Now, too, as if Khasathut’s temper and nerves were not ground fine enough already, the Siwadis destroyed the fort at Tanos and slaughtered Khem’s troops in their thousands to the west of the Nile; and the far-flung tribes of Daraaf also rose up to send guerrilla parties to the southwestern marches. It was not that Pharaoh was losing the battle—with his almost inexhaustible supply of manpower that would be unthinkable—but rather that he could not be seen to be winning it, and already the war was moving into its third year. Khem seemed hemmed in by mists, rains and swamps and surrounded by wraiths of warriors. And who may beat off the rain or smite a wraith?
And so now Pharaoh thought to change his tactics. For if the seven so-called “wise” and “good” mages had gone to bolster the Kushites where they fought like mercenary dogs for Siwad and Nubia, and if they were conjuring magic to control the very elements and thus contain Pharaoh’s dreams of empire, why should he not answer in a like tongue? Thus he bade Anulep parade the Dark Heptad before him, along with his generals, administrators and all ambassadors and mercenary overlords in Khem, so that he could outline his new plans and issue his orders.
These were designed firstly to bring about a reversal of the weather which bogged down and foundered his troops; which task he placed squarely upon his Dark Heptad, with dire threats in the event of their failure. Secondly: he ordered that mobilization be effected on an unprecedented scale, and that any excess of troops be drawn down out of empty Kush to reinforce the forts and camps all along the western front. Thirdly: he offered fabulous enticements to Therae, Syra and Arabba for mercenary assistance in one vast and final push which he planned against Siwad, Nubia and now Daraaf. Kush he forgot entirely, for what was there now in Kush worth remembering?
He could not know of the strange red fires that burned in Nubia, or the metal that flowed into swords there. And he was equally ignorant that in far Hyrksos the wheels of war were even now turning against him, where Ashtarta built her chariots according to Khai’s designs; where she tested them and built anew, and trained her warriors in their handling. And even if he could have known of the reins, leathers and saddles which the Siwadi craftsmen were producing in their thousands, still he would not have understood. For in Khem the horse was as yet a doubtful beast, fit only for the use of savages such as the Kushites, whose land was now empty except for a handful of Khemish cohorts—
—But for how long?
Almost three-and-a-half years had gone by since Pharaoh sent his occupying force into Kush. Things had gone badly for him since then, but now at last he was ready to deliver those hammer blows from which, if he were successful, the civilized world might never recover. Now, too, after almost three years of near-continuous rain, his Dark Heptad seemed to have turned the trick and the sun shone over Khem, drying out the mire and turning it to firm earth once more. It seemed to Pharaoh that there never would be a more opportune time—when the Nile’s flooding was at an end and Nubia stood green and inviting across the river; when the swamps of Siwad steamed off their excess vapor and the mists lifted to reveal lands just waiting to be taken.
Moreover, Khem was full of soldiers—the entire Nile valley at arms—and thousands of fierce mercenaries choked the towns and villages and grew bored from lack of work. Even the border skirmishes seemed to have petered out, so that Pharaoh suspected his enemies of having lost their appetite for a war which ultimately they must lose. He waited no longer but hurled one hundred thousand mercenaries across the river into Nubia, and in the south ninety thousand more stormed the swamps to take the island villages of the pallid, morass-dwelling Siwadis. And in a little while, the first reports of these simultaneous assaults were carried home to Khasathut in Asorbes . . .
. . . Reports that drove him to the very rim of outright insanity, when his rage was such that Anulep himself fled from him and hid in the pyramid’s most secret chambers, where he shook and trembled until at last Pharaoh’s frenzy had burned itself out. Then, before seeking out his God-king where he lay exhausted and trembling upon the royal bed, the Vizier learned for himself the reasons for Pharaoh’s fit. Not fifty of his Arabban mercenaries had come back across the river from Nubia, and those that did return told tales of formidable impis, trained to a razor’s edge of fighting efficiency and armed with black swords which carved Khemish bronze as if it were green papyrus.
To further exacerbate matters, those mercenaries sent to invade Siwad had found nothing to invade; where for all their wading through crocodile- and leech-infested swamp, they had discovered Siwad empty of life, with the islands scorched and deserted. The Siwadis had forsaken their homeland in a pattern which Khasathut recognized all too well, and even now they were marauding along the border between Siwad and the rebuilt Tanos fort. Even so, the mercenaries had not returned empty-handed, no, for nine out of ten of them brought back the swamp’s fevers which made them useless; and of the rest: they had lost all interest in Pharaoh’s cause and dreamed now only of returning to their homelands. . . .
And Khasathut’s troubles were only just beginning.
V
KUSH RESURGENT!
Manek Thotak and his army arrived on the steppes to the west of the Gilf Kebir some hours in advance of Ashtarta and Khai. His warriors, coming from Siwad, had split into two separate bodies to the north of the Gilf. One of these had curved round to the west, climbing onto the plateau-lands from the rear; the other had passed along the front of the Gilf below the looming cliffs. In the night, they had found two small Khemite garrisons, each of about one thousand strong, one on the heights and the other in a keep.
The high garrison had been taken at once, its sentries silenced by a small advance group before three thousand men of the main body rushed the Khemites, woke them, and drove them over the edge of the night-dark plateau. The taking of the garrison in the keep had been a little more difficult, had taken a little longer and had not been accomplished without cost—but only a very small cost. By contrast, not a man of the Khemites had been spared.
Then had the Kushite force down on the plain, all twenty-five thousand men of them, climbed up to the roof of the plateau along paths known of old; and before dawn, Manek Thotak’s army had been on its way westward, completing the final stage of its journey home. On their way, Manek’s men had been rounding up wild horses, offspring of many of their own animals set free three-and-a-half years ago. These would supplement that great herd of animals taken into Hyrksos by Ashtarta’s horsemen, which now they would be herding back again.
It was noon when Manek arrived on the rolling plain overlooking Nam-Khum, and there he camped his army with the sun standing overhead and a warm wind rising from the west. He sniffed that wind suspiciously and smiled grimly. The Khamsín, that hell-wind which would scorch these green slopes brown before it flew down into the valley of the Nile, was on its way. It would be the first time for four years. . . .
Green fields. Manek smiled again. The last time he had seen these steppes, they had been black, crisped by his own people before they went into their self-imposed exile of war. Well, the fields were green enough now. These last few years, there had been enough rain to grow grass on solid rock!
These last few years. . . . How had Naomi fared, he wondered. Naomi Tyrass had been his girl when he was a boy, and he had loved her. Oh, he’d had his rivals—particularly Thon Emahl, the son of the chief of Naomi’s village—but he had known that Naomi would one day be his. When he became a captain, however, and when Melembrin began grooming him as a commander, a general, then Manek had let Naomi go.
She had flown to Thon, who by then was a village chief in his own right, and on impulse she had married him. Now Thon was a chief under Manek, a colonel commanding his own regiment, which in effect was his own tribe. Today they were all home from the wars, for a little while, and Thon and Naomi would soon be reunited. Well, good luck to them. Life in a village with a pretty little wife was not for Manek. No, for he knew that the Candaces of Kush were obliged to seek husbands from their generals,
and that narrowed down the field considerably.
Oh, there were other generals among the tribes of Kush, to be sure, but these were old men who no longer went to war but sat at home by the fire and told tales of the old days, when they were young. But Manek was young, and a general to boot, and who else could Ashtarta take for a husband? Khai Ibizin? Impossible, for he was of Khemish blood and it would be unheard of for any foreigner to sit upon the throne of Kush. No, Manek would be king one day, which was why he had let Naomi go. It was not that he loved Ashtarta, though certainly she was a beautiful woman, but rather that he did love Kush; so that his one ambition was to be ruler in the land, and his sons and daughters after him. . . .
Musing on thoughts such as these and chewing on dried meat where he sat in the shade of a sapling shrub bearing its first flowers, Manek heard the shouts of his lookout and rose to his feet. He ran up the hillside a little way to where the lookout stood. Beneath him, his men had been taking their rest or eating, but now he was aware that every eye was turned to the west. “There, Lord Manek,” said the lookout, a youth four years Manek’s junior. He stabbed a finger westward. “That will be the Candace. See how she raises the dust!”
“Aye,” Manek agreed, “dust from the hooves of horses. That will be Ashtarta, all right—but your eyes aren’t as keen as they might be.” He chuckled at the youth’s expression. “See there, to the south, climbing the steppes in a long line like a thin, unending snake. Do you see? That’ll be Khai Ibizin. Khai of Khem.”
“I’m told he doesn’t like that name, Lord.”
Manek frowned. “A dog’s a dog no matter his shape, color or size,” he answered.
“It’s just that I thought the General Khai was your friend, Lord,” the younger man shrugged.
“So he is,” the general grinned. “Damn me, I don’t hold it against him that he’s born of the Nile—just that he thinks himself equal to a Kushite, that’s all! But enough—now I must go to meet them. . . . A pony,” he shouted as he ran back down the hillside. “Get me a horse. The rest of you, stay here. Those of you with wives and sweethearts, don’t worry. You’ll be seeing them soon enough. But if I were you, I’d save my strength. It won’t be long before you’ll be needing it. Five or six days at most. . . .”
Manek and Ashtarta, both of them riding alone, came together on the rolling plain that leaned westward from Nam-Khum. They jumped from their mounts and clasped each other, their eyes full of questions, unwilling to speak or break the magic. For there was a magic in this, the reuniting of the tribes of Kush. Finally, the Candace stood back from Manek and fed her eyes on him. He was bearded, burly, a hawk. Every inch a general. Clad in leather trousers and jacket, whip at his side as usual, sword in his belt—he had gone away into Siwad a young man, and he had returned a giant.
“I’ve heard news of you,” she said. “How you drowned the Khemites in Siwad and burned them at Tanos. My father was right when he said you’d make a mighty general. It’s been hard to keep my own warriors back from joining you. They would have come to you in Siwad if I’d let them. To you, and to the General Khai.”
Manek said nothing, but stood and grinned his pleasure through his beard.
“And did you bring back leathers as Khai bade you?” she asked more seriously. “The Hyrksos leather is not good stuff.”
Now he frowned a little. “Leather? Oh, yes, piles of it, Candace. Saddles and reins and all, though I thought it was a great waste of time. Still, I could be wrong. Those of my lads who’ve tried these horse-seats say they’re very impressed with them.”
“I suspect that you are wrong, Manek,” she told him, and her eyes were bright and twinkling like diamonds. “My own experience is that Khai knows what he’s doing, and indeed I have marvelous things to show you.” Forgetting herself for a moment, she clapped her hands in glee. . . . Then she calmed herself, tucked her shirt into her breeches and tossed her hair back out of her eyes.
“And where is the General Khai?” she asked. “A Nubian runner came to me last night where I was camped and said Khai would be here.”
“He’s coming,” Manek answered. “I saw him from the hill. But he’s coming more slowly. No horseman, the Khemite, Majesty.”
“Yes, I remember,” she answered. “Well, if he still can’t ride bareback, we’ll have to see how he sits a saddle, eh?” And again she laughed.
Now, while she scanned the low ridges to the south, shading her eyes from the sun’s glare, Manek looked at this Queen of a Nation. He admired her legs clad in short, soft rabbit-skin breeches; her narrow waist; her firm body and pure, unblemished skin. She looked much more a woman than ever he remembered her, more a true queen than the tomboy princess he had known among Melembrin’s guerrillas.
“There,” she suddenly cried. “Look!”
Manek looked and saw something which caused him first to gape in astonishment, then to grin. Coming up over a low crest less than a mile away, eight massive Nubians bore an open litter. They chanted as they trotted, their limbs moving in perfect unison and providing a smooth ride for the man who sat the chair. It was Khai; and in four or five minutes the blacks reached the place where Ashtarta and Manek waited, put down the litter and fell on their faces.
As Khai stepped out of his chair, Ashtarta embraced him as she had done with Manek, and once again there was a silence as they looked at each other. Khai had grown massive of chest and broad of shoulder, and his eyes seemed bluer and his blond hair blonder than ever the Candace remembered them. Feeling a flush rising to her cheeks, she breathlessly asked:
“But who are these? And why do they not stand up?” She looked doubtfully at the prostrated Nubians.
“They are yours, Candace,” he laughed, “and if they must stay there all day, they will not rise till you order it!”
“Then tell them to get up,” she said.
“You must tell them,” he answered, “for I no longer command them and they won’t obey me. These eight are yours, Queen—but they know the rudiments of our tongue.”
Uncertain, she turned to the eight. “Get up,” she said, “at once.” And as a single man, they sprang to their feet.
Ashtarta stepped back a pace from these giants who towered over her, all bright with dyes and fierce as lions, their bushy heads sprouting feathers. “Look, Manek,” she turned to him. “See what Khai has brought home for me!”
“Aye,” Manek admired the blacks and stepped forward to take Khai’s hand, “a fine bodyguard indeed—but an inefficient way of getting about. I fancy you’d prefer your horse, Majesty.” The two men laughed and hugged each other, then Manek added:
“And Khai isn’t alone in his gift-bringing. Look—” From a pocket, he took out a fistful of massive gems. Of flashing colors, they were like fires in the general’s fist. “The Siwadis have sent you a chestful!” he told the Candace. “These are but a few.”
“Also,” Manek continued after a moment, “I’ve brought your warriors home again—though four thousand of them shall never return.” He nodded toward the great encampment higher on the slope.
“We’ve had our losses, too,” Khai nodded, “but it hasn’t all been a loss. Majesty, if you’d care to tell your guard to bring up their colleagues—”
“My guard?” She stared about with a puzzled look. “Their colleagues?”
With a nod of his head, Khai indicated the blacks.
“Oh!” she said, then did as he suggested.
The massive Nubians immediately put fingers to mouths and set up a shrill, beating whistling that echoed up and down the slopes and startled birds and deer to flight. As the echoes of that dinning note died away, there came other sounds: the pounding of feet, the rattle of assagais on shields of woven leather.
Rapidly the sounds grew to a roar that was deafening, and over the rise there suddenly poured such an impi that Ashtarta and Manek could only stand and stare. In two huge black squares of fifty men to a side, that regiment of Nubians came, halting less than a hundred yards away in a stampin
g of feet that shook the earth. Behind the squares, in military precision, twenty deep and stretching all along the fold of the hill, the warriors of Kush appeared, the whole forming a spectacle never before seen on the steppes of Kush.
When she could find her breath, finally Ashtarta turned to the west and waved a yellow handkerchief high over her head. In the distance, the tiny figure of a lookout raised an arm in answer. Then the Candace turned to her generals and said, “Oh? And did you think to shame your Queen, who alone seems to have come home empty-handed? Well, you are mistaken!”
For now there came the cry of horsemen and the sharp crack of whips; and Khai, at first dumbfounded but in another moment beside himself with savage joy, roared and laughed and shook his fists in the air as a thousand, two thousand chariots came speeding up out of the west, their spoked wheels a blur in the sunlight as they thundered in a tight, trained formation across the steppes.
But it was enough, too much for one day. Khai would not upstage Ashtarta but would wait until later before showing her his ten thousand swords of iron. Yes, later. . . . First, he would show them to the Candace, and then—then by all the devils of hell—then he would show them to Khasathut!