Excalibur

CHAPTER 1: THE PAST

The starship used a slingshot maneuver around the star to decelerate from interstellar speed. It was a small ship, a scout, and as the craft slowed, its sensors aligned on the signal that had diverted it to this system from its centuries-long patrol. The nose of the ship turned toward the third planet out as the data was analyzed. The signal was strange — a passive one, a uniform reflection of light rays from the system’s star off something on the planet’s surface, but there was little doubt the unusual effect was contrived by intelligence.

Searching out, analyzing, and then eventually reporting back concerning any intelligent life was the ship’s mission. The nature of the species that crewed it was to find, infiltrate, consume, and ultimately destroy any intelligent life not like it.

Having picked up no active scanning in the solar system or signs of advanced weaponry, the ship emitted an energy pulse as it sent a spectrum of scanning signals toward the third planet to determine the source of the crude signal. Unknown to the crew, the pulse was noted by passive sensors as it penetrated the atmosphere and reached the surface of the planet. A sophisticated computer, operating on low-power mode, intercepted the pulse, analyzed it, and projected possible courses of action in a matter of moments. In low-power mode the options were limited and the course of action was quickly selected.

The Great Sphinx glowered at the morning sun, while behind its left shoulder the smooth limestone sheathing covering the newly constructed Great Pyramid of Giza caught the rays of light and uniformly reflected them into the sky. At the very top of the five-hundred-foot-high pyramid, a blood-red capstone, twenty feet tall, glistened, an alien crown to the greatest structure ever built by human hands. The massive structure stood alone on the stone plateau, towering over the surrounding countryside, the nearby Nile, and the Sphinx complex.

The painted face of the Sphinx was sixty feet above the ground. From the front paws to the rear, it was over two hundred feet in length. It was set low in a depression in the Giza Plateau, stone walls surrounding it. To the east, in the direction of the Nile, were Khufu’s Temple and the Temple of the Sphinx, where both Pharaoh and stone creature could be worshipped. A covered ramp led from the right rear of the Sphinx to the Temple at the base of the pyramid. While the pyramid was new, the surface of the Sphinx was scored by weather, having been there since the beginning of Egypt in the time when the Gods had ruled over seven thousand years earlier.

Between the paws of the Great Sphinx stood the Pharaoh Khufu, under whose leadership the Egyptians had labored for over twenty years moving stone after stone to build the Great Pyramid. The Pharaoh prostrated himself in front of a statue set before the creature’s stone chest. The statue was three meters tall and roughly man-shaped with polished white skin. The dimensions weren’t quite right — the body was too short and the limbs were too long. The ears had elongated lobes that reached to just above the shoulders and there were two gleaming red stones in place of eyes. On top of the head, the stone representing hair was painted bright red. Even more strangely for the astute observer, each hand ended in six fingers. The statue’s appearance was in great contrast to Khufu’s dark skin and hair and human proportions.

The Sphinx had been squatting in its stone depression for ages, beyond the dawn of the time of Pharaohs. Only a handful of those alive knew why it had been built or what it marked. For all but a chosen few it was forbidden to come to the area between the paws in front of Isis’s statue.

Khufu had succeeded his father when he was just out of his teens and he was now middle-aged. He had ruled for almost three decades and Egypt was at peace with those outside its borders and rich within its own boundaries. The peace and wealth had allowed Khufu to implement the building plan for Giza that had been passed from the Gods, to the Shadows, to the Pharaohs over the three ages.

The vast quantity of stone needed for the pyramid had been quarried upriver and brought down by barge. Thousands had labored seasonally on it, moving the stone from the barges and placing each block in its position under the careful eye of engineer priests who worked from the holy plans that had been handed down.

The red capstone had been brought up from the bowels of the Giza Plateau, from one of the duats (underground chambers) along the tunneled Roads of Rostau where only the Gods and their priests were allowed to walk. No one knew what exactly it was, but they had followed the drawings they had been given to the last detail, from the smooth limestone facing to placing the red object as the capstone at the very top.

In the Pharaoh’s left hand as he prostrated himself was a scepter, a foot long and two inches in diameter with a lion’s head on one end. The lion image had red eyes similar to that of the statue, but these glowed fiercely as if lit from within. Khufu had been awakened just minutes ago by his senior priest, Asim. The staff had been in the trembling man’s hand, the lion eyes glowing. He had passed it to the Pharaoh. Khufu had thrown on a robe and dashed from his palace to his place before the Sphinx, as he had been told by his father he must do if the staff ever came alive. He was now chanting the prayers he had been taught. The statue was of Horus, the son of Isis and Osiris, the Gods who had founded Egypt at the dawn of time and ruled during the First Age. According to what Khufu had been told by his father and the priests, in the First Age, the Gods had ruled for many years before passing leadership on to Shadows of themselves, the followers of Horus, during the Second Age. Then even the Shadows had passed the mantle on to men, and the first Pharaohs took command of the Middle Kingdom of the Third Age.

Asim was the only other person in the area. He was the senior priest of the Cult of Isis and garbed in a red robe. The priest’s right arm was withered and deformed where muscles and tendons had been sliced when he was a child. Where his left eye had been, there was an empty socket, the skin around it charred and scarred from the red-hot poker that had taken out the eyeball. Both ankles and calves were carefully bound to allow the priest to move as the tendons in his legs had also been partially severed when he was a child. He could not run or even walk quickly. The priest had also been castrated before puberty.

The mutilation was what was required of the head priest of the Cult and Khufu and Asim knew there was a method to the madness. The idea was to make Asim’s life so miserable that while he would be able to perform his duties, he would not desire to live a long life and thus not hunger for the source of immortality — the Grail — that was said to be located somewhere below them, beyond the statue before which Khufu bowed his head. The scepter that Asim had brought Khufu was the key to the Roads of Rostau, the underground passageways that ran beneath their feet, and Asim and his followers were the only ones who had ever walked those roads.

Around Asim’s neck was a medallion with an eye carved in the middle, a symbol of his office. The priesthood he was part of traced its lineage back many, many years, to the time even before the First Age of Egypt when the people lived in the center of the Great Sea beyond the Middle Sea into which the Nile emptied, in the lands of the Gods, before they were cast out and that land destroyed. The priest stood five paces behind the Pharaoh, muttering his own prayers rapidly in the old tongue that only the priests still knew, his anxiety obvious.

The quick prayers done, Khufu stood and glanced at Asim. The priest nodded. Khufu placed the staff against an indentation in the pedestal on which the statue stood. The carving had the exact same shape as the staff.

The pedestal shimmered, then the scepter was absorbed into it. The surface of the stone slid down, revealing a six-foot-high opening. The passageway beyond was dimly lit from recesses in the ceiling, although the Pharaoh couldn’t see the source of the strange light. Khufu hesitated, then reluctantly entered the tunnel, the priest following, moving quickly despite his crippled gait. The stone slid shut behind them.

Khufu hurried down the tunnel. The stone walls were cut smoothly, better than even his most skilled artisan could produce, but the Pharaoh, his heart beating furiously in his chest, had no time to admire the handiwork. He ruled supreme from the second cataracts of the Nile far to the south to the Middle Sea to the north, and many countries beyond those borders paid tribute, but here, on the Roads of Rostau, inside the Giza Plateau, he knew he was just an errand boy to the Gods. His father had never been down there, nor had his father’s father or anyone in his line. It had always been a possibility fraught with both danger and opportunity.

The priest had not said a word since handing Khufu the scepter, as was law in Egypt — no one spoke until the Pharaoh addressed them. “Asim.”

“Yes, lord?”

“What awaits us?” Khufu didn’t stop as he spoke, heading deeper into the Earth, his slippers making a slight hissing noise as they passed over the smooth stone. Asim’s voice was harsh and low. “These are the Roads of Rostau, built by the Gods themselves in the First Age, before the rule of the Shadows of the Gods, and before the rule of Pharaoh. It is written there are six duats down here. I would say, lord, that we are going to one of those.”

“You have not been in all these duats?”

“No, my lord. I have only gone where my duties have required me to.” Khufu suppressed the wave of irritation he felt with priests and their mysterious ways. “And in the duat we go to now?”

“That, my lord, is unknown, as I have not been to this one. The Hall of Records is said to be in one of the duats — the history of the time before the history we have recorded. This was the time when the Gods ruled beyond the horizon, before even the First Age of Egypt. The Old Kingdom of the Gods beyond the Great Sea.” Khufu wasn’t interested in history or the Gods but the future. “It is said there is also a hall that holds the Grail, which contains the gift of eternal life.” Asim nodded. “That is so, my lord.”

“But you don’t think that is where we are headed?”

“It is possible, my lord. It has been passed down that we will be given the Grail when the Gods come again and we will join them. Perhaps by building the Great Pyramid and finally at long last completing the plan handed down from the First Age we have earned the honor of the Gods. However, I have not yet laid eyes upon the Hall of Records or the Grail.”

“Maybe you haven’t been looking closely enough,” Khufu muttered. Building the pyramid had certainly been a feat worthy of some reward from the Gods, he mused. Even with the Gods’ drawings, his engineer priests had been fearful they could not do it. Others had tried on a smaller scale in other places, testing the design, and none had succeeded, such as the one that had collapsed on itself at Saqqara. Using the practical knowledge learned from those attempts over the centuries and the Gods’ plan, Khufu had felt confident he could succeed — and he had.

They reached a junction. The path to the right was level. To the other side, the path curved left and down. Khufu had been taught the directions even though, as far as he knew, no one in his line of Pharaohs had ever actually been down there. The Pharaohs ruled above, but the Gods ruled there.

He turned left. It was cool in the tunnel but Khufu was sweating. He who had watched ten thousand put to death in one day on his orders after a battle. He who held absolute rule over the lives of his people felt fear for the first time in his life. But burning through the fear was hope, for he kept reminding himself what his father had told him — that inside the Roads of Rostau, hidden under the Earth, there was indeed the key to immortality, the golden Grail of the Gods that had been promised. And that there would be a day when the Gods would grant that to the chosen. Despite Asim’s pessimism, was today the day, and was he the chosen one? After all, as Asim had noted, he had completed the Great Pyramid that season after twenty years of labor, a marvel indeed, exactly according to the plans left behind by the Gods. And he had put the red capstone up there, a thing that had come out of one of the duats down here, dragged to the surface by Asim and his priests under the cover of darkness.

The tunnel ended at a stone wall. Asim used the medallion around his neck, placing it against a slight depression in the center of the stone. The outline of a door appeared, then the rock slid up. Asim stepped aside and motioned for the Pharaoh to enter. Khufu stepped through, into a small, circular cavern, about twenty feet wide. In the very center was a tall, narrow red crystal, three feet high and six inches in diameter, the multifaceted surface glinting. Set in the top of the crystal was the handle of a sword. Khufu walked forward, drawn irresistibly toward the crystal. Asim was at his side now. An ornate sheath could be seen buried deep inside the crystal. The Pharaoh had never seen such crystal or metal worked so finely.

“It is called Excalibur,” Asim said. “Take hold of the sword, my Pharaoh. Remove it from the crystal.”

Khufu reached down and grabbed the handle of the sword. The sword, still covered by the sheath, slid smoothly out of the crystal.

“Now free the blade, my lord.” Khufu hesitated. “Why?”

“My Pharaoh, it will free the red capstone we just put on top of the pyramid to act outside of itself.”

“That makes no sense. What can the capstone do?”

“I am telling you only what I was instructed, my lord. It is important.”

Khufu began to draw back the blade. A shock coursed out of the handle through his hand and into his body as he pulled it out of the sheath. Khufu staggered back as a golden glow filled the entire chamber. Khufu blinked as the smoothly cut walls flickered and came to life. A flurry of images flashed across them, so quickly he could barely note them: a massive golden palace that dwarfed the pyramid he had just built set on a hill above a beautiful city of white stone surrounded by seven moats of water; a wave-battered island with three volcanic mountains in each corner sitting alone in an endless ocean; a rocky uninhabited desert with mountains surrounding a dry lake bed; a desolate land swept by snow and ice; a strange land where the sand was red and a massive mountain dominated the horizon, and other images flashing by faster and faster so that he lost track. In some manner, he felt a connection to all those places.

Suddenly the walls went black, then a new image appeared, of a field of stars, so many Khufu could not even begin to count, and the stars were moving rapidly, wheeling across the walls.

Then blank again, before revealing a view of the surface above but from a perspective he didn’t recognize at first. He could see the Sphinx and the Nile beyond as if from a great height and he then realized that in some manner, the walls in this deep cavern were reflecting the view from the top of the Great Pyramid. He was surprised to see that the red capstone was now glowing as if lit from within.

He started as a seven-foot-high red line appeared between him and the vision on the walls. The line wavered, then widened until a figure appeared, a twin to the statue above. Yet Khufu could see through the figure, to the display on the wall.

He was trying to take all this in when the figure began speaking. The speech was singsong, in a language the Pharaoh had never heard.

“Do you understand the words?” he asked Asim, his voice a whisper as if the image could hear.

“It is the language of the Gods, my lord. I was taught as much of the language as has been passed down and remembered among the high priests.”

Khufu waited impatiently for the priest to translate.

“It was hoped the Great Pyramid would bring more of the Gods,” Asim finally said, his head cocked to one side, his single eye closed as he listened closely and tried to understand. “That was the design.” Asim’s thin tongue snaked around his lips as he listened further. “It has not worked that way. Instead an enemy comes.” Asim’s good arm slowly raised until it pointed upward. “From the sky above.”

Khufu looked at the ceiling of the chamber. He could see the sky displayed. It was clear, not a cloud or bird visible.

“What kind of enemy?” Khufu asked, but Asim was again listening and didn’t respond right away.

“The Ancient Enemy of the Gods,” Asim finally said. “The killer of all life. The enemy with the patience of”—Asim shook his head—“I know not the word, but something like the patience of a stone, infinite. And the specific word for the enemy, the closest I can come to is when the locusts gather — a Swarm.”

Khufu had seen swarms of locusts so thick they made day into night passing overhead. When they alighted in a field, they stripped it bare within minutes. He tried to imagine a Swarm that could be a threat to the Gods but could not conceive of it. The vision continued speaking, the sound almost like that of a bird, Khufu thought.

“The capstone — what it calls the Master Guardian — will stop the Ancient Enemy,” Asim finally said as the vision ceased speaking. “Excalibur controls the power to the Guardian. While the sword is inside the sheath the Master Guardian cannot work. You have freed it and thus the Master Guardian has power. The Master Guardian can now take action against the Ancient Enemy.”

Khufu turned to the priest. “How will this Master Guardian do this? What Ancient Enemy?”

Asim was looking up. He pointed at the display on the roof of the cavern that showed the sky above the pyramid. “That enemy, my lord.”

Khufu looked up and blinked. There was a dark spot high in the sky, rapidly growing larger. As it descended it began to take shape and Khufu felt his stomach knot and twist with fear. It was a large black flying spider — that was the only thing he could think. Eight legs, spread wide around a central, round body. And large — how big he had no idea, but its shadow was now covering the top of the pyramid.

“How will the Guardian fight this?” Khufu whispered.

“You have given it power by removing Excalibur from the sheath,” Asim repeated. “Watch the power of the Gods, my lord.”

Khufu wanted to strangle the priest. He could not tear his eyes from the rapidly approaching monster. Suddenly a golden orb of power streaked upward from the Master Guardian toward the object and hit it. The spider jerked sideways. Khufu kept his eyes on it and a second golden orb raced into the sky and struck the enemy. Bright red flames burst out of the side of the flying spider and it jerked once more, now going upward, trying to escape.

A third golden orb hit it and enveloped the entire object. It was still going higher and higher, edging toward the west. Khufu staggered back as there was a blinding explosion. When he looked up, the sky was clear.

The golden glow inside the chamber decreased and Khufu almost collapsed, feeling drained. The Pharaoh started as the image began speaking again.

“We are safe for now,” Asim translated. “But”—he paused as he translated, eye closed—“it is not safe.”

“What isn’t safe?” Khufu demanded.

“The Great Pyramid. The Master Guardian. The pyramid did not work as intended. It summoned the Ancient Enemy and not the Gods of old. If the Ancient Enemy came once, it can come again. What drew it here must be destroyed.”

The figure chimed on for a minute and Asim remained silent, until the figure stopped speaking, coalesced into a thin red line, then disappeared.

Asim opened his eye. “I have been told what is to be done. Put the blade back in the sheath, my Pharaoh.”

Khufu slid the blade into the scabbard.

“Come, my lord.” Asim was hobbling toward the tunnel. “There is much to do.” So stunned was the Pharaoh by the recent events that he didn’t even question being ordered about by the priest. He simply followed him out of the chamber, the covered sword in his hands.

Wreckage from the scout ship tumbled toward the empty desert west of Giza. Among the debris was a black pod, approximately fifteen feet across, the metal surface unmarred by the explosion. As the pod approached the surface of the planet, its terminal velocity began to slow as some internal mechanism interacted with the planet’s electromagnetic field. Still, it was moving so fast the outer surface gave off heat, glowing in the sky like a falling star. Despite slowing, the pod hit a dune with enough velocity to plow deep into the sand. It was completely covered when the pod came to rest, submerged twenty feet in the desert.

An hour after the crash, a camel rider approached. A Libyan who was heading toward Cairo to do some trading, he’d seen the falling star from his caravan ten miles to the south. Leaving his son in charge, he’d ridden in the direction the object had fallen, curiosity pulling him across the sand.

He’d already passed places where it was obvious objects from the sky had impacted in the desert, but whatever had hit, they were deeply buried under the sand. He approached a sixty-foot-high sand dune and noted the disturbed surface near the top indicating another impact. The Libyan halted his camel at the base of the dune and dismounted. His robe flapped in a stiff breeze and all but his eyes was covered with cloth wrapped around his head.

The Libyan paused, his head swinging back and forth as he looked about. He had the sense of being followed, but his eyes detected no sign of another person. He’d had the feeling for a while, but there was no evidence to support the instinct.

He cocked his head as he heard a sound. A grinding noise. Then nothing but the wind for several moments. He took several steps closer to the dune where the sound had seemed to come from. Then he heard something different. Almost a slithering sound. He took half a step back, then paused. There was something inside the dune. Of that there was no doubt in his mind. He looked left and right but there was no movement. He could feel the heat of the sun on his shoulders but a cold chill passed through his body. The Libyan drew a curved sword from his belt. The noise was getting louder.

Mustering his courage, the Libyan took several steps forward until he was at the base of the dune. The sound was very close now. The Libyan jabbed the point of his sword into the dune, the blade easily spearing the sand. He did it again and then again.

He pulled the blade back and cocked his head. Nothing.

The tentacles came out of the sand underneath his feet, wrapping around his legs. He was pulled under, desperately trying to slash and stab with his sword at whatever was below him. His scream was cut off as he disappeared under the sand. His camel bolted off into the desert, desperate to get away.

Then all was still.

A quarter mile away, on the far side of a dune, two dark eyes had watched the encounter. The possessor of the eyes waited a few moments, staring at the spot where the Libyan had disappeared, then he slowly slid down the side of the dune to his waiting camel. He headed back the way he had come, toward Giza. The sun glinted off a large ring set on the man’s right hand, highlighting the eye symbol etched on its surface. The hand the ring was on held the camel’s halter, but it was shaking so badly from fright, that he had to let go and allow the camel to make its own way home.

It was the middle of the night and by order of the great Pharaoh Khufu no one was allowed outdoors in sight of the Giza Plateau except himself and his high priest Asim. Given the strange apparition the previous day of the flying “spider,” no citizens tried to resist the command. Khufu and Asim stood on the roof of the temple at the base of the pyramid. The night sky was clear. The red capstone no longer glowed as if lit from within as Khufu had Excalibur inside the scabbard now strapped to his own sword belt.

Khufu could still see in his mind’s eye the black spider that had come down from the sky. He did not understand what it was, but there was no doubt in him that it was a danger. Whatever entity controlled such a flying creature and was capable of fighting the Gods was indeed something to be feared.

“What are we waiting for?”

“When the sword is in the sheath, the”—Asim searched for the right words—“Chariots of the Gods cannot approach the capstone. You must take the blade out once more.”

Khufu drew the weapon. He watched as the capstone glowed once more. Asim continued. “Since you have removed the sword, the capstone can be approached.”

“By who? What Chariot of the Gods?”

“There, lord.” Asim was pointing to the north.

Something was approaching through the sky. Khufu started, and then realized it wasn’t another air-spider. This object was shaped like an inverted dish and golden, reminding him of the glow that had surrounded him in the chamber far below during the day.

“The Chariot of the Gods,” Asim whispered.

The object passed by overhead and hovered above the very top of the pyramid, five hundred feet above their heads. A glow extended down from the disk and surrounded the red Master Guardian. The Guardian was twenty feet high at the base and had been brought out of the Earth below by Asim and other priests, following instructions as handed down through the ages. It had been laboriously dragged to the top just the previous week to complete the pyramid by being dragged up the scaffolding that had been wrapped around the edifice. Although larger than blocks used in the structure, Khufu knew it was lighter because of the number of men needed to pull it, indicating that it was not solid. No one knew what it was made of, as the red surface had seemed to shimmer, and men feared to touch it.

Khufu started as the Master Guardian separated from the pyramid, lifting into the air as if by magic. The golden object, with the Guardian in tow, began withdrawing in the direction it had come from, to the north. Khufu watched until it disappeared into the night sky, then he turned to Asim.

“Where does it go?”

“To a secure place, my lord. Separate from the key.” “Why separate the two?”

“The Master Guardian will be more secure if the key is not with it.” Asim absently rubbed his empty eye socket. “The sword you hold was once wielded by the greatest of the Gods. With it he controlled the Master Guardian, and in turn his entire domain.”

Khufu looked at the smooth blade. He had never seen such fine metal. “It is a great weapon, then.”

“It is,” Asim said. “Especially as it controls the power for the Master Guardian. It allows whoever has the sword to be very powerful.” “And now?”

“Have your troops scoured the desert for the spider creature, my lord?”

“They have found no sign of the sky monster, but have apprehended all the people they found to the west.”

Asim nodded. “The prisoners must be part of what we do in the morning.” “And?” Khufu pressed.

“My lord, tomorrow we must complete the undoing of what our people have worked so hard to do over the past twenty years.” He pointed. “The facing of the pyramid must be removed.” “Why?”

“It sent out a signal, my lord, but it did not bring the Gods as hoped, but their enemy.”

Khufu knew the pyramid could be seen far away, and he imagined that if one could be in the sky as the spider creature had been, it could be seen at a great distance indeed. He did not wish for a repeat of that. “It will be done.”

Hidden in the dark shadows of a refuse pile of cracked stone blocks the watcher from the desert had observed the same thing as Khufu and Asim. He’d noted the direction the golden disk flew off in, Master Guardian with it. Despite the darkness of his hide, he wrote all that he had seen down on a piece of reed parchment. As his hand moved, a large ring with an eye symbol reflected the scant starlight.

Then, keeping to ground he knew well, he made his way off the Giza Plateau and to a small hut near the Nile. Inside, he checked the writing, making sure it reported accurately what he had seen, then rolled it and slid it into a tube. He poured wax from a candle on the end and then used the ring to seal it with an imprint — the imprint had the same design as that on the medallion worn around Asim’s neck.

He slid the tube inside his robes and sat down cross-legged on the sand floor, waiting for the sun to rise. He’d managed to escape the Pharaoh’s troops in the desert, sticking to the hidden ways. He’d noted that the members of the Libyan caravan had been brought to the plateau in chains, the man he’d seen disappear under the sand among them.

Tomorrow would be a most interesting day, he mused.

When dawn came, it was assembly-line murder.

The great Pharaoh Khufu, son of King Sneferu and Queen Hetpeheres, ruler of the Middle Kingdom, watched, his face impassive, as rivers of blood flowed down the smooth limestone facing of the Great Pyramid.

He was at the flat top where the Master Guardian had been, over 480 feet above the Giza Plateau, seated in a throne made of gold. Four sacrificial tables were spread out in the small space in front of him, manned by priests of the Cult of Isis.

Asim was working swiftly as there were many thousands of throats to be cut. A long line of stoop-shouldered men stood on the wooden scaffolding that led to the level platform at the top of the pyramid where Asim wielded Excalibur, the sword of the Gods, moving from table to table, sliding the razor-sharp blade across throats. Soldiers ensured that the line kept moving. Every worker who had spent even one minute inside the pyramid during its construction was in that line. When Asim’s work was done, the only ones to have been inside the pyramid and live would be Khufu and Asim.

As each worker reached the top, two soldiers would lift him bodily, throw him onto a slab, pinning his shoulders down, and a priest would hold his head back, waiting for Asim to come by and draw Excalibur across the man’s throat while quickly muttering the necessary prayer. Blood would spurt out of his carotid arteries, be caught by the lip of the slab, and be channeled into several holes to reed pipes at the bottom, which directed it to the edge of the platform and dispersed it onto the side of the pyramid. Three sides were drenched red and the reed pipes had just been redirected to the fourth side. As spectacular as the white limestone facing had been when pure, in an obscene way, the glistening red covering of blood made it even more awe-inspiring.

Dulled by years of labor, surrounded by troops, and conditioned to obey their Pharaoh and Gods without question, the men stood in line with little protest. Occasionally one would try to bolt, to be cut down by the guards immediately and the body hauled to the top.

Not only were priests and workers among the condemned, but so were all those who had been caught in the desert to the west the previous day. The Libyan who had approached the sand dune was dragged up with chains around his ankles and thrown onto an altar. He had his head up, looking around as if noting all. When his eyes fell upon Excalibur in Asim’s hands, his calm demeanor suddenly changed and he struggled in the guards’ grip. As Asim drew the sword of the Gods across the man’s neck, the body convulsed, sitting straight up despite the blood pouring from the sliced arteries in his neck. Asim stepped back in shock, Excalibur held up defensively. The two soldiers who’d brought the Libyan to the altar grabbed his shoulders.

The Libyan snatched the soldiers’ necks and smashed their heads together, killing them. Asim used the opportunity to jab forward with the sword, the blade punching into the Libyan’s stomach. An unearthly scream roared out of the man’s wide-open mouth. Khufu, behind a line of his imperial guards, was less than ten feet away, watching the bizarre spectacle. The Pharaoh gasped in horror as Asim struck once more before the Libyan’s body was ripped apart from the inside. The tip of a tentacle punched out of the man’s skin from his chest.

The tentacle was gray and tipped with three digits that bent and twisted as they grasped for a target. The body of the Libyan was bent in an extremely unnatural manner, as if the spine had been turned into a loose string. Asim swung the sword, severing the end of the tentacle. The end that fell to the stone shriveled as if baked, while the other slid back into the body. Then the priest stepped back, Excalibur at the ready.

“What was that?” Khufu demanded.

Asim jabbed the sword several more times into the body, but there was no movement. “Burn the body,” Asim ordered several of the Imperial guard. “Scatter the ashes.”

As they gingerly picked up the Libyan’s body, Asim walked over to the Pharaoh, sweat staining his robes. “The Ancient Enemy, my lord. It came out of what we saw yesterday.”

Khufu could only shake his head, the events of the past twenty-four hours threatening to overwhelm his sanity. “What kind of enemy is this?”

“It is the enemy of the Gods and our enemy.” “How did it get in that man?”

“I do not know, my lord. I was told to watch for this by the apparition yesterday.”

“How did it survive? We saw the sky thing destroyed.”

“I do not know that either, my lord, but the apparition warned me it could. And it told me that the sword would kill it.”

Khufu looked at the blade in Asim’s hands. “That is indeed very powerful.”

“It was designed so that whoever wielded it could rule supreme,” Asim said.

Khufu understood that concept of consolidating power and ruling supreme. A thing that one person could carry and that held such power held both great opportunity and great danger.

Asim signaled for the soldiers to continue to bring prisoners forward and went back to his grim task. By the time the last worker was dead and the body unceremoniously tossed over the side to be burned, all four sides of the Great Pyramid were stained red. There was no repeat of what had happened with the Libyan.

Over five thousand had died in four hours. Asim came back to Khufu, his arm trembling with exhaustion. He handed the sword to Khufu, who slid the bloodstained blade into the scabbard.

“I have done as the Gods ordered me,” Asim said. “Now you must have your men finish what must be done to the pyramid.”

Khufu gave the orders. Soldiers hammered spikes into joints all along the edge of the platform, between the white limestone blocks on the facing and the more coarse building stones underneath. What had been so carefully placed and fitted onto the pyramid, was ripped off, the stone tumbling down to the ground, revealing the unfinished stone underneath.

The destruction of the facing begun, Khufu took his leave before the ramp was destroyed, Asim close at his side. When they reached the ground, they went to the Great Sphinx. The Horus statue between the paws had been removed, replaced by a stone one. The original had been taken by Asim and his priests into the Roads of Rostau in the early morning, to what destination, only the high priest knew. The men who had helped drag it underground were among those killed. Khufu and Asim stood between the massive stone paws, out of earshot of anyone else.

“You must decree that no one will write of this day’s events, my lord,” Asim said.

Khufu said nothing. He had begun the day with hopes of immortality, and as night fell, he was seeing his greatest achievement defaced. He had hoped that building the Great Pyramid would bring him the favor of the Gods. Instead, all was crumbling around him. It would not be hard to issue an order to ensure that no one wrote of this. He could sense the fear among his people — the flying spider thing, the killings, the creature coming out of the Libyan, and the desecration of the pyramid’s facing. A cloud passed by, blocking the sun, and Khufu shivered.

“What should I do with the sword?” Khufu asked. “Perhaps I should keep it in case we are attacked again.”

“It was the Master Guardian that stopped the Ancient Enemy craft,” Asim said, “not the sword. Without the facing, the pyramid will not be found by the Ancient Enemy.” Asim pointed at Excalibur. “Without the sword, the Master Guardian is powerless.”

“How can that be?”

“I do not know but it is what I was told. And what people may desire in the duats along the Roads of Rostau are secure in one form or another.”

“Why did you have to use Excalibur and not your ceremonial dagger?” Khufu asked.

“The sword has another special power,” Asim said. “As you saw, it is the only thing that can kill the undead and the immortal.”

“The undead?”

“The Ancient Enemy.”

“The immortal?” Khufu stepped closer to the priest. “Someone has partaken of the Grail?”

“I very much doubt it,” Asim said, “but all who could have had access to the duats had to die.”

“I do not understand,” Khufu said.

“I do not either, my lord,” Asim said. “I only do what the Gods command. The sword is the key that must be hidden away again.”

“Why did the gods have us build that”—Khufu jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the pyramid—“if it would only bring enemies?”

“The Gods hoped it would bring their kindred Gods from the sky,” Asim said. It was the same answer he had given before, but Khufu felt despair.

“And now?” Khufu spread his hands wide. “Now what do I do?”

“You rule, my lord,” Asim said.

“What will I do with Excalibur?” Khufu asked once more.

“We will leave it in the sheath and return it to its place in the duats so that the Gods may have access to it when it is needed. When the Master Guardian is returned or needed again.”

On one hand, Khufu was reluctant to pass the sword back to the high priest. It was, after all, the sword of the Gods and obviously very powerful. But that same thought frightened him with the potential responsibility for having such a thing. He unbuckled it from his belt and handed it over to Asim, who tucked it under his cloak.

Asim left Khufu watching the desecration of the greatest achievement of his realm, indeed in the entire history of mankind, and headed toward the Sphinx. He used his scepter and the stone door slid open. He entered, the door sliding shut behind him.

He made his way down the stone corridor, scepter in one hand, Excalibur in the other. He paused, cocking his head, as if he sensed something was wrong. He waited several moments, then continued. When he reached the intersection, he turned right and came to a complete halt as a man stepped forward to confront him.

Asim held the sword in his good hand, across the front of his body, still covered by the sheath. “Kaji. I knew you would be about. Scurrying around like the rat you are.”

“Even a rat is better than being a slave,” Kaji said.

Asim spit at the other man’s feet. “You Watchers. You have betrayed our ancient priesthood.”

Kaji shook his head. “We betrayed? Whom did we betray? The ‘gods’ who left us to fend for ourselves? Who allowed our homes to be destroyed, our people killed? What did you perform today? How many people died today because of the ‘gods’? How many more will have to die?”

“You are a Watcher,” Asim said. “You can do nothing according to the laws of your order. Get out of my way.”

Kaji’s jaw was set. “My three brothers, my six nephews. Two of my three sons. They died today on the pyramid.”

Asim took an involuntary step backward. “You took an oath to only watch.”

“I am done with being a Watcher. My surviving son will be the next Kaji. The next Watcher of Giza, of the Roads of Rostau.”

“Still, you took an oath.” Asim took another step back.

“You know there are those beyond the Watchers,” Kaji said. “Those who act.” Kaji held up his hands, his fingers lacking the ring that was the symbol of the first rank of his order. “After opening a door to the Roads of Rostau I left my ring for my son to find.”

That struck Asim as hard as a blade. The priest held up the sword, but had not drawn the blade. “What good will it do to kill me?”

Kaji barked a laugh. “You’re not that important.” “Then what—”

“Excalibur,” Kaji said. “It is theirs. And it is the key. I will take it.”

“You cannot. It is only for the Gods.”

Kaji indicated Asim’s wounds. “Have you ever looked at yourself? What has been done to you?”

“It is the price of service.”

“To what end?” Kaji’s voice shook. “To what end does your service go?”

“To get eternal life,” Asim said. “To partake of the Grail.”

“The Grail has been around since the dawn of time and we have never been allowed to partake!”

Asim’s voice fell to a whisper. “It will happen someday. If not to me, then to those who follow. But only to the true believers.”

Kaji took another step closer to the priest. He was in range of the blade, but Asim did not draw it. “Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps partaking of the Grail might not be a good thing?”

Asim’s eyes widened. He blinked as if he had just heard that the sky was red, his head shaking in disbelief.

“Excalibur,” Kaji said.

Asim shook his head more firmly. “It must be kept safe.”

“You think this place is safe?” Kaji didn’t wait for an answer. “The ‘gods’ fight among themselves. Both sides know of the Roads of Rostau. It must be hidden from them or else we will have repeats of today’s disaster.”

“But the Ancient Enemy—” Khufu began.

“Yes, the Ancient Enemy.” Kaji nodded. “Excalibur must be protected from the Ancient Enemy also. I saw what happened on the top of the pyramid. What makes you think that was the only enemy that survived?”

“The enemy was destroyed.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Kaji said. “I saw the Libyan taken by the Ancient Enemy in the desert to the west of here. More danger could be close by. The sword must be removed from here.”

Asim frowned. “What do you know of the Ancient Enemy?”

A strange look crossed Kaji’s face. “The legends—” His voice trailed off.

“How did you know to go out into the desert?” Asim pressed. “Why did—” Asim continued but he didn’t complete the sentence as Kaji slammed his dagger into the priest’s chest.

Asim lay on the tunnel floor, dead. Kaji reached down and took the priest’s cloak, wrapping it around his own slender body, pulling the hood up over his head. He picked up Excalibur and the scepter. Then he headed toward the surface.

Khufu was alone on the roof of the pyramid temple. The removal of the covering stones was complete about a third of the way down. People from all around were at the base, taking the limestone with them, as the Pharaoh had allowed it. They could build homes with the stone. It might as well serve some positive purpose. Several large rough blocks had been emplaced on top to keep the semblance of a pyramid and also hide the fact that something else had once been up there.

He heard his guards snap to attention below and turned. A slight figure came up the ladder onto the roof, moving with difficulty. He recognized Asim from the high priest’s cloak and the sword in the man’s hand.

“I thought you were taking that back underground,” Khufu said. “Have you had second thoughts?”

The figure came closer. Khufu gasped as the sword was drawn and the blade came across his neck. He could feel the coolness of the metal against his skin.

“Are you insane, Asim?”

The man pulled his hood down, revealing his features. “Who are you?”

“A man. Like you. My name is Kaji.”

Khufu stared into the man’s eyes. “Are you going to kill me?” “Asim is dead. I killed him.”

Khufu looked back up at the defaced pyramid. The sword pressed tighter against his throat. He waited to feel it slice his skin. Now, for the first time in his life, Khufu felt his mortality, and knew that he was not the favored of the Gods, that he was just a man.

“He lied to you because he was lied to,” Kaji said.

“Lied about what?” Khufu asked, hoping to avoid this dark fate as long as possible, thinking that perhaps one of his guards might check on them, also knowing that hope was futile, as no one would dare interrupt the Pharaoh while he was consulting with his high priest.

“The gods. The empty promises.” The sword was removed from Khufu’s throat and Kaji sheathed it, before hiding it under his cloak. “My Pharaoh—” Kaji pointed toward the pyramid. “That is what has been done to your people in the name of the gods. Perhaps it is best if these gods are not part of our lives. I will let you live if you give me your word as Pharaoh to rule as a man and not as a puppet to the gods.” Khufu swallowed and nodded, his confidence shattered by recent events. “Yes. Yes. I can do that. I will do that.”

“I do not believe you,” Kaji said simply. “Still, killing you will solve nothing and in reality, you have little choice now but to rule as a man. And there is doubt in your mind now. Perhaps that is all I can do here. Doubt is the seed from which one day may grow independence. The ability to think for ourselves. We have been lied to many times, by the gods, by the priests. We must make our own truth.”

With that, Kaji turned and disappeared down the ladder. He made his way along the processional path, the guards keeping their distance, recognizing the cloak of Asim, the high priest, second only to the Pharaoh himself. Kaji maintained the strange gait of the priest until he reached the Lower Temple. Then he went by the priest’s path to the nearby Nile where a small boat waited, manned by a young man who wore the medallion of the Watchers.

Set in the boat was a wooden box, three and a half feet long. The young man swung the top of the box open. Kaji placed the sheathed sword into the box, then closed the lid. He then handed the tube holding his report to the man. The boat slipped away into the darkness to make its long journey to deliver the report and sword.