The wind was picking up. Even in only the soft, pale light of the waning moon, Ardeth could see the massive, darkening haze approaching fast from the southwest. Fine-grained sand stung his eyes. At his back, the camp his warriors had set up for the night was being quickly disassembled.
Karda whinnied nervously from several feet away. She, like all the other horses in the camp, could sense the impending sandstorm. However, she was the only one who knew what to do about it.
Ardeth whistled to her, and she swayed her head in his direction, nudging him urgently. He leaned towards her and lifted a hand to stroke her neck.
"It is coming swiftly." He nodded solemnly towards the rocky cliffs a hundred yards away. "Guide your companions to safety, Karda." She tossed her head in compliance, throwing the long black hair of her mane back to be blown wildly by the wind. Ardeth smiled, but grew somber as two of his men approached.
"If we wait any longer, we will lose Rakil's tracks." The deep voice of Morir, Ardeth's childhood friend, carried easily over the wind, marred only by the nearly-fatal scar that a bullet had caused years earlier.
"If we go now, we risk being lost to the desert's fury." Ardeth replied, throwing his last bundle over Karda's saddle and sending her in the direction of the cliffs. He sighed as he watched her lead her sisters and children calmly to safety. When he turned back to Morir, the rest of his men had gathered as well, awaiting Ardeth's decision. On one hand, the risk of losing the runaway to a deadly storm, and on the other, the risk of losing his men to the storm.
Sometimes the burden that was forever heavily laden upon his shoulders made him wish that he had not been born the eldest son of the Chief of the Medjai. His decision now was not unlike many he had encountered before, but this time, the fugitive whom he sought was one of his own. It was in fact, his younger brother, Rakil, a rebel from birth. He'd leapt upon the opportunity to escape when it first presented itself. He was on the run, and it was Ardeth's personal responsibility to track him down.
"Morir," Ardeth called out sharply, determined to get his orders out quickly. "Go, find shelter, and stay until it is safe to go back to the village. I will meet you there." Ardeth quickly held up his hand to stave off the protests he knew Morir ached to address. "This is my burden, and I will take care of it."
"Ardeth," his friend growled, "Rakil can take care of himself."
"As can I." Ardeth was becoming defensive. He didn't like his orders being questioned. Morir was clever enough to perceive his friend's disposition and quieted. "Go." In moments, they had disappeared in the gale.
He wasted no time in taking up the pursuit. His legs and feet had become conditioned, through a life of travel on foot and in saddle, to walking very swiftly over the loose sand, but as he continued pushing himself into the wind, his muscles began screaming for respite.
The wind was blowing northwest, but every so often, sudden flurries flew up from pure west. That little detail nagged him, as if there was something about the layout of the land that he was forgetting.
His left foot struck something lodged in the dune. It stung, for he had been almost at a run, but the pain died quickly as he crouched forward to reach out his hand and feel what it was he had encountered. A solid square clay brick, about three feet in length. Ardeth chuckled despite himself as the little detail that had been harassing him earlier clicked into place. By now, he probably stood less than ten yards away from the ancient ruins of Bubastis, a temple and cult-center devoted to the goddess Bastet.
He needed shelter, for the storm had gotten worse, but hesitated to seek refuge in Bastet's temple. She, the lioness, was fiercely territorial, and hostile to any who sought to harm her lands and people.
Something flew by, narrowly missing Ardeth's ear. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the fist-sized rock as it continued its airborne rampage, disappearing into the storm. He cursed to himself and made a dash for the temple, which was invisible to even his well-attuned eyes in the darkness.
The sense that something was near him caused Ardeth to dart his hand out before him, whence it came in contact with the crumbling surface of a huge column. He grinned beneath the black wrappings that shielded his face from the fury of the wind. He'd had that sixth sense since before he could remember. Sometimes it would even manifest itself through his vision, allowing him to see things in the shadows that no human could possibly be able to see. He guided his hand over the surface of the sand-clay, estimating its circumference: almost nine feet. It was enormous.
A whistling noise, behind him caused him to turn. The next thing he knew, he was laying flat on the ground, sheltered behind the column. The intense pain that burned in his left shoulder caused momentary paralysis. He couldn't feel his left arm, and as soon as he could move his right, he brought it up to inspect the damage.
The left shoulder of his cloak had been ripped, that part of his shirt torn to near shreds. There wasn't much blood, but the sand still stung like fire when it came in contact with his wound.
Uttering no more than a groan, Ardeth pulled himself to his knees, then slowly to his feet. He took a step forward and kicked aside the three-pound boulder that had caused his downfall. He heard the urgent voice in his head as it screamed at him to find shelter. Bastet's temples usually consisted of only one row of columns surrounding the enclosed chambers. Five steps and Ardeth came in contact with the rough, sandblasted limestone wall. He ran his good hand along the faded carvings, searching for an entrance. His hand found the carved doorframe, carved of smooth marble snakes, a very intricate tradition that was so old, the Elders couldn't remember why it was begun. The door was open, the sand was gusting, twirling faster and faster, pelting him with debris. Anger burned within Ardeth, both at Rakil, for running off, and at himself, for allowing his baby brother to escape his grasp.
He didn't hesitate as he darted into the musty, heavy darkness of Bastet's temple.