Lynda Robinson - Drinker Of Blood

"Naram-Sin," said the owner of the hand. "May Baal and Ishtar bless you."

The scribe bowed with the ease of the finest courtier. "Zulaya. Good fortune to you. We thought you'd gone to Byblos."

"I'm honored that Othrys speculates upon my whereabouts."

"Only in passing," Naram-Sin replied with another bow. "Your pardon, but I'm on an errand for the master."

The scribe moved, but Zulaya stepped into his path and waved at Meren with the cup of wine he was holding. "Othrys has a new servant?"

Meren kept his mouth shut. He didn't trust his ability to play a common Greek sailor before this well-traveled merchant. Naram-Sin glanced over his shoulder at Meren as if he'd forgotten him.

"New servant? Oh, no. This is Tros, a friend." Before he could react, Naram-Sin wrapped a hand around his arm and pulled Meren against him. "Tros is from Mycenae. His family is high in the favor of the prince."

"Ah," Zulaya said as he bowed to Meren. "I have many dealings with other Greek cities, but not Mycenae. Perhaps we could share wine and speak of trade?"

Meren opened his mouth, but Naram-Sin spoke first.

"A most tempting invitation, but we have promised to be elsewhere, and it's getting late. Perhaps another time?"

Zulaya inclined his head and stepped aside. As Meren passed, he said, "It's a dark night, Tros. Be careful."

Meren nodded and hurried after Naram-Sin. He caught up with the scribe as he stepped outside. One of Othrys's guards was waiting. Meren kept silent until the guard led them into a deserted house. Then he stopped Naram-Sin.

"Where did Zulaya come from? How long was he in the Divine Lotus tonight?"

Naram-Sin gave an impatient sigh. "By the earth mother, you demand the impossible, lord. I cannot know everything, even for you."

The guard suddenly became interested in the plaster on the wall in the next room as Meren stalked closer to the scribe.

"I've practiced the patience of Isis with you, Naram-Sin.Give me an untwisted answer before I tie your legs around your neck."

Holding up his hands, Naram-Sin chuckled and said, "I obey, great lord, but you won't like my answer. No one knows when Zulaya arrives or when he leaves, not even Othrys."

"So he could have just arrived. He could have been in the streets earlier in the evening."

"He could have been in the netherworld," Naram-Sin replied, "and neither you nor I would know it." The scribe lowered his voice. "It is said that Zulaya's power comes from demons of that place."

"Power comes from wealth ordained by the gods, Naram-Sin."

"And birth, lord."

"Do you know a well-born man without wealth?" Meren made a slashing motion with his hand. "I've no time for useless speculation. You've ruined my plans for this Zulaya. He's seen me, and now I can't make his acquaintance as Lord Meren."

"In truth, lord, you're more likely to gain Zulaya's trust as a Greek. He leaves the trading matters here to his underlings and has few dealings with Egyptians."

"When will he come to the Divine Lotus again?"

Naram-Sin shook his head and gave Meren a smile that irritated its recipient with its familiarity. "His visits to the city are brief and rare. A merchant prince must travel ceaselessly, for he trades in countless places. As for finding him again-"

"I must find him again," Meren said.

The scribe hesitated, his brow furrowing as if he struggled with some elusive thought. "Lord, Zulaya is like the desert storm-winds; he appears from nothing and vanishes into nothing."

"Nevertheless-"

Meren went silent and raised a warning hand to Naram-Sin. They had been standing in a narrow room, the roof of which was supported by a single column. The house itself had no second story, and the roof served as a living area. He'd heard a distant thump on the roof, as if someone had landed on it from the second story of the building next door. Meren signaled to their guard. The man hurried through the house to the rear door, but as he disappeared Meren heard scurrying from above. Launching himself after the guard, he burst past Naram-Sin.

"Come, quickly!"

He ran through the house to the rear door, which stood open. Throwing himself beside the portal, he grabbed Naram-Sin before the other man could run outside. The guard reappeared, beckoning. Meren slipped out of the house, followed by Naram-Sin. Keeping their backs to the house walls, they hurried for the shelter of an alley shrouded in blackness. As they gained concealment, Meren glanced back and saw movement on the roof of the house they'd just left. Then a shout cut through the quiet.

"They've gone out the back.'"

Naram-Sin grabbed Meren's arm and whispered furiously, "Follow the guard. I'll go separately, and they'll have to chase us both."

"It's too dangerous," Meren said as Naram-Sin began to push him toward the guard. "If they catch you-"

"If they catch you , Othrys will kill me. Now go!"

Naram-Sin whirled and ran back the way they'd come. At the same time, the guard grabbed Meren's arm and hauled him down the alley into another passageway. As they ran, Meren heard more shouting, then the sound of running, closer and closer. The guard stopped and shoved Meren ahead of him into a doorway.

"Stay still," the man hissed. "Not a move until they pass." The guard stepped into the middle of the alley, turned his back, and looked over his shoulder as their pursuers came into view. Then he fled. Meren pressed himself against dry old wood and held his breath as five men with knives and scimitars hurtled toward him.

Thebes, the independent reign of the pharaoh Akhenaten

A year, an entire year-Inundation, Emergence, Harvest- and she still lived. Nefertiti sat in a small audience chamber and stared blankly at one of the frescoes in the Theban royal palace. Her little girls were gone, one by one. All but Merytaten and Ankhesenpaaten. Gone. First Meketaten had caught an ague that worsened until she could no longer breathe. Then a plague had swept out of the northern empire to strike Egypt, taking her youngest ones, even the littlest, Setepenre.

That plague had scourged Nefertiti's heart and left her empty and writhing in agony. All her prayers, those of the priests and physicians, had come to naught. The gods had abandoned her.

Ay had convinced Akhenaten that she needed to get away from the palace and the city where she had lost her children, and so her father had brought her to visit her sister. Nefertiti cared not where she was. The pain was the same. Ay fussed at her, urging her to eat, to go out, to sail in the royal barge. These things she could not do. There was no reason to do them.

Her father had taken on many of her duties, as had Merytaten. Akhenaten sent an endless stream of letters full of worry, full of comfort, all useless. His grief did not touch her, and for that she felt guilty. He had loved the girls as much as she, and without her, he had no one with whom he could share his torment. But she was empty and exhausted. If she had to endure his clinging sorrow, she would go mad.

The gods had abandoned her. What other explanation was there for the loss of so many innocents in so short a time? She had prayed to them all-Amun, Mut, Osiris, Ra, but especially to Isis, the mother of all the gods. Her babies had died anyway. And only now, months past that time of destruction, was she beginning to understand the reason the gods had abandoned her. She and her husband had rejected the origin of all existence, the power from which all creation issued- Amun, the hidden power of life, the unknowable source. Without the king of the gods, she was doomed, as were her remaining children. All was blackness and chaos.

She heard a noise and glanced up to find her father walking toward her. She hadn't noticed his arrival, although her attendants must have announced him. Forcing herself to pay attention to him, she even managed a partial smile of greeting. Ay didn't smile back. He marched over to her.