The Pharaoh Key

41

THEIR CAMELS GALLOPED at terrifying speed, gravel flying in every direction from the leathery pads of their feet. Looking ahead, Gideon could see that the ridge ran forward in a straight downhill line. On either side were deep canyons, parallel ridges, and then still more canyons, all pitched at a descending angle. Far ahead, many miles away, the foothills smoothed out to a moonlit plain that seemed to stretch forever.

Glancing back, he saw Mugdol gaining, spear in one hand and reins in the other, with the rest of the warriors coming up behind. They were only about four hundred yards away now. Gideon redoubled his efforts, urging his camel forward.

“Faster!” Imogen cried. “We’ve got to go faster!”

But Garza had fallen behind again, struggling to drag the packed camel along with him.

Gideon reined back a little. “Manuel, go past me. I’ll whip that sluggish thing’s ass for you.”

“Promises, promises.”

Imogen and Garza rode past, and as they did so Gideon glanced behind again to see how quickly Blackbeard was catching up. He was startled to find that their pursuers appeared to have vanished.

“Where’d they go?” asked Imogen.

Gideon held up a hand for silence.

They halted. And now, in the quiet, they could make out the low thunder of galloping somewhere in the canyons below—apparently coming from both sides.

“They’ve divided,” said Imogen as she strained to listen. “They’re outrunning us—on either side—to cut us off in a pincer movement.”

“Then we’ve got to do something unexpected,” said Garza. “Like turn around.”

“We’re not going back,” Gideon said.

“No, we’re not. We turn around, go back up the ridge a ways, then drop down into a side canyon. Then we climb up one of these adjacent ridges and head westward again.”

“It’s a smart plan,” said Imogen.

“Hell,” said Gideon. “Fine.”

They turned their camels and headed back up the ridge, Imogen riding ahead. This time they proceeded more slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. After about a quarter of a mile they came to a slope leading into the right-hand canyon that, again, was too steep to ride down. The animals were exhausted anyway, their sides heaving, but they negotiated the rocky slope without further protests. The three soon reached the sandy bottom of the wadi, remounted, and went forward at a trot. Another quarter mile down the canyon, a slope on the right appeared to offer a way up the adjacent ridge. They turned out of the wash and climbed yet again, the camels struggling to find their footing. Halfway up, with their mounts blowing and grumbling, Gideon heard the telltale thud of camel pads somewhere below, echoing up the canyons.

He held up his hand. “Listen!”

The sound, surprisingly, was coming from ahead of them. Somehow, Mugdol had managed to cut off their escape route and was now coming back. Even as they listened, a silvery cloud of dust, illuminated in the bright moonlight, swept up from a nearby ridgeline, carried by the breeze. They were about to be cut off.

“Back!” Gideon cried. “Back into the canyon!”

Once again, they wheeled their camels around and sent them plunging back down the slope they had just climbed, the animals bucking in protest. Gideon grasped the front loop of his saddle with both hands, trying to stay mounted. At the steepest part of the ridge, Gideon heard a scream: Imogen’s camel had lost its footing and was plunging forward, the animal skidding on loose rock. Twisting sideways, it came down on one shoulder. Imogen leapt off at the last moment, barely escaping having the animal fall on her. The camel cartwheeled, screaming in fear, gangly legs churning the air before at last finding the ground.

Gideon reined in his own camel and, holding its halter rope, jumped off the uphill side of the slope and raced over to Imogen, pulling his camel behind him. She lay on a sandy slope, dazed and filthy. Above, Blackbeard had appeared on the top of the ridge not three hundred yards away. With a roar of triumph, he urged his own camel toward them at a breakneck pace, a dozen warriors still mounted behind.

Garza had reined in his own camel just above Gideon’s. He now pulled the crossbow off his shoulder and cocked it, fitting a bolt in the slot and aiming uphill. He fired. The shot was followed by a scream, and a camel went crashing to the earth.

“Are you all right?” Gideon asked, kneeling over Imogen.

“Shaken.” She tried to rise, winced. “Help me up.”

He grasped her around the shoulders, helping her to her feet. She had cut her forehead, and a thin stream of blood was running toward her temple. He dabbed it away with his robe.

She pushed it aside. “Get me back on the camel,” she said, staggering a little.

Pulling his own beast behind him, trying to shut out the sound of the screaming horde, Gideon helped her over to where her camel was struggling to rise. Miraculously, the animal was a little skinned up but otherwise still sound. Garza unleashed another shot, and then another, briefly curbing the downward charge.

“Grab his lead rope,” Imogen gasped. “Give it an upward pull.”

Gideon did so and the camel, with a furious roar, regained its feet. Gideon heaved her into the saddle.

“Let’s go!” she cried.

Gideon turned in time to see Garza’s final shot flash through the air and bury itself in the neck of Mugdol’s camel. The animal reared up with a furious squeal, then fell sideways, sending its rider somersaulting through the air. Without waiting to see more, Gideon grabbed his own saddle and hauled himself up, dangling and swinging even as his camel bolted after the others. They reached the bottom of the canyon and headed westward. But their pursuers had been only temporarily checked and Mugdol, apparently unhurt, was now riding another camel in hot pursuit. He was less than a hundred yards behind and catching up fast. Ahead, Gideon could see no escape—just a long, narrowing canyon with sheer sides. Over his shoulder, the yelling reached a triumphant crescendo as the band realized they were about to catch their quarry.

As they raced along the sandy wash, the ravine grew ever narrower, the sides pressing in, sheer black cliffs of stone. There was no escape either up or out—they could only continue forward. It was a race they would soon lose. The war cries of their pursuers echoed chillingly between the canyon walls. Blackbeard and his men were now virtually upon them.

Gideon heard a camel scream and glanced over to see Garza’s mount going down, a spear sticking from its side. Gideon reined in his own camel and turned it around, unshouldering his crossbow, and Imogen did the same.

Garza scrambled up from the fall, grabbed the pack-camel’s lead rope, swung up—then pulled the staggering animal around to face their attackers.

“Keep going!” he yelled at Gideon as he pulled out his crossbow, cocked it, and let fly a bolt at the approaching horde. He was almost out of ammunition.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m saving your ass!” Garza unleashed another bolt into the wall of riders piling down upon him, jostling into each other as they were forced together by the tightening cliff walls.

“You can’t fight them all!” Gideon protested in disbelief.

“The hell I can’t! Now go!” Garza, somehow managing to let fly the last of his bolts, was suddenly in the thick of the fight as the lead warriors reached him, some colliding with his mount amid a clash of spears, the savage roaring of camels, and the shrill ululating of the men. Abruptly, as Gideon stared in horror, he saw his friend surrounded by a strange coruscating light, flashing and winking in brilliant yellows, reds, blues, and greens: it was the gold and gems they had dreamed of and worked for so long, had labored so hard to take from the treasure chamber—erupting upward and outward into the air from burst saddlebags, obscuring Garza in a curtain of incalculable value as the camel thrashed and bucked, the ruptured bags spraying arcs of glittering stones.

“Garza!”

But the man and his glittering halo were obscured as a vast cloud of dust rolled down and covered the scene of battle. The last glimpse Gideon had was of Garza being thrown from his camel, crossbow in hand, his body blocking the constricted pass, like King Leonidas at the Battle of Thermopylae, amid a boiling turmoil of warriors.

“Garzaaa!” he cried.

“Gideon!” Imogen yelled. “If we don’t go now we’re all finished. Can’t you see he’s doing this to save us?”

Gideon wheeled his camel around and followed Imogen as she lashed her camel to a furious pace, feeling the stinging wetness of tears on his cheeks. They had lost Garza, lost the treasure, lost everything but their lives. As they barreled down the narrow canyon, the clash of battle receded. Gradually the ravine began to open up. Still they loped on, the camels falling into a rhythm of mechanical exhaustion. It seemed like they rode at that pace for hours—and then, quite suddenly, it was as if they passed through a magic portal into a vast desert sweeping to an infinite horizon, the stars and moon far above, a cool breeze playing about. On their own, the camels slowed into a walk and then continued to plod on.

They had left the tribal territory behind. When Gideon at last forced himself to look back, all he could see was a seemingly impenetrable confusion of ravines, peaks, precipices, and massifs mounting up, layer upon layer, to the distant summit of Gebel Umm, silver in the moonlight. They continued eastward in silence, across the vast desert, toward the Nile River.