Servant of the Gods (32 page)

A huge bed dominated the space.

Irisi barely noticed any of it. She felt numb, oddly still…

“Khai,” she said, turning to him. Reaching for him.

He’d followed her, openly.

Khai looked into her azure eyes as he took her hand.

It wasn’t the warrior who looked back at him but the woman. It wasn’t the one who was prophesied to stand against time and darkness but the one he loved with all his heart and soul.

Not the child of foresight, but the one of flesh and blood.

Irisi. His Irisi.

He tangled his hands in her hair to crush his mouth down on hers in both despair and passion. His mouth was avid on hers as he lifted her from her feet, his arms around her as he drove her back against the cold marble-faced wall while her arms closed around him. She clung to him as desperately as he did her.

Irisi heart shattered as Khai’s mouth possessed hers.

All her fears disappeared in the taste and feel of him against her.

She slammed against the stone, heedless of it as Khai devoured her mouth. She fisted her hands in his thick hair, her mouth wild beneath his, needing the taste of him, the feel of him, something to anchor her to this world. Something to hold her here in this moment, to this place, in Khai’s arms. She wanted that memory.

Khai buried his mouth against her throat to feel her pulse hammer against it, to feel the life there, Irisi’s life.

His hands slid up her thighs, boosted her higher as he drove his knee up between them.

She let her head fall back before his assault, one hand clutching at his shoulders, the other buried in his hair as he devoured her throat.

With both hands, he ripped open the fine, fragile material of her dress.

Jewels spattered across the floor as the fine linen gave way to his passion and need.

And hers.

Irisi cried out as his mouth found her breast and feasted on it, savaged it. Pain and pleasure mixed as his hands closed around her bottom, lifted her higher on his thigh, opening her most sacred places for his invasion.

Clinging to him, she let him ravage her. His mouth was hot and hard on her as he thrust his fingers up inside her, first one, then another, pumping, driving her wild. A third stretched her as her hips thrust. Need and want blinded her to everything but him.

Khai heard her cries and turned to let her fall across the bed. He drove himself up into her tight, wet heat even as she pulsed around him, her hands clutching at him

Another cry burst out of her as Khai plunged into her. Almost of their own will, her hips pumped to take him deeper, to take all of him. She wanted, needed to feel all the long length of him within her.

Thrusting hard, pounding into her, Khai took her, every inch of her his, all his… Not fate’s and not the Gods, but his, his Irisi. He hammered into her as she took him. He battered the very depths of her as she cried out. Claiming her as his.

She was his. His. Not a thing of prophecy but his and his alone.

He bowed his head against her, against the truth, even as he took her.

Struggling to brace herself, Irisi lifted to meet him, frantic for the feel of him…for the sense of being alive, of being loved.

Irisi felt him erupt, pouring into her, his body rigid, vibrating as he emptied, spilling his seed inside her…

Khai collapsed, drawing Irisi’s limp form into the curve of his body, into the protection and safety of his arms. He held her as tightly as she clung to him.

He touched his forehead to hers.

“The Gods be damned,” he said, softly, despite the futility of the gesture. “You are mine. My heart, my soul, and they cannot have you.”

Irisi reached up to touch his face, knowing the truth of it as he did, of all of it and knowing what it was he truly said.

So she gave him the words that would bind her to him as he’d bound himself to her, husband to wife.

It was no little thing to their people, or to those of Egypt.

“And you are mine.”

That was all that was needed. No ceremony could bind them more truly. The Gods understood what was in their hearts.

Her heart ached, knowing what awaited them.

With their arms wrapped around each other, exhausted, they found sleep at last.

It was like looking upon the Nile in flood but it wasn’t water that spread along the bank of the gleaming river but an army, a great wave of warriors, horses and chariots that fanned out across the green riverside. Tall standards marked the regiments as they marched south. Weapons glittered. In the sky above, a few of Kahotep’s falcons soared.

Like a horde of locusts, from the south came the Djinn to meet them, ravaging everything they touched. Behind them they left nothing but devastation. It was disturbing to see, like watching locusts descend upon a field. One moment life, golden, glorious, abundant, the next dark, empty and barren.

The numbers were daunting…They were a great scourge…

Some of their scouts returned, their faces pale, but not all.

Word from behind the lines of the Djinn was scant. Little survived. What did was hunted.

On the highest rise facing them, the King stood in his chariot beside his charioteer, his spears and bow at hand, watching and waiting, poised for war.

Narmer listened to their reports, his expression stern and unrelenting, but there was anger there, too, at the loss of life.

Around him were a number of his Nubian Guard. To one side were General Baraka and the King’s cousin, the Grand Vizier Kamenwati, with their forces arrayed before them. Both were in their chariots, both armed. To his other rode General Khai and the High Priestess Irisi. Her golden curls blew loose in the breeze, save for thin braids at each side of her fine-boned face. She wore little more than the other soldiers, a short pleated battle kilt and a halter. Leather guards encircled her wrists to protect them from the slip of a blade. Her swords were in a harness at her back, within easy reach of her hands. Her lions lay in the grass beside her chariot.

She looked surprisingly fierce, and Narmer was reminded that once she’d been a barbarian mercenary. He remembered watching her fight.

Flanking her on her far side were the priest Kahotep and the priestess Djeserit. Before them were more of the Goddess Sekhmet’s priests and priestesses, all armed.

All waited as he did for the right moment.

They’d spent hours on the journey here talking tactics, planning strategy, considering all possible alternatives…

Now they would see the fruit of those plans.

Watching the Djinn come, Irisi glanced at Khai.

It was time.

At the sight of the waiting army there was a great outcry from the oncoming Djinn, a sound of joy and hunger.

With a cry the undisciplined Djinn raced to close the distance between them.

“Generals, to your men,” Narmer shouted.

Khai looked at Irisi, his heart wrenching, but the front line was where he needed to be if they were to have a chance to win here.

And there was the Prophecy…however he might wish to deny it.

Their eyes met, held for only a second and then he turned his horses. With Irisi’s lion Nebi running beside his chariot, Khai snapped his reins. His horses surged toward his men as Baraka gave the signal to his charioteer and they raced off, too.

Narmer raised his sword, held it, a signal to all the army.

Sunlight glittered from the blade, as if Ra himself gave his blessing.

The soldiers cheered.

His eyes on the oncoming Djinn, Narmer held his position and stance as they closed.

As they drew closer still.

It was an act of courage simply for him to hold.

The army grew restless, seeing the enemy before them.

Narmer lowered his blade with a shout and snapped the reins of his chariot.

With that the armies of Egypt almost seemed to leap forward to meet the enemy.

The two armies came together with a tremendous crash, the Djinn striking the leather shields of the foot soldiers as spears and arrows flew. Swords flashed in the sunlight. Chariots charged into the mass of fighters and stopped as the horses went down, then those within them as the Djinn drove or pulled them out of the chariots.

Djeserit’s priests and priestesses were at the fore in support of the army.

Within seconds the army’s front line had utterly vanished beneath the onslaught, falling to the Djinn as horrific screams rang out to echo against the vault of the sky. One or two of Sekhmet’s servants found themselves suddenly fighting alone in the midst of the enemy and struggled to fight free of the horde.

On the rise behind them Kahotep let his falcons fly.

Irisi conjured up the wind.

This time, though, the Djinn were prepared for the attack. As they’d feared, the Djinn had learned. Or someone had.

As the birds dove, ifrit leaped, crushing them in their jaws while others were swatted out of the air. The Djinn who could leaped out of the path of Irisi’s conjured sandstorm. More of the birds were lost…

Suddenly, Irisi’s lions spun on their heels, clearly sensing danger not before them but in their midst.

“My Lord King,” a voice shouted derisively, his voice pitched over the sounds of battle.

Kamenwati.

Startled, Narmer yanked back on the reins of his chariot and turned at the sound of a once beloved voice that was both familiar and unfamiliar…and far too close.

Irisi, with Djeserit in the chariot next to her, felt the dark magic rise up behind them. Turning, they saw Kamenwati raise his arms, calling up power, and laughing… The body of Kamenwati’s charioteer tumbled from the chariot to fall to the ground, the source of the sudden surge.

Feeling dark magic stir as well, Kahotep wheeled his chariot around.

Irisi threw up a ward around the King even as she felt Kamenwati unleash his dark magic. The King’s Guard closed around him to protect him as ifrit seemed to appear from nowhere. One of them fell instantly, disemboweled. Another threw his sword up just in time to save his own life. Others flung salt at the Djinn, some of which howled as if burned when the salt touched their skin, as the Guard drew their swords.

Her lions leaped for the ifrit even as a mass of dark magic struck Irisi’s wards and shattered there. Irisi wheeled her horses, driving her chariot around the King’s toward Kamenwati, drawing her sword at the same moment.

Instinctively, Narmer flinched from the burst of power that exploded before his eyes even as his cousin’s chariot closed with his.

To Narmer’s horror and astonishment Kamenwati’s face went black, literally, with rage, swatting Djeserit away when she leaped from her chariot at him.

Sekhmet’s priestess tumbled back among the charging army, disappearing beneath their feet.

In shock, Narmer could only stare in shock at his cousin, seeing now behind the mask what had been hidden, and flung up his sword to defend himself.

Even Irisi was taken aback at the change. She’d seen no sign of this when she’d been Kamenwati’s slave, but she recognized it, shuddering in revulsion at what he’d done.

None of the priests or priestesses had sensed this, cloaked as he was in human form.

Glancing back across the battlefield, Irisi saw the Djinn fully engaged, chewing slowly but steadily through the army. At any moment, Khai would lead his forces in a flanking maneuver to surprise the enemy and drive them toward the Nile. Which Kamenwati knew, having been a part of the planning. They hadn’t been able to deny him that, with no proof of his involvement that they could present to the King. Something of which Khai had been well aware.

Soon Khai’s men would strike.

The Grand Vizier planned something…but what…?

Irisi raced to put herself between the Vizier and the King.

Alu leaped at Kamenwati, and Irisi’s heart wrenched, but the agile lion twisted in midair to avoid the quick slash of Kamenwati’s sword, the blade scoring his flank as Kiwu circled and Emu raced by Irisi’s side.

The motion of the strike at Alu tugged at Kamenwati’s reins though, and Kamenwati’s horses tossed their heads, fighting the conflicting instructions.

A tremendous crash and a massed cry to the south spoke of Khai’s forces striking at the flank of the Djinn.

Whatever Kamenwati was planning, Irisi knew he would do it soon.

Behind them, the army battled its way forward, heartening as the Djinn wavered at the impact of Khai’s men. Arrows flew but Irisi couldn’t help them with magic if she was defending the King.

Emu circled behind her, crouching low to creep around to attack from the rear.

His eyes glowing red, Kamenwati looked at his cousin the King and the High Priestess Irisi. He laughed.

Chilled by both Kamenwati’s expression and voice, Narmer stared at the man he’d once considered as close as a brother.

He remembered wrestling together as boys, fishing and hunting together. The betrayal went deep.

“Kamenwati,” was all he could say.

“Did you think these are all there were, my Lord King Narmer?” Kamenwati asked, derisively, as he lifted something from the floor of his chariot. “Pray you don’t survive. I’ll let the Djinn decide your fate.”

The man lifted something to his lips.

It was a horn, a great copper-chased ram’s horn, but a horn like no other Narmer had ever seen. In color it was a deep crimson. It was studded with rubies with hearts of darkness and dark jewels whose depths glittered red in the sunlight.

Kamenwati blew.

The sound that came out of that Horn was eerie and terrible. The potency of the magic in it pierced like a knife.

It nearly drove Kahotep to his knees. He wavered as Irisi did, as Djeserit did, emerging from the ranks of soldiers. The priestess’s eyes glimmered red, and Irisi knew she fought the blood lust.

Like a ripple of wind through grain, Irisi watched as the army shuddered when the sound passed over them. In that one moment the army was decimated as the Djinn took advantage of that momentary weakness.

Irisi braced herself against her chariot, steeling herself against that blood-curdling wail.

“Watch him die,” Kamenwati said to her, viciously, wrenching at his reins and driving his chariot toward her. “The Djinn will tear him to pieces. And you
will
watch.”

There was no doubt who it was Kamenwati meant.

Khai.

Kamenwati knew. Her heart locked.

With her own life forfeit, Irisi dared not look or Khai would have no chance whatsoever.

She wrenched her horses’ heads around, turned them out of the way of Kamenwati’s chariot by mere inches, shifting her weight within her own chariot to tilt it if only a little. Securing the reins to take up her sword, she twisted to avoid the slash of his, catching it with her own as he went past, slashing at him on the backhand and had the satisfaction of opening a gash across his chest as she did.

Then he was past, riding through and over the army as men scattered and tried to scramble out of his way.

Irisi dragged her horses’ heads around to go after him…and then caught sight of the King’s expression.

The King stared past her, aghast.

Irisi turned.

Darkness flooded the hills behind Khai’s divisions.

More Djinn.

Somehow, Kamenwati had called up more Djinn with that blow of the ram’s horn.

And Khai was caught between them.

Her heart went cold, but suddenly she understood.

Kamenwati had created the Horn to summon the Djinn. The Horn was the key.

Calling up the wind, she sent a burst of it after Kamenwati but the line of Djinn closed around him and the gust struck them instead, bowling a few of them over but causing no real harm.

It was disaster.

Narmer saw that clearly.

Their only chance now was to take advantage of this brief wavering, fight and pray to survive. And fight he would. He had no choice.

Narmer shouted orders, rallying the army.

Irisi looked at the Djinn closing on Khai, glancing back to the King. Had Khai seen them, did he know of the danger closing behind him?