Lynda Robinson - Drinker Of Blood

Scowling, Kysen rose and faced his father's cousin. No wonder he'd mistaken the man for Meren, for Ebana shared with his cousin the same wide-shouldered, long-legged physique, embodying the canon of proportions so dear to painters and sculptors. Each had long cords of muscle in the neck, shoulders, and arms, kept taut by hours of practicing war skills. Each had angular features and a strong nose softened somewhat by a wide mouth. Even their hair curled the same way, causing tendrils to trespass on their high foreheads.

Like Meren's, Ebana's hair had yet to show a trace of silver, but unlike Meren's, Ebana's face bore a scar. Kysen stared into eyes as black as his father's and spoke to his sister.

"What possessed you to bring him here?"

Bener rose and stood between them. "Do you know anyone else who would brave pharaoh's wrath to help us?"

Kysen broke his stare to give Bener an exasperated glance. "Do you know anyone who harbors more ill will toward Father?"

"Nonsense," Bener replied. "He saved Father's life not long ago. Ebana doesn't hate him as much as he says."

"How do you know that? I know what he's done You don't."

Ebana forestalled Bener's retort with a raised hand. "Enough. I'll not be fought over like a carcass between two hyenas. Kysen, you forget that your father and I declared a truce."

"Only after he caught you-" Kysen shot a look at Bener and pressed his lips together.

Ebana gave him a smile that slithered through high grass and curled under rocks. "You speak the truth, but consider this, low-born cousin. If Meren is condemned, his whole family will suffer. As his cousin, who grew up with him, I'll share in the devastation. In proving your father's innocence, I merely assure my own well-being."

"Now I believe you," Kysen said.

Ebana turned and went to the master's dais, where he sank into Meren's chair with the grace of a prince. "Your faith is a comfort to my heart."

"Ass's dung."

Bener poked him with her elbow. "Hold your tongue. He's already been at work for us, ungrateful one."

"Ah, yes," Ebana said. "Allow me to add to your discomfort, baseborn cousin. I have sought out a friend among the king's war band and have an account of the attack on pharaoh."

Aghast, Kysen turned on his sister. "What have you been doing? And now that I think of it, how did he get here?"

"I sent a message in the laundry when the maids took it to the river to wash."

"But the laundry was searched."

Bener gave him a contemptuous look. "Not the women's blood cloths. Remember?"

Kysen opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. Oh, yes.

"And he got here by simply walking in the front gate."

"Oh." Kysen faced Ebana, his jaw rigid as he bowed in gratitude. "May Amun bless you for your aid. Please, tell us what you've discovered."

Ebana grinned at him. "Well done, for a commoner."

"Just tell the tale," Kysen snapped.

"Some of it you know. After the skirmish with the bandits, pharaoh decreed that everyone was to celebrate. Horemheb convinced the king that the guards at the palisade shouldn't drink, but those inside the camp did. Even the Nubian bodyguards downed jars full of wine. You know how it is after battle, the strain winds the muscles as tight as a wine press."

Ebana rose and left the master's dais to join them. "As the hours passed, some went to their tents or fires. Meren left early, but pharaoh remained to joke and compare experiences with his companions. It was still dark when the king retired, and soon the whole camp slept."

"I could have guessed all this," Kysen said.

Ebana lifted a brow, caused his scar to move. "Could you in your omnipotence guess that after Meren left, someone drugged the wine and beer, and that was why the attacker could slip past the sentries at pharaoh's tent?"

Kysen flushed and shook his head.

"I don't know if the king's wine was touched, for his supply is kept separate. But his body servant slept through the attack, and the sentries at the royal tent roused only slowly. By the time they reached the king, the evil one had slashed the back of the tent and fled. Once the alarm was sounded, it was discovered that Meren was the only one missing."

"All that means is the attacker remained in camp rather than fleeing."

Bener had been listening silently. She returned to her chair, shaking her head. "The plan is a simple one."

Kysen had learned not to scoff at his sister when she said things like this. "Yes?"

"Of course," Bener said. "One of those nearest the king is the attacker. A humble soldier might have been noticed approaching the royal tent, even if the king's companions were drunk. The evil one waited until he thought everyone was in a stupor, stole into the tent, and made certain to wake the king. The attack was never intended to kill pharaoh, only to incriminate Father. The intruder stayed only long enough to do that before slipping out of the tent and rejoining the rest in the confusion. He might have been quick enough to take his place among the sleepers and pretend to wake with them."

"Meren told me you were clever of heart," Ebana said.

"He did?"

Kysen glared at his suddenly pleased sister. "But pharaoh is adamant that he heard Father."

"He was half asleep, and his wits were clouded by wine," Ebana said. "And pharaoh's heart is grieved by Meren's betrayal. If he weren't so disturbed, he would have realized that if Meren had wanted to kill him, he could have done it without getting caught. Your sister is right."

Bener had been staring over Kysen's shoulder, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "Even with the sentries in a stupor, there could have been little time to act."

"I agree," Ebana said.

"Therefore it is most likely that the attacker was one of those closest to pharaoh's tent," Bener continued.

"Who had charge of it that night?" Kysen asked.

Ebana drew nearer Bener, his harsh features softened by conjecture. "Karoya was wounded and unable to attend pharaoh."

"Which means that Mose would have been on duty," Kysen said.

"Yes." Ebana glanced from Kysen to Bener. "Mose and one other. The Nubian called Turi."

The conversation subsided as all three of them engaged in contemplation. Finally Bener spoke in a musing tone.

"I wonder if either Mose or Turi have dealings with Dilalu, Yamen, or Zulaya."

Ebana's head swiveled in her direction. "By the gods, little cousin, your heart is as devious as your father's."

"Such a possibility is the result of following a reasonable path of thought," Bener replied.

"Indeed," Ebana said faintly as he glanced at Kysen.

"She has always been this way," Kysen said. "Only of late, she has insisted upon meddling in Father's affairs."

Ignoring him, Bener said, "You must find a way to question Mose and Turi."

"How simple." Kysen threw up his hands. "I'll trot into the palace and ask them to a feast, shall I?"

"Hmm."

Kysen scowled at his sister. "No, Bener."

"You're right," she said. "They wouldn't come."

Holding up a hand in protest, Ebana interrupted them. "Enough, both of you. There's no time for grand designs. I'll seek out the Nubians myself."

"And I'll make my own inquiries," Kysen said. "I can seek Othrys's help. The pirate might know something of Mose or Turi, if Bener will send a message for me in her… creative manner." He kept his mouth shut when Bener smirked at him.

"How fortunate for you, brother, that I don't hold your condescending attitude against you."

The patrons of the Divine Lotus were more drunk than usual. Their drunkenness had a wild and desperate air about it. Everyone from the maids who served the food to the most successful Canaanite smuggler jumped at sudden sounds and stared into dark corners with slit-eyed acuity. On the floor in one of those dark corners, Meren sat pretending to drink spiced beer. He was waiting for Abu as arranged, and he was as wary as anyone, for Horemheb had returned to Memphis. At the general's command, the city police had doubled their patrols. It had been one of these that he'd barely escaped three nights ago.