the body of the slave bound before him.

  A voice from the darkness spoke, a sound like gravel grinding against itself. “What has angered you, my master?”

  The figure that stepped out of the darkness would have caused any common man to flee in horror and terror but not Kamenwati.

  In form the thing vaguely resembled a man slightly taller and broader than himself, with two arms and two legs. All resemblance to human form ended there. Hairless, its skin resembled blackened coals in a hearth, crackled, fissured and dusted with ash. A dull red glow pulsed between the cracks. Its eyes were narrow, red in color, threaded with gold.

  Still and all, it moved surprisingly gracefully, appearing to flow out of the darkness.

  “Paniwi is pregnant. There will be a true heir to the King, after all these years,” Kamenwati said, his tone bitter.

  All of his plans come to naught.

  He’d waited and waited for Narmer to name him heir. At first, it had been nearly enough to be named Grand Vizier, to be the power behind Narmer’s throne. Almost. Nearly. For a time. Then one day it hadn’t been. He’d taken care to make certain the King’s new consort didn’t quicken, it was a simply matter of lacing her food with certain herbs with the unwilling aid of one of her maidservants.

  Paniwi, it seemed, had stopped eating with the other women.

  She was far too intelligent for her own good.

  Childbirth, however, was not the easiest of things. Many a woman lost both her life and the child to it.

  He couldn’t risk allowing her to come to term. It was too chancy, too much of a gamble. Narmer would be certain to give Paniwi the best of care.

  If the child lived…

  One more life would stand between him and the crown. As much as he loved games of chance, this he wouldn’t risk. Not when he could be King and rule over all of Egypt. He’d waited, bided his time for far too long, for what should have been rightfully his…had the Gods willed it. None had. None but one.

  “What will you do now?” the creature asked.

  Kamenwati ignored it.

  Few folk knew he was High Priest of the Great God Set – the greatest God, the God who had killed Osiris and scattered the parts of him the length of the Nile, had even separated Osiris from his manhood. Not even his cousin the King knew of Kamenwati’s devotion to Set. Few would’ve approved his worship of that particular God, the god of evil, chaos, and war.

  He stepped to the altar, offered his sacrifices – a dead slave’s heart, another’s eyes. The God’s amorphous gaze looked down on him, his expression fierce and cruel.

  “Perhaps, my master,” the creature behind him said, softly, “great one, High Priest of Set, if we joined forces more truly…”

  Kamenwati looked at it, finally.

  Djinn.

  They were creatures of stories and legend, created by the Gods to be like man and given free will as man was. But where man had been born of earth and sky, the Djinn were creatures of magic formed from smokeless fire. There were many kinds of Djinn. The ghul, who haunted the places of the dead and hunted both the living and the improperly buried dead; the sila, the shape-shifters, appearing as smoke or living flame; the ifrit who could shift shape and did often appear as a hyena to lead men astray; and the powerful shape-shifting Marid, who appeared as beautiful men.

  Evil Djinn hunted men in some way, shape, or form. Most weren’t as bright as men but were far stronger and quicker, frequently resorting to trickery and guile to lure men to their doom and women to their mercy. There were no female Djinn, only human women to bear the race of the Djinn in their bellies.

  Although the Djinn possessed free will, one could – through wit and will – enslave one. It had taken a great deal of time, preparation and worship at the God’s altar before Kamenwati had even attempted to call one.

  Some could also possess a man…if his spirit were weak or if he willed it so...to gain the Djinn’s power.

  A Marid Djinn, among his kind this one was a quite powerful Djinni. Bound to Kamenwati’s will by magic and sacrifice, this one was constrained to his current shape – that of a lower Djinn.

  “Meld my strength to your knowledge, my Lord,” the creature beguiled. “Your will to my will. Together we would be invincible, my master.”

  Kamenwati looked at the thing, at the power in its form, the magic of it and considered it.

  If he had a thousand with the strength and speed of the Djinn, he could conquer and rule all of Egypt, with or without Narmer.

  He went still as that idea moved through him…

  A thousand Djinn…

  The Marid smiled, a small crack appearing in its face to reveal its inner fire, the glow seeping between its lips. “You could, my Master, lead a thousand Djinn. More. Join with me and we will make it so.”

  Warily, Kamenwati eyed the creature. He was more than confident his will was stronger than the Djinn’s, but it was Djinn, and powerful.

  “And I would remain Master. Swear it by the great God Set,” Kamenwati said.

  A flash of anger lit the thing’s eyes, Kamenwati saw it, and there was a betraying silence.

  So, it had sought to be the master of him. Once possessed, it would have been a battle of wills once again, for possession of the body they both would have inhabited.

  “You would remain master,” the Marid Djinn said, bitterly. “As you command.”

  “What must be done?” Kamenwati said.

  The Djinn smiled thinly, a red glimmer. “Nothing – it takes only your wish.”

  Kamenwati weighed it. His will and the Djinn’s joined. The Djinn’s physical strength and magic melded to his. There was merit to the idea.

  “Make it so,” he said.

  In an instant, the Djinn dissolved into a thick column of black smoke that flowed toward and around him.

  Understanding, Kamenwati inhaled.

  That was all the Djinn needed.

  Smoke poured into Kamenwati’s mouth, down his throat, to fill his lungs. At first there was agony.

  It felt as if he were too full, as if he were stretched within his skin so tightly he feared he would split from the pressure, his will under assault as the Djinn set his own against it despite his oath. They wrestled, he and the Djinn. Calling on Set Kamenwati’s will gradually gained dominance over the other, his body struggling to assimilate the essence of the Djinn now within him. Pain burst through him…fiery pain. That which was the Djinn, a spirit of fire and the heat of the desert, burned through his veins. The power of chaos roared through him like a conflagration and Kamenwati felt Set’s hand in his. He smiled as the Djinn fell before his iron will.

  It was time and perhaps more than time that darkness ruled the earth and its quarrelsome, fractious people. He’d been thwarted too often. He Called with all the power of Set and the Djinn…and something answered.

  Chapter Twelve

  The small village stood at the very edge of the Nil
e floods. In some years the fertile waters barely reached them and their fields. Most who lived there were poor, barely growing enough to feed themselves, much less sell at market, but it was a life of sorts and it was theirs. Some traders came through although that was seldom. Few traversed so close to the edge of the deep desert and the harsh lands beyond to the west and south.

  Night fell as it always did, but this one came with a greater darkness. None noticed the towering shadow that blotted out the stars.

  The sound of the goats and the fowl chattering in distress awakened the villagers, though.

  Thinking lions had come up from the south as had happened in the past, the people of the village came out cautiously, prepared to fight, armed with spears and sticks despite the danger. If they lost their goats, though, they knew they would starve.

  It wasn’t lions. It was something much darker, and much more frightening. From the darkness burst horror. The first screams rang out, and were silenced, the sound of those dying cries liquid.

  Reaching out from that first village, a great shadow spread over the desert from the south and west, a terrible darkness that washed across the sands like the Nile at flood, save in reverse. Another village fell, with no one to remark on it.

  Then another.

  From a third, a single survivor managed to escape. Terrified, he fled, collapsing at the next settlement.

  Word spread beyond the villages that lay closest to the deep desert.

  Something came out of night… It came from south of the great oasis, spreading eastward toward Thebes.

  Irisi studied the man who lay on the pallet before her, bewildered. He had terrible wounds down the length of his back, injuries that were already suppurating and infected. She washed them carefully but she’d never seen anything like them. A lion hadn’t made them – she was familiar with the look of those from when hers hunted in the King’s preserve – nor had a leopard.

  “How old are these?” she asked the woman with him, clearly the man’s wife, gesturing.