Then Karim heard theclip-clopof hooves approaching at a canter, followed by a booming command.
“Wait.”
The ushabti stilled, stopping mid-battle as if transformed back to mere statues. Battered, his clothes torn, Karim whirled to see Setnakht astride his horse in the middle of the courtyard, taking in a scene of total carnage. The monstrous horse snorted and stamped, maggots dropping from its flanks to feast on the bodies below.
Setnakht removed his helm and set it on his knee, revealing his long, unearthly face. He eyed Karim with amazement. “Is it really you, my acolyte? You look quite well for my having killed you.” The ancient pharaoh reached out toward him, and Karim felt the amulet pushing against his ribs as if it were trying to get out. Dizzy, Karim pressed a hand to his chest until the sensation faded.
“Apparently you did a poor job of it, sen,” Karim replied through gritted teeth.
Setnakht dropped his arm back to the saddle, smiling. “So, you’ve taken my heart, as I’ve taken yours. Or rather…someone has given it to you. Very resourceful. I commend them. Still, it’s irritating to find you here, interrupting the cleansing of my city. Perhaps the Lord of Chaos has chosen to set you in my path once more to test my will.” He gave Karim a small nod. “So be it.”
His next words were unnaturally loud, spoken in what Karim now recognized as his spell-casting voice: “Kill him, my ushabti. Make a home for your blades in his flesh, so that his body may better remember its demise.”
Before Karim could react, before he could take a breath, he felt a jolt as a spearhead was thrust through him, sprouting from the middle of his chest.
Time slowed. The sounds of copper clashing with copper, of screams and shouts and wails of terror, grew muted and distant.
Karim staggered but remained standing. He took a lurching step toward Setnakht.
He sensed movement at his left as another spear lanced into him. His body jerked with the impact, and the pain took his breath away.
His vision grew dark. There was barking somewhere. Perhaps he was no longer on his feet but his knees. The weight of the spears made him heavy and unbalanced. He tried to rise, to move forward, and a third spear slid through his belly.
He fell.
18Sita
Sita adjusted Sami’s arm around her shoulders as she spoke to his mother. The boy could put a little weight on his injured leg, but not enough to walk by himself. “I’ve got him. You attend to Miri, all right?”
Sami’s mother stared into the distance, while all around her, women and children ran in terror, carrying the few belongings they’d managed to gather before fleeing their homes. Nearby, Elyas’s elderly wife, Miri, leaned against a house, her chest already heaving with exertion, her face gray.
Sita reached for the young mother’s hand. “Look at me,” she commanded. “You are going to lead Miri out of the city and join the others. Take shelter among the desert hills until the rest of the tribe rejoins you. Do you understand?”
Sami’s mother shook her head in dismay. “I can’t!” she cried.
Sita squeezed her hand. “You can, and you will.”
The words seemed to steady Sami’s mother. With a nod, shewent to the elderly woman and began leading her away. Sita and Sami followed at a slower pace, one labored step at a time.
“W-what’s that?” Sami asked as the rhythmic stamp of footsteps grew louder behind them.
“Don’t look back,” Sita told him. “Keep walking.”
Sita led him down a side street, hoping to get away from the approaching threat. In the shadows, the bodies of two women lay close together. A basket of figs had spilled from the arms of one, littering the ground with fruit.
“Keep your eyes ahead, Sami,” Sita urged.
The boy nodded, tears rolling down his face.
The side street opened onto another main road, where they were nearly run over by a blood-drenched man tearing toward the city’s limits.
“Thanks be to Amun!” Sita exclaimed when she saw it was not one of the ushabti. “Where are the rest of the men? Have they already fled?”
The man’s voice was rough as gravel. “Only some got away,” he said. “Others…”
Dread dropped into Sita’s stomach like a cold stone. “What about Karim? Where is he?”
“He’s still back there.”
