Servant of the Gods (14 page)

Khai took a breath at the sight of Irisi as she entered the tent, her neck gracefully arched, her long gilded hair swaying forward, then he took control of himself.

Her arrival caught him off guard.

When they’d said a priestess would come, he hadn’t expected this one in particular… Banafrit, or perhaps Djeserit…not Irisi. He should have realized. The rumors were already spreading that Banafrit had chosen her successor.

Eyes like the sky met his.

She looked as exotic and lovely as she had that first night, or that evening in the King’s hall but it wasn’t that night he remembered most clearly, but the other. This time, though, she didn’t wear a rough shift but was dressed in fine linen robes dyed the color of her incredible eyes. Her hair flowed over her shoulders like spun sunlight. Her skin had lightened now that she no longer spend as much time beneath the sun as she had as Kamenwati’s slave, and so it appeared to be lightly dusted with gold. As always, his heart beat slow and strong at the sight of her. He remembered touching that pale skin…and longed to touch it again.

He’d never forgotten her, could never forget her. She haunted his dreams.

They looked at each other. Then Khai bowed with an ironic smile to the woman who’d once been his captive, who’d come to him on her last night as a slave to touch him with passion and joy. So much had changed since those days. “

My Lady Irisi,” Khai said. They’d both risen far despite their origins.

He bowed also to the priestess who’d fought at his side to save their King and to the lovely. graceful woman who stood before him now.

She turned.

“My Lord Khai,” she replied, exactly as she had once long ago and inclined her head elegantly, a small smile curving her mouth in return.

The words, the intonation, were an echo of the past known only to the two of them, he and her, an intimate reminder of what had been, if only for a few hours.

Those ethereal eyes twinkled in response. Her golden hair swung forward, the spill of it catching the light of the torch. Khai remembered the sensation of those silken strands brushing over his skin. His body tightened and he shivered at the memory.

In his dark, gold-touched eyes, Irisi could see the memory of the last night they’d spent together and could almost feel his touch herself. Warmth moved through her at the memory. Her heart trembled in response.

Something inside Irisi softened as their gazes met and lingered. He was so beautiful her heart ached. She was suddenly and intensely aware of her body and his as she hadn’t been at any other time, remembering suddenly and only too well his touch…

It was a breathless moment…

Swiftly she reined in her emotions.

Another stood waiting.

Resolutely, Irisi drew her gaze from Khai and made herself turn to greet the remaining General.

She smiled slightly.

Tall, slender, that one’s long dark hair fell straight to his shoulders. His skin was the color of coffee. A thin beard traced his chin, a patch emphasizing his full lips, while a dark line followed his narrow jaw. His eyes were a striking pale gray. He seemed strangely familiar and yet at first she couldn’t place him.

“General Baraka,” she said, knowing who he must be.

He offered her a half bow.

Recognition dawned at the gesture. How many times had she seen him bow so? But not to her.

It took a moment for her to place his face but then she remembered.

She’d seen him with Kamenwati outside the ring at Kamenwati’s palace where she’d fought. He and Kamenwati had spoken as intimates did, their heads close…and he’d come often enough that she remembered him.

Here was an unforeseen danger. The tales she’d heard from other slaves had it that Baraka owed a great deal to Kamenwati, including his position. It wasn’t a lack of skill that had kept him from it, but youth, a lack of influence, and the experience that had gained Khai his. Being an ambitious man, rather than striving for experience Baraka had sought influence over skill and the gained the aid he needed from Kamenwati. But at what price? Whom did he truly serve? Egypt and his King, or Kamenwati? That was the question.

Thrusting his thumbs into his belt, General Akhom eyed their visitor with barely concealed displeasure. He didn’t need the priests involved in this. It was a matter for the army.

“What can we do for a priestess of Isis?” he asked.

His voice was a deep rumble.

Irisi didn’t miss the irritation in his dark brown eyes.

“I’ve been commanded here as representative of the Gods,” she said, “by High Priest Awan and High Priestess Banafrit to see what this darkness is that rises to the west of us.”

“And what do you propose?” he asked.

“To see what has been, what comes and what you will face,” she said. “To see if the temples can aid you.”

He looked at her. “I can spare no men to escort you.”

Eyeing him, frowning slightly, she said, “I have my own guards and my magic. Surely, though, you’re sending scouts ahead?”

In such a situation, it was standard procedure. Childric had always done so. He’d hated marching into battle blind.

“General Khai rides out in the morning,” Akhom said, his jaw tightening, by his expression he saw where she was going. And it was clear he didn’t like it. Not one bit. “It was General Khai’s decision to go rather than be satisfied with the reports of others.”

This was delicate. Irisi would cause Khai no difficulties but she had a mission to complete as well.

“With all due respect, my Lord General, I didn’t ask for an escort. As I said, I came with my own but, with Lord Khai’s gracious permission, I could perhaps ride with him for a time? If not, I will simply have to go on my own.”

There was no hint of challenge in her voice or tone and her eyes were even on Akhom, undemanding but making it clear she would not be deterred.

She put him into a difficult position and she knew it. If he refused her and something happened, it would be on his head.

In no way did she even so much as glance at Khai, leaving it to him to decide whether to speak or not. He knew the politics here as she did not.

Most folk knew she’d been a slave but few knew how she’d come to be one or who it was who’d captured her. It hadn’t mattered, then, as she hadn’t. It was unlikely either Akhom or Baraka remembered. Neither had been there, Khai had been the commander. She wasn’t even certain whether Kamenwati remembered that he’d bought her from the army, it was a fact about which her former owner would have cared little at that time or later.

There might be a record somewhere, but she had been sold as part of the spoils of war, not as Khai’s personal possession. Some remembered she’d fought for sport once upon a time, but those days were in the past and Akhom had been far afield.

Looking at her, Khai knew Akhom didn’t see the warrior Khai had seen that day on the battlefields to the north but rather the seemingly soft priestess in her fine robes and delicate sandals, despite the swords at her back. Khai, though, remembered the fighter standing amidst her dead, fighting with no care for herself until the moment she’d realized she fought alone. Then she’d gone still…

It was that stillness he remembered, always, her eyes lifting to his as she recognized her defeat and accepted her fate, laying down her arms.

It was a delicate balance she walked here now and he knew she walked it for him but he also had no doubt she would ride out in the morning regardless, alone if she must.

That he wouldn’t allow. Not alone. He’d left her once and suffered the tortures of wondering about her fate. He wouldn’t leave her again.

“Akhom,” Khai said, “the priestess can ride out with me. If she can’t keep up…” He shrugged eloquently and spread his hands, as careful not to look at Irisi as she had been careful not to look at him.

Akhom considered it.

It wasn’t his intention to put the priestess at risk, but the last thing he needed was to have the priests looking over his shoulder. He already had the Grand Vizier doing it. Then there was this unknown threat…

None of the people they passed spoke of soldiers, only of darkness, of things that came out of the night… Beasts? Lions driven out of the desert? Jackals? Wild dogs, too, sometimes hunted in packs. When food grew scarce, it wasn’t unlikely. But so many?

And the army to fight it?

He looked at the girl.

She was a slender woman and her face was youthful. Soft. His eyes went to the scars on her arms speculatively. Slips of the sword, parried, still sometimes cut. So she had fought with swords.

As with many in Thebes, he’d heard stories but he’d never seen her fight so he was inclined to believe they were exaggerations.

Still.

“If you can keep up by all means you may join General Khai,” he said, grudgingly.

“We ride out in the morning,” Khai said, “at first light.”

Irisi inclined her head in assent, first to Akhom, and then to Khai.

“My thanks, my Lords. General Khai, I’ll see you at daybreak?”

His tone level, he said, “If you aren’t there when we ride out, we’ll leave without you.”

A small smile touched her lips. Old habits died hard. She’d always been an early riser, waking often before first light as she had since she’d been a child called to milk the cows or perform other chores. Now she was the one who most frequently summoned the others to Goddess’s service.

“I’ll be there.”

Of that Khai had no doubt.

It was a long restless night for him though. For some reason he was intensely aware that Irisi’s tent had been pitched not far from his. He remembered vividly the look of her when she’d been in his, her hands pinned above her, her lush white body glowing in the light of the lamps, so exotic in her fairness, slender, beautifully formed.

He’d found himself thinking of her over the years at the unlikeliest times. She’d never been far from his mind. He remembered seeing her smile peek out from behind the rippling fall of her hair as she glanced at him from behind it.

Irisi, too, found herself restless, unable to sleep, thinking of gold-touched eyes, a voice in the night talking to her. She’d dreamed of tawny skin and firm muscles, and of how fine it had felt to lie with him curled around her.

What awaited them on the morrow disturbed her, too. Extending her senses as she’d been taught, she could feel a Darkness press back against them. She shivered and resolutely turned her back on it, drawing her coverings over her.

The room was rich, sumptuous, filled with reclining benches and pillows. At the end of it was a great chair not unlike the King’s throne but smaller, done in gilded marble with a gold-dyed cushion where Kamenwati sat to receive his guests. He waited now, with servants at each side waving fans made of the wings of swans to keep him cool.

Kamenwati looked down on the small man who’d been ushered into his presence and smiled.

Such a little man. Little in height, little in spirit. Were it not for folks such as him he wouldn’t know all that he knew. He wouldn’t have the power he had. And so he had men like these.

“What do you have for me?” Kamenwati asked, waving his assent for the other to speak in his presence. “What of my slave? Who is it she meets? Who does she see?”

It was this they shared in common, their one tie, the reason this one had come to him, and the reason Kamenwati’s agents had sought him out.

His anger flaring, the priest called Saini said, his tone bitter, “She meets no one. She sees no one. As befits a priestess of Isis she is most proper with everyone…nor does she serve or service any, as some are called to do.”

Proper.

In all the time the one they now called Irisi had been in Kamenwati’s service she’d never once given invitation or favor to any. If she had, he’d have killed them as she belonged to him and only he could use her so. Was it her nature? Or, in the face of his threat, did she withhold herself from such?  In either case, it served him well that she denied herself what he enjoyed in plenty. It was nearly enough…

“Even now she rides south at the bidding of Banafrit and the other priests and priestesses to meet the army…” Saini continued, his anger blinding him.