Legend

XI

There was no flashing light as Donnchadh opened the top to her tube. She checked the timer and learned that one thousand years — as planned— had passed since she had gone into the deep sleep. The deck was still cold to her feet and she quickly dressed as Gwalcmai once more was slower to rise. She had the computer online by the time he was dressed.

“Anything?” Gwalcmai asked as he sat next to her. He shivered. “We should have picked a warmer place to put the ship.”

Donnchadh ignored the comment. “Nothing intercepted from the guardians.”

“At least the Swarm hasn’t returned,” Gwalcmai said.

“Not for a harvest,” Donnchadh agreed.

Gwalcmai got to his feet and went to where his cloak and sword were hung. “I suppose we must go to Avalon.” He picked up the sword. “Do you think the Watcher is still there?”

“I hope so.” Donnchadh got her own cloak. “We shall soon find out.”

The town on the shore across from Avalon was deserted. And had been for a long time, to judge by the degraded condition of the few buildings that were still standing. There were no boats on the shoreline and the two stood in the light rain for several minutes looking up at the top of the tor. The tip was wreathed in mist but they could see that a stone building had been erected on the very top.

“I could build a boat,” Gwalcmai said.

“We have time, but not that much time.” Donnchadh moved off to the right, circling the island. “There.” She pointed at a clump of bushes. Tucked behind them, they could see glimpses of a small rowboat.

“It’s on the other side,” Gwalcmai noted.

“Would you rather build a boat or swim over and get that one?” Donnchadh asked.

“You could swim,” Gwalcmai suggested. “Or we both could.”

Donnchadh simply stared at him, waiting. Gwalcmai muttered something to himself as he stripped off his armor. Clad only in a loin wrap, he approached the dark water, shaking his shoulders from the chill. Gwalcmai let out a deep breath, then dived into the water. With powerful strokes, he made his way across the lake to the base of the tor. He emerged from the water, shaking it from him like a big dog. His long dark hair flew to and fro. He grabbed the rowboat, slid it into the water, and jumped on board. He paddled furiously, trying to stay warm, and was back across the lake in just a minute.

Donnchadh waited while he tried to dry himself and got dressed. They both got in the boat and rowed across to Avalon, where they made their way up the winding track to the top. The stone entry was enclosed in a small temple built of rock. A thick door barred entry into the temple. When Gwalcmai tried to open the door, it wouldn’t budge. However, the thatch top of the temple had long ago fallen in, so he was able to climb up the eight-foot wall and go over, jumping down inside. He unbarred the door, letting Donnchadh in.

The space was small, less than four meters square. The entry stone was centered. Donnchadh placed her medallion against it in the appropriate spot, and the stone slid down, then to the side, allowing them access to the stairs below. Gwalcmai drew his sword and entered first. Donnchadh unsheathed her dagger and followed, closing the entrance behind them. The Airlia glow lines still provided illumination after all these years and they went down into the bowels of Avalon. When they entered the crystal cavern, both paused as they saw Excalibur, inside its sheath, encased in the stone.

“So, they got it out of Egypt and brought it here,” Donnchadh said.

“Yes, we did.”

Both spun about as a young man holding a bow, arrow notched and string pulled back, edged into the cave. “Who are you?”

Donnchadh carefully reached for the medallion around her neck and held it out. “I am of the Wedjat.”

“Just because you have that,” the young man said, “does not mean you are a Watcher.

“I am of the order,” Donnchadh said in the Airlia tongue.

A frown crossed the young man’s face. “That is the old tongue. I have learned a little. But not enough to talk or understand what you just said.” Still, he did not lessen the tension on the bow. “That also does not mean you are of the order. You could be a Guide or One Who Waits.”

“My name is Donnchadh. This is Gwalcmai.”

The young man took a step back. “I have read of those names. Many, many years ago a man and a woman came here and they bore those names. Are you descended from them?”

“Yes,” Donnchadh said. “We are not Guides or Ones Who Wait. If we were, you would be dead already. We have traveled far to be here.”

Slowly he lowered the bow. “I am Dag-Brynn, Watcher of Avalon.”

“Greetings, Dag-Brynn, Watcher of Avalon,” Donnchadh said as she extended her hand.

“From where do you come?” Dag-Brynn asked as he shook her hand. “Where do you watch?”

“We are journeyers,” Donnchadh said. “We travel from Watcher to Watcher.”

“I have never heard of that,” Dag-Brynn said. “But there is much I do not know.”

“What of the Airlia?” Donnchadh asked.

Dag-Brynn shrugged. “As far as I know, they sleep still.”

“And in Egypt?” Donnchadh pressed.

“They are dead.”

“Some were killed long ago,” Donnchadh said, “but the rest went into the deep sleep.”

“And Vampyr killed them while they slept,” Dag-Brynn said. “The report from the Watcher of Giza concerning this came here many, many years ago.”

“Vampyr? One of the Undead?” Donnchadh was surprised at this turn of events. She vaguely remembered that name.

“So it was written.”

“Who rules in Egypt?” Gwalcmai asked.

“The Pharaohs still rule. It is a mighty kingdom and has conquered many of its neighbors.”

“The Grail?” Donnchadh asked.

“As far as the Watcher of Giza knows and last reported,” Dag-Brynn said, “it is still inside the Ark, hidden in the Hall of Records, deep along the Roads of Rostau. But it was well before my time since we have last heard from Giza.”

He said the words as if reciting something he had memorized, but it appeared he had little idea what the words meant. Gwalcmai coughed, wrapping his muscular arms tight aroundhis upper body. “I hate this chill. Let us do what we need and get going.”

“Let us see the records,” Donnchadh said, pointing toward the entrance to the room where all reports were stored.

Donnchadh learned little more from reading the scrolls. The Watchers still existed, but the reports came to Avalon infrequently. The last from Giza was over two hundred years old. The last from China, from the Qian-Ling Watcher, had come to Avalon five hundred years previously. It told of strange creatures populating the area — spawn of the Undead. Donnchadh assumed one of those they had freed from underneath Giza must have made his way there— or else the Airlia in the mountain had produced them. Since then, nothing. Some of the Watchers had not reported in for millennia. That might be because the line had failed in places, or because there was no way to get the messages across the oceans. Some of the reports were in languages she didn’t recognize.

After reading what she could, Donnchadh sat still for several hours while Gwalcmai went hunting with Dag-Brynn. By the time they returned with a stag, she had made her decisions. They butchered the stag, preparing some of it for immediate consumption, and Gwalcmai cured the rest for the journey he anticipated they would make. He asked no questions, for which Donnchadh was grateful.

As she began to read again, though, his cough grew worse. Dag-Brynn built up the fire in the small room, the smoke going up through a crack in the ceiling, but Gwalcmai could not warm up. When she put her hand on his forehead, she could feel the heat. She had Dag-Brynn gather all the blankets he had and she wrapped her partner in them. But the fever grew worse.

“I should have built the boat,” Gwalcmai said. “Time is the only thing we have plenty of.”

“Yes, you should have,” Donnchadh agreed. “That was my mistake.”

Gwalcmai shook so hard that Dag-Brynn had to help her hold him on the small cot next to the fire. When the shivering subsided, Gwalcmai’s face was bathed in sweat. His eyes were slightly unfocused.

“We should go back to the ship,” Donnchadh whispered to him. “I can cure you there.”

Gwalcmai laughed, the sound more a rasp coming through his tortured throat. “I can’t make it. If the fever breaks, then yes. We go. But—” He tried to get up, but his muscles had no energy. He collapsed back on the cot, soaked in sweat. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Donnchadh said. She wrapped her arms around her partner. Across the chamber, Dag-Brynn was watching.

“I could help you take him wherever you need to go. To your ship.”

Donnchadh sadly shook her head. “No. It’s all right.”

Dag-Brynn came over and looked down. “The village across the way. Many died twenty years ago. Something killed them all. They had the chill and the fever. I had to send my family away. Many miles away. My wife and daughter died.”

Donnchadh had assumed her partner had caught a cold from swimming in the water, but now she had to wonder— had someone poisoned the lake? But what could last in the water that long? During the Revolution, the Airlia had not hesitated to use biological weapons against the humans. Millions had died as a result.

It didn’t matter. She could not take Dag-Brynn to the Fynbar . And in this condition she could not get Gwalcmaithere on her own. The trip would surely kill him. His only chance was to ride this out here.

She sat next to Gwalcmai for hours. Sometime in the middle of the night he began raving in their native tongue, causing Dag-Brynn to cast some curious glances their way. Donnchadh put cold compresses on her partner’s forehead, trying to keep the temperature down. She tried to rehydrate him with a broth using the deer and springwater.

None of it worked.

Just before dawn, Gwalcmai sat bolt upright and called out their son’s name. Then he slumped back, the life fading from his eyes.

Donnchadh reached up and carefully closed her husband’s eyelids. She bowed her head for several moments, then reached inside his tunic and removed his ka.

“I am very sorry.” Dag-Brynn was standing just behind her.

“Will you help me bury him?”

“Of course. Where?”

“On the top of the tor,” Donnchadh said. “His spirit can help guard this place.”

They were at sea for four days before Gwalcmai finally asked their destination.

“Giza.”

Gwalcmai nodded. “I expected as much.” The trading ship they were on was hugging the coast of Europe, moving around it toward the Mediterranean. He was quiet for a few minutes, then asked: “And when we get there?”

“I have been thinking,” Donnchadh said. Since traveling back to their ship and implanting Gwalcmai’s memories and personality in the ka into the body in stasis, she had been considering their next move. Since Gwalcmai had no memories of the most recent trip to Avalon, and she had been the one to read the scrolls, she had taken full responsibility for planning their next actions. Which, of course, was pretty much the norm for them since they had been together.

Gwalcmai waited quietly, something he was not good at. His unusual silence grated on her. They normally regenerated at the same time. She found that there was a certain indefinable distance between them ever since leaving the ship. Her current body was young, only the equivalent of late twenties, but Gwalcmai appeared to have just passed the threshold into manhood.

“Things here are not the same as they were on our world,” she finally said. “We have made the situation different. The Great Civil War has made everything very different.”

Gwalcmai barely nodded, indicating his agreement.

“Both sides sleep,” Donnchadh continued, “and have their minions skirmishing. The key for the Master Guardian is under our control. Their headquarters on this planet at Atlantis is gone. Their communications array on Mars is destroyed and they are out of contact with their empire. All these are things we had to do at great cost early in our war against the Airlia on our planet.”

Gwalcmai nodded once more. “We took out the communications array first. That cost us many good God-killers. And it was only the first stage of the war.”

Donnchadh stayed quiet, staring over the wooden railing at the shoreline passing by.

“So.” Gwalcmai finally spoke. “You are saying the war has progressed far already, even though these humans are not even close to being able to challenge the Airlia with their technology.”

“Yes.”

Gwalcmai rubbed the stubble of beard on his chin. “It is still too soon.”

“Not if—” Donnchadh began, but then fell silent.

“Not if what?”

She pulled out the scepter they had brought with them to the planet so many years ago. “Not if we procure the Grail and use it. Create an army of immortals.”

Gwalcmai did not immediately object, which she found interesting. But after several minutes of mulling it over, he shook his head. “It still would not work. We do not have the weaponry to challenge the Airlia. We may make an army of immortals, but all it will bring about is great suffering for those transformed. They will die and come back to life constantly. A terrible fate. And the immortality has conditions — we learned how to kill the Airlia and I am certain they will know how to kill our immortals.” Gwalcmai paused. “But — I do think it would be wise for us to try to get the Grail under our control, as we have had Excalibur removed from Giza. It will prevent the Airlia from using it on their minions.”

“That is what I have been thinking.”

“And that is all,” Gwalcmai said, “under our control.”

“All right.”

Gwalcmai smiled. “Why do I not believe you?”

Slavery among humans. Humans owning other humans like property. It was a concept strange to Donnchadh and Gwalcmai. Their planet had been under the thrall of the Airlia for so long that the concept of humans “owning” other humans had never even arisen. But Egypt had changed since last they visited. The Great Pyramid still sat atop the Giza Plateau, but the sides were rough and worn from the weather. There were two more large pyramids flanking it, obviously attempts by other Pharaohs to match the splendor that Khufu had built. The Black Sphinx was hidden out of sight,the depression it sat in covered and camouflaged as part of the plateau itself, and there was a stone replica squatting on top.

The physical changes were great, but what truly struck both Donnchadh and Gwalcmai was the sprawling camp of slaves to the south of the Giza Plateau. There were thousands living there, under the thrall of guards and forced to do all the hard labor, from making bricks to the fine craftsmanship needed to finish the numerous temples and palaces being built. The camp was surrounded by a mud-brick wall six feet high with guard towers spaced every hundred meters. The wall seemed more a symbolic barrier than an actual one, as the people held inside seemed broken by their situation.

The slaves were not Egyptians. They were a mixture of races, predominant among them a conquered tribe called Judeans. They came from a land to the north and east, along the shores of the Mediterranean. They had been defeated by the Egyptians in battle and brought here in chains to do hard labor.

Donnchadh and Gwalcmai found the Watcher of Giza in the same small stone hut in which all his predecessors had also lived. He was a middle-aged man who, while he knew his role, had not sent in a single report to Avalon in all his years at the post. He was frightened by their appearance and fell on his knees when Donnchadh showed him the golden medallion, begging her not to slay him. Realizing he would be of little aid, the two made their own forays onto Giza and the nearby towns, learning as much as they could.

The Roads of Rostau were still guarded by the golden spider, but no high priests walked the tunnels. No one seemed to even know the Roads existed anymore, other than the Watcher, who had never ventured down there and almost considered them as much a myth as the Airlia themselves. Donnchadh and Gwalcmai knew they could get to the Hallof Records and use the scepter to gain access to the Ark with the Grail inside, but getting out was going to be a different story. Given the reaction to the Swarm craft, she had little doubt that opening the Hall of Records would cause some sort of alert. The Pharaoh’s soldiers and priests blanketed the entire plateau, primarily to keep the large slave population under control. Short of flying the Fynbar in, Donnchadh doubted they could get away with the Ark and Grail.

So they decided to use the same tactics they had used against the Airlia: division and dissension. They learned that the ruling Pharaoh, Ramses II, had two sons, the elder of which, Moses, had been exiled from the kingdom for attempting to lead a coup against his father. He had been sent to an outlying province, Midian, where he had been appointed governor. There was a younger son, given his father’s name, Ramses III, who obviously was in line to succeed.

Donnchadh and Gwalcmai traveled to Midian, which lay to the east of Egypt, on the desolate peninsula known as Sinai. They found the governor’s palace to be more of a large home, built of mud bricks, huddled on the inside wall of the capital city’s ten-foot-high walls. Midian wasn’t much of a city, consisting of barely a thousand people, and the province had little in the way of resources, other than some mines. A fitting punishment for a wayward son, but one that caused Moses’ resentment of his father to fester, as they learned while they spent several days in the city, listening and watching.

Donnchadh and her partner were able to gain an audience with Moses with relative ease, using a few gold pieces to bribe the captain of his guards. They found the governor sitting on a dilapidated throne on the roof of his house, staring out over the wall into the desert. Two bored guards barely checked the two of them, only taking the most obvious precaution of removing Gwalcmai’s sword before allowing themaccess to Moses. Donnchadh still had the scepter and her dagger tucked in the belt under her robe.

“This is far from Giza,” Donnchadh said in lieu of greeting the governor.

Moses turned his head toward them. “I was told your names but they mean nothing to me.” He did not bother to stand and greet them. He was a young man, with thick dark hair and an angular face. There was the slight trace of a horizontal scar on his forehead.

“Our names are not important,” Donnchadh said.

“Does the woman speak for both of you?” Moses asked.

Gwalcmai nodded. “She does.”

“Strange,” Moses commented. “What do you want?” he demanded, staring at Donnchadh.

“We want to help you.”

“You bribed the captain of my guards with gold to gain this audience,” Moses said. “How much more gold do you have?”

“How much gold does the Pharaoh have in his treasuries?” Donnchadh asked in turn.

“That gold is in Giza, and as you noted, Giza is far from here. And in more than just distance. If I cross the Red Sea, my father will kill me.”

“Not if he needs you,” Donnchadh said.

Moses took a long drink from a cracked ceramic mug before he spoke again. “And why will he need me?”

“To help with the problem of the slaves.”

“And what problem is that?”

“We’ll get to that,” Donnchadh said.

Moses drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne for several moments while his other hand tipped the mug and he stared sadly into the empty interior. “And why do you want me to return to Egypt?” he finally asked.

“To finish what you started,” Donnchadh said. “To lead a revolt.”

“The army is loyal to my father. And the priests also. I have no—”

“Not through the army or the priests,” Donnchadh interrupted. “You will use the slaves. The Judeans.”

Moses frowned. “You just said my father will welcome me back to deal with the problem of the slaves. I am aware of no problem. And then you say I will use the slaves to revolt against my father.”

“You will do both.”

Moses mulled this for several seconds, then a sly smile crossed his face. “Very interesting. And ingenious.” He lifted his free hand and traced the scar on his forehead. “You know, my father gave this to me when I was but a child. He beat me many times. I was born from one of his mistresses and should not have been allowed to live, but she hid me, then went to the high priest. Because my father had no other heir at the time, he was forced to acknowledge me. But once his third wife gave him a legitimate son, he no longer needed me.”

“We know,” Donnchadh said. “We have walked Giza, the city of Cairo, and the slave camps for many days. We know how your father rules; and we know that things are worse than your father is told by his advisers. The river runs low and there has been drought for the past two years. There is barely enough grain to feed the Egyptians, never mind the slaves. The Judeans are primed to revolt. They just need hope and a leader.”

“Why do you want this to happen?” Moses asked. “Are you Judean? You do not appear to be from this part of the world.”

“No,” Donnchadh said. She took a deep breath. “We are enemies of the Gods of Egypt. Because they are not realGods. They enslave all men just as much as your people enslave the Judeans and others.”

“If you said that in front of my father, you would be immediately put to death in a most horrible way,” Moses said. “He believes himself to be descended from the Gods and the priests tell him it is so.”

Donnchadh shook her head. “He is not and it is not so.”

“Can you prove this? Can you prove the Gods do not care for us? And that they are not real Gods?”

Donnchadh had considered this during the journey to Midian. “Yes.”

Moses slammed the goblet down. “How?”

“They cannot care for you because they are dead.”

“That cannot be,” Moses said. “Gods cannot die.”

“The Gods worshipped in Egypt are dead,” Donnchadh said. “I can show you their bodies. They are dead. Isis. Osiris. Horus. And others that are still worshipped.”

Moses considered this. “So the Gods are real but dead?”

“Were real and not Gods,” Donnchadh corrected. “And they have been long dead.”

Moses got to his feet. “Where are these bodies?”

“Along the Roads of Rostau, underneath the Giza Plateau.”

“And you can take me there?”

“Yes.”

Moses headed toward the stairs, staggering slightly, but catching himself. “We leave in the morning. I must rest first.”

You cannot tell people what you are seeing,” Donnchadh said to Moses while Gwalcmai stood guard just inside the door to the chamber, sword in hand.

The three of them were clad in the gray cloaks taken from the Watcher’s hut and stood next to a black tube, the top ofwhich was open. Inside lay the body of one of the Airlia, slain by Vampyr many years previously. There was no mistaking the fact that the body was not human, and that it was indeed dead. The pale skin had mummified, shrinking tightly around the bones underneath. The hair had continued to grow after death, surrounding the head like a red pillow. Six clawlike fingers were at the end of each hand. Along the side of the body was a golden staff with a sphinx head on one end.

“The Gods are indeed dead,” Moses murmured. “I had heard rumors before you appeared, but no one dared say anything publicly.”

“Because the Pharaoh’s power base is religion,” Donnchadh said. “It is something they”—she nodded at the bodies—“have always used. And they passed on that knowledge to the Shadows who ruled after them, and the Shadows passed it to the Pharaohs who rule now.”

“People will not accept this,” Moses said. “You cannot take away their beliefs so easily.”

“No, they won’t like it,” Donnchadh agreed.

“So how—” Moses left the question unsaid.

“What you will do,” Donnchadh began, “is use the God of the Judeans to rally them and to frighten the Pharaoh.”

“ ‘The’ God? Just one?” Moses asked.

“Yes.”

“Is the God of the Judeans real?”

The question gave Donnchadh pause. “I don’t know.” She looked down at the body. “As real as they are, I suppose.”

An uneasy silence reigned in the chamber for several minutes, each of the three lost in their own thoughts.

“What else is down here?” Moses finally asked. “When I was growing up, some of the priests would whisper about secret places under the Great Pyramid of Khufu.”

“What else is down here does not concern you,” Donnchadh said.

Moses turned to her, and Gwalcmai stepped between them, his hand drifting to the pommel of his sword.

Moses did not back down. “I heard rumors of a Grail that gives immortality, which lies somewhere down here. It is what the priests would promise the true believers as their reward for a lifetime of service. Yet no one ever seemed to get this reward.”

“There is an Ark in one of the duats along these Roads,” Donnchadh allowed. “Perhaps it contains the Grail.”

“ ‘Perhaps’?” Moses waited, but Donnchadh said nothing more. Finally, he sighed. “You have proven that the Gods of my people are dead. What do I do next?”

“Gwalcmai will go with you,” Donnchadh said. She reached into the tube and pulled out the staff, handing it to Moses. “You will call him Aaron. He will advise you.”

“Where will I go?”

“To see your father, the Pharaoh, of course.” Donnchadh drew her dagger. “But first we must do something so you can make your point more clearly to your father and to the priests who whisper in his ear.”

The royal guards did not kill Moses immediately. Whether it was because they were not willing to kill royalty without direct orders from the Pharaoh, or because of the amazing staff he carried, the likes of which none had ever seen, or a combination of both, it wasn’t clear.

They did, however, securely bind the arms of both Gwalcmai and Moses before bringing them into the Pharaoh’s receiving room. They were shoved down onto their knees on the hard stone floor in front of the Pharaoh’s throne. Ramses II wore a heavy robe, sewn with golden thread, and his head was adorned with a crown covered with jewels. His face was so heavily rouged that it was hard for Gwalcmai to read theman’s expression. His arms were crossed, the symbols of his office — the crook and flail — in his hands. He was so still that for several moments Gwalcmai thought him to be a statue. A dozen guards flanked the Pharaoh on either side. Seated to the Pharaoh’s right was a younger version, dressed and made up the same, except lacking the crown, crook, and flail.

Ramses II stared at his son for several moments in silence, then raised the crook and made a gesture. Guards cut the bindings holding the two men and handed Moses the staff.

Moses raised both hands, the staff in his right, the left palm open in a sign of peace. “Father.”

“You dare call me that?” Ramses’ voice was low, but carried well in the room.

“Father, I have come to help you.”

Two kilometers from the Pharaoh’s palace, near the wall surrounding the sprawling Judean slave camp, Donnchadh removed a small block of gray, malleable material from the backpack she had been wearing. She pressed the material against the base of the stone wall, directly below one of the guard towers that were evenly spaced, one hundred meters apart, around the perimeter. She placed a flat chip, no larger than the nail on her pinkie, on top of the material and quickly moved away.

Taking a small metal ball out of her pack, she pressed one of the hexagonals on the surface and the material exploded, destroying the guard tower and punching a large hole in the wall. Both the Egyptians and Jews in the area were stunned by this inexplicable event. The awe was over quickly, though, as the closest Egyptian troops retaliated for the death of their comrades in the only way they knew how, against the only available enemy — they began massacring the closest slaves they could slay.

Starving because of the drought, worked to within inches of their lives, and having borne the burden of slavery for long years, many Jews fought back and a pitched battle was joined. Bugle calls echoed out as the surprised Egyptian troops called for assistance. The handful of soldiers in the area were quickly overwhelmed and the Jews appropriated their weapons and surged through the hole in the wall.

Just as a second bomb, which Donnchadh had set earlier, went off, destroying a barracks full of soldiers.

What kind of help can you give me?” the Pharaoh demanded.

Ramses III stood, glaring down at his half brother. “What kind of help do you think we need, Governor of Midian?”

A sound like distant thunder echoed through the palace, even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The faint sound of bugles floated in through the open windows. Then another thunderclap. More bugles blared and there was the sound of large numbers of armed men moving quickly.

An officer appeared in one of the side portals to the audience room and hurried across to whisper into Ramses III’s ear. Ramses III dismissed the man, then turned to Moses. “What an extreme coincidence — you come here offering aid, and there is trouble with the Judeans at the same moment.”

“There has been trouble brewing with the Judeans for a long time,” Moses said. “There is the drought. They have been worked harder than they should have been. Even slaves must be fed and taken care of. There is trouble in the east and south. There are stirrings in Persia and I believe within ten years the Hittites will invade in this direction.”

“Do you bring me only bad news?” Ramses II asked.

“I bring you good news,” Moses said. He indicated Gwalcmai. “This is Aaron, a warrior from beyond our borders. He knows of the Hittites. He knows of the lands there.”

Gwalcmai half bowed at the waist toward Ramses II. “Lord, you can solve two problems with one action.”

Gwalcmai paused while several more officers scurried in and talked to Ramses III in low voices. As soon as they left, his father raised the crook, indicating he was to brief him.

“There have been two explosions like lightning striking but there is no storm. One along the wall holding the Judeans, the other at the barracks of the temple guards. Many soldiers — at least one hundred — have been killed. There have been subsequent riots in the Judean camp. It will be suppressed shortly.”

“For the time being,” Moses threw in.

“What is the one action that would solve my dual problems?” Ramses II demanded.

“Let us take the Judeans away from here,” Gwalcmai said. “To the north and east, along the shores of the Mediterranean. Let them establish a state there, close to where they originally came from. A state that will be loyal to you because of their gratitude for being freed. One that will be a buffer state for you against the Hittites.”

“One that you rule?” Ramses III demanded.

“My exile will be farther away, brother,” Moses replied. “That should suit you.” He looked at his father. “You will be rid of the Judean problem. It was fine to have so many slaves when things were going well and the Nile was high and crops were bountiful. Now they are just a drain. The bricks they make are of poor quality and lie in piles, unused. And you will have a state between you and the Hittites that they will have to conquer before they can attack Egypt.”

Pharaoh Ramses II considered the proposition for all of ten seconds. “No.”

“Father—” Moses began, but Ramses II cut him off with a chop of his crook.

“The Jews can be solved more easily than giving them to you. As far as the Hittites — let them come. We will drench the sands with their blood, as we have done to our enemies for as long as our family has ruled.”

“My lord,” Gwalcmai began, “it is not as simple as that.”

“And why not?” Ramses II demanded.

“There is the issue of the Judeans’ God,” Gwalcmai said.

Donnchadh was now hidden at the edge of the lush farmland about a kilometer south of the Giza Plateau. Sweat soaked her robes and she was breathing hard from her run to this location. From a leather pouch tied to her belt she removed a small black sphere, about forty centimeters in diameter. It was an Airlia artifact recovered on her world. It was one of many weapons the Airlia had used in the long war. Donnchadh’s fellow scientists had analyzed it and discovered that it was a microwave transmitter that could be tuned to a number of frequencies. It had been used as a weapon by the Airlia when set to a frequency that caused hemorrhages in human brains. However, it could also be used in other ways, one of which Donnchadh was getting ready to employ. She’d tested it before and now she used what she had learned.

She tuned it to a specific frequency, then pressed the ON button. Nothing apparent happened, but the flickering red light on the side told her it was transmitting.

Ramses II’s laughter echoed off the murals painted on the walls. “The God of the Judeans? Why should that concern us?”

Ramses III said nothing, having settled back onto his throne and reassuming his noble posture. His eyes glittered with malice as he stared at his half brother.

Gwalcmai opened his leather pack and took out a round object wrapped in gray cloth. He knelt and slowly unwrapped the grisly package, revealing Osiris’s severed head. The cat-red eyes stared at the Pharaoh and his son as if they were still alive.

“What is this?” Ramses III yelled. He gestured and several of the guards closed on Gwalcmai and Moses.

“This is not our doing,” Gwalcmai quickly said. “This is one of the Gods of the First Age of Egypt, before the time of even Horus. We found his body below Giza, in the Roads of Rostau.”

Ramses III drew his sword and took a step toward them, but he halted at a gesture from his father. “You walked the Roads?” the Pharaoh asked, his voice level.

Gwalcmai nodded. “We did, my lord. We found this one dead along with five others. There are no Gods left alive there.”

“Who killed them?” Ramses II demanded.

Gwalcmai shrugged. “That I do not know. But I fear the God of the Jews might have had something to do with it. They worship only one God, a powerful one apparently. And this God wants them freed and sent back to their homeland. This is another reason why it would be in your interests to do as your son, Moses, has requested.” He paused. “Lord, I have it from one of the Jewish priests that if you do not release them, their God will unleash a plague upon your land.”

Ramses II blinked, the first sign of concern that had crossed his face since they’d entered. Little cracks appeared in the rouge around his eyes. He seemed about to say something, when the sound of screams reverberating from thousands of throats made its way into the room.

This time there was no pretense. Ramses III ran to the nearest window, Moses and Gwalcmai right behind him. The Pharaoh remained on his throne, bound by tradition, but his head turned, following them with his eyes as the screams of his people struck his ears.

“What is it?” the Pharaoh demanded.

Ramses III replied, the word sending a chill through every Egyptian in the room, “Locusts.”

Donnchadh pulled the cloak over her head. It was as if she were in the middle of a fierce hailstorm as locusts smacked into the cloth, drawn by the Airlia black ball’s microwaves. They numbered in the millions, drawn in from all around, woken from their slumber by the Airlia transmitter. They descended into the fields, consuming all. Farmers futilely tried to stop the scourge, dashing out with brooms. It was like a stick placed in the way of an incoming tide.

From the Pharaoh’s palace, it looked as if a dark cloud had descended to the ground south of Giza, covering the fields. It had been many years since a plague of locusts had struck the center of Egypt. It had occurred once during the Pharaoh’s childhood. He still remembered the devastation as the creatures ate the fields bare. This, on top of the drought, could destroy his kingdom.

Ramses II stood. “Take them, Moses. Take the Judeans and never come back here.”

Donnchadh turned off the microwave transmitter. The battering against her cloak slowly subsided. She waited another five minutes, then pulled it aside. It was if ascythe had gone through the fields, taking everything down to bare stalks.

She felt a momentary twinge of guilt for the day’s events. She knew the higher goal they were trying to achieve would make today’s event shrink into nothingness over time, but that didn’t change the fact that she was responsible for the death of fellow humans. Donnchadh focused her thoughts on the Grail as she walked north, through the barren fields. Night was falling and tomorrow would be a new day. Tonight, there was more to do.

Moses was in the camp with the Judeans, meeting with their leaders, trying to get them to accept this unexpected turn of events and get organized, not an easy task. Despite the great opportunity of freedom they were being offered, the Judeans were a quarrelsome lot and there were those who feared this was some trick of the Pharaoh’s to get them out into the desert and let them starve to death.

Gwalcmai waited for Donnchadh in the darkness at the base of the Great Pyramid. As they had hoped, the Pharaoh had pulled his troops back to protect his palace and the city of Cairo to the north. With Gwalcmai were a half dozen Judeans armed with swords and wearing gray cloaks — those who had been in the forefront of the recent fighting with the Egyptians and who would prefer death to slavery. Moses had recruited them from the leaders with the promise that they would find important things under the plateau. They climbed up the side of the Great Pyramid and entered the Roads of Rostau through the tunnel entrance.

They descended through the massive blocks of stone that had been laid until they were into the solid stone below, which made up the plateau. They avoided the golden spider, hiding under their gray cloaks and remaining still as it cameby. The reliance on automated defenses had been one of the Airlia’s weak points on their home world, as every such system always had a loophole allowing it to be defeated. Of course, the vast difference in body counts between Airlia and human during the Revolution was largely due to figuring out those loopholes at the cost of blood.

They went down tunnel after tunnel, following the directions handed down through the Watcher records that Donnchadh had copied in England. Finally, they reached a stone door, which Donnchadh opened. They stepped inside into brief but total darkness, which was immediately dispersed as a five-meter-diameter orb hanging overhead came to life, throwing light throughout a large cavern.

They were standing on a ledge above the floor of the cavern. Both recognized the Black Sphinx crouching on the floor — the Hall of Records. The cavern was about six hundred meters across, the wall smoothly cut red stone, which must have been added after their last visit. The six Judeans were stunned by what they saw.

Stairs were cut out of the rock wall, leading from the ledge to the floor. Without a word, Donnchadh and Gwalcmai took them. Trembling, the Judeans followed. They headed between the large black paws to the statue of Horus that stood on a pedestal. There was a stone set against the pedestal. Donnchadh bent over and read the High Rune marking.

“It says that there is a black box along the Roads, in another chamber, that can destroy this entire structure. If one tries to get in and doesn’t have the key, the black box will self-destruct.”

“An Airlia nuclear weapon or power source?” Gwalcmai guessed.

“Most likely,” Donnchadh said. Several such devices had been used on their home world with devastating effect. It made sense that the Airlia would booby-trap their most precious artifact.

The six men listened to them without comprehending. Donnchadh did not want to take the time to explain. She reached into her pack and pulled out the scepter they had brought from so far away. She placed it on the image on the pedestal, where the faint outline of it was etched. The glowing orb overhead blinked briefly, then quickly lit again. The surface of the stone shimmered and the scepter began to sink into it. Donnchadh released her grip.

The stone slid down, revealing a six-foot-high opening leading into the body of the Black Sphinx. The passageway had several steps going down. The tunnel was almost three meters high. A thin line of blue lights ran along the center of the ceiling. They flickered, then came on. The corridor seemed to open up about fifteen meters ahead.

“It looks like the world has not been destroyed,” Gwalcmai noted.

Donnchadh ignored him and entered the Hall of Records. Gwalcmai began to follow, then noticed that the six Judeans were hesitating. He gestured angrily and they reluctantly shuffled after him.

Donnchadh walked through the corridor, feeling the weight of the alien metal all around her. The Hall on her own planet had been lost when the Airlia headquarters was destroyed. They’d only had the Airlia records of it.

She entered a room in the belly of the Sphinx. The ceiling was seven meters high, the walls the same distance to either side and the far wall ten meters away. In the center of the room were four poles that held up four horizontal rods. At the top of each pole was an exact replica of the head on the staff, red eyes glittering. Thick white cloths hung from each of the rods, hiding whatever was enclosed. To the left, against the wall, were several racks of garments. Gwalcmai joined her, the six Judeans hanging back.

“Is it my imagination or are those things looking at us?” Donnchadh asked, as she pointed at the four heads.

“Let’s move right,” Gwalcmai suggested. They did so, and ever so slightly the heads turned, tracking them.

“I would assume the Ark is behind those curtains,” Donnchadh said.

“We will get it,” one of the Judeans said.

“I don’t think—” Gwalcmai began, but the one who had spoken and another stepped forward. The four heads locked in on them and before they made their third steps, red bolts shot out of the eyes of the two closest heads, hitting both men.

The bodies dropped to the floor, lifeless, with smoke rising from the holes in their chests. The other four Judeans bolted, and Gwalcmai chased after them. Donnchadh stared at the four heads, trying to figure out a way around this unexpected development. Gwalcmai returned, marshaling the four surviving Judeans into the chamber, where they clung to the wall, as far from the center as possible.

“The garments,” Donnchadh said. “They must be for whoever handles the Ark.” She moved along the wall, toward the racks. One of the heads tracked her while the other three remained trained on the others in the room.

“Are you sure?” Gwalcmai asked, with a concerned look at the two still-smoking corpses.

Donnchadh made it to the racks without getting fired at. She lifted a white linen robe and slipped it over her head. Then she examined the rest of the accounterments. She glanced over her shoulder at Gwalcmai and the four survivors. “Care to join me?”

Gwalcmai herded the four men along the wall to her position. Donnchadh noticed that the garments were arranged ina specific order and she figured that was the way she should put them on. She took a sleeveless blue shirt with gold fringe and put it on top of the robe. Then a multicolored coat. She noted that metal threads were woven throughout the fabric of the coat but it was missing something to connect it at the shoulders. There was a shelf on top of the rack and she picked up a wooden box. Opening it, she found two stones nestled inside. She used those to fasten the robe. As she did so, a strange tingle passed through her body.

“Are you all right?” Gwalcmai asked. He had put on one of the white linen robes and a red coat. There were about a dozen similar garments hanging from the racks, and the four Judeans dressed themselves in these.

Donnchadh nodded. “There’s some sort of field built into this outfit.” She grabbed a breastplate festooned with a dozen jewels and looped the neckpiece for it over her shoulders. The entire outfit was heavy and she felt the tug on her shoulders from all the weight.

“You’re missing something,” Gwalcmai noted, pointing at two empty pockets on the shoulders of the breastplate.

“The urim and thummin,” Donnchadh said. “The stones activate the Grail. They might be stored with it in the Ark or in a separate place. I have a feeling Aspasia would not put them here, though.”

Also on the shelf was a crown consisting of three bands, each stacked on the other. Done dressing, she turned toward the center of the chamber. The four guard heads were aimed directly at her.

“Ready?” Donnchadh asked. She didn’t wait for an answer. She moved toward the white curtain, the heads tracking. She paused, heart racing, as a flash of light came out of the eyes of one of the heads and struck the ground in front of her, then ran up her body, stopping on the breastplate for a couple of seconds, then moving on to the crown. She must have passed the test, because the light went out. Gwalcmai and the others were in single file behind her. Donnchadh reached the veil. She knelt and lifted the white cloth, then passed underneath, the others following.

The Ark rested on a waist-high black platform. It was a meter high and wide, and a little more than that in length. The surface was gold. There were rings on the bottom through which two long poles — obviously to be used to carry it — extended.

And there were two more heads on top of the Ark on either end. As soon as she had entered, they had turned and fixed her with their inhuman gaze. Red light flashed out of both and the process she had just gone through was repeated as the light went over her garments, pausing on the breastplate and crown, then both lights went out. The two heads turned back to gazing at each other over the lid of the Ark.

Donnchadh was tempted to open the Ark, but she knew that time was of the essence. Also, even if the Grail was inside, without the two stones, they could do nothing with it. Gwalcmai issued orders and the four Judeans moved into position on the poles. They grabbed one of the white curtains and ripped it down, draping it over the Ark. Then the four surviving Judeans lifted it, and Donnchadh led the way out of the Hall of Records.