Lauren Haney - Path of Shadows

“He speaks with more caution than Minnakht did. He sees the world more as it truly is.”

“What do you think happened to Minnakht?”

Glancing at the high, nearly vertical walls of the wadi, at the stones scattered along its floor, Nebenkemet returned the same wry smile Bak had given him earlier. “There’s no short age of rock in this desert, or of steep slopes down which a boulder could fall.”

Bak did not know what to make of this man. He felt sure that one as powerful as he could slay another with ease, but would he take a life? Under what circumstances? Their unsat isfactory conversation had revealed nothing of his character.

Bak lay beneath an overhanging rock, trying to rest. His men, sleeping close by in the narrow strip of shade, had planted spears in the ground and had fastened sleeping mats between them to stave off the hot wind, but the stifling air and tumbling thoughts would not let him nap.

His discussions through the morning had given him much to think about. He had come no closer to identifying the dead man or the one who had slain him, but he had learned enough about his fellow travelers to realize how unlikely each man was to have set off on an untrodden path through an empty and unknown land. Except for User, the lifelong explorer.

The willingness of these men to venture so far afield, he sus pected, was a measure of Minnakht’s persuasiveness, his ex citement when describing his adventures. Here he faced another exception: Nebenkemet, the skeptic.

Few men had the ability to draw others in their wake. What had Minnakht said to lure them into this rocky wasteland?

Had he altered his tale to fit each man’s need? Or had he se duced them with a single tale and a pledge of secrecy?

Bak could think of no more disparate a group of people on what promised to be a hard and dangerous journey. Which man would prove strong enough to go on, no matter how dif ficult the circumstances? Who would falter and have to be helped? With the donkeys able to carry a minimum of water and supplies, with wells or springs as much as three days apart, they could not offer unlimited aid to a seriously injured man. What would they do if faced with such a decision?

Would they be able to find nomads willing to help? Where were the nomads? Nebre and Kaha had found fresh tracks around the well and signs that a small group of people had camped in the shade. A shallow puddle had remained in the bottom of the bowl, indicating that they had watered their an imals not long before Bak and the others had arrived. Why had they moved on in the heat of the day? Where had they gone? Had the nomad Nebre and Kaha seen earlier in the morning warned them of the approaching caravan? Even if he had, their leaving made no sense. If the people of this

Eastern Desert were anything like the tribesmen on the southern frontier, they were a garrulous lot, as eager to speak with strangers as they were to pass news to friends.

His thoughts settled on questions more relevant to his mission: What happened to Minnakht? Was he alive or dead? If he was as highly respected by the nomads as every one seemed to think, how could he have vanished with no one the wiser? In what way was his disappearance related to the dead man and to the man who had gone missing nearly a year ago?

Bak awakened to the sound of falling water, droplets strik ing the earth around the edge of his shelter. He shook off sleep, looked out into the bright sunlight, snapped his eyes shut. Sunlight and rain? He sat up abruptly, nearly bumping his head on the stone above, and glanced around. Another smattering of sound. Small stones peppering the earth around him. Someone or something was standing above his shelter on the rim of the steeply inclined wadi wall.

Nebenkemet’s words came back to him: “There’s no short age of rock in this desert, or of steep slopes down which a boulder could fall.”

He scooted out from the shade and, leaping to his feet, yelled, “Move! Away from the hillside!”

Psuro and the Medjays, accustomed to acting without question, obeyed instantly. Bak darted away from the over hang and at the same time looked up the long, steep slope of eroded grayish rock. He thought he glimpsed something at the top, but could not be sure. Whatever it was vanished as if it had never been.

User, accustomed to life in the rough and attuned to dan ger, had been as quick to act as the Medjays. Nebenkemet moved almost as fast. The other men left their resting places half asleep and grumbling. The carpenter stared up the in cline above Bak, then flung a quick glance at the officer, evi dently remembering the words he had spoken so short a time before.

“What happened?” User asked, hurrying to Bak’s side as the Medjays gathered around.

After a brief explanation, Bak sent Nebre and Kaha out to find a way to the top of the incline. “I may be unduly wor ried,” he admitted, “but we did find a man slain this morning.”

Looking grim, User nodded. “I’m no lover of nomads, as Minnakht was, but I have to say I’ve never known one who slew another man without reason. That reason may not always be valid in our eyes, but it is to them. A blood feud, maybe, or a war between tribes. Neither of which would apply to men new to this desert, such as yourself and the Medjays.”

“Perhaps you’ve earned an enemy among them.”

The explorer scowled. “I doubt a nomad would’ve mis taken the slain man for me, Lieutenant.”

Bak, who had spoken in haste, hurried to make amends.

A rift between him and User or among any of the others would multiply ten times ten any danger they might have to face. Clapping the explorer on the shoulder, he smiled.

“That was a thought, no more. I’m a soldier, trained to be always on the defensive. An animal may’ve set those rocks to falling, not a man. Nebre and Kaha will soon learn the truth.”

“A man was up there, all right.” Nebre knelt beside the small fire Minmose had made, using a dead bush for fuel. He had built the fire on the wadi floor, well away from the hill side. Its fiery coals made a tiny patch of cheer beneath the cooler light of the stars and moon. “The man with the worn sandal, the one whose footprint Kaha found north of Kaine.”

“We followed him for more than an hour,” Kaha said, lay ing his bow and quiver with those of Nebre and squatting be side his friend. “He must’ve feared we’d catch him, for he put something on his feet to smudge his prints, a woolly sheep skin, I’d wager. Because the prints were so unclear and he traveled across rock as much as he could, we lost his trail.”

Nebre scowled as Minmose broke up a crusty chunk of bread and dropped it in the onion and lentil stew warming on the coals. He was not irritated by the food being stretched to go around, but by the difficulties they had faced. “The lord

Amon alone knows how much time we wasted walking in circles, trying to find him again. Not wishing to spend the night in an unfamiliar landscape, we thought to return before the lord Re entered the netherworld.”

The smell of heated onions reminded Bak of how hungry he was. “Who can he be, I wonder? Why is he watching us?”

Nebre shrugged, as did Kaha. Psuro offered no comment, nor did Minmose or Rona.

“Could he have slain the man we found this morning with out leaving behind any sign of his presence?”

Nebre shrugged. “Anything is possible, but I don’t see how.”

Bak looked down the wadi toward the small fire around which the men of User’s party could be dimly seen. They, too, had thought it best to camp well out on the wadi floor.

Night had fallen swiftly. The wind had died and the heat of the day had vanished with the sun. Most of the donkeys, sated with water and forage, were lying down, better able to rest in the cool of night.