Heshtat and Harsiese careened around a corner, bumping into two surprised criminals. Heshtat didn’t recognise either of them, but they had coloured headbands and weapons dripping with gore. Heshtat spared a half-second to make sure they weren’t innocents simply defending their homes, but a quick glance inside the building they’d emerged from; the bloodied bodies, the crying old man as he held his son’s corpse to his chest, the blood seeping across the floor—it all painted a horrific and clear picture—especially when combined with the way the two men were laughing and swaggering about.

  The Tomb Guard made a similar deduction to Heshtat at roughly the same time, and they continued on their way only a moment later, leaving a new pair of corpses on the street. They soon emerged into a small square to find their three companions engaged with a quartet of enemies. Three appeared to be simple criminals from their dress, but the last had the look of an experienced combatant. He wielded a long-hafted moon axe of the kind Harsiese had recently lost, and barked orders at the other three as he stalked to one side hoping to flank Neferu.

  Unfortunately for him, he was currently circling near the street that Heshtat and Harseise emerged from. He received barely any warning before Harsiese was tackling him, picking the warrior up in a bear hug even as he twisted the man and slammed him to the earth. The ground dented beneath the weight of the attack, the warrior’s head bouncing off hard-packed earth and his grip on his weapon going slack. Harsiese leaned down to scoop the enormous axe from limp fingers before twirling it over his head and bringing it down on the man’s shocked face.

  Heshtat used the time to kill one of the criminals who had turned at their entrance, and Maatkare and Neferu both stabbed another who had also turned. The final man screamed as Ahhotep wrapped his skeletal hand around his neck, opening a shadowy portal in front of the man’s head. Something reached out from within, pulling the criminal bodily into the pool of shadow hovering in midair, and the gruesome twitching of the man’s legs, even if they couldn’t hear his screams, was enough to tell Heshtat that something horrid was occurring inside whatever fractured space the priest had summoned.

  As the portal winked out of existence and the man’s legs dropped to the ground, devoid of the upper body, all eyes turned to Heshtat. He must look a sight if his companions were anything to go by: all were covered in blood and soot, eyes wild and weapons ready, looks of anger and shock prevalent on their faces.

  “We still have a mission,” Heshtat said as he surveyed the scene. “The quicker we get to the palace, the quicker we can put a stop to this madness.”

  He leapt up onto a nearby house, making it to the roof several yards above in a single spring of enhanced musculature. His keen eyes took in the surroundings quickly.

  “The outer districts are burning sporadically, but the outer wall seems to have kept most of the chaos out of the inner districts. There appears to be heavy fighting along the main avenue from the outer wall to the palace, with the inner districts mostly spared the flame. No, belay that,” he said, spying the occasional flash of fire and weapons in the inner districts too.

  “I cannot be certain, but I think the city guard are holding the inner districts, and the people are putting up a good fight. There is heavy fighting by the temple district as well, but the biggest battle seems to be occurring at the palace gates. That is our destination.”

  He jumped down, returning to his companions and surveying their faces. Neferu couldn’t keep her eyes in one place, darting looks in every direction, looking nervous and fearful. Despite all her experience, this would be her first time on a battlefield. Harseise by comparison was a wall of calm, his axe hanging on one shoulder and a dark look taking over his usually affable features. Ahhotep looked tired—he’d still barely recovered from his injuries sustained during the floods, and now here he was, struggling through a siege at his advanced age.

  It was Maatkare who looked the most distraught though, somehow. His eyes were wide, face set in a horrified expression, as if he had a question he needed to ask but didn’t want the answer to.

  “Heshtat, my friend,” he started, voice wabbling with emotion. “The northern outer district…?”

  Heshtat instantly realised the set of his friend’s thoughts and winced in sympathy. “Besieged as well, though I noticed less flame. Go now, you might make it in time.”

  “I cannot,” Maatkare began, the agony in his voice heartbreaking. “We have our mission. I won’t abandon—"

  “Go Maatkare,” Heshtat said once more, softer this time. “I only regret that I cannot join you.”

  “But—”

  “Go, Sesh! I release you from your duty. Save your school.”

  His friend’s gratitude was warming, but there was little time to bask in it. Maatkare gave him a final nod and a final acknowledgement; “Captain!” that communicated more than any words could, and then he was gone. Sprinting off into the night, heading across the city to his students, and his new duty.

  Heshtat turned to the others. “Any of you who do not wish to go further, I likewise release you from any bonds of duty you may feel. This will be just as deadly as the escape from the island, and I’ll blame none of you for leaving.”

  Harseise obviously felt no desire to leave, simply waiting like an impatient bull, eager to head to the palace and take his place beside his fellow Tomb Guard. Heshtat was curious to see Ahhotep’s reaction, but the old priest just clutched his tome and his staff and nodded. Neferu swayed side to side with her nerves, but she gave him a tight smile when he looked her way.

  “I’m with you,” she said weakly.

  Heshtat nodded. “To the palace then. We head straight for the outer wall, scale it and take the rooftops a few streets away from the central avenue until we reach the palace gates. We’ll reassess from there. Anyone goes down on the way, they’re on their own. If you lose sight of the others, just get to the gates. Speed will be our goal here—much as I hate it, there’s no time to get bogged down with fighting in the streets. Cut and run, understood?”

  They nodded.

  “Come then,” he muttered, turning deeper into the city. “Let us complete our sacred mission beneath a burning sky.”

  ***

  It took only minutes to reach the outer wall, but it felt like hours to Heshtat as they flew through familiar streets rendered unrecognisable by the violence on display. Here and there odd fires still burned, pools of blood crept along stone streets, and corpses lay unmoving. Everywhere he looked he saw signs of failure. Not his this time, but theirs. He still considered himself a part of the city’s defenders, the province’s protectors, even if he would scorn the idea if spoken aloud. To see the people of Idib brutalised like this made his soul ache. But he wasn’t alone in that failure any longer. This belonged to all the guards, the planners, the queen and her advisors, even the damned nobles and guilds, though Heshtat hadn’t yet ruled out the possibility of a coup from those quarters just yet.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  The outer wall, when they reached it, was only about a dozen yards tall, and Heshtat scaled it easily. It wasn’t made for a siege any longer, more a part of the city’s ancient layout that had stuck around more as decoration than as a true defensive measure. Idib had long since expanded beyond its old borders, and Queen Cleosiris lacked the workforce to properly man it anyway.

  Harsiese helped Neferu onto a wooden lean-to built shoddily and leaning against the wall, in which firewood was stored. He then gave her a boost with his hands laced beneath one of her sandals, and his prodigious strength propelled her a good three yards up. She caught Heshtat’s wrist, and he pulled her the rest of the way up, though when the Harsiese reached for Ahhotep, the priest waved him off and conjured a shadow portal before him, slipping through to emerge behind Heshtat in but a moment. He stumbled against the wall and steadied himself, so the action clearly had a cost, but Heshtat chose not to remark on it. The priest knew his limits better than Heshtat, so he let it be.

  They hurried down the other side, hearing heavy fighting from several streets over. Heshtat scaled a four-story inn, getting a more detailed look from its domed roof. The city guard were fighting off a wave of what looked to be mercenaries. There weren’t many of them, but those that were there were clearly stronger and better equipped, and seemed to be pushing back the beleaguered defenders, who were doing their best to shield groups of civilians and usher the panicked populace out and away from the main avenue.

  Heshtat’s heart stuttered as he saw a young couple cut down by arrows as they fled through a small side street, and squeezed his eyes shut to block out the all-consuming urge to hunt down their killers right this very moment.

  Instead, he leapt to the next building, signaling his companions on the ground to climb and follow. They did so, and the group moved through the night like a team of assassins, skulking along rooftops and staying out of sight of the roving bands of invaders they occasionally saw stalking the streets. Heshtat was gladdened to see similar groups of civilians taking up arms to defend themselves, ushering each other down twisted alleyways and using greater numbers and knowledge of the city to sometimes even ambush the weaker raiding parties.

  It was all captured in flashes though. Snatches of whispered conversation, a flurry of movement below him as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, a half-heard scream and the smell of blood wafting from below. They made good time and managed to avoid interruption, and while it hurt him to ignore the desperate need of the people below, he could only harden his heart and continue on. This would be over quicker if he could return the Eye to Cleo.

  Cleo could help. She would help. She had a plan.

  He repeated it like a mantra, shielding his mind from the pain of the siege, raising it to ward off each errant scream and plea he heard from every direction. Ahhotep appeared ahead of him and pointed off into the distance with his crooked white hand.

  “The temple district,” he croaked, voice still recovering. “I sense a twisting in the Other. Something dire is being ushered forth.”

  Heshtat caught up to him and squinted, though he couldn’t see much beyond the vague shapes of the many temples themselves. The smoke was occluding his vision up here.

  After coughing his throat clear, he asked, “what does that mean?”

  “Someone is attempting a summoning. Too powerful. We must stop it.”

  “There’s no time,” Heshtat disagreed. “And we cannot help, besides. If the high priests cannot hold back what is coming, then we will be of no use either.”

  Ahhotep just shook his head. “I recognise the magic. Let me go. I can help.”

  Heshtat held his gaze for a single second longer, then nodded. “Fine. Go with my blessing. I hope we meet again, Ahhotep.”

  “As do I, young man,” the old priest said, his green eyes gleaming in the night. “Luck be with you.”

  Heshtat turned to check that Harsiese and Neferu were still nearby and saw them ahead leaping over to the next building. He followed, sailing across the street with a single powerful bound, but as his sandalled feet slapped down against the white mortar of the rooftop garden, he noted something strange ahead.

  Harsiese and Neferu were approaching the edge of the building he’d just landed on, and behind them he saw a woman rising with her bow drawn. She had been crouching in the lee of a rose bush, and even as she straightened, she was already pulling back on a great war-bow, sighting down its length at his two companions’ backs.

  They leapt at the same time Heshtat did, though he let loose a shout of rage, lacing essence into his bellow even as he charged. It was a raw sound, no words as such, but it was designed to catch the attention of the archer, and it worked. She swung around to face him, startled and clearly not ready for the blade already heading her way.

  He had thrown his khopesh, the curved sword a poor projectile, but the weight of it was sufficient to knock her aim, and the arrow she loosed swung wide of his chest—barely—as he barrelled into her. They slammed to the roof together, rolling over and over, and he was immediately shocked at her strength. An adept of Khet? Or simply an acolyte with a channel that lent itself towards great strength? Given her weapon, perhaps he should have expected it.

  But he hadn’t, and she managed to straddle him, heavy hips locking him in place as her hands wrapped his throat in a vice-like grip. He floundered, trying in vain to displace her with his lower body even as his vision blackened at the edges. Panic, for a single second. Raw and jagged. And then his training reasserted itself, and Heshtat reached out blindly, hands scrabbling its way up her neck and across her face. She tried to bite him, but he hooked a finger in her cheek and jerked her head to one side, and then his other hand was over her eyes and he was gouging.

  He might be weaker than her in a strictly physical sense, but his fingers were stronger than her eyes, and he grit his teeth against the pained wail he drew from her as he scrabbled his fingers against her face. She let go, pulling her own hands to her face on instinct, and Heshtat gasped, rolling to one side for his sword. It was nowhere in sight, so he grabbed a discarded arrow that had fallen free of her quiver, and stabbed upwards.

  Hot blood gushed over his stomach, and the archer looked down at him in shock, her hands dropping to her throat where one of her own barbed arrows hung. He saw her surprise turn to anger as she reached out for him, and he yanked the arrow back out before stabbing in again. She grunted with each impact and toppled after three brutal slashed to her throat.

  Heshtat stumbled back to his feet, dazed from the attack. He saw his two companions on the next building turn back to him, and he waved them forwards, turning in place to find his khopesh on the roof nearby. He snatched it from the ground and spat, straightening as he tried to work fresh air back into his lungs, his throat bruised and aching. The roof was a mess—the rosebush was ruined, his arms and shoulders bearing the scratches from its thorns as he’d rolled through it—and the scaffolding to one side splintered and jumbled from where he and the archer had wrestled amongst its ruin.

  He shook his head free of the cloying confusion and stepped back. Took a few steps for speed and made to leap across the street to the next building. He noticed, at the last second, the wooden struts on the street below and frowned even as he took his last step. As his front foot was falling towards the ledge, he realised what they were. Support beams, formerly propping up the ledge he was now about to land on.

  Even as he heard the ominous creak of wood, he put the pieces together. The scaffolding now broken, the missing support beams... Heshtat fell to the street below amid a clatter of broken timbers and rising dust, and braced himself for impact. Instead of snapping his knees on cobbles or hardpacked dirt, he felt something unexpectedly soft cushion his fall.

  A heavy sigh, cut off abruptly as he rolled to his feet, and he turned to find a large man lying dead on the ground, neck twisted unnaturally and blood leaking from where his face had hit the unforgiving paved road beneath. Heshtat felt the bruising in his elbow and knew it to be where he had hit the man’s head.

  What bizarre luck was this?

  For a moment he panicked, thinking he’d killed a civilian—perhaps one of the roving groups of citizens fighting back against the invaders. But no, the corpse was surrounded by what looked to be criminals, wearing the red and black of Sensuret’s men. Three of them, all turning his way in confusion and surprise.

  Then he noticed the fourth and final man. Long black coat trailing in the dust, smooth bald head gleaming in the burning eve. The man turned his way, shock and then recognition lighting his features.

  “Heshtat?” Sensuret asked, broken whisper of a voice shrill with delight. “My, but what incredible fortune is this?” He smiled a cruel smile. “I’ve been looking for you.”