Air rushed past his ears and he heard the roar of water beneath him. He closed his eyes, whooped in a breath and straightened himself out, and then he hit the river. All was darkness, tumbling water and powerful currents, and then he broke the surface, gulping down air before going under once more. He flailed around, convinced he was drowning; being carried down river and only a moment from being dashed against jagged rocks. Then powerful hands were grabbing his shirt and pulling him up.

  “Stand!” he heard from somewhere above, and then he was slapped. Hard.

  “Just stand up, you fucking oaf!”

  Neferu’s voice resolved itself to his senses, and he finally stopped flailing. His knees hit the ground, and he pulled himself to his feet, emerging in a waist-high pool of water. He looked up, seeing a waterfall—no doubt from the small canal that split the audience room far above—thunder into a large pool, at the edge of which they now stood.

  Neferu’s wild hair was damp, but her eyes were shining so bright that it was hard to notice. She laughed with joy, a cackle that bubbled up from her stomach and burst forth with all the power of the waterfall behind him.

  “Fucking incredible!” She cried, pulling Heshtat into a painfully tight hug, the shorter woman’s strong arms bunching as she squeezed. “Loved the scream, by the way. Very manly.”

  Striding out of the shallow water, Heshtat tried to level a glare her way, but she was unrepentant as she followed. “Can they follow us down here?” he asked instead, glancing up at the cliff that rose into darkness above.

  “Not easily,” Neferu replied. “The waterway is blessed by the same protection magic that wards the entire tomb—it’s a last ditch attempt to keep whatever’s buried here from breaking free, should some fool disturb the seals.”

  “And what was it that was buried?”

  “No idea,” the woman laughed. “And I’m not about to go looking around for an answer. Nebet’s decree is so far down on the list of taboos that I am willing to break, it might as well not even be on it.”

  Heshtat paused for second, tilting his head to puzzle out the strange sentence. Neferu turned and beckoned him, striding off into the darkness without concern, having pulled some sort of shining gem from her oiled bag that now surrounded her in a pale corona of white light.

  “But it is still on this blasphemous list?” Heshtat asked, hurrying after her.

  “Well… Anything is worth at least considering, right?” his friend said, flashing him a smile over her shoulder. “Anyway, why are you here?”

  He hurried after the woman with the light, leaving damp footsteps across the rough-hewn rock in his wake as his sandals squelched with each step.

  “Get us out of here alive and I’ll consider telling you,” he replied.

  ***

  It had been a relatively uneventful journey through subterranean caverns and up twisted flights of stairs, carved haphazardly into rocks such that they felt almost rickety, despite their material composition making that something of a contradiction.

  They heard no more unearthly shrieking and emerged into the ravine near the entrance of the tomb through a small crack in the cliff, thankfully unmolested by any more undead abominations. A swift downclimb saw them to safety, and then after Neferu scurried back to the entrance to retrieve her tools, they were on their way, nestled between the great vestigial wings of Heshtat’s temporarily loyal shuti as they scampered across the dunes.

  He'd always had a way with animals, and the creature had returned to his hooting call within only a few minutes. True to his word, Heshtat returned to the stablemaster before dusk. He handed over the shuti’s reigns with a jangle, the oversized animal seeming none the worse for wear for having transported two fully grown humans in a two-way marathon across the hot sands.

  Neferu tried to strike up a conversation with Antep, but the grouchy old man wasn’t having it. Heshtat found himself gladdened to see that the man’s surly nature also extended to others. Neferu could be quite charming when she wanted to, and it was amusing to watch her attempts thoroughly rebuffed.

  They walked swiftly through Idib’s outer districts, Heshtat keen to avoid detection by any of Senusret’s men given his new debt, while Neferu sauntered along next to him looking like she had not a care in the world.

  “You’re too pleased with yourself,” Heshtat commented. “Why?”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. Your smile is too wide, and you walk like you’re drunk. Out with it.”

  “Oh?” Neferu asked, feigning shock. “Is it now a crime in our fair province to make merry? And to think I had no idea I stood beside an enforcer of this new priestly regime.”

  Heshtat couldn’t help his smile. “Nek tchew a-a,” he repeated, butchering the pronunciation. A woman walking nearby whipped around, scandalised at the words.

  “What’s that you’re saying now?” Neferu asked, suddenly suspicious. She doubtless could read the ancient script, but it appeared there was at least one skill other than fighting that he had over the multi-talented woman.

  “Oh?” Heshtat mimicked. “Is it now a crime in Idib to use the gods’ tongue?”

  His friend growled and bumped him in the shoulder, though the gesture was affectionate. They settled into silence as a group of rough-looking men sauntered across the street, and kept their heads down until they had passed deeper into the city. The avenues became wider, the architecture steadily more grand. It was a welcome change, though Heshtat couldn’t quite shake the feeling he was about to round a corner and come face to face with a group of Aquiline legionaries.

  “We’re heading to the palace,” Neferu remarked after they’d moved out of the territory claimed—however unofficially—by the various gangs and illicit groups that operated beneath the notice of the guard.

  “Once again I am awed by your powers of perception,” Heshtat deadpanned. “It is truly but further proof that I was right to recruit you for this mission.”

  “Oh, still your flapping tongue,” Neferu said. “Dry wit doesn’t suit you—you’re too much of a brute for that.”

  “I prefer to think of myself as honest.”

  “And a donkey wishes to be a horse. That does not make it so.”

  Heshtat sighed. His fast-talking friend might be right about one thing, at least; he did not suit a quick wit. Retreating from an exchange of pleasant insults he couldn’t possibly win, he stepped onto firmer metaphorical footing.

  “I will speak to the queen. She promised to have her advisors prepare everything they know about the temple and the Eye for my perusal. I think you are more suited to the task though.”

  “Quite so,” Neferu said, sniffing haughtily. The gesture was somewhat undercut by her brawny physique and her practical dress—crossed bandoleers holding gods knew what, worn over a somewhat stained vest that left her shoulders bare to the wind and sun.

  Heshtat saw the way her eyes danced at the opportunity though. One didn’t become a tomb raider without a hunger for ancient lore, and there were few places packed with more ancient lore than the palace of a True Throne, even if its undying lord had passed through the Final Door long ago.

  They met Maatkare at the gates to the palace district. They were grand, as all structures in Amansi tended to be, engraved with flowing lines of hieroglyphics and inlaid with precious gems. The scaffolding that had previously colonised the great gates had been removed recently, and Heshtat noticed a few conspicuous gaps where some of the precious gems had been stripped.

  It had been the queen’s orders, he knew, and the resulting stones had been sold on black markets to fund poverty alleviation missions in the outer districts and outlying villages, but he’d only known of such a scheme because Senusret had been involved on the periphery of it. Just like the rest of Idib, it spoke to a steady state of decline and desperation, though managed with compassion, at least.

  She’d even tried to alleviate the inevitable feelings of decay by initiating a grand art resurgence in the city. Heshtat remembered the month where members of the various artisan guilds had scuttled around the districts, attempting to beautify it in their many different ways. Stonemasons had carved sculptures out of public fountains, artists had painted vistas on the sides of crowded buildings, and colourful mosaics were laid by potters and bricklayers. The infectious energy had spread to the populace, and new hope bloomed… for a month. Then an Aquiline legionnary had killed a man in a tavern brawl, and the city had recovered its senses once more.

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  “Here they are!” Maatkare called as they arrived, shaking Heshtat from his dark thoughts. “My greatest disappointment. And Neferu, good to see you too.”

  “Ha!” Neferu barked, punching Maatkare in the shoulder, though he was ready for it and swayed out of reach.

  Heshtat just about supressed his smile, though his friend clearly saw it by the way his eyes twinkled. “Neferu has agreed to join us,” Heshtat said. “That makes three of us.”

  “And when did you become so proficient with numbers, my friend?” the shorter man responded, causing another snort from Neferu.

  “If I’d known you would both turn your biting words on me, I’d never have recruited you,” he muttered to himself.

  “We will struggle as we are, my friend,” Maatkare said cheerfully. “Proceeding alone would be suicidal.”

  “True. But I’m not convinced bringing Neferu along has helped our chances of survival much at all. Do you know what she was doing when I found her?”

  “Saving your life, if I recall correctly,” Neferu said archly, raising an eyebrow.

  “You do not,” he countered. Then he turned to the palace district once more, his friends flanking him as they stared at the great gates, and the pyramid and palace-complex that lay within. “Come, let us see what awaits in the halls of power.”

  ***

  “In that case, I will leave you in the capable hands of my vizier,” Queen Cleosiris said warmly, gesturing at the rotund man that stood to her left. “Qar—please show this woman to the scrolls we prepared and facilitate her understanding in any way feasible.”

  He stepped forwards and ushered Neferu to follow before departing the throne room by a side door, Maatkare shrugging and following along moments later.

  Heshtat looked up at the queen now that the two of them stood alone on the high dais. Or rather, she sat alone, enthroned within a great seat, while he knelt before her, a dozen paces away at the edge of the raised platform.

  A few members of her Tomb Guard ringed her at a distance, though he knew they were one and all adepts of multiple aspects. It would not be difficult for them to cross the intervening space far before Heshtat could, though he knew better than most how pivotal distance and a few seconds could be. Were he charged with Queen Cleosiris’ protection, he would have at least one man trained with a bow on him. A quick glance around showed that instinct to be accurate; 2nd floor, three paces behind the throne, shadowed by a curtain. Good.

  “So,” Cleo began, waving lazily in the direction that his friends had departed the room in. “You intend to recruit Neferu for this mission?”

  “I already have,” he said evenly, feeling strangely defensive.

  “Good. It will be important to have someone you can trust by your side. Is she a fighter?”

  “No,” he replied. “She is an… Acquirer, I suppose. She has a varied skillset, and one I need given the circumstances. And I trust her.”

  “With your life?” his queen asked.

  He simply inclined his head. She raised an eyebrow archly. “And how is that you have come to know one another?”

  He frowned. “You know I have been working for Senusret, I assume?” At her nod, he continued. “There have been times that he has needed me to retrieve objects of significance from tombs nearby that are too dangerous for mortal means. When Maatkare retired to set up his creche, I sought help from his former apprentice. She is her.”

  “So this is simply a partnership of convenience?” Cleo pressed.

  He looked up at her, confused by the line of questioning but finding no answers in her stony visage. “We have been friends for many years. I trust her with my life and can vouch for her. She is not in the employ of any criminal elements within Idib, if that is what you are worried about, and I do not believe she would feed information back to anyone should I command her to keep this secret. Which I have done already.”

  She hummed for a moment before nodding graciously. “Very well. I trust your judgement.”

  “Thank you,” he said simply. He hesitated, unsure how to broach his next topic.

  “You have questions,” she said when it grew quiet once more.

  “I am… concerned… about our journey. While the temple is one thing, and I have faith in our abilities, the journey there is quite another. The Endless Desert is not so easy to traverse, but the Nikea past the upper nomes is perhaps more deadly still at this time of year. Add to that passage through the lands of Khaemwaset…”

  “Charter a ship, or travel by camel. Or better yet; shuti. I am not concerned how you do it. As for the Pharaoh, ten thousand souls arrive and leave his lands each day—you should not have trouble blending in.”

  He frowned. “It is not so simple,” he began. “You said there are others hunting this prize, yes? I expect some will decide they would rather not compete.”

  “Are you not fit for this task?”

  Again, he hesitated. That was remarkably shortsighted for the woman he knew. Or rather, the woman he had once known. Perhaps a decade in the halls of power had dulled her faculties.

  “It is not about whether we are fit for the task or not,” he contested. “I can handle a few arrogant young nobles or the second sons of wealthy merchants. I cannot deal with an army of mercenaries, cracked soul or no. Treasure seekers will flood up the Nikea, and their movements will be noticed. Bandits, raiders, the local flauna—all will be stirred into a frenzy by their passage.”

  He stood and began to pace. “You mentioned that even the True Thrones are involved. Do you not think they will have placed spies to watch the safest and fastest routes? That they may pay assassins to stalk the sands and eliminate promising rivals?”

  He spoke forth the worries that had plagued his mind for the last day as he had come to grapple with the true enormity of their task. “The cults will have taken notice, and perhaps even the itinerant masters that still wander the sands will be drawn by the power on offer as well. It will not be easy to reach the temple unmolested, but even were we to succeed in that fateful journey, and even were I able to achieve that which no mortal has ever achieved—to endure the notice of the creator god for more than the moment required to take hold of his mythical Eye…

  “Even after all of that, we are more than likely to fall to the hidden blades of one of the Crimson Feathers as we leave the fucking temple. And should that fail, we will then have the unenviable task of crossing the domains not one but two of the immortal Pharaohs that have ruled this land for nigh on a thousand years! All while bearing a mythical artifact of unimaginable power!”

  He paused, only now realising how loud he had become in the frantic unburdening of his fears about the task he had been given.

  Cleo just watched him, eyes sparkling, before she stood. “Good,” she said with a clap of her hands. “I am heartened to see you thinking about this carefully. Of course I do not expect a mortal—no matter how accomplished—to traverse the breadth of Amansi alone.”

  He was once more left reeling, feeling as if he had stumbled into a trap but unsure exactly what it was. “To that end, I have written a letter of request to a colleague within the cult of Sebek that should be amenable to travelling with you.”

  “The cult of Sebek?” he asked, askance.

  “He owes me a favour,” Cleo carried on, as if it was perfectly natural that an elusive cultist from an enigmatic order was beholden to her. “I would assign further aid to your cause, but I fear that to do so would only draw attention. Anonymity and discretion will be your greatest aid, I suspect.”

  He sighed, unable to disagree. It was all starting to sound a little hopeless, honestly. More hopeless than a life serving under men like Senusret, though? When he thought about it like that, the suicidal mission suddenly sounded rather like an oasis in the desert.

  “I have arranged passage for you up the Nikea on a merchant vessel under diplomatic protection. How you make it to that ship itself, I leave to you, but I can vouch personally for the discretion of their crew, and you will be safe for that portion of your travels, at least. They will be aware of your presence, though not your purpose, and they are currently moored at Khaemwaset’s famous bridge city.”

  Heshtat titled his head in surprise. Diplomatic protection strong enough to shield a ship from prying eyes in such interesting times meant one of the other major powers in the region. Helexios, perhaps? Or the Aquiline Empire. That Cleo didn’t specify made the latter more likely, and his thoughts soured. She still had influence, then. That, or she was still beholden to the General.

  He shied away from the traitorous thoughts. Such doubts would do him no good now that he was committed. Besides, the reward, however unlikely it was, was simply too great to pass up. A chance to amend his greatest mistake. He couldn’t re-right the wrong, couldn’t wipe his failure from history’s endless tome, but he could ensure that those sworn brothers and sisters of his that still languished in obscurity were allowed to once more step back into the light. There weren’t many of them left now, but past failure did not release one from future duty.

  “You will need to make your own way to Men-nefer to board the ship, but you should be able to recruit the priest on the way,” Queen Cleosiris continued mercilessly. “Better to leave sooner rather than late—the city is restless.”

  Heshtat nodded. He had recruited Neferu for that very purpose; to grease the palms that needed greasing if one wanted to pass through populated lands beneath notice. Heshtat and Maatkare were the only ones that could descend into the temple itself, and the priest should be able to help secure their exit while they retrieved the Eye. Now, he only needed someone to protect them in their travels and get them to the foot of the temple itself.

  “I need one more,” he said, turning from his queen to examine the Tomb Guard standing quietly throughout the room.

  “I cannot spare all of them, and I will not command any to leave on such a dangerous mission. It will be their choice,” Cleo pronounced to the room as much as to Heshtat.

  He nodded absently, looking from face to face, eye to eye. “I need a gate-breaker. Tip of the spear. A vanguard to break open lines of defence. Are there any volunteers?”

  To Heshtat’s right, a man stepped forwards. Old for a Tomb Guard—streaks of grey in his hair, though his skin was hale and hearty as befitting one who cultivated the Khet.

  “I would join this venture, your majesty,” he called out in a clear voice. Queen cleosiris gave him a faint nod, and the man turned Heshtat’s way. “Harsiese, at your service.”

  “Well met, Harsiese,” Heshtat said, reaching out to clasp the grizzled man’s arm.

  “It is an honour to meet you, former-captain,” he said, genuine enthusiasm in his gravelly voice. He withdrew to stand at perfect attention. “I await your orders, and will gladly serve under one as accomplished as you.”

  Heshtat frowned. “Well… good,” he replied, a little thrown by the respectful greeting. “Are you prepared to leave now?”

  “I can be ready in the hour.”

  “Good, see to it then. We will meet you at the palace gates before dusk.”

  Another enthusiastic salute, and the man was hurrying out of the throne room like the Anubian Hounds were nipping at his heels. Heshtat looked back to his queen, a single eyebrow raised in question. She smiled slightly, letting him know she knew what he was thinking, but didn’t deign to comment on it.

  He sighed. There were details left to plan.

  “Tell me of this ship we are to board.”