Lynda Robinson - Slayer of Gods

Meren woke with a start. He sat up, searching frantically for anything familiar, and found only blackness. His hands groped, and he found the bed. Still blind, he stumbled, hitting a post, and lurched away from it. A wave of dizziness made him bend over and brace himself. Taking long breaths, he slowly unbent and took cautious steps with his arms flung out in front of him. At last his hands found wood, and he pushed open a door.

To his relief a charioteer stood outside. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. His blurry vision cleared, and he hurried to Kysen’s room, his heart pounding. His son was still imprisoned in his frightening slumber. Bener sat on a stool and half lay on the bed beside her brother, asleep. Was it his imagination, or did Ky seem paler? He could hardly see the boy’s chest move with his breathing. Growing cold with alarm, Meren dropped to his knees, took Kysen’s cold hand in his, and prayed to Amun to save his son.

As he muttered the prayer, a shadow crossed the path of light cast by a lamp beside the bed, and an arm came down on his shoulder. Meren froze in shock, then recognized the heavy gold signet ring carved with cartouches enclosing two names.

“Majesty?” Meren whispered. He sank to the floor.

“Get up, Meren. I came as soon as my duties allowed.” Tutankhamun lowered himself to one knee beside Meren, his young face full of concern. “How is he?”

Meren stood and looked down at Kysen. “He hasn’t moved since I lay him there. The physician says he can do nothing.”

The king searched his face, then nodded at Meren’s sleeping daughter. “This is the work of the same one who abducted Lady Bener?”

“Aye, majesty.”

“Meren, you look like you’ve been through battle and lost.”

“Thy majesty has great perception, and since Kysen was looking for the merchant Dilalu, it could be that he is the evil one we seek. But I’m not sure, and I dare not send anyone to hunt him right now. I’ve already captured the pirate Othrys, whom I suspect, and I shouldn’t have done it. If he’s the murderer, Kysen may suffer for my recklessness.” They both studied Kysen for a few moments.

“When I thought you’d tried to kill me I sent for Kysen,” Tutankhamun said quietly. “I tried to make him betray you. A useless attempt, I admit. He told me I might as well kill him, because he wasn’t going to help me. I remember thinking how much I admired him for refusing to abandon you. One with a lesser heart might have tried to save himself.”

Meren almost smiled. “Bravery has always come easily to him, majesty. The first time I saw him I was surprised to find so great a heart lodged in the body of one born so low.”

“The gods choose certain men and endow them with extraordinary gifts,” Tutankhamun said. “Like those who rose from the common ranks to become great architects or physicians. He will make a fine staff of old age for you, an admirable successor.”

“If he lives,” Meren whispered.

Just then Anath and Nebamun came in with one of the king’s physicians, and at their entrance Bener woke. Meren told his daughter to get some rest, and the physicians began to examine Kysen again.

Meren schooled himself to watch his son fail to react to the prodding and handling.

“Meren,” the king said. “You’re doing no good here, and we must talk. We’ll go to your office. Come, Anath.”

Once in the room, Tutankhamun began prowling around, picking up a scribe’s palette and setting it down, toying with a wooden penholder in the form of a hollow tube. Meren stood steeped in anxiety beside the master’s dais. Threatening Othrys had been a stupid thing to do. He was allowing his fear to govern him, and Kysen could well lose his life because of it. Anath tried to comfort him, but her touch only increased his agitation. Setting his jaw, he refrained from snapping at her and took her hand from his arm.

Tutankhamun paused near them and tossed the penholder onto a document case. As if from a distance Meren saw that his hands were shaking. He should have remembered that pharaoh was suffering too, and trying hard to conceal it.

“Yet another attack on you,” the king said in a voice that shook. “We must find this criminal before he murders your whole family. My majesty cannot allow such insolence.”

Meren shook his head wearily. “I can do nothing more until Kysen

He couldn’t go on. He was afraid to voice his hope. It was too fragile to bear being put into words. Anath again touched his arm gently as she murmured words of comfort. This time he didn’t move away.

“I took a chance in grabbing Othrys because I was desperate, and it gained me nothing.”

“Had I been faced with such a threat,” the king said, “I would have captured those most likely to be guilty as you did. Besides, I doubt Othrys is the culprit in this case. From what you say about him, he’s too clever to do the poisoning himself. But I don’t understand why the killer would poison Kysen at all.”

“He sent a message saying this was punishment for failing to do as I was ordered,” Meren said. “Kysen was in the Caverns looking for Dilalu.”

“But why attack your children?” Tutankhamun said as he wandered over to a stack of notes. He picked them up and began going through them. “If he’s so desperate to prevent you from finding out who he is, the most certain remedy would be your death.”

“Ah, but majesty, what would happen if the criminal did kill Meren?” Anath asked.

Tutankhamun looked up from reading a papyrus and considered, his features becoming blank. “I would close the gates, shut down the docks, and rake this city from one end to the other for anyone suspicious. Then I’d hand anyone I caught to General Horemheb for questioning.” He smiled. “The general’s methods aren’t as subtle as Meren’s but they’re effective. I wouldn’t release the city from my grip until I was satisfied.”

“Thus ruining many an illicit enterprise,” Anath said. “This drinker of blood has a network of interests, many located here, if I’m correct. To avoid bringing down thy majesty’s wrath, he must go carefully.”

“I didn’t do as he wished, however,” Meren said.

“True,” Anath replied. “But if you had, someone else would have been blamed for the death of Queen Nefertiti, pharaoh would have been satisfied, and the drinker of blood could operate safely.”

The king leafed through another stack of papyri. “And all these threats began the moment you returned from Horizon of the Aten.”

“And the moment Kysen and Bener began their investigations of Prince Usermontu and Lord Pendua, majesty,” Meren said. “I long to drag each suspect into a cell and beat them until I get a confession, but I dare not for fear there’s some antidote Kysen needs that the criminal is withholding.”

“Yes,” the king said. He looked down at the records he was holding. “So instead you’ve been wading through old documents.” He sighed and read the top sheet of papyrus. “By the mercy of Amun, look at these. It all seems so long ago, a lifetime. This is from year fifteen of my brother’s reign, a record of cattle from the temple of Ra given to Usermontu for his loyal service. I was almost five.” His eyes held a distant memory. “I haven’t seen old Usermontu in years. The last time was just before the queen died, I think. Yes, I remember she gave him an audience, and berated him as if he were a disobedient monkey for falsifying some kind of record.”

Meren drew closer. “Thy majesty never told me.”

“I had forgotten until I saw this.” The king pointed to the document he held. “I didn’t understand the details, but I remember the violence of their quarrel. I had never heard a servant raise his voice to a member of the royal family before, and Usermontu was so furious he was spewing his words along with quite a bit of spittle.”