He reached into the shadows beneath his travois to find his bow. Now, sitting up, he nocked an arrow and drew the bowstring taut against his cheek. Sighting his weapon almost point-blank at Manek Thotak’s breast, he grated, “Would you like to wager, dog, that you can crack that whip of yours faster than I can loose my arrow?”
“Oh? And what’s all this?” came the deep, gruff voice of the massive Ephrais as he came upon the tableau. “Put up your whip, young Manek. And you—” he addressed Khai, “put down your bow.” He stepped between the two and narrowed his eyes on Ashtarta where she stood, arms akimbo, beside her would-be champion. “Ah! And is that you, Princess? And have you been baiting the boys again?”
She stepped forward, angry words forming on her lips, but before they could be uttered there came the drumming of naked hooves and the distressed snort of horses. A moment later, and three riders entered the clearing. They got down from their lathered mounts and asked for Melembrin. All were disheveled and looked winded through hard riding. Their ponies seemed near-dead on their feet.
“What’s the hurry?” cried one of the men at the fire; and another called: “Are you pursued by devils, you three?”
“Worse than that,” one of the riders panted. “There are thousands of Khemites north and south of here—columns from the forts at Afallah and Kurag, I think—marching through the night. They are closing in a huge pincer. I fear they may already have taken our lads to the north, and those to the south will be lucky if they make it home. As for us: we’d best be on our way tonight, now. Tomorrow will be much too late!”
III
Run for the Hills!
In a matter of minutes, Melembrin received and interpreted the grim news. It only remained for him then to gather his men about him and give them their orders. This he did at the main fire, ringing himself about with warriors and explaining the situation to them in short, vivid sentences:
“Men,” he began, “it appears we’ve stung the Pharaoh once too often. Normally, he doesn’t much bother with this side of the river, certainly not this far from Asorbes, but this time he seems determined to have us. As you know, our little party here forms my command post; though we’re also a fast-moving, highly mobile task-force in our own right when needs be. But mainly, this is where the brains are to be found which control our little forays against Khasathut’s forts and border patrols—particularly here!”—and here he put a finger to his own broad forehead.
“Now then, there are only one hundred and ten of us here,” he gazed around the small sea of faces that glowed in the firelight, “and we couldn’t put up much of a fight if Pharaoh hit us with a big posse.”
“We’d fight to the last man!” someone in the crowd gruffly protested.
Melembrin held up a hand. “Of course we would,” he agreed, nodded his head. “To the very last man—and then we’d be overrun. That’s why there are three hundred more of us to the north and another three hundred to the south. And it’s also why they’re the best Kush has to offer! I’m the brain and they’re the fighting body, forming a buffer between us and any troops Khasathut may send against us—at least until now.”
“Brave men all!” someone grunted.
“That they are,” Melembrin agreed, “but against overwhelming odds even the bravest must fall eventually....” He paused and there was complete silence.
“If Pharaoh has sent large numbers of his soldiers after us,” the warrior king finally continued, “then they may already have met and clashed with our lads. If they have—” Again he stared around the sea of faces. “I gave orders that if ever Pharaoh should take after us in earnest, then that it would be every man for himself and full speed for high ground. There’s no shame in flight if it means we live to fight another day.”
“You think our men have fallen then, Melembrin?” this from a huge and glowering chief. “Or that they’re already fled?”
“I didn’t say that,” the king answered, “though I’ll admit it’s not unlikely. Whichever, it means our flanks are now unguarded.”
“Six hundred men—fled?” someone else grunted. “I can see so large a number fighting, but never fleeing!”
“My orders were clear,” Melembrin answered. “If they have not fled, then they are now either dead or captive.”
“Then it’s up to us to pay Pharaoh’s dogs back for their blood!” cried another voice, more passionately.
“Aye,” the king agreed, “but not here. If they’ve come after us in such great numbers, it can only be that they intend to invade Kush herself. Pharaoh’s been threatening that for years. Yes, and it’s something we’ve planned for.”
“That we have!” several rumbling voices agreed.
“But Melembrin, great king,” a younger voice, full of unconscious bravado, called from the front ranks of the crowding warriors. “Are we really going to turn tail like cowards and hyenas? I hate the thought of showing my heels to any dog of Khem!”
“Ah, Manek Thotak!” Melembrin growled. “The voice of experience, eh? And what would you do, warrior? Stay and fight—and die? And who then would carry word of Pharaoh’s invasion home? No, you are brave, but you are wrong! Should we kill a handful of Khemites here and die ourselves when we might run for home and live—and kill thousands of our enemies beneath the towering walls at Hortaph?” “But—”
“But?” Melembrin raised his eyebrows. “But? When you are a captain or a general—which you will be one day, as your father before you—then you may ‘but’ me, Manek Thotak. But even then warily. As a whelp? Do as you are told, boy!” And Melembrin put the matter aside and turned to his men.
“We’ve wasted enough time and there’s work to do. Pile everything in a heap—tents, travois, everything—then mount up. Before we leave, fire the tents and all. Let them burn. Let there be a blaze to draw Pharaoh’s troops like moths. Take only your weapons with you, nothing else. We ride two-abreast, nose to tail, and we carry no torches. The moon will be up soon; the stars are bright; we move carefully, quietly, quickly—but with no panic. Hurry now, for we leave in minutes!”
Silently, swiftly as Melembrin turned away, his men moved to obey him.
They took up sleeping pallets and travois, tore down tents large and small—even the king’s command tent—bundled up blankets and skins and piled the lot close to the central fire. Then, almost before Khai could drag his own crude shelter over to the pile, the ponies were brought forward and the warriors mounted up. Someone took a brand from the fire and tossed it on the heap of flammable materials, and bright flames at once began to light up the night.
In another moment, ponies were being guided out of the camp area and directed toward the west, their riders armed to the teeth and sharp-eyed in the shadows. Suddenly panic-stricken, Khai found himself alone beside the bonfire which now roared up and hurled a pillar of sparks at the stars. In the leaping shadows around the campsite he saw the shapes of animals and men passing into the night, and he stumbled after them with his mouth open but too dry to utter any sound.
Then there came a pounding of hooves and a whinny of fear as a pony drew near and shied at the roaring flames. A grinning girl’s face, all eyes and teeth in the firelight, looked down at him from the beast’s back. “Ashtarta!” he gasped.