Lauren Haney - Path of Shadows

He scanned the faces of the Medjays sitting around the fire, making sure he had their undivided attention. “From now on, one of you must stand watch every night, taking turns, and two of you must serve as scouts during each day’s march. I know Nebre and Kaha are the best trackers among you, but you must all share the task. The days are too hot, the landscape too rough for the same two men to bear the burden day after day.” He wrapped his arms around his bent legs and added in a deliberate voice, “If you see the man who’s been watching us-or if you see anyone else, for that mat ter-you must bring him to me if you can. If he’s too far away to talk to, you must give chase, but not for any great distance.”

Kaha threw him a pained look. “But, sir!”

Bak raised a hand to silence the Medjay. “I doubt any of you would get lost, even in this wild and barren land. You’ve too much experience in the desert. But I don’t want you walking into a trap. Nor do I want you injured by chance somewhere far from help.”

“Sir!” Nebre said. “That’s like leading a goat to water and not letting it drink.”

“With luck and the help of the gods, before this journey is over, we’ll find a way to draw the watching man into a trap of our own.”

They left the well before dawn to cross a low divide and en ter another wadi, this many paces wide. Striking off in a more northerly direction, it carried them into a world totally different than that of the previous two days. The grayish limestone cliffs that had lined the lower wadi slid away be hind them, replaced by yellow and brown sandstone. Golden dunes climbed the sides of the slopes, a few so tall they spilled over the top. Scattered boulders and stones of all sizes spread across the coarse sand on the wadi floor, casting long blackish shadows before the rising sun.

Nebenkemet’s appraisal of Minnakht refused to fade from

Bak’s thoughts. Ani, Wensu, and Amonmose alike had de scribed a man whose enthusiasm and way with words en thralled those with whom he spoke, filling the hearts of the most unlikely with dreams of adventure, wealth, and fame.

Even User, admittedly envious of his competitor, thought the young explorer a man who loved the life he lived, the land he trod, and the nomads who dwelt in that land.

Bak had known men from all walks of life whose astute observations placed them above their fellows. Could

Nebenkemet be one of them? Or did he, like User, harbor jealousy in his heart? Resentment of a man endowed with the wealth and opportunity he had never had.

“Look at this, Lieutenant.” Ani scooped up a handful of sand and sorted through it with a finger, revealing granules of pink, white, and beige. “Feldspar and quartz washed down from those mountains.” He pointed toward the northeast, where tall, rugged peaks reached up to the turquoise sky, catching wisps of cloud on their craggy tops. Towering above them all was a reddish mountain whose innumerable pinna cles caught the morning sun. Those peaks, several days’ walk ahead, marked the place where the wadis drained eastward rather than toward the west as they did here. “Mere bits of rock, but beautiful, aren’t they? Especially when one consid ers how small they are and how far they’ve traveled.”

Bak hated to dampen the jeweler’s enthusiasm, but he feared for his safety. “They’re very much the colors of a viper, Ani. You must take care when you reach down like that. The snakes bury themselves close to the surface of the sand, and are quick to attack when they feel themselves threatened.” He had long ago exchanged his baton of office for a spear to probe the sand ahead of his feet.

“So User has told me, but I forget.”

Belaboring the subject would be a waste of breath, Bak felt sure. “Could the man we found slain at the first well have been mistaken for Minnakht? Did they resemble each other in any way?”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Ani let the granules fall to the ground and wiped his hand on his kilt. “The dead man was about the same age, but was of medium height and build.

His face was unremarkable, with no distinguishing features that I recall.” The jeweler screwed up his face, trying to re member. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I’d never before seen a man slain in his sleep. I guess I was more upset than I thought.”

“Can you describe Minnakht?”

A smile lit up Ani’s face. “That’s easy enough. He was tall, taller than the dead man by more than a hand’s breadth. He had thick, dark hair, slightly curly, lively dark eyes, and a most expressive face, bright with vitality and good humor.”

Bak wondered how many hundreds of men would answer to that description. “Did he wear any jewelry of note or any special amulet?” This, he felt certain, Ani would be able to answer in detail.

“I saw him only the one time, and that in Waset,” the jew eler reminded him. “He wore a broad collar much too fine to wear into the desert, and bracelets and armlets of an equal quality. He wore a bronze chain around his neck. I remember wondering why he chose bronze instead of gold. I couldn’t see what hung from the chain. Whatever it was was hidden beneath the collar.”

Bak would have given his best pair of sandals to know what hung from that chain. “You told me how you met him and how he swept you away with his tales of the desert and of the many beautiful minerals and stones found here. Did he talk of himself at all?”

“He wasn’t an individual who enjoyed speaking of per sonal matters. He did say…” Ani stopped himself, reluctant to reveal what another man had told him, if not in confidence at least as one man to another. “I suppose, since he’s been gone so long…”

“Anything you tell me might help. The most unlikely bit of information could be of infinite value.”

“Well…” Ani bent to pick up another handful of sand giving himself time to think, Bak suspected. Paying no heed to the possibility that he might disturb a viper. “You see,

Lieutenant, he wanted my assurance that I could go off into the desert, leaving no one behind uncared for. I told him I dwelt alone, that my wife of twenty years had gone to the netherworld not six months earlier and my children were wed and had homes of their own. I told him my overseer, the chief jeweler in the royal house, would allow me to go with his good wishes and a prayer that I’d return with many unique and beautiful stones.”

Ani ran a finger through the sand he held. Finding nothing special, he tipped his hand, spilling out the grit. The hot breeze was strong enough to carry away the dust but too weak to deflect the path of the falling granules. “He spoke of a young woman he had loved and lost. One who had vowed to be his forever. He left her behind to come into the desert, confident she would wait and wait again each time he set out to explore this barren land. Upon his return, he found her wed to another, a young nobleman who had given her a fine home and would never wander from her side.” Brushing the dust from his hands, Ani added, “Six or seven years ago, it was, but he made no secret that the loss still hurt.”

Bak wondered if the tale had been offered casually. Or had its telling been calculated to win the jeweler over? Ani had told Minnakht of a wife gone to the netherworld, and the ex plorer had offered up a mutual loss. A tie that had bound the older man to the younger, personally as well as profession ally.

The wadi narrowed to half its former width. The yellowish sandstone walls rose higher, contrasting with the sky above, making the blue more intense. Bak walked a few paces to the left of the caravan, following the tracks of gazelle that had traveled this way sometime in the recent past. The day of their passing was unimportant, the event memorable for only as long as the tracks remained.