Chapter 10: Followers of a Dead King
Seht tapped his gold rings against the rail of his throne. It had been four hours, time enough for Terin's and Malik's warriors to make the three-hour march to this day's village and prepare the people for his arrival. Time enough for Netum to find any dissenters. "I won't be gone long, Harian," Seht said. "Make final preparation for the contest."
Harian answered, "It is my honor, O King."
Seht noted the grimness in his commander's eyes, the deepening of the lines over his face. Yes, Harian knew where he stood.
Harian's skill as a tactician and his knowledge of topography were small matters to Seht. It was only Harian's ability to lead the warriors assigned to him that kept him in Seht's favor.
Seht rose, and the guards rushed back, clearing a path. He strolled to his temple's candlelit antechamber, his footfalls echoing over the sand-colored stone floors, around the tall columns. Catching a whiff of lotus, he glanced at the silver door glimmering from across the room.
The door opened, and Nephthys emerged from her temple, her pale skin dusted silver, her shimmering green eyes offset by her lilac robe. Her silver-entwined fingers held a golden goblet. She glided forward, allowing her robe to part, revealing bare silver-dusted flesh. Pressing the goblet into his hand, she moved up against him, her breath warm against his neck. "For you, my lover. I prepared it myself."
"You're trying to tempt me from my plans?" Seht asked and leaned back to stare into Nephthys' eyes. "Why?"
Avoiding his gaze, she pressed closer. "The humans bring you weariness. I will bring you pleasure then rest. Drink, my dearest."
He supposed Netum could see to the villagers a bit longer. Still, there was something in Nephthys' manner that made him uneasy. Closely watching her, he lifted the goblet toward his lips.
She held her breath.
So, the wine contained a potion. Of what sort? Gaze hard, he lowered the goblet.
"You don't wish to taste it?" she asked, her voice, though light, holding an edge.
"I have plans for this afternoon, as you know. I'll drink your wine tonight."
"But it won't keep till then, dearest. Surely, your plans can wait a short while." Nephthys stretched her hand along Seht's thigh and exerted steady, upward pressure.
He turned and flung the goblet. It landed with a sharp clatter. The wine splashed over the stone, spread like pooling blood, and transformed to a fine silver-grey powder.
She flicked her hand, and the powder disintegrated.
He caught her wrist. "What was in the wine?"
She jerked her arm away. "You mistrust me, your wife?"
"I didn't say that, but I want an answer."
Her anger seemed to leave her, tears filling her eyes. "Within the wine was a potion created to enhance your pleasure. A potion I spent much time preparing. A potion now ruined."
He rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Dearest," he soothed and touched her shoulder, but, unappeased, she brushed his hand away. "Forgive my temper. Have one of your priestesses bring another goblet of the wine you lovingly enhanced," he said and ducked his head to catch her gaze.
She wouldn't look at him. "There is no more."
Seht dragged his teeth over his lips. Now she would sulk. Her coolness would become cold, hard distance for days. He suppressed his sigh. But then a way to make amends occurred to him. Brightening, he said, "Never mind, Nephthys. Come to the contest later today. You can award the victor."
She stiffened. "You ask my attendance? You ask my participation?"
"Yes," he answered, took a step toward her, and opened his arms in a gesture of graciousness. "I want you to present the sword. As my wife." He reached for her hand. "As their queen."
She turned her hollowed gaze toward the candles, their pale yellow wax trailing down their twisting gold and silver holders to drip in splotches onto the stone floor.
"Now," he said and bent to kiss her cheek, "I'm going to see how Netum's doing. While I'm away, you can find pleasure in considering what you want to say as you award the prize. I'll return before long."
Nephthys slipped away, back to her temple. She shut its door behind her. The scent of lotus dissipated.
Why didn't she seem pleased?
Perhaps she didn't understand what he was offering. Well, she'd appreciate his gift once she realized fully its significance. He'd make it clear to her after he returned.
Seht closed his eyes, concentrating, visualizing straggly grasses and dusty tents, crumbling mud-brick shelters and scurrying, dirt-streaked humans. "There," he murmured. The ground seemed to fall away and reappear beneath his feet. Sunlight poured over him. He opened his eyes and smiled.
Smoke curled to dancing flame over the palm-fronds that had roofed the village's broken mud-brick houses. Tents lay torn in the dust.
Terin's warriors leered at the bloodied men and bruised elders they'd pushed into a cluster and circled. Scattering and pursuing the village's screaming women and crying children, Malik's warriors laughed.
"O King," Netum said and stepped forward to bow.
Terin called his warriors to attention.
Malik turned. Catching Seht's gaze, he bowed low. Rising, he signaled his warriors, and the women and children were quickly separated and secured.
Seht tipped his head toward his counselor. "Where are the dissenters?"
A look of excitement spread over Netum's hard features. "They are among the others for now, O King. If it pleases you, I think an effect can be created." On Seht's nod, he lifted his voice, "This village holds and assists dissenters. Therefore, all the men of this village are dissenters."
Seht gazed at the fires' flickering reflections in the gold cuffs over his wrists, the dissenters' protests and the villagers' pleas for mercy vibrating pleasantly in his ears.
Lowering his voice, Netum asked, "Torture the dissenters or kill them, O King?"
Seht leaned toward him and replied, "I'm in the mood for both today, Counselor."
Netum's lips twitched, signaling his delight.
"But," Seht said, lifting his hand, and Netum returned his attention to his king, "not yet."
"No, O King?" Netum's voice held disappointment.
"You seem glum, Netum." Seht chuckled, enjoying both the rhyme and its effect.
Netum swallowed hard. "It is an honor to follow your orders, O Most Powerful Seht."
"As it should be. Though I think you'll enjoy these orders." Seht motioned his counselor closer and conveyed his plan.
Netum's eyebrows went up. A smile played over his lips. "Thank you, O King. You are most generous."
"Indeed." Seht waved him away and turned to the men corralled a short way off.
Terin clapped his hands, and his warriors shoved down those captives not already prostrate.
"I should order your deaths," Seht called out and paused, watching the captives glance at one another, their fear evident. "But today you will see my generosity." Lifting his arms from his sides, he angled to the women and children. "Let all see what a generous king I can be. I offer the people of this village, the dissenters and those who assist them, the chance to make atonement. I offer you the chance to show your submission and return to my favor."
From within the circle of captives was called, "We will not submit."
Yes, just as Seht had expected. Good. He lowered his arms and turned.
The speaker rose, blood dampening his dark brown hair, his light brown tunic.
"Sit down, you fool." A young, muscular man slapped at the man's legs. Then, feeling Seht's gaze, he dropped forward, his forehead pressing the ground.
Seht returned his attention to the one standing in defiance. Noting the small orange beads around the man's neck, he frowned. A follower of a dead king. Well, this man's impudence and stupidity would serve Seht's purpose. Evenly, he said, "I am the king now. Yet you refuse to submit. It's clear you don't know much about order."
&nb
sp; The man lifted his chin.
Yes, Osiris had taught the humans pride—no. Arrogance. Though Osiris had called it dignity, arrogance was its true name. Allowing the humans to believe their lives had meaning. Seht narrowed his eyes. "Speak your name."
The man clenched his jaw.
Netum jerked a spear from one of Terin's warriors and swept forward. "Your king asked you a question."
"He is not my king," the man replied.
"Traitor." Holding tight the spear, Netum cocked back his arm.
"No, Netum," Seht said and motioned his counselor to lower the weapon. "Today I offer generosity. Even to him."
Netum gave the man a snarl, bowed to his king, and stepped back.
Seht's gaze fixed to the man's deep hazel eyes. "Is it fear or conceit that keeps you from speaking your name?"
"Don't say it," a crouching elder whispered.
Netum kicked the elder in the ribs, knocking him back.
The man squared his shoulders. "I am Resup."
"Resup," Seht repeated, readjusting his cuffs. "By right of what title do you speak for everyone of your village?"
"There is a misunderstanding. I speak only for myself."
"Ah, but you said 'we'. As in 'we won't submit'. Your words, if I were not so merciful, would condemn all here."
Resup's gaze darted to the women and children. He fastened his shaking hands to his thighs. "I took a liberty not mine to take."
"Then you made a mistake in your statement?"
Resup hesitated. "I spoke unwisely."
"Do you wish to make an amendment?" Seht asked and ambled forward, Terin's warriors sliding to the side, creating an opening in their circle. "Or do you wish to recant?"
"Recant," was called by the villagers, four haggard-looking young women pushing forward against Malik's warriors.
"How touching," Seht said and again fixed his gaze to Resup. "Your family?"
A hard tremor ran through Resup's shoulders. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes.
Seht stepped closer. "I asked you a question."
"You've already decided you'll kill them. It doesn't matter what I say," Resup replied, voice hoarse.
"Oh? You know me so well?" Seht ran his finger along Resup's rounded-stone necklace. "Submit and I just might spare them."
The conflict of hope against sorrowful resignation registered across Resup's face.
Seht leaned back, brushing his hand over his smile. "What to do? Poor Resup. Accept my generosity."
"It isn't generosity you offer. Even if you don't kill them, you won't spare them." Resup lowered his shoulders and turned to face Seht squarely. "I will not submit to you."
"Your life is in your hands, Resup," Seht warned, reaching behind, and Terin placed the handle of his knife against Seht's palm. "Recant."
Legs trembling, Resup widened his stance.
Seht shrugged and then sprung forward, catching Resup's shoulder. He plunged the knife between Resup's ribs. Finding pleasing the sound of the blade's grinding against bone and the warm rush of blood, Seht curled back his lip in satisfaction.
Resup's family wailed, the children nearest falling into confused sobs.
Resup's torso jerked, his eyes widening.
"Never submit?" Seht gave the knife a twist before withdrawing it. "Your body has submitted to my blade and will soon submit to death."
The wound between Resup's ribs whistled. He gasped for breath.
Seht handed the weapon back to Terin and paused, noting Terin wiping its blade over his leg before sheathing it. Though Terin was often irritating, he at least appreciated the value of the metal knife he'd been given upon his promotion to commander. Seht spun, grabbed Resup's arms, and pulled him forward. "I would have spared your family." He jerked back Resup's head and stared into his dimming eyes. "Now they will each suffer an excruciating death."
Blood gurgled from Resup's mouth. "Recant."
"Hm?" Seht tilted his head. "Couldn't quite hear you."
"Recant. Submit. Most...Merciful...King." Resup's failing eyes searched Seht's.
Seht leaned nearer, his cheek brushing the dying man's, his mouth near Resup's ear, and whispered, "Too late."
Terror filled Resup's eyes. He sank to his knees, clutching at his throat and chest, struggling with each shallow breath. "King. King."
Seht angled to find Malik. "Bring forward and kill the women who cried out."
Tears streaked Resup's face. He fell forward, reaching to grasp Seht's ankle.
Seht yanked back his leg. "You'd dare touch your king?" He kicked, his foot connecting with Resup's skull. The sound and sight of its breaking reminded Seht of something. What was it? Ah, yes. A crocodile's egg dropping onto stone.
Resup's body crumpled forward and was still.
The captive men closest pressed their fists to their mouths and turned away.
With firm strides, Malik approached Seht. He bowed. "How do you wish Resup's family to be killed, O King?"
Seht gave him a flicker of a smile. "Sh. Wait."
A thick-set warrior prostrated a short way away wiped at the gore spattered over his face and lifted from the ground with shaking arms. "O King? Surely you wouldn't order the deaths of women?"
Seht gazed down at him. "I wouldn't?"
"No, O King. For you are merciful and generous."
"Hm." Seht stroked his chin, pretending to think. "So what would I do instead?"
The young warrior, also wearing a necklace of carnelian, glanced at what remained of Resup and shuddered. He rose to his knees. "You would accept my death in their place."
Seht stared at the thickening grey clouds. The humans were so predictable. Osiris had done this to them, filled their feeble minds with notions of honor. Fools. Seht lowered his gaze, hard, to the warrior. "You wish to die. Being merciful and generous, I grant your wish. Terin."
Jaw clenched, Terin rushed forward, thrust his knife into the warrior's chest, and snapped his neck. Averting his eyes, he wiped clean his knife and returned to position.
One of the women among Resup's family wrested free of Malik warriors. "Murderer! You're murderers, all of you! Following a murderer! Following—"
Malik slit her throat.
Terin's warriors, clearly ill at ease, shifted their weight.
Netum glanced toward them, and Terin, pale, ordered his men to attention.
Coolly, Malik met Seht's gaze.
Seht gave a slow nod of acknowledgement. Yes, he liked Malik more and more.
Three of Malik's warriors, seemingly emboldened by their king's pleasure with their leader, began hurling taunts across Terin's line to the captive men.
"You weren't told to speak," Malik said and struck the warrior nearest, knocking him backward to the ground.
The other two warriors stepped back, mouths closed.
Malik continued, "But your words were appropriate." He offered down his hand.
Pride overtaking the confusion in his eyes, the warrior Malik jerked to his feet rejoined the others.
Interest further roused, Seht studied his freshly-appointed commander, and Malik pulled back his shoulders, stiffening to attention. Yes, Malik had potential. From the corner of his eye, Seht saw another of the captive men lift onto his knees. Suppressing his amusement, Seht turned. "You, too, wish to die?"
Sun broke through the cloud, bringing a sheen to the man's grey hair, a glow to his triple-strung necklace of carnelian. The elder warrior said to the broad-chested young man who'd lifted to kneel beside him, "Son. Help me stand."
"No, Father. Let someone else—"
"Harsiih. Help me stand."
Harsiih brushed his cheeks. Face ashen, he assisted his father to his feet.
The wrinkles around the elder's dark brown eyes seemed to smooth. He lifted his chin and turned to Seht. "Allow my life for theirs, those who remain of Resup's family."
The three women covered their faces, we
eping.
Seht adjusted his rings. What an interesting little interplay. He dropped his hand. "Speak your name."
"I am Kartuoh, chieftain of this village."
"A chieftain?" Well, well. Seht held his expression at neutral. "Hm. Yes, in my beneficence, I'll allow the substitution."
Harsiih pressed his fist to his mouth, his brows drawing together. He closed his eyes.
Seht added, "Your life for one of theirs."
Harsiih clutched his father's arm.
Seht cocked his head. "That's my offer. Do my warriors begin the executions, or do you accept, Chieftain?"
"Father, please—"
"I'll die either way, Harsiih." Kartuoh touched his son's shoulder. "I want my death to have meaning. I want to die as I've lived, defending life and love."
Harsiih bowed his head.
Life and love? Osiris' nonsense. Have meaning? What human's death, or life for that matter, could possibly have significance? Seht tapped his foot. "Your answer."
Kartuoh squared his shoulders. "I accept."
Seht narrowed his eyes. "This isn't battle, Chieftain. If you want this substitution, you will kneel."
Kartuoh hesitated. Then, resolute, he turned to Harsiih.
Blinking back his tears, Harsiih gently helped his father lower to his knees.
Gazing into Harsiih's eyes, Kartuoh said, "I love you, and I have always been proud of you. Keep hope." He lifted his gaze to Seht. "I kneel before you so another may live. I'm prepared for my death. Terin, do what you must."
Terin dropped his fingers from his mouth and reached hesitantly for his knife.
Seht raised his hand, halting him. "Anyone else care to join your chieftain? There are still two women to 'save'."
Harsiih squared his jaw and lowered, sliding to press his shoulder against his father's.
Kartuoh's chin trembled. "No, Son, you must—"
"Though you kneel, you stand. Let me stand with you. Allow me this honor."
Frowning, Seht waved his hand and demanded, "Silence." These mere specks had the effrontery to speak out of turn in his presence, had the audacity to try to make his victory seem theirs. Perhaps he should take back his offer. No, let them think what they wanted. Their deaths aided his plan.
"Anyone else care to join them?" Seht called. "One still to be spared." He waited, watching the man in the back of the group, the man who also wore a necklace of carnelian.
The man stood and moved to Kartuoh and Harsiih. Crossing his arms over his chest, he bowed to his chieftain.
Even now, this human still held to the meaningless rituals Osiris had given? Seht rolled his eyes.
The man knelt beside Harsiih and said to Seht, "If you will allow, I, Baso, will take another's place."
Seht flashed a smile. Though without calling him king, three dissenters, two warriors and a chieftain, were offering themselves freely to death. Yes, he'd have to remember this tactic. "Granted."
Seht turned then stopped. Perhaps he could get a bit more from this, create additional anxiety and anguish. Casually, he angled back to the captives. "Anyone else?" he threw the question offhandedly.
The men Terin's warriors held circled glanced at each other. A tall man wearing a necklace of red stones stood.
Seht pretended not to see him. "No? Alright."
"Wait," the man called. "I will—"
"The moment's passed. Terin, you know what to do."
Terin nodded then exhaled through pursed lips.
Seht arched an eyebrow. "If you find complying with my order too taxing have one of your warriors carry it out."
Terin's shoulders jerked. Quickly, he said, "O King, it is my honor to follow your commands." He hurried forward into the circle toward the three men kneeling, loosed from its sheath his knife, and angled up its tip. Nearing Kartuoh, he slowed. His hand shook, quivering his knife. Clenching his jaw, he yanked backwards Kartuoh's head.
The village women, halting their sobbing, protectively circled Resup's family. The village children's whimpering quieted. The captive warriors glanced at each other and stood, shoulders lowered, chins lifted.
Terin took a breath. He slit Kartuoh's throat and stepped to Harsiih. Kartuoh's body fell to the side, blood pooling around it. Pale, Terin slit Harsiih's throat, shoved him back, and moved to Baso.
Baso lifted his gaze and stared into Terin's eyes.
Terin's brows twitched together. He twisted and released, swinging his torso into the blow.
Baso shuddered and fell.
Trembling, Terin returned to position, wiped clean his knife, and sheathed it.
Seht sighed. Perhaps he'd made a mistake promoting him. Terin certainly didn't share Netum's outlook. But he displayed such skill with his knife. And he'd demonstrated his first small spark of creativity when he'd killed Baso. Well, Netum could help Terin dispense with his qualms. Seht flicked his cuffs. Yes, he'd mention this to his counselor later. But now, there was unfinished business. "Terin. Have your warriors kill all those near the dissenters."
Ah, there were the shouts and screams.
Twelve captive warriors leapt to their feet, their voices straining above the din. They shouted, pleading, for Seht to take their lives to spare the villagers.
Seht raised his hand, gesturing for quiet. He allowed the moment to stretch, amused by the predictable flickers of hope. Finally, he said, "I asked if anyone else wished to offer himself to spare another. No one answered without hesitation. A king's call must be met with decisiveness. Now," he said and paused, spreading his hands in mock sorrow, "it's too late." Chuckling, he turned away.
"You did not ask us," a woman called. She lifted her hands, revealing the symbols traced over her palms.
Seht turned his scowl to Netum.
Netum's jaw went slack. "Mercy, O King. I will correct the mistake at once." He grabbed a spear from one of Malik's warriors and hastened toward the woman.
"Wait." Seht appraised the priestess, her long black hair, her young, supple body. "She's correct. I didn't extend my generosity to the women." He motioned her forward, Malik's warriors stepping back, allowing the woman to pass.
Eyes guarded, gait carefully measured, she strode forward, and met Seht's gaze. "My name is Rena."
"And you wish to acknowledge my beneficence. Is that correct, Rena?" Seht asked, staring into her black eyes.
"What generosity do you offer me, a Priestess of Isis?"
Seht snarled. "You dare—" he stopped himself. This was an opportunity he wouldn't let his anger deter him from taking. "Bow before me, and I'll consider your question."
"Spare these villagers, and I will bow," Rena countered.
"You attempt negotiation?"
"I am a Priestess of Isis."
"Indeed." Seht pushed down his rage. "Bow and I will permit the women to live."
"And the men?"
Foolish, arrogant human. "Bow and call me king, and I will permit the men to live."
Rena pressed her fingers into the flesh of her palms, white spots appearing on the backs of her hands.
Seht raised a brow. "Terin, kill the men."
"No," Rena said and took a step nearer. "I'll do as—"
"Too late." Seht gave a quick, vicious smile.
Breathing quickening, Rena knelt. "Please."
"Please...?" Seht tilted his head.
Rena bowed her head, her tears making small dark circles over her gown. "O King," she whispered.
"There," Seht said, employing the tone he'd heard humans use with small children. Feigning tenderness, he bent to stroke her cheek. "For that tiny submission, Rena, I grant another offer. You will return with me to my palace, where you will be my servant, and I will spare half the men."
Nostrils flaring, Rena closed her eyes.
"To further show my generosity, I'll even grant pardon to the half spared for however long you fulfill my wishes." Seht curled a finger und
er Rena's chin. Roughly, he tipped up her face. "I offer you an honor," he said, voice hard. Then, as if suddenly making an astonishing realization, he exclaimed, "Oh, but you don't yet understand, do you?" Shifting to pretend pity, he made gentle his gaze. "Silly little Priestess of Isis. You, so woefully unprepared, are perplexed. Ah, but don't worry. I'll make it clear for you. You see, Rena, favorite of High Priestess Maeta—"
Rena exhaled sharply.
"Oh, yes, I know who you are. I'll tell you a secret. Promise not to tell? I know a thing or two about priestesses' symbols. And still, knowing who and what you are, in my, hm, enormous beneficence, I offer you the privilege of becoming," he paused, lightly tracing her features, "one of my worshippers."
Hissing, Rena shoved back Seht's hand. "I will nev—"
"Sh. Don't be hasty, Priestess. In exchange for your acknowledgement and acceptance of this honor," Seht said and then bent to whisper, "I will spare the children."
Rena sucked a breath. "You wouldn't—"
"You think not?" Dropping pretense, Seht gazed at her coldly. Cupping her chin and gripping hard her cheeks, he turned her face toward the children huddled sobbing together. "You find them beautiful, don't you? And innocent?" He flicked his fingers along her collarbone. "I demand an answer, Priestess. Do you accept the honor?"
Rena's shoulders strained. "Yes."
"Ah!" Seht leaned back. "You've made the right decision. That should please you. I know how eager priestesses are to put into practice the wisdom they've wrested from their wanderings among the mysteries of their mistress." He waited then cocked a brow. "Clever word play, Priestess, deserves acknowledgement. But don't be distressed. You'll learn." He stood and held down his hand.
Palms pressing the grass, Rena averted her gaze.
"Careful. Don't make me reconsider."
She lifted her hand to his.
"Better." He pulled her to her feet and motioned to Netum. "The women and children are to be spared, as are half the men. The other half of the men are to be killed. Which of the men are spared and which are killed, I leave to you."
"And how they're to be killed, O King?"
Seht smiled. "Good Netum, I leave that to you, as well."
Netum's eyes brightened.
"After you and the warriors have finished entertaining yourselves, slash the water-skins. Trample the food. Bring whatever remains standing of the shelters to the ground."
"Yes, O King." Netum bowed and, calling Terin and Malik, hastened away.
"Now, Rena," Seht said, pressing her close, "you will be given the honor of watching my commanders and warriors in action." Feeling her stiffen, he added, "I understand you're overwhelmed by the honors you've already been afforded, and so I'll clarify. You will watch with me. That is my wish. You will recall, my wishes should be of particular importance to you. Now, then. Are you not yet again honored?"
Blinking slowly, she turned her face away.
He leaned nearer. "Certain you're prepared for the consequences of your refusal?"
"I am honored," she said, nostrils flaring, "O King."
"I accept your words. We'll work on your tone later." He gave his teeth a snap. "Now enjoy the entertainment."
Malik's warriors holding back the wild-eyed women and the howling children, Netum, Malik, Terin, and those under his command began cutting a swath through the unarmed men.
Amid the chaos and death, a captive warrior shouted, "Though we die, all is not lost. You who live must keep courage and hold hope. Remember Osiris. Remember Isis. Their son will come. Remember Osi—"
Seht turned to see the man fall. "In his dying moments, he calls them to remember a dead king? How pathetic."
"Long live the Son of Isis and Osiris," another cried. "Long live King Horus! Long live—"
Malik's sword silenced him.
Tightening his arm around Rena's waist, Seht frowned. "King Horus? They think a child could dethrone me?" From the corner of his eye, he noted Rena's defiant thrusting out of her chin, the quick sneer over her lips. Darkness rose within him.
Fear filling her eyes, Rena struggled to free herself.
Seht's back-handed slap felled her. He stared, eyes narrowed, at her corpse, laying, body twisted down, neck broken, at this feet. "You're wrong, Rena, Priestess of Isis. The throne is mine. I destroyed the father. I'll damn well destroy the son."
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