PROLOGUE

He conquered the known world in only a few years. His army was the mightiest of the age. To this day, he still looms large as a major figure in the history of war–and the world itself. And yet, after his death, he disappeared, becoming more myth than man.

That man was Alexander the Great.

To this day, no one knows where the great conqueror is buried, but there is a legend that he who can revive Alexander will hold the key to not only immortality, but the subjugation of the world. Alexander the Great is the chosen one of Ra, the Ancient Egyptian god of the sun…but if the wrong person awakens him, then his purpose will be corrupted.

Who can stand against the avatar of the Sun God?

Only the avatar of his greatest and most terrifying foe, Apophis. The serpent of chaos chooses an avatar only when his enemy rises from the grave. And with whispers of Alexander's imminent revival growing louder, Apophis feels that the time is now to take a new host…one who has been forged in fire, blood, rage, and hatred, tempered and hardened into a living weapon….

CHAPTER ONE

MAY 28, 2023–17:34:26

RIAH "WINDSTORM" EASIFATAN

CAIRO, EGYPT

Nobody noticed the girl with the black hijab and the scarf around her mouth making her way through the crowded streets…which was just as well. If they had stopped her, they would have regretted it.

She knew that had she worn the clothes that her peers preferred, the men around her would have stopped her, stared, made advances. But in this guise, they knew to steer clear.

She was a Medjai, one who was tasked with protecting the world from threats more ancient than the pyramids themselves. In the weeks, months, and years since the battle of Ahm Shere, however, there had been less and less need for the Medjai, and some of their number had left their people and integrated with modern society.

Not her. Never her.

As she reached the house, an older man with a gray beard sitting out front grunted. "No entry," he said in Arabic.

The girl rolled up her sleeve, revealing a tattoo of an eye inside a triangle over a bright sun and flanked by two hissing cobras.

The man's eyes widened, and he said, "You are–"

The girl only nodded, her amber eyes flashing in the setting sun. The man stood, bowed, and said, "Enter, Mistress."

The girl bowed her head and went in. She didn't stop to greet anybody–she went straight to the war room and bowed.

"Chief Basala," she said. "I honor you."

The man, wearing the traditional black robes of a Medjai chief, turned with a wide smile. "Riah," he chuckled. "You need not be so formal with me–it is just the two of us here."

Riah straightened up and kept her head lowered, but Chief Basala came over to her and cupped her chin tenderly. He raised her head so his eyes could meet hers.

"Can't an old man be allowed to look upon his daughter's beautiful face?" he murmured.

Riah let Basala unwrap her hijab and scarf and then smiled as the man's eyes sparkled. Then she said, "It is always good to see you, Father," and hugged him.

Riah Easifatan was a prodigy and a rarity, even for a group as secretive and strange as the Medjai. As a young girl, she'd wanted to help the people of the world and had begged her father to let her train with the boys, rather than stay with the girls of her tribe. The girls hated her anyway–her rambunctious, tomboyish personality never failed to anger them.

Riah quickly rose through the ranks of the Medjai initiates, becoming one of only five female Medjai warriors in the tribe's history to graduate as a full-blooded warrior when she was only sixteen years. That had been only three years ago. Now she was nineteen years old, having spent the time since her graduation honing her skills and working to improve herself physically and mentally.

She also kept tabs on major law enforcement organizations–FBI, CIA, Interpol. Ever since Ahm Shere, the Medjai had done their best to put down roving criminals and dangerous cults. Riah had proven herself stamping out the Priests of Amun-Ra, a dangerous group that had conspired to curse King Tutankhamun the First. If she was being honest with herself, if this wasn't her life, she would have wanted to be a law enforcement officer.

"What have you called me back for, Father?" asked Riah.

Basala sighed. "It is a matter of great importance," he said. "I know you have been wishing for another mission ever since the battle with the Priests of Amun-Ra."

Riah's eyes widened, a hopeful light entering them.

"We have allies among the Heliopic Brotherhood of Ra. There are whispers that someone seeks the treasure of Alexander the Great–seeks the power of Ra."

Riah set her teeth, silently begging her father to finish.

"They have sought out a mercenary squad to find and crush this interloper, and they wish to have a neutral party among them. I want you to go and ascertain their intent."

Riah smiled. Mercenaries and cults? "Thank you, Father!" she shouted, giving him another hug.

"Whoa, there!" Basala chuckled. "It is good to see that your enthusiasm still has not dimmed. You really want this, don't you?"

"I have been waiting for this opportunity for two years," Riah replied. "I am ready."

Basala smiled. "Good. Our spies last located the team in Marrakesh, Morocco. You should start your search there."

Riah smiled and bowed. "I will leave immediately. Shukran lak, ya 'abi."

"Rihlat amnat, ya 'ahabaayiy." Basala returned the bow, and Riah left the room.

Riah went back to the communal quarters to get her gear. She grabbed three changes of clothes, some field rations, and her toiletry kit and shoved them into her rucksack. Then, she stopped and took a breath, looking at the altar at the foot of the bunk and whispered, "Be with me, Mother. Guide my sword and guard my soul."

Just then, she heard a voice–a deep, booming voice. "Ah, the phenom returns to work!"

Riah smiled as she turned to see a bulky figure coming toward her–Ghashim Fajr. He was her greatest rival among their graduating class–on par with her in terms of intelligence, but physically, much stronger.

He had a good heart, but he tended to let his ego blind him to the larger picture.

Strangely, despite all that, they ended up being good friends–and a solid team. After they graduated, Ghashim was sent to Petra, Jordan to protect the sacred ruins from a group of dangerous and overzealous treasure hunters.

"Ghashim," said Riah, her smile widening. "I take it you found success in Petra?"

Ghashim crossed his muscular arms and smiled. "Of course," he replied. "The warriors who were sent with me were no fools. We quashed the Westerners' feeble attacks with ease."

His gaze softened. "But I can see that you're finally being put back in the field. What's your objective?"

"My father is sending me to speak with the Heliopic Brotherhood of Ra. They're concerned about someone looking for the tomb of Alexander the Great…to wake him."

"Wake Alexander the Great? Release Ra?!" Ghashim cried.

"I know. The Brotherhood have hired a mercenary squad–I will be meeting them in Morocco later this week."

Ghashim snarled. "Mercenaries?" he spat. "Have we sunk this low?"

The Medjai had a few opinions about mercenaries. They saw mercs as dishonorable because they were soldiers for hire, while the Medjai worked for themselves and only themselves. Mercenaries tended to side with whoever had the most money, often at the expense of the downtrodden.

Riah glared at her friend. "You know better than anybody that a small piece does not corrupt the whole."

Ghashim sighed. "I do know that. I apologize." Then he cupped her face in his hand. "I just do not want to see you get hurt, my najma."

Riah took a moment to enjoy Ghashim's touch, but then gripped his wrist. "Shim…no."

There was a time when they had been…more than friends. They had never made love to each other, but there had been a few times where that was a distinct possibility. But Riah had wanted to focus on her work, so she broke things off. Ghashim respected that, but he still pined for her.

He apologized again and said, "So, Morocco?"

Riah nodded, then looked at him a bit shyly and asked, "Would you like me to send messages with Nekhbet? Like old times?"

Ghashim smiled. "I'd love that." He hesitated, then asked, "May I hug you?"

Riah smiled back. "Friends hug all the time, Shim." She wrapped her arms around Ghashim enthusiastically, and Ghashim returned the hug. They stayed there for a moment, then Riah broke away and said, "Wish me luck." As she left, Ghashim replied, "You don't need luck."

MAY 30, 2023–11:42:56

MARRAKESH, MOROCCO

Riah walked out of the airport, shielding her eyes from the midday sun. Cairo was hot and had its own odor, but Marrakesh was in a class by itself. The smell from camels and mules as well as waste and exhaust permeated the air, forcing Riah to wrinkle her nose. And the heat! Great Allah, it was like stepping into a brick oven. She hoped that she could find the Brotherhood quickly so she could get out of it.

As she looked around, she realized that nobody had told her how she was going to find the Brotherhood or their mercenary squad. But standing there wouldn't help her, only draw attention to herself, so she adjusted her rucksack and began making her way toward the bazaars.

In many cities like this, there were a large number of homeless people on the streets, but here, there were fewer than normal. Riah noticed it, and it unsettled her. Not that she liked seeing homeless people at all–her mother would have died in the streets of Cairo had Chief Basala not met her–but in a city this large, there were bound to be homeless–it was a fact of life. The absence thereof was strange.

As she reached the bazaar, she kept her head on a swivel for any sign of the mercenaries or their employers, but she also checked to see if there was a reason for the lack of homeless on the roads. What she noticed was disturbing–Moroccan military police, out in full force, were watching the roads. Riah tightened her face covering–though she was confident that they didn't know her face, it never hurt to be safe.

Thanks to her father's instructions, Riah knew that there was a Medjai safe house in the northeastern corner of the bazaar, but to get there, she had to get past the MPs and skirt the market. She got her identification ready as she reached the first checkpoint.

A burly old captain was watching the road when she reached him and said, "Assalamualaikum. I'd like to pass."

The captain replied, "Wa alaikum assalam, sister. I need to see your identification and I will need to see your face."

Riah fished her ID card out of her pocket and removed her face covering. The captain scrutinized her ID and face for about a minute–but a man wearing a black suit and standing in the next line caught a glimpse of her face and immediately began to smile wickedly.

The captain nodded and said, "Identification checks out. Go in peace, sister." Then he lowered his voice and said, "There is a suspicious group in this city–people are disappearing. Watch yourself."

Riah replaced her face covering and bowed her head. "Thank you, Captain." Then she went through the checkpoint.

A second later, the man in the suit went through as well, having slipped a roll of money to the lieutenant who had been checking him. He followed the young woman he'd seen, knowing that she'd be perfect for his new business venture.

By the time Riah was nearing the safe house, she knew she'd picked up a tail. The man in the suit from the checkpoint was getting way too close to figuring out who she was and who she was with. If he found out she was a Medjai, that would be unacceptable.

She had no weapons on her–those were in the safe house–but she didn't need them to silence this man. She could do that herself.

Riah walked into a dead-end street and stood at the far end. Soon the man came in and said in English, "Greetings, miss. I was wondering if I could have a word."

"Speak," she said shortly.

"I represent an organization who is always looking for fresh faces. We would pay handsomely if you would consider joining us."

Riah nearly snorted. "I'm not interested."

The man smiled widely. "Oh, come now, miss. We can be civil about this."

Riah turned and cracked her knuckles. "I'm not in the mood to be civil. Kindly leave. Now."

The man's smile turned into a scowl. He snapped his fingers, and a group of men armed with crowbars melted out of the buildings surrounding her. Her eyes flicked from left to right as she took stock of the situation.

There were about five assailants, and though they didn't wear body armor, their clothes were thick enough to muffle sharp impacts. That couldn't be comfortable in this heat. She didn't know how they knew where she'd be, but she couldn't let them get into the safe house.

"We know who you are, Medjai." The man spat the name of her people out like a curse. "You have no business in our city."

That got her attention–as far as she knew, she hadn't given away her identity as a Medjai to anybody. The fact that street scum like this knew who she was meant that, somehow, her mission had been compromised. That was going to be a problem.

"I don't know who you are," Riah replied, gritting her teeth, "but you and your men are about to make a very big mistake."

"Kill her." The order was so cold and sudden that she almost missed it. Then she bit back a curse as she ducked a swing from a crowbar. Riah swiftly kicked the attacker in the rear, sending him crashing into a group of trash cans nearby. Then she grabbed the wrist of another man and snapped it deftly, but all he did was grunt and punch her in the face.

She staggered back and soaked a strike from a crowbar to the ribs. Riah grunted in pain and collapsed, feeling a kick take her in the face as she went down. Another man raised his crowbar over her head, and she braced herself for the blow–

Just then, a loud noise got all their attention, a noise like…an unearthly roar.

"Oh, no," breathed the leader. "GOLD SQUAD! GOLD SQUAD!"

The men all tried to scatter, but were stopped by a figure leaping from above, punching the one closest to him as he landed. The man staggered back from the punch, then raised his bar with a yell–that quickly turned into a shocked gurgle as the figure ripped the bar out of his grip and used the hooked end to completely destroy his jugular vein.

The man grabbed at his throat, trying to stop the fountain of blood trickling between his fingers.

The others stared in fear as the figure straightened up. He seemed to be a soldier wearing a Kevlar helmet, black-and-gold headphones, and black tactical gear that had gold streaks dripping down it. They stood there staring at each other–then it began.

Two men charged him, but he grabbed their bars and took them from their hands. He speared one's head on the straight end of a bar and disemboweled the other with a hook.

The soldier blocked the armed men's escape, so a third one charged with his shoulder. He expected the soldier in black and gold to dodge or sidestep–but instead, he moved his body out of the shoulder's way and lowered his head so the attacker's head collided with his helmet.

The man screamed–and that was when the soldier pulled out a large knife and stabbed the man four times in the torso. The man choked and went down hard.

The soldier didn't even bother waiting for the fourth man (who had untangled himself from the trash cans) to get his bearings–he pulled a hatchet from his belt and threw it, taking the man in the throat with an ugly splat.

The man in the suit had grabbed a crowbar and pulled a Taurus PPK out of his waistband. He fired four shots at the black-and-gold man, but the target ducked and weaved with ease.

The man in the suit didn't bother to keep firing–he fell back and roughly grabbed Riah, putting the gun to her head.

The soldier faced them, dropping into a fighting stance immediately. Upon close inspection, she could see that he was wearing a black half-mask that covered his nose and mouth and had a gold skull painted to it and gold trails streaking down from the teeth of the skull. His skin was dark, and his dark brown eyes blazed with rage.

"Stay back!" the man in the suit yelled. "STAY BACK OR I BLOW HER BRAINS OUT!"

The soldier locked eyes with her, trying to make a plan. Riah met his gaze and raised three fingers. The soldier flicked his thumb and opened his left hand.

Riah began to count down from three, and on "one", she elbowed the man in the crotch. He yelled in pain, and she squirmed out of his grasp, and then the soldier pulled a Smith and Wesson 500 revolver out of a holster at the small of his back and fired.

His gun roared, and the man in the suit's yell turned into a high-pitched scream of agony as he found himself short a few fingers. He fell to his knees, screaming–and then felt a steel-shod boot crunch into his skull and fell to the ground, out cold.

The soldier took aim at his head with a sinister click. Riah knew that he was about to pull the trigger and shouted, "NO!"

The soldier stopped immediately and turned his head to look at her, eyes narrowing. He didn't speak, but he didn't stop pointing the revolver at the man's head.

Riah approached him slowly, thanking Allah that she didn't have any weapons. "I need him alive," she said slowly. "I have to know who he is and how he knows who I am."

The soldier raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly, his finger still on the trigger. Riah bit her lip and played her trump card. She held out her arm and rolled up her sleeve, revealing the Medjai tattoo on her forearm.

"I am Medjai," she said. "I am here to speak with the Heliopic Brotherhood of Ra."

The soldier's eyes widened, and he decocked his revolver. Then he grabbed the unconscious man and jerked his head–toward the safehouse? Riah stared confusedly, but the soldier was already dragging his victim toward the door of the safe house.

He fished out a key and unlocked it, then looked back at Riah and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, Are you coming?

Riah quickly followed him into the house.