‘Don’t like the look of that,’ Hannu muttered.

  ‘As long as they leave us alone, I am happy,’ Piay replied.

  Hannu continued to watch. But within no time the desert wanderers had disappeared into the heat haze and the caravan continued in silence.

  O

  nly when the First Cataract appeared, did Piay allow himself to accept that he was home. As his gaze drifted down those steep banks of golden sand, topped with slabs of granite, to the river dotted with the jagged teeth of rocks and boulders, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Once they had passed through the cataract, the Nile plunged on, unfettered, towards Thebes. The going would be easier. There would be river traffic and farmers in the fields, merchants and masons, the bustle of familiar life.

  ‘Beyond is your home, yes?’ Myssa asked.

  Piay nodded. ‘And destiny.’

  ‘And beer. And rest,’ Hannu sighed, limping on. ‘Until the fighting starts.’

  A band of trees and shrubs edged the rocky banks of the river. The Tumisi guided the elephants along the side of the thorn bushes at the foot of the sweeping sandy bank towering up to the silver sky. With every step, Piay felt his heart lift. He fixed his gaze on the space ahead between the two valley sides, waiting for it to grow wider, the peaks diminishing and the land opening out.

  Home, so close he could almost taste it.

  Hannu came to a halt ahead and looked around.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Piay asked.

  ‘Perhaps nothing.’ Hannu peered up to the top of the valley sides. ‘A shadow, perhaps.’

  A crack of stone echoed and out of the glare of the sun a boulder careered down the sandy slope. Piay cried out a warning. The rock whisked between two elephants and splashed into the river, miraculously touching neither.

  An instant later, rocks were raining down from the top of the valley. The Tumisi hooted and swung their switches, whipping the elephants into action. They thundered along the green line of straggly trees and spiky-leaved bushes.

  ‘Take cover!’ Piay shouted.

  He ran into the trees as the rocks crashed on every side, splintering branches and bursting through bushes. He realised he’d lost sight of Hannu and Myssa, and he shouted their names but could hear no reply. The booming of the projectiles drowned out all other sounds.

  Through the leaves, Piay glimpsed movement along the top of the ridge. He made out the familiar sight of the Hyksos in their leather caps and breastplates, with their black beards and hair. He threw himself aside as another boulder ploughed into the sand and crashed through the trees where he had been standing.

  He clambered over the rocks and slipped into the cold water, hoping it would provide him with some cover. The barbarians had their swords drawn and some were creeping down the valley sides.

  This attack was the same tactic Piay had launched against their enemies as they searched for the Scarlet Feather in those mist-shrouded mountains. Could this be the remnants of Sakir’s band carrying out their master’s – and Seth’s – vision and trying to destroy the elephants, the saviours of Egypt? They must have sailed back much faster than Piay and Hannu. The desert wanderers they’d seen earlier could have been set to spy on the approach along the Nile and raise the alarm if they saw a caravan of elephants.

  No more than ten warriors were skidding down the sand. Maybe that was all that was left of the men who had crewed the six warships that first gave pursuit along the Red Sea.

  Letting the river current carry him, Piay struck out behind the cover of the trees to where the Tumisi had led the elephants to protect them from the assault. He hauled himself out of the water and ran to one of the men. Without Myssa he couldn’t make himself easily understood, but he jabbed his finger towards the advancing Hyksos. The elephant trainer smirked.

  The battle cries of the Hyksos rang in the air. Piay turned to face them as the Tumisi mounted their charges. There was still no sign of Hannu and Myssa along the treeline, but he reckoned they’d be biding their time, waiting for the barbarians to pass and then attacking them from behind.

  The barbarians scrambled to the foot of the slope and approached Piay. The elephants lumbered forwards, slow at first but then breaking into a run. Piay followed beside them. He knew how fast these great beasts could move. The Hyksos were about to find out.

  Some of the barbarians tried to scramble up the slope, sliding in the sand and tumbling back. The lead elephant crushed one man under its feet, and two more warriors fell beneath the feet of the second. Others stumbled towards the trees. Piay was ready for them.

  Without breaking step, he thrust his sword into the stomach of one of the Hyksos warriors and hacked into the neck of another. The remaining five men fled. One tripped, screaming as the lead elephant thundered over him. The others managed to claw their way up the slope.

  Piay watched them go. They had chosen the perfect place for the ambush, but how hopelessly it had been executed. Had they really thought they’d stood a chance of success? Khonsu had smiled upon them once more.

  As the last of the barbarians fled over the ridge, Piay heard groans. He dashed into the trees, calling for Hannu and Myssa. As he searched, he saw Hannu climbing to his feet, a gash across his forehead.

  Piay grabbed him. ‘Who attacked you?’

  Hannu shook his head. Droplets of blood flew.

  ‘He still lives,’ he croaked. ‘Sakir still lives.’

  How can this be?

  The last Piay had seen of Sakir, he was engulfed in flames. Surely no man could have survived that. But then a terrible cold drained through him.

  ‘Myssa,’ he whispered.

  Hannu snatched Piay’s arm, but his grip was weak.

  ‘He wants you to follow. He is luring you into a trap.’

  This was Seth’s vision. To isolate Piay, destroy him and thereby destroy any hope of the Hyksos being defeated. If Piay was wise, he would stay with the caravan and ensure the elephants reached Taita.

  His heart sank. ‘You know I have no choice.’

  He felt sick at the thought of Myssa in the Red Hawk’s grasp. He lurched away through the trees, leaving Hannu to sink to his knees, dazed.

  He scanned along the First Cataract. A line of footprints scarred the sand, leading up the slope – two people, one of them being half-dragged. Piay threw himself up the incline, ignoring Hannu’s weakened cries.

  At the top of the slope, he looked out across the waste. That ragged line of prints led to the dark smudge of two figures in the distance. The Red Hawk was moving fast for a man who had been half-burned alive. Myssa was struggling. She had a strength that drove her on through all hardship, but Sakir would not tolerate resistance. His punishment would be brutal.

  As Piay ran forwards, he felt a moment of clarity: his life meant nothing. He would give it up in an instant if he could save Myssa. He was no longer the man he had been. He was reborn – for better or worse, he did not yet know.

  T

  he desert sun seared. The land was a blur of brown dust where mounds of coppery rocks thrust through the surface. The bleak landscape rolled out in billowing waves, the fleeing figures sometimes disappearing beneath the line of ridges. Here and there ravines cut through the sand, with steep granite cliffs dropping down to a carpet of huge boulders.

  Piay dribbled water from his hide onto his dry lips – he knew he had to conserve the precious life-giving liquid in the terrible heat.

  Dust exploded at his heels as he ran on. He was closing on the two figures. He could just make out Sakir thrusting Myssa forwards, his crescent sword clutched in his hand. The barbarian had tied her wrists to her spear behind her back. She was staggering and seemed dazed.

  Piay slid down a bank and lost sight of them, and as he clawed his way up the other side, Sakir and Myssa were nowhere to be seen. He pushed himself onwards, his steps more measured. Sakir must have been planning this for a long time. After the torture Sakir had suffered at his hands, the Red Hawk would want to inflict as much pain as he could dream up in his twisted mind. Myssa was the key to that.

  But now a wind was blowing in. A huge cloud of dust whirled along the horizon, darkening the sky. Piay winced as the burning sand blasted into him like shards of glass.

  He plunged down another slope and when he rose on the other side, he stumbled across deep gouges in the landscape that looked as if they had been cut by the deluge of watercourses in some long-forgotten time. The footprints ended at the lip of one of the gorges.

  Piay crept to the edge and peered over the side. It was possible to pick a path down the rocky side. But at the foot of the incline, the dry water channels became a maze of twisting paths. Sakir had chosen well. Piay would be blind to what waited ahead of him, would not be able to prepare himself when the Red Hawk launched his attack.

  Piay knew what Hannu would have advised: it would be reckless to venture into the labyrinth. But he gave no heed to the risks. Myssa was all that mattered.

  Piay felt a sudden chill. He was sure he could see a face forming in the dust clouds. Eyes burned and a fanged maw gaped, and around it he could make out the familiar beast-head of Seth. In that moment he had no doubt the god of the desert was present, watching his agent commit an act of slaughter in Seth’s name.

  Piay shuddered under that terrible vision. It was the dark reflection of his encounter with Khonsu by the lake at the source of the Nile. There, he had experienced love and protection. Here, he sensed only loathing.

  Piay drew his sword and crept down the rocks into the depths.

  T

  he sky darkened and the gloom entered the narrow, twisting chasms. The wind howled louder, echoing off the rock walls. Piay choked on the dust blasting from the turbulent brown cloud now swallowing the waste.

  The footprints were no longer visible. Sword in hand, Piay moved along the channels, feeling around the rough rocky sides to guide him. His eyes darted for any hint of Sakir.

  A cry rang out.

  Myssa.

  Piay’s anger surged and he pushed through the dust towards the sound.

  At a point where two chasms crossed, he sensed a sudden movement to his right. Out of the cloud of brown dust, a figure was racing towards him, sword swinging over its head.

  Piay felt a wave of horror at the monstrous sight, like some creature from a nightmare. Sakir was blackened by the fire that had only partly consumed him, his beard and hair burned off, the skin of his face charred and blistered. One eye glowed with a milky sheen. How he had not succumbed to death from his injuries, Piay did not know. But there he was, filled with a supernatural power, the power of the god Seth. Vitality coursed through him. His muscles flexed and he thundered with the speed of a fighting man in his prime.

  That crescent blade slashed down.

  Piay instinctively flung his own blade up, clattering it against the edge of his enemy’s weapon. Sparks glittered.

  ‘Where is Myssa?’ Piay raged.

  ‘She lives.’ Whatever damage the fire had done to Sakir’s lips, his voice now had a faint sibilance.

  ‘If you have harmed her—’

  The crescent sword flashed towards Piay’s gut and he danced back, catching his heel on a rock. Over he went. Before the Red Hawk could seize his advantage, Piay rolled back and thrust himself to his feet. He swept up his sword to parry another strike. The vibrations jolted him to the marrow.

  ‘You have become distracted by the woman,’ Sakir hissed. ‘Caring for another has weakened you. We were evenly matched before, but you have allowed yourself to bare your own throat. It will be the end of you.’

  Piay bounded back again from Sakir’s furious onslaught. But he knew what the barbarian meant. His concerns for Myssa intruded into his single-mindedness. If he did not overcome it, all would be lost.

  ‘I would have it no other way.’ Piay forced a grin. ‘I pity you, Sakir. You have nothing but your hatred to fill the emptiness that is your life.’

  ‘Aye, and life is what I will keep. You have traded that for love, and death.’

  Sakir drove on, hacking and slashing with an inhuman strength. Piay felt his arms begin to ache and his chest burn. He leaped around the narrow channel, but there was little room to move freely; all his skills as a swordsman were blunted. Sakir had planned it this way. The Red Hawk’s brute strength was now proving enough.

  Sakir disappeared into the billowing dust. Piay whirled back and forth, waiting for the moment he would emerge. The crescent sword, flashed. Vanished. Flashed again.

  The tip of the blade licked his forehead and he felt the sting. Staggering back, he tripped on the uneven surface once again and crashed down. Sakir loomed over him, the hideous black face impassive. His sword swung up for the killing blow.

  Winded, Piay closed his fingers on a rock and hurled it with all his strength. The stone smashed against the Red Hawk’s face, ripping open a pink gash. Sakir staggered back, clutching at his features.

  Piay jumped to his feet and thrust.

  Somehow Sakir twisted at the last moment and the blade merely raked across his side. Blood spattered on to the rocks.

  Sakir’s good eye flickered, and in its depths Piay could see his opponent knew his advantage had gone. The barbarian curled his ragged lips into a tight smile. He was unafraid.

  Dancing back to where the rocky walls were not so steep, Sakir leaped up and heaved himself towards the rim.

  Piay felt a burst of panic. In his mind’s eye, he pictured Myssa at the top, Sakir hurling her off the edge to gain his revenge, her body broken on the rocks below. He threw himself after the Red Hawk. In his mind he could hear Hannu warning him not to follow, that Sakir would have the advantage of height. But he would not hold back.

  Myssa, he thought. Myssa.

  Piay clawed his way over the rocks. Sakir had vanished into the dust storm. Piay’s blood-slick fingertips searched for cracks in the rock, his feet scrabbling to gain purchase. But the slope became gentler near the top and then he was heaving himself up with increasing speed.

  He pulled himself half over the edge. He glimpsed Myssa sprawled nearby – unconscious, he prayed. Before he could cry out to her, Sakir loomed over him.

  ‘I told you . . . weakness,’ the Red Hawk said. ‘You have killed yourself.’

  Piay sensed the sword flashing towards him. He pushed himself backwards, the tip of the blade missing his face by a finger’s width. He twisted and turned as he tumbled, the jagged edges of rocks raking his flesh. His thoughts spun away.

  Piay crashed into the jumble of boulders at the foot of the slope. Though pain flared through every part of him, he levered himself up on his elbows.

  As he looked up the side of the channel, he glimpsed Sakir staring down at him. When he realised Piay was still alive, the barbarian readied himself to climb down to finish him off.

  Piay would not have the strength to resist. Even then, his thought was only for Myssa and the fear he would never see her again.

  ‘Come down here!’ a voice rang out. ‘See if you have what it takes to defeat two of us.’

  Hannu was standing beside Piay, peering along the length of his blade at the barbarian. His friend’s face was twisted with rage.

  ‘Two of us?’ Piay croaked.

  ‘Quiet,’ Hannu breathed. ‘Let him think you’re as indestructible as he seemingly is.’

  Sakir hesitated on the edge. A triumphant smile danced across his lips.

  ‘I will keep the woman alive, for now. Come to me. We will end this on the plains of Thebes before the eyes of our brothers, when Seth will be victorious. Then all will know who is the true power here. But remember this, Piay of Egypt – you have been defeated this day. You have been broken.’

  Sakir stepped back into the dust cloud and was gone.

  Hannu lowered his sword.

  ‘Thank the gods. I thought I was going to have to fight him.’

  Piay pushed himself up. His body was consumed with pain, but miraculously none of his bones seemed broken.

  Sakir was right. Piay had fallen for the first time. He’d been defeated. Now, bruised, battered and hollowed out, he had to find the strength to fight the coming battle.

  ‘Fear not,’ Hannu encouraged as if he could read Piay’s mind, ‘you have three days to recover before we get to Thebes.’

  W

  ith the First Cataract behind them, the Nile flowed across the fertile valley. Once, Piay’s heart would have beaten faster at the thought that he was now back upon the soil of the land he loved. He would have felt comforted by the song of the land, the rustle of the wind in the papyrus beds, the steady heartbeat of the shadoof irrigating the lush fields, the whisper of the swaying date palms.

  Now one thought burned in his mind: do whatever it takes to save Myssa.

  Heads turned in the farmlands as the elephants tramped past. Piay imagined how those field-workers must be marvelling at such a sight, one that had never been seen in Egypt before. Would the Hyksos quake in terror when they saw them? The spirits of the Egyptian army would certainly be lifted.

  Piay summoned up a vision of the fanfares that would blast out and the soldiers cheering as he led the great beasts towards the front. Would he be proclaimed saviour? Not so long ago that notion would have brought a heady rush, but now he cared little for personal glory. He wanted only Sakir’s death, and to drive the Hyksos out of the land he loved. To end this decades-long war.

  And to experience peace.

  He could barely envisage what that would be like. He hoped – he prayed once again – that it would be another golden age, where he could relinquish his life of struggle and spend his days with Myssa. There could be no better reward for the hardship of the last two years.

  He glimpsed Hannu’s face hardening. His assistant’s eyes sought him out.

  ‘Something is amiss.’

  Piay looked along the shimmering river. All seemed well. A boat drifted with the current. Children chased each other along the muddy bank. But then he sensed something in the breeze. Burning.