Omari licked his lips, his eyes flicking to Rae. The man’s arm held her firmly to him, and she stood rigid, trying not to inhale his sour breath.
What is that supposed to mean?Rae thought.
“We shall meet him on the horizon,” Omari answered.
There was a pause before the man’s grip loosened and the blade dropped away. Rae whirled on her assailant, a wart of a man who she could toss over her shoulder without much effort. He had scraggly whiskers and absurdly large ears, which gave him the overall impression of a donkey. She shoved him.
“Son of a dog!” she spat.
“Rae!” Omari barked. “Leave him alone. He was only doing his job.”
“And what job is that?” Rae muttered, still glaring at Big Ears.
“An important one,” the archer replied. “Keeping spies out of our midst.” He lowered his bow and stepped out of the shadows. “Which, in turn, keeps us all alive.”
Unlike his friend, the archer was a strapping man of about her father’s age, his short black hair and beard shot through with silver. He wore a short schenti and a coarse, sleeveless black robe that seemed cut from the night itself. A green scarab amulet, laced on rough cord, rested on his bare chest. He moved with assurance, and Rae thought he would have looked quite at home riding a chariot. The archer seemed unbothered by the cold as he reached out to grasp Omari’s hand at the wrist.
“I welcome you,” he said, one eyebrow raised. “Though I’m beginning to question your judgment.” He shot a glance at Rae.
“You’re not alone in that…” Omari admitted.
Rae scowled, a thousand curses on the tip of her tongue.
“However,” Omari went on, “I have known this girl for many years. She can be trusted. I give you my word, Asim.”
Rae swallowed the curses as Asim approached her. He was a little taller than her and gave off a powerful but not unpleasant scent of burning wood.
“You may join the meeting, kitten,” he murmured. “But if you breathe a word of it to anyone, I will find out, and I will not hesitate to slit your throat from ear to ear. Do you understand?”
She stared back at him, unflinching. If this was Asim’s way of scaring her off, it wasn’t going to work. “The name is Raetawy.”
A smile quirked at the edge of his lips. “Do you understand… Raetawy?”
Instinctually, Rae’s hand came up to touch the tiny wound where the other man’s blade had pierced her throat. “I understand.”
Asim nodded. “Very well. Then come with me—we are about to begin.”
Letting out a shaky breath, Rae followed the three menthrough the doorway into the Hesep-Mut. Beyond it, the structure opened into a massive courtyard, surrounded by towering, uneven walls. Here and there, the broken remains of pyramid-topped pillars stood, along with wide altars nearly buried in windblown sand. A group of more than two dozen men waited by one of the altars, talking among themselves.
Rae recognized quite a few of them—fishermen, farmers, the brewer, the potter’s son. Others she’d met once or twice because they were acquaintances of her father, ex-soldiers in King Rahotep’s army who would sometimes offer to work in exchange for a meal. Their sinewy arms, trained to wield a khopesh in the heat of battle, were forced to make do swinging a sickle instead.
The murmurs fell silent with Asim’s approach. The archer—who Rae recognized must be their leader—dropped his bow beside the altar and nimbly leaped onto it.
“My brothers,” he declared, “Esteemed members of the Horizon. I have heard about the nomarch’s visits to your fields and workshops, and about the pharaoh’s merciless ultimatum. As if the drought was not bad enough—now Amunmose wishes to steal the very food from our children’s mouths!” There were angry murmurs in reply. “Brothers—this cannot stand!”
A rallying cry went up from the men.
“A generation ago, Sematawy, the so-called Great Uniter, and the armies of High Khetara invaded our land and slaughtered our king, leaving Sakesh in ruins. Even now, there are ghosts among us! Men whose bodies still walk the earth, despite their souls having died the day the war was lost! And now Amunmose, a pretender who has never carried a khopesh in his life, he wears the White Crown of our kingdom and calls himself a god-king! But he is no god, is he, my brothers?”
“No!” the crowd replied.
“This tax increase is the act of a coward and a fool, and wemust not accept it—lest we too become cowards and fools! And so, I propose we send a clear message to Pharaoh with a raid on the House of the Medjay, the very men who help him enforce his laws and keep us defenseless. We have been waiting for the right moment to act—my brothers, this is that moment! My messengers tell me that Amunmose is very ill. In his weakness, he has allowed his soldiers to become idle. Fewer guard the House of the Medjay than ever before! If we follow my plan and work together, we can cut them down like wheat in the field before they can raise an alarm.” Asim paused for breath. “Now,” he cried, “Who’s with me?”
The question was greeted by an uncomfortable silence.
Rae stood at the back of the crowd, watching the men stare at the ground or each other, mumbling softly and shaking their heads.
Asim was looking at them too, consternation clear on his face. “I’m disappointed in you, brothers. You have been coming here for months, airing your grievances, and now that I ask for your help to allay those grievances, to fight back against this injustice—suddenly you’re at a loss for words? Where is your passion? Is there nothing between your legs but the wind?”
