Lauren Haney - Path of Shadows

“Once you start down, you must go all the way,” Bak re minded them. “There’ll be no turning back.”

The two men, so different from each other, spoke as one:

“I’ll climb down this way.”

At a point Suemnut said was about halfway down the trail, they stopped to rest on a flattish and relatively wide ledge overlooking a short, steep ravine-like drop in the dry water fall. On the opposite side of the ravine, miners had, many generations earlier, etched reliefs on the dark surfaces of huge smooth-faced boulders. Immediately above the ravine,

Psuro had had to help Ani down a particularly difficult sec tion of trail where the stone had crumbled, leaving the natu ral rock steps loose and treacherous. Sweat poured from the jeweler and his face was fiery. The descent had thus far been difficult, but his fear had to have made it many times harder.

He dropped onto the ground, wiped his face, and gave Bak a haggard smile. “My knees are shaking. But so far I’ve man aged to hang on to this.” He patted the bulging square of linen hanging from his belt. It held the turquoise Teti had given him.

Psuro handed him a waterbag. “You’ve done well, sir.

When I saw that narrow stretch of trail where the rock along side projected outward, I feared for you. Looking toward the rock as you did instead of facing the slope was wise.”

“I was so afraid, I feared I’d lose my midday meal.”

The sergeant clapped him on the back and laughed.

“Bread and beer. No great loss, I’d say.”

Bak smiled at the two of them. Psuro was not one to easily call a man “sir.” He had come to respect the jeweler. Bak felt the same. Ani had never been high on his list of suspects, but the more he saw of him, the more convinced he was that he would not, could not, slay a man. This journey up the moun tain of turquoise had proven he had immense inner strength and tenacity, but was lacking in physical strength and had no ease of movement in the natural world. With sufficient will, he might be able to bury a dagger in a man’s breast or back, but he could never slip away unseen from a campsite where men were sleeping all around.

Wensu flopped down beside Ani and, with a grateful smile, accepted the waterbag with shaking hands. Where the jeweler was flushed, the younger man’s face was pale and drawn. “My father will never believe me when I tell him of this trail.”

Nebre laughed. “Send him to me. I’ll tell him how often you’ve shaken off my hand, spurning aid.”

User and Amonmose, sweating profusely but undaunted, continued a good-natured argument they had begun halfway down the dry waterfall. The explorer claimed a bird soaring overhead was an eagle. The trader swore it was a vulture. As it was hardly more than a black speck, Bak suspected they were arguing simply for argument’s sake. Nebenkemet, no more troubled by the descent than they, sat with the soldiers carrying the turquoise. They were flipping a small flat stone they had dug out of the bag and were betting on which side would turn up when it fell.

Suemnut studied the sun and the shadows, which were growing longer and deeper. Bak could see he wanted to move on but, evidently believing Wensu and Ani needed more time, he let them rest. He ordered one of his men to take charge of the soldiers straggling down the trail and signaled all but four to pass them by and go on ahead.

Suemnut paced back and forth along the ledge, waiting for the two weaker men to regain their strength. Gradually, some of the flush faded from Ani’s face and Wensu’s color re turned. Very much aware of how anxious their guide was to get off the mountain before darkness fell, Bak stood up and suggested they leave. The sergeant flashed him a grateful smile.

The men responsible for the turquoise reluctantly quit their game and hefted the bags of precious stones. Their guards and the Medjays scrambled to their feet and took up their weapons. The men in User’s party hauled themselves off the ground. Suemnut, in his haste to be on his way, strode down the steep slope at the lower end of the ledge.

Bak, several paces behind, started down the slope. A sharp crack stopped him short. He glanced around, not sure what had made the sound. Seeing nothing, he walked on. Perhaps a rock had rolled off a ledge and shattered. Or could stone burst apart when exposed to too much heat and suddenly chilled by shade?

Another sharp report, this so close that small shards of broken stone erupted from the rock beside him. He ducked and looked around. A movement on the hillside high and to his right caught his eye. A man on the opposite side of the ravine. One who looked to be tall and slender. Too far away to see well and standing with his back to the sun, Bak could not discern his features. From his stance, from the way he pulled his arm back and flung it forward, Bak guessed his weapon.

“Get down!” he yelled, throwing himself sideways. “I see a man using a sling!”

A stone struck him hard on the right thigh, dropping him onto the rocks beside the path. Cursing mightily, he scram bled into the inadequate shelter of a broken boulder. Suem nut crouched low and slid down the slope to a bulge in the hillside. Psuro, Nebre, and Kaha hustled everyone else to the base of the trail down which they had come. Huddled against the hillside in a corner of sorts, the man with the sling could not see them.

Bak glanced at his thigh. Except for a slight redness, he saw no sign of the impact, but a hint of soreness promised an impressive bruise. He had no illusions about the power of a sling in the hands of an expert, and he thanked the lord Amon for his good fortune. Men were trained in the army to kill with the weapon and could strike a man’s head with prac ticed ease and deadly force. He had heard that the desert no mads used slings to slay gazelle and ibex and to take the lives of one another in tribal disputes.

The man with the sling heaved another rock. It skidded across the top of the boulder behind which Bak lay, sending bits of stone flying around him. Suemnut yelled at the sol diers he had sent on ahead, ordering them back. His voice echoed through the wadis, the words lost in repetition. In the unlikely event that his troops heard, Bak doubted they would understand the summons.

The man flung another rock, silencing the sergeant. Psuro leaped out into the open and fired off an arrow. The angle was not good, and the missile fell short. The man stood his ground and may even have laughed, reminding Bak of the man he and Nebre had followed deep into the foothills of the red mountain.

Snarling an oath, Psuro ducked away. He spoke a few words to Nebre and Kaha. The former seated an arrow and raised his bow, ready to leap out into the open.

Favoring his thigh, which was beginning to throb, Bak made motions as if to leave his shelter. If he could draw the man’s attention…

“Stay there, sir!” Psuro yelled.

The man sent another rock flying. With an angry crack, it slammed into the boulder near Bak’s head. At the same time,

Nebre stepped out, the look on his face venomous. He raised his bow in a careful and deliberate fashion and fired off an ar row. It struck the man in the left side, but flew on past. A glancing blow at best. The Medjay snapped out an oath and seated another missile.

The man touched his side, raised his hand to look at his fingers and what had to be blood, and slung a rock at Nebre.

The stone grazed the Medjay’s arm, causing him to fumble the arrow. Kaha stepped out to aid his fellow policeman. The man swung around and began to run. Kaha’s arrow flew high, missing its target. Nebre’s missile struck the boulder behind which the man vanished.

The Medjays grabbed their quivers and a waterbag, ran to ward the stepped waterfall above the ravine, and scrambled across a slope of loose rocks on the opposite side, following the man who had ambushed them. The two guards raced after them. Bak leaped up from his shelter, grabbed a spear, and followed.