Pharaoh’s Gold by Thomas Krug

Author:Thomas Krug
Language: eng
Format: epub
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Publisher: Titan Books and Alcon Publishing

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In the end, although Senet assured them her husband would return in a day or three, Pisaqar decided it was better not to wait. He was a man of action. The idea of sitting inert, beholden to the loose schedule of a total stranger, galled him. Once again, Nibamon was condemned to a long uphill march. Thankfully, dusk had fallen, and the cooling air made the effort bearable. The ochre sand darkened to umber as the sun neared the end of its circuit, the cloudless sky all crimsons and violets. The shrunken column lit torches as night approached. Pisaqar had specific errands in mind and had opted to bring a smaller crew: the two priests, the Israelite, and Nibamon.

They scrabbled uphill in the gathering dark, their torches guttering as they made their way over the rocky ground. Ahead of them lay a cliff face, tall and sheer. The setting sun cast its jagged lines into harsh relief. Any one of those innumerable shadows could have easily been mistaken for a canyon mouth. In reality, there was but one way into the valley—and Rukhmire guarded it.

His hut first announced itself with a red flicker. Fire must have been one of his scant joys, because his dwelling place was a depressing sight. It was little more than a semicircle of rocks piled man-high and topped with thatch. A pair of eyes peered out at the approaching visitors through a window maybe the size of a fist. The eyes disappeared, and out stumbled Rukhmire, bent copper sword in hand.

The robust young man Nibamon remembered had fallen prey to the ungentle years. His head of curls was reduced to a mop of limp strands. His smooth bronze skin had turned swarthy from far too many lonesome patrols in the sun. His fine teeth had been stained brown and worn flat by sandy bread.

“Halt!” he cried hoarsely, brandishing his sad family sword. “Halt in the name of Shabaku!”

Pisaqar said out of the corner of his mouth, “Nibamon, calm your brother-in-law.”

He remembered himself and hastened to the head of the column on creaking legs. “Brother! Put down your sword. It’s me, Nibamon.”

Rukhmire lowered his guard with clear relief. “Nibamon!” He grinned, and in that moment, the raffish boy who had wooed Senet out of her first engagement was visible once more. He shook his head and laughed at the sight of Nibamon’s unlikely company. “Amun’s sake, man, what’ve you gotten yourself into this time?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle in return. “New job, new friends,” he replied.

“Come sit, all of you. It’s a little cramped inside but you ought to fit. I daresay I can scrounge up enough bread for us to nibble on… Gives me an excuse to head home early, I admit…” Still jabbering, he stooped and disappeared through the door. Nibamon was no longer sure whether he was talking to his guests or himself.

Somehow, Rukhmire had managed to exaggerate the size of his living quarters. The round hut was only a few paces across.

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