The Falcon Rises (The Desert Queen Book 2) Read online

  “It sounds to me like Ramose trusts you a great deal, Ayn.” I leaned on one arm and moved my messy hair behind my shoulder to better see her darkened face.

  “I think he likes talking to me.”

  “And other things…” I said with a smile.

  “I admit that I have never met a man like him before.” We were silent for a moment after her confession.

  “Be careful, Ayn. He is from another world, and we do not know how things will go.”

  “It is too late for that, Nefret.”

  Dread filled my stomach. “You said yourself you did not know if you loved him or not. What do you mean it is too late?”

  Ayn’s voice shook as she whispered, “I have his child in my belly. In our short time together I have given him something his wife never could—a child to carry his name. He will have his heart’s desire—Ramose will finally have an immortal name. One that will last forever.”

  My skin crawled as she spoke. I did not know what to say to her, so I said nothing at all.

  “Have I disappointed you, my mekhma?”

  “No.” I touched her arm and squeezed it. “Who am I to judge you, Ayn? Our tribe needs treasure. You know children are our greatest treasure.” I tried to sound supportive, but I knew it would be much more complicated than that. How could I in good conscience take her to Egypt with me knowing she was with child? My eyes were sticky and my brain tired. I would not speak of this to her now. There would be other times to discuss her situation, and she seemed pleased with my answer.

  “We had better rest if we can. Morning will be here soon. Hafa-nu, Nefret.”

  “Hafa-nu, my friend.” In a few minutes, Ayn was snoring, probably dreaming about her Egyptian. My mind took me back to Alexio and our one night in the desert. It had not been that long ago, but it felt like a hundred seasons. His sweet smile filled my mind with sadness, and I imagined for a second that I could smell his warm and spicy scent. I could feel his strong arms around me as we lay together under the stars. It was a pleasant indulgence to dream about him now. However, if I was to survive, I would have to change the way I thought about him. I would have to put him out of my mind forever, for he would never be mine.

  I suddenly hoped that I would die at the hands of the Kiffians. How much easier it would be if I did die! I would be gone, Pah could rule, and I would never have to miss Alexio again.

  Because I could not immediately fall asleep, I let my mind wander like a wild thing. Eventually sleep did come, but it was fitful and full of faces I did not know.

  Too soon, Ayn shook me until I was awake. A name fell off my lips, “Smenkhkare!”

  Chapter Nine

  Flames of Freedom—Ramose

  The wagon lurched across the sand as I clung to the undercarriage. Beside me grinned Kafta—the crazy man loved schemes like this. He had not shaved since we left Thebes, and his beard and the sparse tufts growing around his head made him look like even more of a madman. As I clung to the pole with my arms and legs, I wondered if he was in fact mad. I could hardly believe that I, the great Ramose, General of Egypt, hung from a pole hidden at the bottom of a wagon driven by the Desert Queen. The Fates had a strange sense of humor.

  When the girl shared her scheme, Kafta could hardly wait to mention using the barrels. He had done a tour with the Fourth Legion far to the north of Egypt when he first saw this battle technique employed. I could not comprehend the power he described until I saw it myself. When the liquid in the barrel ignited, it burst into flames. The explosion flung the dangerous liquid to great distances. It delivered a much more impressive display than an overheated kiln or a few fiery arrows. The barrels we would be using clunked near our heads, and I prayed silently to Amun that they would not explode and kill us all before we made it to the gate.

  “Stick to the plan!” I reminded our driver.

  “Shut up!” she yelled back as the wagon drove a few more feet before coming to a full stop.

  “I like her,” Kafta said, grinning at me through his gapped teeth. I rolled my eyes and listened carefully. Through the slit in the front of the wagon I could see that the gates were beginning to open. I could hear the sounds of metal, probably chains used to open and close the wooden doors. I heard the voices of the Kiffians as they jeered at the girl in the wagon. They were completely unaware that hundreds of Egyptians had been hiding in the sands most of the night, unmoving under their sand-covered wicker shields. I could not wait for the moment when this fact became apparent.

  “Welcome, my queen!” A familiar voice, the voice of Gilme, called from above. I could see his position on the balcony through the slit in the boards. If only I had a bow and arrow I could kill the man now. But then hundreds of Kiffians would fall upon us and I would bring Egypt to war with these wild southerners. I was not sure what Queen Tiye had in mind for my charge, but I was certain it was not this.

  “Please come in. We have been waiting for your promised gifts. My men are parched from a night of sporting.” Gilme’s rowdy men cheered loudly and laughed at their king’s crude statement. “We want to taste this beer. You should pray that it does not taste like camel water. My men have particular tastes.”

  To her credit the girl did not hesitate. “I want to see my sister, Gilme! Bring her out now.”

  Without answering Gilme ordered the girl brought forward. I could hardly believe it, but she looked far worse than when we last saw her. Someone had cut off her hair, and she had fresh bruises on her face and naked torso. She was no longer in chains, but she had the look of someone who had been utterly defeated. I knew this look. I had caused it many times in the foreign leaders I conquered. It was common practice to humiliate a defeated king in front of his family, especially his wife. But the sight of this half-naked, broken girl stirred a rare sympathy in me. She did not look at us, nor did she appear to know where she was at all.

  “Pah, come to me,” Nefret called to her sister.

  “She is not sticking to the plan,” I complained to Kafta, who frowned back.

  Gilme spat into the sand below him. “Nobody leaves here. You bring the wagon through the gate if you want to see your sister. She belongs to me now.”

  “That was not our deal, Gilme,” Nefret growled back at him. Her words brought raucous laughter from the onlookers both on the balcony and in the open doors. I counted nearly thirty, but I was sure there were many more inside.

  “I do not make deals with women. I do other things with them.” That started another round of laughter from the Kiffians. “You need to learn your place.”

  The air crackled with tension. Gilme had done exactly as we expected, behaved shamefully and without honor. All the girl had to do was stand and raise her hand—that was the signal. What was she waiting for? I could hear the anger in her voice. She should have known there was no reasoning with a madman.

  “This is your last chance, Kiffian king! Release my sister and leave the city! Do as I ask, and no one will get hurt! You have been warned!”

  Sweat poured from my brow, and my arms and legs cramped as I held in place, clinging to the wooden pole. I did not take my gaze off of Kafta. Both of us realized that things were not going as planned and we needed to be prepared for anything now. I pulled my dagger from my tunic, ready to release the barrel at any moment.

  “Do not refuse my hospitality, queen. Come now—you are wearing my patience thin.” To someone below he ordered, “Bring the wench back into the city and close the gates until her sister decides to obey my commands.”

  I swore under my breath and whispered to her again, “Stick to the plan. Give the signal now!”

  “Pah! Hafa yem taffa! Hafa yem taffa!” The Desert Queen yelled at her sister, and I felt the weight of the wagon shift as she rose to her feet. She let out a scream of anger as Kafta and I released the barrels and rolled out from under the wagon. In two seconds we were in the sand, rolling the barrels toward the gate as my warriors raised their sand-covered shields and stood screaming an intimidating war cry
that startled the Kiffians. Arrows began to fly around us, and I dove for the half-nude girl standing before the gates. In a matter of moments, I had her in my arms and was running toward the wagon as the Kiffians began to return fire arrows wildly and yell in confusion. A flaming arrow whizzed past me.

  “Get down now!” I screamed at Nefret as I ran to the back of the wagon with her sister. The explosion blew the barrels into oblivion and the flames burst up. Kafta’s tactic had worked. The Kiffians, frightened and confused, could see my Egyptians now pouring into the gate. I glanced behind me and could see the Meshwesh approaching with unearthly speed on their horses as they streamed in across the desert. Nefret was suddenly beside me, reaching for her sister.

  “Stay here!” I yelled at her, happy to deliver Pah into her hands. Releasing my sword from its sheath, I ran toward the gate. Bodies were already on the ground, and I was happy to see none of them were Egyptian.

  My sword sliced flesh as I stormed through the gate. A great blond giant tried to withstand me, but he lasted only a moment. He wore no armor and succumbed to a single stab to his abdomen. I did not waste a stab to finish the job; he would die soon enough. I continued to fight my way toward the red-haired giant Gilme. He was my target—the only worthy opponent for Pharaoh’s Great General. The Kiffians had no grace, no light hand with their weapons. It was sad, really, how easily they could be bested despite their size and tenacity. They carried evil-looking swords that they thrust at anything that moved.

  Minutes later the Meshwesh made it through the gates, and I could see the Shasu running toward the melee from the other side of the city. Kiffians were fleeing before them. I ran up the stone stairs that I suspected would lead me to the tower and the balcony where Gilme had defied the Desert Queen. Despite the Kiffians’ stupidity, it was not easy going—the balcony was full of warriors, both mine and the foreign king’s. A bloody Kiffian cursed me in his guttural language, and I spun and swung at him. My opponent moved with surprising deftness, apparently more skilled than many of his comrades, but I did not relent. I swung the sword again, this time slicing his cheek and hand. With another howl he drove toward me recklessly. I mocked him with a laugh and moved easily out of his way as he fell on the stairs. In the blink of a hawk’s eye, I slid my sword into his throat and grinned down at him as his miserable life left him.

  I heard a woman’s voice yelling threats beside me, and I turned to see Nefret engaged in single combat. She was in a deadly embrace with a young Kiffian who towered above her. I could see that he meant to overcome her with his reach and brute force. He had her hands clasped above her head and wore a lustful leer. As quick as lightning she brought her knee up into his groin and slammed her elbow into his face. He succumbed to the assault by doubling over, and the girl shoved her sword into his shoulder. The young man thumped to the ground like a bag of sand, and she stepped on his back as she ran up the stairs behind me.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

  Her mouth was set in a grim smile. “You know why I am here.” Ayn bounded up the stairs beside her. With a quick appraisal I could see Ayn did not have a scratch on her. Her long hair was plastered to her face with sweat, and her strong arms and legs were bare. Her sword gleamed red—proof that she had not idled the time away today.

  “I am here, my mekhma.”

  Nefret glanced at her but did not turn her attention away from me. I growled in frustration. “I ordered you to stay with your sister. Why did you disobey my order?”

  “Get out of my way, Egyptian.” In reaction to her defiance, I reached toward her, but Ayn waved her blade at me threateningly. I could not hide my surprise.

  “Do not get in my way, Ramose,” Nefret warned me. I knew in an instant what the foolish girl had planned. She was going to challenge Gilme, and that meant she was going to die. I could not allow this—her death meant my death. If that had not been so, I would have happily allowed her to surrender her life to the Kiffian’s sword.

  In angry assent I nodded once and waved my hand as if to say, “Lead the way.” Together the three of us cut into the now weakened line and drove toward our mutual target. Between administering blows I watched the women fight with surprising expertise. Nefret danced around her victims. She chose her offensive movements well and did not fail to deliver damage. To the untrained eye, Ayn’s flurry of strikes might have seemed wild and frantic, but not to me. She planned her kills but enjoyed showing off. In that she was not wise. I watched as one of the Kiffians unleashed a fury of swings on her. Almost overwhelmed, she fell to one knee, her sword above her head as she pushed against his. In a burst of rage and a scream, the wild man pinned her to the ground, and a second Kiffian appeared tempted to join the fight or whatever they planned to do to Ayn. I flicked my dagger at him and pierced his right eye. He fell upon the other Kiffian, and Ayn quickly scrambled to her feet, stumbling away from them. Then with a showy swing, Ayn killed the man, grinned at me and ran after Nefret.

  Many of the Kiffians were dead, but the few who were still fighting showed they were never going to surrender. Not in this life at least. At the center of the dwindling group was Gilme. He towered above his men, his beard wet with blood, and one of his ears had been nearly severed. The smells of war, blood, broken bone and burning fires filled the city of Zerzura.

  “Kafta! Leave him!” I shouted to my second-in-command, who had every intention of claiming the giant for himself. In a few seconds, the six Kiffians remaining on the balcony surrounded the wounded leader. Breathing hard and savagely wounded, they looked at one another unsure what to do.

  Finally, they fell to their knees, and two Kiffians immediately tossed down their swords in front of them. With a scream of anger, Gilme swung his sword, killing his own men.

  He spat a vicious curse at them in his foreign language as the second man gagged and gurgled to his death. “You are not my son!” he declared to his writhing victim. Panting and weak, he faced us. He waved his sword with a blood-soaked hand and stared at me with burning hatred. “I will deal with you.”

  “I offer you no deals,” Nefret answered him.

  “I will never submit to you, girl.”

  “Yes, you will,” she said confidently as she stepped toward him. Kafta looked to me for permission. In just a few steps, he could kill the defeated king or at the very least disarm him. I shook my head and watched Nefret. Gilme had lost much blood and wavered on his feet. She had enough skill to kill the man. Many in her tribe had gathered on the balcony to see their mekhma administer justice. If this helped her finish our mission, then who was I to stop her? Despite the queen’s command, I would take matters into my own hands if she did not kill him quickly. I had my own life to consider.

  Ayn stood beside me, her sword still drawn too. There was not much room to maneuver on the balcony, which was to Nefret’s advantage. She was small, quick and largely undamaged by the battle.

  Gilme glanced around him. All of his people, at least those on the balcony, had been mowed down. There was no one to help him. Looking past Nefret he called to me again, “You! I will yield to you!”

  Nefret advanced toward him. She took two steps, and Gilme poked at her with his blade, but she ducked, stabbed at his chest and then swung out of the way. Surprised by her boldness, he yelled in anger but did not submit. I sensed someone else standing beside me and turned to see Semkah, Nefret’s father, holding a dagger in his hand. Bloody from the fight, he yelled something to his daughter in their tribal language.

  “Mey tanakha fama, mekhma Nefret!” In moments, the other Meshwesh—and there were now many on the steps, in the courtyard and outside the gate—repeated the phrase. I could see Horemheb bounding up the steps, and to my surprise he also had the cry on his lips.

  “What are they saying, Ayn?”

  Without taking her eyes off her queen she whispered to me, “My life for yours, Queen Nefret.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Ayn’s dark eyes watched me now. “These are covenan
t words, Ramose. It is a sacred promise to avenge the mekhma if she should perish. As she has offered her life for theirs, they do the same for her. These are sacred words you hear today.”

  The swords crashed, and Gilme used his hulking body to shove the Desert Queen away. But she rebounded and swung at him furiously with both hands on her sword. Gilme grunted as he fought her, and I could see his strength was waning now. As his arms fell back she had the opportunity to kill him but instead jabbed at his thigh, which began to bleed profusely. Gilme collapsed to the ground, and Nefret kicked his sword out of the way.

  “Bring me my sister!” Nefret yelled at Ayn. The dark-haired warrior sped down the stairs, and the rest of us watched as the fallen king swore at the conquering queen. What was she doing?

  Soon Ayn returned with Pah. Someone had tossed an ill-fitting tunic over the girl, but her eyes were empty except for the terror in them. She mumbled to herself, stopping only to scream if someone besides Ayn touched her or bumped into her. As the two cleared the stairs and stood on the balcony, I thought Pah would run or do something ridiculous like throw herself over the edge. But she froze, her attention on her sister, who stood over the dying giant of a man.

  “Pah! Come now! Take your revenge, sister!” The crowd cleared a path for the girl. She did not move at first but soon began to walk and then run toward Gilme. Her father handed her his dagger as a scream of rage filled her lungs. Plunging her body forward, she buried the dagger into the man’s heart. He did not fight his fate. We watched as the mad girl drove the dagger over and over into the corpse until, exhausted, she let the blade drop. She rose to her feet, her tunic now covered in blood. She backed away from Gilme and stared at her bloody hands. She took another step back and finally another until she neared the ledge. Yes! She was going to launch herself from the balcony gate.

  “Ayn!” I shouted, as she was closer to the girl. Before Pah could finish her deed, Ayn and Semkah had grasped the girl away from the danger. She clung to her father and did not cause any more disruption. Soon the Meshwesh began to cheer for them both, though the cries for Nefret were greater, and the people began to celebrate their victory. Sliding my stained sword back into the sheath, I grasped Kafta’s shoulder and congratulated him on his successful plan. Already my mind was moving toward the next phase. We would clean up the bodies and repair any damage to Zerzura, and then we would return to Thebes.