Pharaoh of Egypt

Chapter 9 - I've escaped death before

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Adrenaline coursed through my veins as we ran down the hill towards the Bedouin. A thin layer of sweat covered my nape and I felt my feet burn from the sand. Hair clinging onto me like a second skin, I tugged my mask tearing it down when suddenly a deep horn echoed through the land. Digging my heels into the sand I pulled to a sharp stop.

Panting heavily I looked over to Issam and he stilled, turning around slowly. Our eyes met briefly over the setting sun. Stomach churning, I stumbled over frantically to see the camp. Sucking in a breath I narrowed my gaze looking down before releasing a sigh of relief. Armed Bedouin formed a crescent moon around the Shaykah, weapons drawn. They stood on the outskirts of their camp, facing the open Deshret and I glanced over my shoulder,

"No one is there, it was just them."

Emerald eyes glittered under the striking light and I furrowed my brows as they darkened,

"That wasn't them," he said softly, stepping forward carefully. I couldn't read his face, not when the mask shielded him, but something had clearly perturbed him. The strange glimmer in his eyes showed as much,

"That was not from my people."

I glanced back at the Bedouin. They still stood there alone, weapons drawn. The sand rippled across the Deshret and their clothes billowed with its wind, but not a single warrior moved an inch. It was as if a deathly plague of stillness had befallen them. Issam halted beside me, gazing down at his people and my gut twisted,

"Then who is it?"

He remained silent, as if waiting for something. Heart pounding wildly, he raised his hand and my eyes followed his pointed finger to the peak of the golden hill,

"There."

A single rider cut down the hill. Time seemed to still as my eyes glid over to the flowing red cape behind him and I inhaled sharply, stepping closer.

"Where are the others?" I breathed, eyes scouring the Deshret.

"Right behind him."

His voice cut out hard and like a lightning strike in the midst of the gleaming sun, did the tremble of a thousand hooves hit me. Eyes widening, I watched as the single crimson drop turned into a sea of red. Stepping back, I watched with hitched breath as they sped downhill towards the Bedouin.

There they were, clear as the spring Nile. The Mighty Lions of the North. The Fate Butcherers.

The Romans.

And in that moment, I knew.

They were going to die. All of them.

"Issam-"

"Hurry- time is not on our side," he said turning on his heel and I threw the brewing storm a final glance,

"It seems neither are the gods," I whispered, before bolting after him.

We reached the tents shortly after the first clashes of weapons struck, and I winced as the sound of cracking thunder exploded. The unmistakeable cries of the children broke through the shattering sounds of metal on metal and my heart sunk as I followed Issam through the maze of tents.

This was all my fault. Their blood stains my hands.

I slowed down raising my trembling hands to look down at them. Memories flashed through my mind. Memories of these very bloodied hands cradling dead bodies. I sucked in a shaky breath when a Meshk suddenly dropped into my open hands. Staggering back under its sudden weight, my eyes snapped up to see Issam looking around hurriedly before pulling me behind a tent further down wind.