Day 18 (at most 12 days remaining)

As the great fire of the sun drew near to the earth, a shrill scream pierced the air. Within moments, new tongues of fire were lapping at the ground, spreading voraciously as if to replace the ones that had just disappeared over the horizon.

And, not turning around to watch the flames leap from house to house, the pharaoh's official urged his horse a little faster.

Nightfall, and they had reached their destination. It was incredible, really, but then again, incredible speed was what Gaia and his horsemen were known for.

The boy they were looking for shouldn't have been that hard to find, considering his physical description, but it shouldn't have been that easy, either. They had spotted him aimlessly wandering the streets, a blank look in his wide, purple eyes. Although his hair stuck up in all directions and in all manners of shocking colors, nobody seemed to take notice of the boy at all. Busy townspeople bustled back and forth, doing whatever it was that busy townspeople did, perhaps unconsciously making a wide berth around the boy but otherwise completely ignoring him.

When they'd first ridden into town, people had been quite interested in the royal procession, some even approaching to shyly touch the royal banner or pet the royal horses as they went by. But when Gaia stopped in front of the boy, all eyes had suddenly turned away.

"Psst. Hey, you," said Gaia, riding closer.

The boy stopped walking and turned his blank gaze up. And up. It occurred to Gaia how very small the boy was.

"Do you have any family?" said Gaia, hoping there was someone he could notify of the boy's impending departure. They weren't thieves come in the night to steal the poor child away, after all. There would be compensation for his family members, or whatever else they could do to make the loss more bearable.

The boy continued staring up at him for a few seconds more, before he turned his gaze away and resumed walking away at an unhurried pace.

"Boy!" said Gaia sharply. The boy stopped, turned, shot Gaia an injured look. "Didn't you hear me? I asked you if you had any family."

The boy mutely tilted his head to one side.

"Excuse me, sir," said Gaia, stopping a random person walking by. "Do you know who this boy's parents are?"

The man shot Gaia a disapproving look, completely refused to look at the boy in question, and hurried on his way.

Each time Gaia tried, he received similar results. Finally, in desperation, he bodily grabbed the next man to approach, giving him a light shake. "Does anyone talk around here?" Gaia demanded. "Who are this boy's parents?"

"Let go of me!" snarled the man, wrenching his sleeve out of Gaia's grasp and fleeing.

Gaia looked after him in shock, as behind him his men shifted uneasily. "What are you laughing at?" he asked the boy, who had started giggling into his small, dirt-covered hands. The boy stopped at once, although his eyes retained a mischievous look, as if he knew a secret that Gaia did not.

"Okay, kid," said Gaia, sighing. "I'm giving you one last chance to tell me where you live, who your family is, anything. If you don't, I'm going to just take you away, and you'll never see any of them again."

He got no reaction, but then again, he didn't expect any.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he said. He picked the boy up by his armpits and swung him onto one of the packhorses. The boy didn't seem frightened or surprised at all. He merely looked around with curiosity, as if adjusting to the new viewpoint. A few moments later, the empty look returned to his eyes, and he resumed staring straight ahead of him, as if captivated by the view of empty air.

"You have a visitor, O pharaoh."

"Send him in, then," said Atemu, trying to judge whether or not he'd fall over from exhaustion before his visitor made it to the tent.

"Her, O pharaoh," said the messenger.

"What was that?" If only he had a chair, Atemu thought…

"Your visitor is female, sir." The messenger looked frightened for his life at having just corrected the pharaoh.

"Really," said Atemu. The bed was too low; especially for a pharaoh already lacking in the height department, but his head spun and he was sure fainting in front of a visitor, male or female, wouldn't help his image at all. He tried to think back to the last time he'd slept—not since he woke up three days ago to steel himself for paying a visit to Mokuba Kaiba, he realized. He couldn't even doze in the saddle, because a pharaoh who saw it fit to sleep in public had little chance of ever waking again. It was just as well, he decided; pretty soon he would either be dead or locked into eternal darkness. Sleep suddenly didn't look too appealing.

He realized that the messenger-boy expected something of him. Oh yes. "Please send her in, then."

The messenger fled the tent.

Atemu looked around at his surroundings again. It wasn't like the tent was particularly well furnished. A rather bare and drafty interior was part of the inherent tent-ness. And it wasn't like they could've carted a desk all the way to the battlefield. The horses would've complained. Even so…

When the visitor lifted the tent flap to peer in, the pharaoh was seated, perfectly at ease, on what appeared to be an overturned war chariot. The wheels and yoke sat discarded in one corner. If his back was as straight and his posture as rigid as a sword, then his gaze was as sharp as one, and his eyes as cold as steel.

"Ô phare," said his visitor, bowing deeply until her hair swung wildly across her face.

"Did you mean to say that the other way around, perhaps?" suggested Atemu lightly. He was making the discovery that, after you passed a certain level of exhaustion, you broke through to the other side, where life was nice and full of shiny pink bubbles.

"Non," she said, "I called you 'phare,' which, in my native language, means a beacon, or a luminary, or, in more literal terms, a lighthouse." She spoke slowly, haltingly, with a light accent.

"So you just called me a lighthouse, then?" said the pharaoh, who currently thought the funniest thing was how much his hands hurt from ripping the wheels off of his makeshift throne.

"Yes, phare, for that is what you are." The woman straightened, and Atemu saw that she had a very pretty face. "You are the light in this time of darkness, the only hope we have of freeing our world from the Shadow Games. All of our hope is in you, O lighthouse, and it is to your light that our collective eyes will turn when the deciding day comes."

"No pressure," said Atemu, then focused. "I take it Isis sent you, then?"

"Yes, she did. She wanted to apologize for not being present when you visited last night."

"Thank you," said Atemu. "And your name is…?"

"My name is Anzu," she said, with a peculiar inflection on the name.

"Anzu," repeated the pharaoh. "Well, Anzu, was there anything else…?"

"That is all."

"It seems an awfully long way to come just to deliver an apology," said Atemu.

"I was already here," she said.

"You live here?"

"You misunderstand," she said. Few battle-hardened warriors would've dared to tell the pharaoh that he misunderstood. "Lady Isis sent me with the apology in advance. I have been waiting for you to arrive ever since."

"How long ago did she send you?" said Atemu.

"It has been three days since I departed," said Anzu, apparently unperturbed by the fact that her statement was single-handedly working to defy all laws of nature.

"I see," said Atemu, though he didn't. "I hope you will be able to return home? This area will not be very safe come morning."

"It has been arranged. Although—" Anzu's expression lit up with a smile that could best be described as wicked. "—I would've enjoyed seeing you kick Syrian butt." She cleared her throat. "As your soldiers say."

She bowed, went to the entrance of the tent, lifted the flap, paused. "Goodbye, pharaon," she said, turning around and daringly meeting his eyes with hers. "We eagerly await the day when your light will fill the horizon." As she released the tent flap, she bowed again. The last thing he saw before the flap settled was the hem of her skirt, pure white though it kissed the ground as she walked away.

"We rest here," said Gaia, in his clear, authoritative voice, as they approached another series of low but rocky hills, which the horses were definitely not looking forward to. He slid off his horse, removed his helmet, and began stroking the matted, sticky fur of his horse's neck, feeling it shake underneath his hands with each panted breath. They had been riding all day, although it had been worth it when they'd made the trip in less than half the expected time. After that, they had left town immediately, in case someone noticed the boy's absence and came after them, but now their horses were variously nearing and passing exhaustion, and Gaia knew they had no choice but to stop.

The boy they'd captured had not said a word nor made not a sound the entire trip. In fact, he hardly moved, sitting there like a little blank-eyed statue, except once to make a desperate grab for something solid when his horse made a wild jump to clear a few fallen trees. At least it showed that the boy had some desire to stay alive, which Gaia wouldn't have sworn to before the incident.

The clank of weapons jerked Gaia back to attention, and he looked up in time to see a small hand join his on the horse's neck. Their captive had come right up to him, apparently unafraid, and was petting the horse as if he and it were the only two things that existed in the world. Gaia could see his men over the boy's head—big, strong men, looking a bit nervous but quite ready to spear the boy if he made any sudden moves.

Gaia did not know what to do. In other circumstances, he might have forced the boy down, tied his arms together, something, because obviously when you kidnapped somebody you had to be careful about letting him get too close to you. But the way the boy had just walked up as if Gaia weren't there, the way he continued to ignore him even now, with several pounds of sharpened metal aimed at his back, severely put Gaia off. Hesitantly, Gaia decided there was no harm in leaving the boy alone, since he had proven docile up to that point. Even when they had been abducting him, all they had to do was pick him up and place him on horseback. He hadn't struggled, hadn't cried out, nothing, just looked at them curiously and then turned his blank gaze forward.

Not for the first time, Gaia wondered if the boy was stupid, or mute, or perhaps a bit mentally defective. He didn't even know what the pharaoh wanted the boy for, although after getting a good look at the resemblance, Gaia thought he had an idea. Now he signaled to his men over the boy's head that it was all right, he wasn't in danger. Some of them cautiously lowered their weapons, while the rest stared at him as if he were as crazy as the little boy.

Without warning, said boy threw his arms around the horse's neck. The unexpected movement brought half of his men forward, weapons up once more, but Gaia signaled them to stop—he was curious. For the first time, he heard the boy speak, so quietly that at first Gaia wasn't sure whether the boy was really speaking. Only the fact that the boy's lips moved proved that Gaia wasn't imagining things.

"You're so tired,"the boy was saying, voice barely audible. "But where was all the energy you were born with? Surely you remember that still? Being born, taking your first breaths. Even the air was full of magic then. Think back. One breath of air gave you enough energy for the day, but there was enough for more than just one breath. You didn't even understand what weariness was, did you. Life was your energy, all the rest you ever needed…"

The horse reared its head, whinnying loudly. The boy let his arms slide off and backed away as the horse, apparently inspired, whinnied again. Sweat flew as it shook its mane out, and then it began circling Gaia, nudging at him as if eager to continue the trip. Astonished, Gaia looked around. All the other horses looked just as energized, prodding their bewildered riders forward with the light-hearted impatience of puppies.

"What did you do?" said Gaia, but the boy had resumed his blank look. He was sitting on the ground, playing with a few pebbles. When Gaia lifted the boy to his horse once more, he again went without protest.

"What did you do?" Gaia repeated, raising his voice, and the boy frowned at him, as if offended by the sharpness of the words.

"I put the colt back in him," he said, as they began riding again.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Gaia asked, but there was no response. He looked over to find the boy asleep, while under him and around him, the horses thundered on, energetic and playful as on the day they were born.

"Pharaoh."

"Ryuuji," the pharaoh acknowledged, not looking up from what he was doing. He was sitting, a wooden slab in one hand, a brush in the other. A pot of what appeared to be ink rested by his feet. On the piece of wood was a sheet of papyrus paper, though Ryuuji couldn't tell what the pharaoh was writing on it—being able to read wasn't exactly an important life skill. Whatever the words meant, though, they were rather intimidating. Being written busily at gave the impression of 'You're not worth my attention,' and at the same time managed to imply that everything you said was being taken down and would, at a later date, be dug up again to be used against you.

Ryuuji decided not to let it bother him, however. "You sent for me?" he asked, with a pompous quirk of his eyebrow.

"I did," said the pharaoh, still not looking up. "How fortunate it is that you happened to be around."

Of course Ryuuji never just happened to be around. He had been waiting in the Syrian camp nearly a week for the pharaoh to arrive.

"I had wanted to talk to you about the last few pieces of information you gave me," continued the pharaoh slowly, almost lazily, as he drew a long, dark slash across his paper with a flick of his wrist.

Ryuuji froze. Had he given the pharaoh incorrect information? If that was the case, Ryuuji was as good as dead. With the swiftness of thinking he was known for, Ryuuji went through his options. If he bolted now, it would raise suspicion. It might give the pharaoh the impression that the information Ryuuji had given was intentionally false, which would make a bad situation even worse. Most likely orders had been given to have guards posted around the tent as well, so escape wouldn't have been possible. And, assuming that he somehow managed to make it back to the Syrian camp, the pharaoh would probably send an envoy after him, to spread the word that their trustworthy archer and expert dice master Ryuuji had not only been gambling from them their life savings, a dislikable but not highly illegal crime, but that he had also been feeding information to the enemy. The Syrian king would not like that at all, oh no…

If, on the other hand, he stayed, he would also be in a whole lot of trouble, because the pharaoh would not have liked getting wrong information, and Ryuuji, being a Syrian spy and not an Egyptian at all, would have even less of a chance of surviving with everything attached—

He suddenly realized that the pharaoh had stopped writing and had instead begun radiating amusement. Ryuuji applied himself to calming down.

"What about it?" he asked cautiously.

The pharaoh looked up. On a less dignified person, the shape his mouth formed might have been identified as a grin. "You told me that your people had bought off the commander of my fifth regiment, am I right?"

That was wrong? thought Ryuuji. But it took me hours of flirting with that man to find out… and I had to buy him a drink!

"Yes," he said aloud.

"You were absolutely correct," said the pharaoh. "And were it not for you, your countrymen and my fifth regiment would now be ransacking Tanis as we speak, the capture of which city would have devastated Egypt strategically."

Ryuuji gaped.

"If you have any more similar information, I would love to hear it," continued the pharaoh, and now Ryuuji knew he wasn't just imagining the amusement playing at the pharaoh's voice.

"Y-yeah, um," said Ryuuji, relief momentarily paralyzing his vocal cords. He forced himself to continue. "They tried to buy off your fourth regiment too, but your commander refused."

The pharaoh smiled. "And where are they getting so much money, do you suppose?"

"We seem to have a new leader," said Ryuuji. "Crazy guy. He just marched into camp a few nights ago, and he had piles of treasure. Scepters, goblets, that kind of thing. All solid gold."

"Really," said the pharaoh, leaning forward. "And he gained support by promising reward?"

"That, and he threatened that we'd get eaten if we didn't listen to him."

"Eaten by what?"

"Well, after he came, one man wondered aloud what was preventing him from just killing the newcomer and taking all his things. Then there was this slithering sound, and a huge serpent came down from the trees. It was enormous, I'm telling you. I probably couldn't wrap my arms around its middle even if it held still long enough for me to try."

"What did it look like?" said the pharaoh, intrigued. "What did it do?"

"It looked like a snake, really. Just bigger. Its scales were a mix of colors—bright green and some brown—in poisonous swirls on a white background. An off sort of white. It was almost nauseating to look at, the color. Nearer to the head the colors darkened, and at the tip of its nose it was black like pitch. Its eyes were camouflaged in the dark colors, but you could see them glitter if they caught the firelight just the right way. I mean, the whole body was glossy, but the eyes were… slightly different. And it had a long, flicking tongue. Scared people almost to death when it lashed out at them."

"And did it eat them?"

"Oh, no. No, it just coiled loosely around the guy and looked at everybody, like it was sizing them up for its dinner. And then it opened its mouth, and it had these long fangs, really sharp, and you could see the bulging venom sacs…"

"And then?"

"And then it disappeared," said Ryuuji.

"You mean it left quickly?"

"No. It just vanished. Like it was never there."

The pharaoh frowned. "Did you at least check for an imprint? Any mark the snake might have left on the ground?"

"Yes, I did. They were there, all right. At first I didn't see any, but suddenly, they were right there—huge grooves in the earth, with scratch lines from the scales… I really don't know how I'd managed to miss them before. Oh, but he caught me looking."

"Who?"

"The newcomer. Our new leader." Ryuuji did not say 'duh.' Getting paid was on his list of priorities. Being fed to crocodiles was not.

"I see," said the pharaoh. "And do you have any idea how he managed to make the snake appear?"

"Well… I think he might have… special abilities." Yes, that was a good euphemism for 'Gift.'

"And what might those be?" said the pharaoh.

"The ability to summon snakes?" suggested Ryuuji.

"Hm," said the pharaoh noncommittally. "Did you notice anything else unusual when he summoned the snake?"

"Besides a snake big enough to swallow this tent appearing? No, not really."

"No cold, no purple fog, no sudden feeling of immense weariness?"

"No," said Ryuuji, who knew better than to ask.

"Where is the snake-summoner now?"

"I don't know," said Ryuuji. In contrast to many others Ryuuji had spied for, the pharaoh did not strike him down where he stood for not knowing something, one of the reasons Ryuuji actually felt some loyalty to the pharaoh. "He left right after the snake disappeared, I think to get more support from some of our other camps."

"I see. What did you say this man's name was?"

"I didn't. He calls himself 'Touzoku Ou.'"

"Touzoku Ou," repeated the pharaoh. "Let me know immediately if he makes any claim to being related to me."

"Tell you if he says he's family. Got it." Ryuuji twirled a strand of hair.

"Was there anything else?" said the pharaoh.

"Yes—Crawford."

"The ruler of the Hittites?" asked the pharaoh.

"Yes, that's right. He's had something to do with one of your men… Pandora, I think."

"What sort of something to do?"

"It seemed like he was trying to convince Pandora to do something. I'm not too sure about the details."

"When?"

"Earlier today. Maybe noon."

"But Crawford wasn't personally speaking with Pandora."

"No, he sent a messenger. I couldn't catch the message, though."

"I see," said the pharaoh. "I will need to have a talk with the both of them, then. Fortunately, Crawford and his son will be paying me a visit in two days, for negotiations on irrigation or something like that…" The pharaoh trailed off. "Is there more?"

"That's it," said Ryuuji.

Nodding, the pharaoh set down paper and brush. "You may not want to stay too long, then," he said. "The fighting is about to begin."

"Sir! It's the Egyptians, sir," said a young man, wearing a jacket with the sleeves torn off.

"What about them?" said Sir.

"They're here," said the sleeve-hater. "They've set up camp barely minutes away."

"Really," said Sir, who'd found that, even with the enemy breathing down your neck, it always paid to take the extra moment to think things through. "And are all of our soldiers present and accounted for, Kajiki?"

"All but one," said Kajiki.

"Who's the one?" asked Sir.

"It's Ryuuji, sir. He's missing."

"Otogi?" Sir frowned, presumably recalling several instances in which he'd watched his money disappear into Otogi's pocket with a roll of the die. "No big loss," he said. "He's probably off swindling more hard-earned wages. Tell the men to—"

But what it was Kajiki was supposed to tell the men was lost as the words died on Sir's tongue.

Out in the darkness, a light had bloomed, followed by another, and another, and then the night was filled with speckles of light, and the entire camp was surrounded by torches. The sight was enough to make any man's heart stop. Without warning, the torches began to descend upon them in huge waves of flickering light, which did not illuminate their enemies very well, only glinted off unsheathed swords and chariot wheels.

A horse reared up directly in front of Sir and Kajiki, the distinctive figure of the pharaoh of Egypt looming up behind it.

"Nice camp you have here," said the pharaoh. "Mind if we take it?"

With a dramatic motion, the pharaoh lifted his sword into the air—

—and then all the other torches were upon them.