‘That’s how I know that Khin and Akkan, the two sons of Abisha of Uru-Salim, both have reason to hate you, as you hate them. But the greatest hate of all is between one brother and another. That is the hate that you must harness, like a horse to a chariot, to carry you across the sands to your woman.’

  ‘Are you seriously saying that I should go to Khin and suggest that he join me in attacking Akkan?’

  ‘That is the only suggestion you could make to him without being killed, yes.’

  ‘But it will be hard enough to find Akkan. How can I possibly find Khin, too?’

  ‘As I said to you, my boy, I know more than anyone else in this city – and what I don’t know, I can soon find out.’

  ‘And you would do that for me?’

  ‘Of course. I am your father. Why would I not want to help my son? But . . .’

  ‘There’s a condition.’ Piay sighed. ‘There had to be a condition.’

  ‘No, there is an understanding of the world as it truly is. You and I are father and son. But we are also two grown men, doing business. If I do this great favour for you, you must do a favour for me.’

  ‘What is this favour?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . But there will come a time when I will call on you, and then you can be a good son to me, as I am now being a good father to you.’

  It struck Piay that he was in many ways his father’s son. He, too, was a survivor. He, too, prided himself on having the ability to outwit his enemy, perhaps not with knowledge – he left that to Myssa – but with cunning, charm and the capacity to think on his feet. That being the case, he wasn’t just going to roll over and give in to his father without at least trying to negotiate with him.

  ‘Surely you are in my debt because I have not taken my revenge on you for the harm you did me when I was a little boy.’

  ‘Harm?’ Asil exclaimed. ‘What harm was that? If you had stayed with us, you too would have become a slave of the Hyksos. Instead, you’ve spent half your life in the pharaoh’s court, bedding every pretty lass in Upper Egypt—’

  ‘How . . .?’ began Piay, and then stopped himself. ‘I forgot . . . you have the best information. Though you clearly had no spies in my bedchamber, when I cried myself to sleep every night, or in the classroom, where Taita beat me for the slightest mistake.’

  ‘Taita, the wisest man in all Egypt, beat you because he wanted you to know all that he knew. He is still your patron and protector. What would less fortunate men pay to be as close to him as you are? No, Piay, my dear son, I owe you nothing. So, tell me straight, do you want me to locate Khin and his Shrikes? Are you prepared to accept my terms? And, boy, just remember this . . . the life of the woman you love is resting on your answer.’

  ‘You utter bastard,’ Piay said.

  Asil smiled. ‘Yes . . . and be thankful that you inherited my ruthlessness and determination to win at all costs. I heard they pulled six dead Hyksos from the tomb of Djoser, early this morning. Tell me . . . how many of those did you kill?’

  Piay looked him right in the eye. ‘Five.’

  ‘Ah . . . That’s my boy! Now, do we have a deal?’

  A

  falcon streaked across the blue sky like a shooting star, its tapered brown and white wings pressed close to its body as it swept down towards its prey. Myssa watched it, caught in a deep fascination. She admired its speed, its sleek power in the pursuit of its single-minded vision, and for a while she imagined flying with it.

  She lay on a slab of bronze-coloured rock on the edge of the wilderness, looking out across the patchwork of fields and clusters of swaying palms that stretched to the winding river in the hazy distance. The air there was rich with the loamy scents of that fertile zone, and it seemed to her that she felt more at peace than she ever had done in her life.

  The Hyksos sprawled around, resting after the long march. Had they been walking for days and days and days, Myssa wondered? It seemed as though they had, but that surely could not be true. Time had lost all meaning.

  Stretching like a cat in the heat, Myssa heard someone approaching. When she turned, a towering figure was silhouetted against the sun.

  ‘Here,’ Akkan said, offering her a water hide.

  Myssa grasped it and swallowed a deep draught, marvelling once again at the sweetness of the water as she had the very first time Akkan had offered her the hide on the trek from the Pyramid of Djoser. She did not know what source he had used to fill the sack, but it tasted better than any water she had ever drunk before.

  As she handed the hide back, Myssa frowned at an unusual sight.

  ‘You have two water hides,’ she said. ‘Why is that?’

  Akkan showed a sly smile. ‘One for you, and one for me.’

  Myssa shrugged. It was an odd thing to say, but she felt no need to question it further. Her thoughts drifted in the cooling breeze blowing along the valley from the north. It seemed to her that she was caught in one of the wavering heat hazes that hung over the desert, her memories indistinct. Who she was and where she had come from mattered little. It was where she was now that was important.

  Somewhere nearby, she heard Akkan say, ‘She is ready.’

  The thump of the Cobra’s staff on the ground drew nearer and then his wild mane of hair loomed over her, his black robe seeming to draw in all light so that he appeared little more than a shadow.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said in a gentle voice.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Myssa asked.

  ‘To meet Seth.’

  Myssa couldn’t understand why she didn’t resist, but she took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Tallus guided her away from the other men, away from those views of the green valley and into the baking wilderness.

  A little while later, Myssa looked around and found herself in a bowl-like depression with ochre dust sweeping like a low mist across the base. The only view was of the sky above. In that restricted space, she felt choked by the trapped heat.

  ‘Here is the home of Seth, the god of the desert, the god of war, the god of chaos,’ the Cobra intoned.

  He lowered his flattened hand and Myssa dropped to the sand and sat cross-legged, looking up at him.

  ‘You are a sorcerer,’ she said.

  ‘Of a kind.’

  ‘Are there many like you among the Hyksos?’

  Tallus sat cross-legged opposite her. ‘I perform a sacred role. It is passed from father to firstborn son, a duty to the god we worship and to our ancestors. We are keepers of the ancient knowledge, of the rites and prayers and spells that can call Seth to aid us. We understand the sacred plants, and the potions that can be made from them.’

  ‘A priest, then.’

  ‘Of a kind.’

  ‘But now you’re an advisor to Akkan.’ Myssa cocked her head, trying to understand how this work fitted with what Tallus had said.

  The Cobra smiled as one would smile at a child. ‘The pattern of Seth’s plan for his people is hard to see. We Hyksos are a proud race, but filled with yearning. We dream of our ancient home, far away, the vast grasslands that lie beneath the snow-capped mountains. But we travel beyond the furthest horizons. We take Seth with us wherever we go, and his power increases with every new land we conquer.’

  Myssa found herself drifting with Tallus’ words as if she was in a dream. Deep in her head, she heard a small voice warning her that she wasn’t herself – that perhaps she had been poisoned by the water Akkan had given her – but she pushed it away.

  The Cobra pulled out a smaller hide pouch and offered it to her.

  ‘Drink some of this,’ he said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A potion that our people have carried with us from the earliest days. It is only given to those who have been chosen. It will nourish you, warm you and put strength in your limbs, so you have the power to deal with what is to come.’

  Myssa felt uneasy, but she took the pouch and sipped from it tentatively. The first draught tasted bitter, but as it made its way into her stomach a gentle heat flowed with it, just as Tallus had promised.

  ‘What is to come?’ she asked.

  ‘You are about to meet Seth, and you will be reborn in his service.’

  Myssa felt no fear, felt nothing beyond the soothing warmth spreading throughout her body. Her eyes fluttered shut and when she opened them again, it seemed as if an age had passed.

  ‘Seth is coming,’ she heard Tallus saying, though he was no longer in front of her. ‘Can you see him?’

  ‘N-no.’

  ‘Seth is coming. Can you see him!’ The Cobra’s voice boomed all around her.

  Myssa jolted and looked up above the ridge of rocks around the bowl. The sky had turned crimson, and against it a vast shadow was rising up and filling her with dread. She heard jackals screaming all around, but she could not tear her eyes away from the shadow. It wavered, took on form and substance, and then she was peering up at the beast-head of the god, and she thought she must faint away from terror.

  ‘The woman you were is gone,’ the Cobra was saying. ‘All that transpired before this moment means nothing to you. You have no feelings for anyone you once knew. They are nothing. Forgotten. Do you hear me?’

  ‘I . . . I hear you.’

  Despite her words, Tallus repeated what he had said, and again, and again, until it became a chant that burrowed deep into her mind.

  All Myssa knew was that the terrible face of the god would haunt her for the rest of her days.

  T

  here were bright white sails on the river, and the sound of sailors singing to the beat of the sounding poles echoed across the landscape. The wind had dropped on the high ground and the merciless sun beat down on the roasting sand. As she walked back to Akkan and his men, with the Cobra beside her, Myssa looked out at the familiar view. Though nothing had changed, everything seemed transformed, for she was seeing it with new eyes.

  ‘You lied about the location of Imhotep’s next sign,’ Tallus stated. There was no accusation in his voice, only friendly understanding.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We had no doubt that that was the case. We are not fools. You are sharp-witted and cunning. Of course, you would attempt to delay us to buy the others more time.’

  ‘Others?’ Myssa felt something prickle in the depths of her mind, as if she was striving and failing to remember a half-forgotten dream.

  ‘You will now tell us the true location,’ the Cobra said, ignoring her question.

  ‘I will.’

  As she neared the Hyksos warriors, they stood in a semicircle and watched her like vultures waiting for the last gasps of life to depart from their coming meal. Akkan stood in the centre, his arms folded.

  ‘Welcome our new sister, Myssa,’ the Cobra called out to the men.

  Grins cracked the faces of every man there, except the Child-Killer, whose lips only twitched with amusement. Bast prowled around the edge of the group, but as Myssa leaned down to beckon to her, the feline reared back and hissed before dashing away.

  Myssa shrugged and turned back to Akkan. He reached out both of his large hands and Myssa took them, puzzled but not deterred.

  ‘Welcome, sister.’ The Child-Killer raised Myssa’s hands and kissed the back of each one. ‘We have much to talk of, you and I. When camp is made, come to my tent and we will discuss what may be and what should be in the days ahead. But first, a gift.’

  Akkan let go of her hands – a little reluctantly, Myssa thought – and dipped into the pouch at his side, removing a bundle of cloth. He shook it out and Myssa saw that it was a dress the colour of the sun, or a golden wheat field, just before the harvest, made of linen so fine that it flowed like water over his skin.

  ‘For you,’ the Child-Killer said, ‘to befit your status. Let us see you in your splendour.’

  Myssa looked around the faces of the men gathered there, seeing cheeks flushed with lust and hungry eyes. She cared little. She had more power than all of them combined. They could not touch her, and their impotent desire only made them weaker. She stripped off her dress, tossing it aside, raising her chin in defiance and letting their eyes range over her hard muscles and soft curves.

  As if in a dream, hardly feeling the ground beneath her feet, Myssa stretched out a languid arm, took the dress from Akkan and slipped it on. She looked down at herself and nodded at splash of blazing brilliance against her ebony skin. Those lustful stares had changed now. The gathered men were dazzled, their lips parting with an exhalation of wonder.

  Myssa fixed her eyes on the Child-Killer.

  ‘Why are you dawdling?’ she said. ‘There is work to be done.’

  T

  he sky shaded from black to magenta to pink in the east. The stars still glimmered, but the pools of shadow were ebbing away in the hollows among the dunes. Piay and Hannu trudged across the sand with Memphis at their backs.

  Piay had been woken in the middle of the night, after a few hours of desperately needed sleep, to be told that a messenger was waiting for him at the palace gates. It was a small boy, his face and legs as grimy as his kilt. He gave Piay the information, which was formed of stars to guide them and landmarks to indicate where they should change course. Then he added, ‘Your father said to tell you that you owe him.’

  ‘Send him my thanks, and tell him that I always pay my debts, in equal measure to what I owe.’ He looked at the boy. ‘Don’t forget that part. I pay what I owe, and no more. Got that?’

  The boy nodded and ran off through the city. Piay woke Hannu and the two of them filled their water hides, strapped on their sword belts and set off.

  ‘So, you bringing your little friend along?’ Hannu had asked.

  ‘Always,’ Piay replied.

  They left the city through the western gate, telling no one where they ventured – not that Harrar or Zahur would care. As was his way, Hannu had grumbled that, ‘Khem is a full day’s march to the north, maybe a bit more. So half a day’s march south from there is basically half a day north from here, right?’

  Piay had to agree that half of one was, indeed, half.

  ‘Right . . . so what are we doing, marching all night to the west?’

  ‘Because that’s where Khin and the Shrikes are.’

  ‘Yeah, but, one, it’s mad to walk in the wrong direction, and two, it’s even crazier to go and talk to a man who tried to kill you, before we killed a dozen of his men, minimum, and took everything worth having from his mob’s baggage.’

  ‘Yes, I agree,’ Piay said. ‘Both those things are mad, but they’re still not quite as mad as trying to beat Akkan by ourselves. That really would be crazy.’

  ‘Yeah . . . I know. But still, just saying . . .’

  That issue settled, they walked on in companionable silence. Luckily, Asil’s directions were easy to follow. Now they could see the final landmark, the outline of a rocky outcrop that seemed to resemble a jackal at rest. There was said to be a well at the foot of the outcrop, which explained why the Shrikes were camped there.

  Hannu turned his head to take in the air.

  ‘I can smell them.’

  ‘Right, then,’ Piay replied. ‘I’m only going to say this once. This is all just as mad as you said, so you don’t have to go any further. I can carry on alone.’

  ‘I’m not walking all this way on one good leg just to stop now,’ Hannu replied. ‘We’re doing this for Myssa. Both of us.’

  Piay nodded. ‘For Myssa.’

  T

  he first rays of the sun were rising in the east as Piay and Hannu walked up the jackal ridge. They crouched as they drew closer before dropping to their bellies and peering over the crest. A guard was perched, cross-legged, on a boulder just below them. He seemed to have been dozing, but when Piay and Hannu appeared as if from nowhere he jolted and jumped to his feet. Jabbing his fingers into the corners of his mouth, he blasted a whistle which rang off the rocks surrounding the depression.

  The guard was carrying a spear which he levelled at the new arrivals.

  ‘Stand your ground,’ he barked.

  ‘We are here to speak to your leader,’ Piay said.

  He looked past the guard to where the jumble of tents that made up the Shrike camp nestled at the foot of the hollow. It was just a matter of days since the Blue Crocodile Guards had ambushed the Shrikes. Both Khin and his men would still be smarting from the injuries to their bodies and their pride.

  In the camp, figures were dashing out of their tents in answer to the guard’s whistle, and soon a steady stream raced up the slope towards where the three men stood.

  Piay watched them, noting how different they were from the seasoned warriors of Akkan’s band. The Shrikes were dressed in rags, not armour, and they were carrying stolen swords and axes and spears. He had seen for himself that they lacked discipline in battle. Their fearsome reputation came from their savagery – they attacked like a pack of jackals.

  Piay and Hannu stood their ground as the Shrikes swept in a circle around them, jabbing at them with their weapons and jeering.

  ‘I know that one,’ someone barked. ‘He was the captive who summoned those soldiers to attack us.’

  ‘Cut him down now!’ someone else bellowed. ‘Let’s not waste time on him.’

  ‘Harm us and Akh-Seth will take your heads,’ Piay boomed. ‘We are here to offer him a prize beyond measure.’

  The cut-throats wavered, looking to one another for guidance. Without their leader there, none of them was brave enough to make any decision.

  ‘Tell him now that we can bring him the thing he values most in the world,’ Piay continued. ‘Tell him we can give him the Eye of Horus.’

  The Shrikes looked at one another, jabbering, arguing, not knowing what to do. They plainly had no idea what he was talking about. Then one of them took matters into his own hands and smashed his fist into Piay’s face. Another clouted Hannu. Then the group fell on their captives, punching and kicking.