XX. I Stand Alone

His people had once called him King Mathayus, speaking his name with pride and pleasure, and not a little awe. But now that the necropolis of Naqada was built, now that the king turned his eye to vengeance, they never used his name, calling him only the Scorpion King--or worse, the Mad King.

Mad King Mathayus. But how mad would he be when Thebes fell? The gods themselves, who had chosen Thebes as their home city, would be forced to bow before their conqueror, a mere Akkadian. The last of his people. Sometimes when he visited Naqada, Mathayus thought he caught a glimpse of his long-dead brother, teaching a ghostly Thomid to ride and shoot and the proper way to handle a blade.

Everything that Mathayus had wanted to teach his own son.

He'd received a letter from King Narmer of Thebes not two months ago notifying him of the imminent marriage of his daughter, the princess Ahawetsebwet, to the new king at Ineb-Hedj. Menes. Only now the capital of Lower Egypt was Memphis, the name changed in the pharaoh's honor, and Menes wore the crowns of both north and south.

Mathayus gave thanks every day that Menes lived. And swore every night that he would bring him home, back to his father's side--even if it meant overrunning every city in Egypt, from Thebes to Memphis. He would have his son back.

* * *

Chanting. Incense. Dry, cracked air.

The sanctuary of the temple of Set was dim, the floors splintered and sand-strewn. The walls showed a riot of carvings. Here, an old man, beard bristling, examining Anubis' scales of justice through a pair of ridiculous frog-eyed lenses; there, a Nubian giant, sword in hand, grinding the monster Ammut into the earth; farther on, the old northern King Djer nursing a kidnapped prince back to health.

Spells and stories, prayers and histories. Memnon. Pheron. Mathayus. And everywhere, everywhere, the stylized figure of a familiar horse thief, always in the background.

Cassandra walked softly, feeling as though the hieroglyphic figures carved into the walls were watching. Arpid greeted her with a shaky smile.

"You could have stayed in Thebes," Cassandra said. She winced as her voice echoed.

"Do you really think there are no priests of Set, even in the city of Amun?" The air was heavy with the chanting of prayers and spells, though only two other priests were in the sanctuary. "Besides, this is my home temple, where I was raised and trained. It is right that I should--"

Arpid gave the two men waiting silently by a darkened doorway a nervous look, before turning Cassandra away from their cruel gaze. "You don't know how fierce the war among the gods is. How convoluted." His voice was a murmur, his lips barely moving. "The double crosses, the triple crosses."

Cassandra frowned, not understanding.

"I have been in this from the beginning. You think I was only a horse thief?"

"Pheron's death?" Cassandra asked. "Memnon's fall? The murder of Mathayus' brother?"

Arpid nodded, his expression bitter. "All of it Set's doing."

"And Menes?"

"What could be better than the fall of kings?" the thief hissed. "Except when it leads to the rise of justice." His grimace twisted into a hard smile. "And now the two lands will be united for the first time since the murder of Osiris. You see? I deceived the god of deception. Good trick, no?" His chuckle held an edge of hysteria.

Abrupt cold gripped Cassandra's throat. "Arpid. What are you doing?"

"For once in my life, sorceress, I'm doing something honest." With a nod, he turned and began walking toward the two waiting priests.

"Arpid!"

He came back then and embraced her, his voice warm against her ear. "Watch for Set's return! He'll be wearing the jackal's head."

"No..."

But Arpid turned again and gave himself over to the two priests. Seizing him by the arms, they pulled him into the darkened room. There was a choked cry, and the sound of something wet hitting the stone floor.

The chanting died away. Cassandra fled.

* * *

Isis had refused Narmer's deal. She would never slink off home when there was a war to be fought.

The old man had presented her with a palette showing--of all the ludicrous things--himself victorious over the Two Lands. But Isis threw the palette to the ground, shattering it. She spat at Narmer's feet, took up her own sword, and joined the Theban army waiting for the mad king's attack.

Mathayus' army was enormous, thousands strong. Isis smiled, and the sweating foot soldier beside her gave her a wary look. Her predatory grin widened. "Today will be a good day."

And it was.

* * *

Menes' harsh coughing tore through the air of his chambers. Ahawetsebwet ministered to him, rubbing herb-laden oils into his scarred chest. The young queen's lovely face was marred with perpetual worry.

Trying unsuccessfully to ignore the hollow cheeks, the chest that seemed to have caved in, Cassandra knew the young king would not last much longer. Djer was only just beginning to learn to talk, not nearly old enough to take the throne. She prayed that Menes would last a little longer. Just a little longer.

He smiled at her when she entered. "I won't rule much longer," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "I never did completely heal from the wound."

Cassandra nodded. Then: "Djer has had a vision."

"Isn't it a little early for that?"

"I don't know. Memnon had my family killed and me taken before I could learn everything I should have." She looked at her hands and found them to be clenched around Djer's favorite little blanket. "I shared his vision," she continued. "Mathayus and his army have been defeated at Thebes. The survivors, including Mathayus himself, were driven into the desert."

"I've already received word of this."

"But it's not the end," Cassandra insisted, her voice becoming strident. "Mathayus will return, and there will be--"

Menes held up his hand, stopping her. "Lady mother. Remember whose son I am." He smiled, and his illness seemed to vanish for a moment.

"I make my own destiny."

End.