Lynda Robinson - Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing

"All seems quiet as usual, lord," said Iry.

"Good. If things continue this way, I'll return to the house. I'm not sure what Lord Meren will do now that-"

He paused as the screech of a falcon echoed down from the slope before them.

The figure of a charioteer shot up from behind the ridge and pointed toward a rock at the top of the slope shaped vaguely like a reclining bull. Then the man sprinted for the rock. As he ran, another figure catapulted from hiding behind the bull rock, ran a few steps, and plummeted down the opposite side of the slope. Kysen let out another falcon call and sprang up the slope with fry. At the same time Nento yelped, spun around, and ran away, legs churning beneath his melon belly.

Kysen had no time to worry about Nento. He scrambled up the side of the valley, feet slipping on loose gravel and stone. Half the guards in the valley, along with Iry, climbed with him, while the other half remained on alert at the temple. Kysen reached the summit, stopped to find his bearings, and saw the charioteer who had signaled sliding to the base of the incline. Then he set off after a man who was but a darker spot in a nearly black landscape.

They were headed east, toward the river. If the invader reached a boat, he might escape. Kysen plunged down the slope along with his men. Once at the base, he set out at a run, heedless of sharp rocks and sudden dips in the ground. Whoever the spy was, he was fast. Kysen's chest heaved, and pain accompanied every breath as he sprinted across the desert toward the fields that bordered the Nile.

Kysen and Iry ran side by side. Behind him a guard stumbled and fell with a cry. Neither Kysen nor Iry looked back. They reached the dormant, baked fields. The ground suddenly flattened and became softer. Kysen realized he'd run onto a bank of one of the small canals that brought water to outlying fields. He had to watch his footing now, or he'd fall into a channel.

His progress slowed; he watched the lead charioteer cross the fields at an angle that told him their quarry had turned south. He put on a burst of speed, springing across a narrow canal, and headed for the riverbank. Soon he was at the water's edge, scrambling around palms, stumbling into water where the bank had collapsed, shoving his way through reeds with Iry still a step behind him. Abruptly he heard a cry, then burst through a stand of reeds to come upon the charioteer they'd been following. He was lying against the stump of an old palm, holding his leg.

Running up to him, Kysen asked breathlessly, "Which way?"

The man pointed back to the west. "He suddenly turned back, lord."

Swearing, Kysen ran out into the fields again and stopped. Iry came running up to him, followed by the rest of the men.

Kysen was scanning the fields to the west. "He doubled back. Three of you go north. The rest of you follow me." He set off at an angle to the river that brought him to the bank just ahead of the injured charioteer. As he reached the bank he heard a cry, then a terrified scream and a watery thrashing. There was a great splash, and more screams as Kysen bolted toward the noise.

The screams stopped as suddenly as they had risen. Beside him Iry cried out and pointed. Not far ahead, in a fan of moonlit water, a long, dully gleaming body rolled in the water. A crocodile. And it had something in its jaws.

As Kysen reached the bank, the creature twisted and rolled again, over and over and over. A portion of its prize tore away, and the crocodile tossed a dark shape, caught it in the back of its jaws, and gulped. Kysen looked out into the river and vaguely discerned arrow-shaped patterns in the water that signaled the approach of more predators.

He, Iry, and their men waded into the water, slashing with their scimitars. One man plied a whip. The lash wrapped around a dark bulk. The crocodile slithered toward them. Kysen gave a cry and helped the man pull on the whip while they sprang for shore. Iry sliced at the water in front of the animal's jaws. It uttered a grunting bark, snapped at the blade, and then back-pedaled. Twisting its body, the creature sank beneath the surface and disappeared.

Chest heaving, sweating and bruised, Kysen helped the charioteer pull the dark mass onto the bank. Men crowded around them, then separated, making the sign against evil. Kysen stood up and looked down at the mangled body of a man. An arm had been torn off at the shoulder. Large puncture wounds dotted the chest, neck, and head.

Kysen was glad it was dark and wished the moon wasn't so bright; it highlighted bloody, wet chunks of flesh. They'd reached the crocodile before it had had time to drag the remains of its booty underwater. Any longer, and more predators would have arrived to tear the body to pieces. Still, Kysen didn't count himself lucky, for he'd wanted the spy alive and able to answer questions.

One of the charioteers was trying to light a handful of field stubble. Kysen studied the dead man, swore softly, and exchanged rueful glances with Iry. Then he heard snuffling. To a man they all spun around to behold Nento creeping toward them through the tall water plants, bawling at the same time.

"Help, help, help, help! Help?"

Kysen sighed, stooped down, and hauled Nento up by one arm. "Shut up."

"He just appeared, out of nothing." Nento held his head in both hands and moaned. "We knocked heads, and he fell off the bank into the shallows."

"This is your fault?" Kysen asked. He jerked on Nento's arm. "Did he say anything?"

"I've cracked my skull. Can't you see I'm bleeding? I need help. Get me a healer. Get me a physician. I'm dying."

Knocking Nento's hands from his face, Kysen growled, "Stop babbling or I'll throw you to that crocodile. Now tell me, did that spy say anything to you?"

"I can't remember. Ohhh, I'm bleeding." Kysen drew back his arm as if to backhand him, and Nento rushed on. "Say anything? Let me think, let me think. No. We cracked heads, he stumbled backward and fell into the water. There was no time."

"Curse it."

Kysen turned back to the charioteers around the body. Suddenly the dry stubble flared, and a guard held it close to the dead man's face.

"Lord," Iry said. "This is one of the men from Lord Paser's yacht."

"Paser? You're certain?"

"Aye, lord. I remember him because he was always on lookout at the bow, and one of his eyebrows was higher than the other." Iry glanced at the disfigured face. "Of course, you can't see it now."

Kysen climbed back up the bank to stand on the edge of a field. Iry followed and joined him in looking up- and downriver.

"You haven't seen Paser, have you?" Kysen asked.

"No, lord, not since we reached Baht."

Peering in the direction of the house, Kysen said, "If he's returned and found out about the haunted temple, we're in a bit of trouble."

"No one has seen his yacht, lord."

"He might have suddenly acquired a clever heart and left the yacht behind," Kysen said. "But at his cleverest, Paser is barely intelligent. He'll be lurking somewhere close, but not close enough for us to see him."

His gaze met Iry's, and they said together, "Green Palm."

"You take the men there at once," Kysen said. "I'm going to the ship. We may need it if Paser has already missed his spy and decided to run."

Having been awakened by the messenger from Kysen, Meren hurried out of the front gate of his villa. He'd just sent most of the men on duty at the house to the temple on the chance that there had been more than the one spy lurking around the valley. His features grim, he headed for the dock.

"Meren, Meren you wait right there!"

Grimacing, he turned around as his sister flew toward him. "Not now, Idut." He headed for the dock again, but Idut was at his side, matching her steps with his and chastising as they went.