Slayer of Gods (28 page)

Meren stepped outside with Zulaya and Anath right behind him. Only two chariots stood in the forecourt, bathed in the clean
sunlight of early morning. Meren was glad to see Wind Chaser and Star Chaser still waiting for him, but he hid his surprise
when Zulaya dismissed the guards that had insured his cooperation. Meren had been struck by how certain Zulaya was of his
power, indeed had deliberately fostered it by his passive reaction. Still, there was a guard, a man who appeared around the
corner of the house and saluted Zulaya. As he neared, Meren began to understand why Zulaya felt his presence sufficient.

This was a young man of unusual and pleasing appearance. Taller than any but a Nubian, strong, agile with the coordination
that comes from a life spent in warfare. He had auburn-tinted dark hair that grew long, almost to his shoulders, and brown
eyes that glittered in the sunlight. The closer he came the more certain Meren was that this was no ordinary hired ruffian;
he’d seen that flat, reptilian blankness of expression a few times in his life. The eyes looked as if some artisan had placed
false glass ones in a living man’s head. The muscles of the cheeks and mouth seemed rigid, like stretched leather. When the
young man turned his gaze on Meren their eyes met, and Meren felt that instantaneous evaluation. It consisted of two categories—those
who were prey, and those who were not. The glass eyes moved on, leaving Meren with the certainty that he was one of the prey.

This, then, was the reason for Zulaya’s confidence. Meren was sure of it. Just as he was certain that the young man with the
glass eyes and frozen expression of a cobra was a trained assassin.

Zulaya stepped into his chariot and said, “Nebra, you’re here at last. We can proceed.”

Nebra gave his master a chilly smile, drew a knife and touched Meren’s side with its tip. “Take the reins, my lord.”

Meren got into the vehicle and picked up the reins as Anath joined her father. He glimpsed a flash of mottled gray and black,
and Khufu leaped aboard with his mistress. Nebra stood beside Meren with one arm gripping the chariot rail nearest his captive.
He’d draped the knife hand with a cloak he’d placed over his arm, but kept the point touching Meren’s side.

He was ordered to drive at a modest pace, with Nebra directing his course and Zulaya and Anath following. Meren searched his
surroundings as he drove, for it was clear they would meet more guards before attacking Dilalu. If he was going to escape
before Zulaya forced him to participate in a murder, it would have to be soon. They skirted the edge of the Caverns, walking
the horses through streets filled with pedestrians—women on their way to the river with baskets of laundry, farmers riding
donkeys laden with produce, herdsmen whose sheep and pigs scuttled through the streets on the way to butchers.

Meren didn’t see any opportunity to escape until they were far enough away from Anath’s house to prevent Zulaya from calling
for help. Soon the streets they took were too narrow to afford room to maneuver. Meren grew more anxious the longer they drove.
Dilalu’s hiding place had to be close, and he must take a chance quickly.

At last the crooked lane on which they traveled opened into a busy market in space surrounded by workshops and storehouses.
Stalls topped with palm branches cluttered every surface, and there wasn’t much room for the chariots. Nebra drew nearer and
pressed the knifepoint into Meren’s flesh when a flower seller thrust a garland at him. Meren shook his head and guided the
chariot away from her. Behind them Zulaya snarled at the woman as she tried the same trick with him. When Nebra ordered him
to go around an old man selling sandals from a basket, Meren turned Wind and Star to the left, but gave the reins a tiny flick.
The horses danced sideways, causing the chariot to wrench, but Nebra kept his footing.

Meren cursed his ill luck as he maneuvered through the stalls and pedestrians. Their route was so circuitous that they doubled
back and ended up at right angles to Zulaya and Anath. The old sandal vendor had blocked the chariot and was hawking his wares,
oblivious to Zulaya’s threats. Finally Zulaya gave the reins to Anath, and got out of the vehicle to rid himself of the old
man.

Meren scoured the market for a way to distract Nebra. He was contemplating startling the green monkey sitting on the roof
of a cloth stall when he glimpsed Khufu out of the corner of his eye. The scarred feline was sitting beside Zulaya’s chariot
and wore an air of frenzied anticipation Meren knew well. He braced himself as Zulaya walked back to the vehicle. Khufu’s
paw shot out. There was a hiss, and dirty claws sank into Zulaya’s foot. Zulaya cried out, and for a mere instant Nebra’s
predatory attention faltered.

At the same time Meren’s elbow jabbed into his gut. He wrenched around, gripped Nebra’s wrist, and twisted it as his captor
thrust with the knife. Meren bashed Nebra’s hand against the side of the chariot. The cloak over the assassin’s arm fell,
but the blow failed to jar the weapon loose. He kneed Meren in the stomach and lashed out with his foot. Meren took the blows
and nearly lost his grip on the knife hand. Gasping for breath, he felt Nebra heave, and he was thrown off balance. He heard
Zulaya’s voice, and knew he had no time left. Releasing Nebra suddenly, he braced with both arms and rammed the young man
with both feet. As he did so vendors and customers alike ran from the combatants, stumbling and screaming. The green monkey
screeched, jumped onto the chariot where Anath was trying to control the startled horses, and slapped at Khufu with its tiny
hands.

Nebra hurtled backward from the chariot and hit Zulaya as he ran toward the fighters. The knife flew from the assassin’s hand
at the impact and landed under the chariot. Before either man could recover, Meren jumped down and fished under the vehicle
for the knife. With an economy of movement Nebra rolled off Zulaya and to his feet and drew a dagger, all in one motion. Nebra
took but a heartbeat to draw back his arm, wearing an expression of casual mastery. All this he did in the time it took Meren
to find the knife and Zulaya to get to his feet.

Meren saw Nebra’s movements as a blur. He was holding the assassin’s knife by the handle. Without thinking, in that state
of supreme alertness that battle induced, he drew the knife back so that his forearm blocked his lower face and threw it with
a slashing, diagonal movement. The blade impaled Nebra through the eye, and his hands came up to grip it before he tottered
and fell. As he did, Zulaya leaped over his body and planted himself in front of Meren, knife in hand. He shook his head.

“I have been foolish, it seems.”

“Yes,” Anath said.

Meren looked over his shoulder to find her behind him, also armed with a blade. His gaze darted from one to the other as they
drew their knives back, preparing for the kill. All at once there was a high-pitched squeal, a growling hiss, and the green
monkey scampered across the empty space created by their fight with Khufu in pursuit. The creature glanced over its shoulder,
saw Khufu gaining, and scrambled up Zulaya’s leg to perch on his shoulders.

Anath threw her knife as Khufu clawed his way up after the monkey. Meren dodged it, and the blade impaled Zulaya in the chest
as he stood struggling with the cat and the monkey. Frightened by the blow, the animals sprang off Zulaya. Anath cried out
and rushed to her father with Meren close behind. He grabbed her, but she twisted out of his grip and threw herself down beside
the wounded man. Sobbing uncontrollably, Anath tried to staunch the blood that flowed from the wound around the knife.

Meren knelt on the other side of Zulaya, shoved Anath, and gripped the man’s face. “You’re dying. Tell me what you planned
for my family, Zulaya. Don’t go to the underworld with more evil to weight down your ka.”

Zulaya gasped, panting, and his lips twisted into a grimace.

Meren gripped him hard. “Zulaya, tell me!”

Around them the sound of panic lessened when foot soldiers entered the market from several directions. Trumpets blared, but
Meren paid no attention.

Anath thrust Meren aside and gathered Zulaya in her arms.

“Father, Father, I didn’t mean to—” she choked and sobbed again.

Zulaya’s color was fading rapidly, and his voice was weak. “No, my little jewel, of course you did not. No matter, no matter.”

“Do something!” Anath screamed at Meren.

“Tell him to reveal the traps he set for my children,” Meren ground out. “He’s dying. The only thing that should concern him
is his soul.”

Zulaya’s eyes opened wide, and he turned his face to Meren and laughed. “The ever honorable Meren.” He wet his fingertips
in his blood and touched Meren’s lips. Meren jerked away, but not in time to avoid the blood. Zulaya laughed weakly again,
and his hand dropped.

“I can’t help it. For all your talent, riches, and beauty, the truth still escapes you. After all the blood,” he said, “you
still don’t know who was behind it all.”

“Don’t try to avoid the judgment of the gods with your lies,” Meren said. He pulled Zulaya up by his robe so that their faces
were close together. “Tell me how to save my children, or by all the gods of creation, I’ll pursue your soul to the depths
of the underworld to see you suffer agonies beyond imagining.”

Zulaya smiled as blood appeared between his lips, and he held Meren’s gaze. “She betrayed us all when she reconciled with
the priests of Amun. My doings were sanctioned by her evil.”

Meren’s shout filled the marketplace, but Zulaya paid him no heed. The wounded man’s gaze shifted to Anath, who held her breath
as he gasped.

“My little jewel.”

“Damn you, Zulaya!”

Meren watched with horror as life faded from the merchant’s eyes. There was a rattling in his throat, and he died. Anath screamed
and collapsed on her father’s body, wailing.

Meren found it hard to stand, but he did. Desperation crowded out the pain of scrapes and aching muscles. It banished the
humiliation and pain of Anath’s betrayal. With an animal-like growl, he stooped and tore her from her father’s body.

“It seems I’m too late to save you as you saved me.”

Meren whirled around. Dragging Anath with him, he sank to the ground at the feet of the king. He hadn’t even noticed the royal
soldiers busy putting the market in order or understood the significance of the trumpet call. Tutankhamun stood beside his
new chariot with his royal bodyguard arrayed behind him.

“Rise, Meren. I was driving my new chariot past Golden House, and Lady Bener accosted me with the news that the Eyes of Babylon
had betrayed my majesty.” Tutankhamun glared at Anath. “And you.”

“My daughter, majesty?”

“Indeed. She feared the woman had lured you away for an evil purpose and that Kysen might be too late to prevent it.” Tutankhamun
walked over to look at Zulaya’s body. “But you didn’t need me at all.”

“I am grateful for thy care, majesty.”

“Who is this man?”

“He is called Zulaya, majesty, but once he was known as the Aten priest, Thanuro. It was he who committed the crime I was
investigating for thy majesty, but there is an urgent matter I must resolve. I beg leave to question the Eyes of Babylon at
once, Golden One, for Zulaya set traps for my children that were to spring if he was killed.”

“Him?” The king fixed Zulaya’s body with a stare so intense it should have burst into flames. “At last,” Tutankhamun breathed.
Abruptly he turned to Meren without even glancing at Anath. “You may question her. I’ll send reinforcements to Golden House
for Bener’s protection and send others to find Kysen. He went in search of you and by now he’s probably on your trail.”

Anath had stopped wailing. As the king spoke, she suddenly pulled the dagger from Zulaya’s chest.

Meren shouted, “Majesty!”

Tutankhamun was already moving. His foot lashed out, hit Anath’s arm, and knocked the knife free. She cried out in pain as
Karoya leaped between the king and her and aimed his spear at her. The Nubian glanced at pharaoh, awaiting the order to kill.

“Give her to Meren,” the king said. “When he’s finished, my majesty would question the Eyes of Babylon before she dies.”

Meren dragged Anath to a deserted beer stall and shoved her against it. Her tears had yet to dry, but she faced him without
flinching. Meren had no interest in her daring.

Holding himself in check, Meren spoke with barely leashed violence. “Even I can’t save you, but I may be able to persuade
pharaoh to grant you a painless death. Help me protect my children, and I will intercede with him on your behalf.”

Anath eyed him with hatred. “You killed my father as surely as if you wielded the knife yourself. I want to see you suffer
as I do.”

“Even at the price of your own agony.” Meren grabbed her arms and lifted her so that her face was close to his. “In all your
years abroad, have you forgotten what black horror awaits those whom pharaoh’s wrath condemns?” He lowered his voice to a
whisper. “If I have to, I’ll cut off your fingers and toes one at a time and make you watch me feed them to his majesty’s
leopard.”

At last he saw fear flicker in Anath’s eyes.

“You know me,” he said. “I give you my promise, and make this vow by the souls of my children. If you don’t tell me what I
want to know, I will make your death so horrible it will make the demons of the underworld piss with fright.”

“Don’t!” Anath began to struggle, and Meren released her. She fell against the beer stall and blurted out, “Nebra was in charge
of the plans for your family. He was the one who was to decide whom to kill and when to do it. With him dead, you have nothing
to fear.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Anath straightened and gave him a sly look. “An excellent question. You’ll never be certain unless I give you the names of
Father’s men. Persuade pharaoh to send me into exile instead of killing me, and I’ll give you all of them.”

Meren hesitated, but his answer was forestalled when Karoya came for them. They returned to the king.