Lynda Robinson - Drinker Of Blood

"Except for that young potter," the king said, his voice vibrating with restrained anger. "He'll soon die from losing that leg."

Meren peered over the wall into the darkness. No movement yet. He listened to the whispered banter among the war band. Most had been raised in the palace along with Tutankhamun. They'd trained together, studied together, lived together, so that they formed a close-knit unit. Each knew the movements and skills of the other, and all would die for pharaoh.

Meren especially trusted the two oldest-Hety and Raweben. The youngest, like pharaoh, had fourteen years. With these companions, pharaoh's training had been hard. Meren had agreed with Ay and Horemheb that the boy wasn't to expect royal treatment from them during training. He had been an equal. He received the same blows for negligence. He had run the same races around the palace walls. Their weapons and tasks had been his, except that they had been seasoned in battle while the king had not.

From across the village came the yowl of a cat, Horemheb's signal.

Meren picked up the bow that lay beside him. "They come." One of the goats in the pen bleated. "Remember to wait until they're all within the camp before shooting."

A long howl sounded; then a pounding of hooves and the clash of metal signaled the raiders' attack. Expecting no resistance, the bandits clattered into the center of the hamlet, swords waving wildly. On foot and on horseback they circled the animal pen. Before the intruders could attack the deserted dwellings, Horemheb gave a shout. Meren let fly his arrow and watched it strike the chest of a man waving a stolen scimitar encrusted with gold.

A horse screamed and went down with an arrow in its leg. One of the thieves had the wits to shout a command to take refuge. Tutankhamun aimed his bow at this man. With satisfaction Meren watched the king single him out; five bandits had fallen, but a score remained, and they'd be less trouble without a leader. The king's shot caught the man's arm near the shoulder as he leaped from his horse. He scrambled to the ground, ducked behind the carcass of a dead horse, and pulled the arrow from his flesh.

Meren drew his scimitar. Before he could speak, the king gave a war cry, vaulted over the wall, and ran at the dismounted raiders. Cursing, Meren, Karoya, and the war band hurtled after the boy, but a wave of raiders separated them from their royal charge. Karoya was at Meren's side, then past him, his longer legs eating the distance to pharaoh. Then the Nubian stumbled. His body jerked, and he hit the ground with a dagger in his shoulder. Karoya let out a piercing cry at Meren and pointed at the king.

"By the gods, I knew it.'" Meren sprang across the wounded Karoya. This was what he'd feared. Desperate to prove himself a warrior, Tutankhamun had allowed the excitement of battle to overcome his reason.

Meren reached the king in time to hurl himself at the boy and block a blow from a spear. They rolled together, but they jumped up and countered the assault of two bandits. Meren saw the king counter a slice from a blade and stagger backward.

Tutankhamun's opponent was twice his weight. To Meren's relief, the king whipped out his dagger as the man charged him and jabbed it into the raiders unprotected stomach. Blood gushed onto the boy's hand and arm when he withdrew the dagger, but he ignored it and rolled to his feet.

It had never been an even match, skilled warriors against untrained outlaws who relied on surprise and superior weapons against unarmed peasants. The raiders fled in all directions, leaving weapons, horses, and stolen goods behind. Fighting their way to the king, Raweben, Hety, and Mose flanked their royal charge.

Meren saw the twins Seti and Hor pursue three bandits into the animal pen. Seti lifted a goat and threw it at a plump thief. The raider went down with the animal on his back. The goat bleated in outrage and nipped the man's buttock.

As the fighting ebbed, Meren followed the king to the pen. While they watched the spectacle, a flicker of movement caught Meren's eye. He turned, his scimitar raised, but three raiders were on them. Raweben engaged the first man. Hety went down under a blow from a staff while Mose engaged the attacker. Meren leaped astride Hety's prostrate figure and swept his scimitar around in an arc. The raider ducked, feinted, and drew a dagger.

As the bandit cocked his arm back to throw, Meren heard the hiss of an arrow. The thief grunted as the missile pierced his gut. Three more arrows hit the man before he dropped. Then Tutankhamun was at his side, his bow still in his hands.

Mose still guarded the king with Meren, but the bandit leader and two of his men charged over a wall behind which they'd hidden. One thief swung a staff at the king's head. Tutankhamun dropped on top of the prone Hety. The bandit raised his weapon to bash the king's skull.

Even as Meren swung his scimitar, Tutankhamun raised an arm. His wrist flicked, and his dagger caught the raider in the throat. Meren's weapon sliced at the raider as he fell. Mose was busy dispatching the other man.

As Meren pulled his scimitar from the gut of the dead thief, a hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of his head. At the same time, his weapon was knocked out of his hand and a scimitar blade pressed against his side.

Meren saw Tutankhamun spring to his feet. Several of the war band rushed to the king, who thrust his arm out to prevent them from charging. They stood still while the raider moved away, using Meren as a shield. Quiet settled over the hamlet. The coppery smell of blood mixed with the odor of dung and straw. From beyond the settlement came sounds of pursuit and death. The twins, Horemheb, and a few others turned in their direction but made no sudden move toward the raider who held Meren.

From the corner of his eye Meren could see that the man was the leader the king had tried to kill earlier. He had a short, curled beard and long hair tied back with a gold ribbon. Blood oozed down his arm and the sleeve of his wool tunic. The raider's gaze darted from one opponent to another and settled on Tutankhamun. In accented, broken Egyptian, the man spoke to him.

"I kill this tall one you don't let Zababa free."

It took Meren a few moments to translate the mangled vowels and bad grammar. He caught the king's eye and gave his head an almost imperceptible shake.

Tutankhamun wiped sweat from his chin with the back of his arm. "Let him go."

Meren edged his hand toward the raider's blade. Zababa made a quick, light slash, and Meren gasped. The blade hadn't cut deep, and he pressed a hand against the wound.

Zababa held his blade over Meren's ribs. "Give chariot and promise no harm to Zababa."

The king's attention never left Zababa. Meren could see the boy's effort to hold the man's gaze. That meant that somewhere, a warrior was drawing back an arrow and waiting for the royal signal. Meren understood the king's dilemma. Tutankhamun dared not give the signal for fear Zababa would live long enough to kill him. Zababa's blade dug into Meren's flesh, and he clamped his teeth together to keep from making a sound.

"Promise now."

"Wait!"

Meren met the king's warning gaze and nodded, trying to make known his trust in the boy's judgment.

"You may have the chariot," Tutankhamun said, "but only if you free my man first."

"Give promise, little lord." Zababa jerked on his hair, but Meren set his jaw and refused to cry out.

"I promise," Tutankhamun said. "With Amun as witness, I, Tutankhamun, king of Egypt, promise you freedom if you release my servant."

Meren heard Zababa grunt and felt the scimitar slip a little as the thief called out, "King of Egypt? The little lord is king of Egypt?" A bark of laughter made Meren grit his teeth. "Give chariot, Egypt."