Servant of the Gods (9 page)

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 attacked 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…

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.”

Narmer 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.

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…