Also by Michelle Paver Title Page Copyright Map Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Author's Note About this Story About the Author The leopard lay on the floor with its eyes shut and its thick tail curled around one leg of the ebony chair. The monkey crouched above it on the roof beam, torn between terror of the sleeping monster and desire for the green glass bowl on the table, which was heaped with pomegranates, figs, and dates. Nervously baring its teeth, the monkey stretched out one scrawny arm, but couldn't reach the fruit. The monkey drew back, champing its teeth in frustration. The leopard twisted one ear to catch the sound, and went on pretending to be asleep. The monkey didn't notice. All it saw was the fruit. This time, the monkey gripped the roof beam with one foot and swung down with both arms extended-and the huge cat struck.
A blur of black and gold, a shriek, a crunch-and it was over. Alekto laughed and clapped her hennaed hands. "But it didn't last long enough!" she complained to the fat Egyptian nobleman seated beside her. "It hardly suffered at all! Can we find another one?" She looked extremely beautiful and very un-Egyptian in her spiked gold diadem and her tight-waisted robe of yellow silk, and Kerasher bowed low. "Anything, my lady," he said in heavily accented Akean. "My lord Kerasher, we have no time," snapped Telamon as he paced up and down. "You said they're bringing the prisoner?" The Egyptian inclined his head in assent, and Alekto gave Telamon a mocking bow. "How masterful you are, nephew!" Telamon glared at her.
She was only a few years older than him, but she loved calling him "nephew," as it made him sound like a boy. "This prisoner," he said to Kerasher. "You're sure it's him?" "So my men tell me," said the Egyptian with slightly forced politeness. "But only you, my lord Telamon, know the face of the man you seek, so it will be for you to say." Telamon went on pacing. "When?" "Soon." "It's always 'soon,'" muttered Telamon. He hated Egypt.
The heat, the swampy River, this fat brown man with his jeweled collar and his green eye-paint that was starting to run in the heat. Kerasher had been sent by the Perao Himself, the god-king of Egypt, to help them find the dagger, but Telamon could feel the disdain behind his smiles. What made it worse was that the Egyptian was so horribly womanish, with his elaborate plaited wig and his painted, beardless face. He even had his slaves shave the hair off his legs . It's Hylas' fault that I'm here, Telamon thought savagely. Hylas and Pirra together. If they hadn't stolen the dagger-if Pirra's slave hadn't brought it to Egypt . .
. Alekto snapped her fingers at her new plaything. The leopard left its kill and padded over to her, and laid its blood-stained head on her knees. "What else can we feed it?" she murmured. "And this time, Lord Kerasher, make it last !" Bending her lovely head to the beast's bloody muzzle, she put out her little pointed tongue and licked it. Kerasher's eyes were glazed and his mouth was hanging open. Practically dribbling with lust, thought Telamon in disgust. Alekto caught his eye and grinned.
He didn't grin back. He hated her too. She was always laughing at him and belittling him in front of his warriors. For the hundredth time, he wished his uncle Pharax had been with him, instead of her. But then, he reminded himself, it would be Pharax in command of this mission, not you. And you are in command, Telamon, whatever Alekto might think. You are the grandson of Koronos, High Chieftain of Mycenae. He sent you to Egypt because he knows you will succeed.
Footsteps outside, and a clink of armor. The leopard twitched its tail, and Alekto gripped the arms of her chair. "At last," said Telamon. They'd flung the prisoner face down at Telamon's feet: a young man in a dusty kilt with his arms pinioned painfully behind his back. One of the guards yanked him into a kneeling position, and Telamon caught his breath. "It's him! Did he have it? Did they find the dagger?" "He had this," said Kerasher. Another guard held out a knife with a cheap bone hilt and a copper blade. With a snarl, Telamon flung it aside.
"That's not it!" Kerasher permitted himself a small sigh. "Then I will question him-" "No," cut in Telamon. "I'll do it, he speaks Akean." Then to the prisoner, "Where's the dagger?" No reply. The prisoner was watching the leopard tearing at the monkey's blue guts. "Look at me!" barked Telamon. "Where is the dagger of Koronos?" Like many Egyptians, the prisoner had a shaven head and black-rimmed eyes. It was a handsome face, striving for blankness.
The dark gaze met Telamon's and he shook his head. "He knows where it is," said Alekto, watching the prisoner with the fixity of a snake with its prey. "I will have him beaten like a strip of papyrus," said Kerasher. "If he does not tell . . ." One fat bejeweled hand indicated his men's crescent-moon axes and copper-tipped whips. Alekto drew back her lips from her teeth and gave a little shiver of excitement.
"Oh, I think we can do better than that." For the first time since they'd left Mycenae, Telamon was glad she was with him. He disliked torture, but Alekto loved it. She would make the prisoner talk. Soon they would have the dagger. Telamon's heart quickened as he remembered the long, vicious sweep of its blade, and the feel of his ancestors' strength surging through him as he gripped the hilt . . .
"Let's make a start," said Alekto. Her cheeks were flushed, her beautiful lips parted. "Not yet," Telamon said coldly. Squatting on his heels, he showed the prisoner the little amethyst falcon on his wrist. The slave's face twisted with pain and grief. The sealstone had belonged to Pirra. "Userref," Telamon said quietly. "Tell me where you hid the dagger and I'll give you a painless death.
Your people will bury you with the proper rites and your spirit will join your ancestors. But refuse-and we will make you tell. Then we will fling your body to the crows and your spirit will be lost forever. So. Take the easy way." Again Userref's eyes met his. Again he shook his head. Telamon was surprised that a mere slave could be so brave.
Behind him, Kerasher stirred. "Let us take him back to-" "No," said Telamon. "We've wasted enough time." Rising to his feet, he glanced at Alekto. He was gratified to see that she was waiting for him to give the word. He was in command. The gods were with him. Soon the dagger of Koronos would be his-and this time, neither Hylas nor Pirra could stop him, for they were far away in Keftiu.
Nothing could stop him now. Putting his hands on his hips, he squared his shoulders. "Let's get started," he said. "This is like no land I've ever seen," muttered Hylas. "There's nothing here." Only the Sea lying stunned beneath the Sun, and this vast shimmering plain of endless red sand. "It's nothing like Egypt, either," said Pirra. "Userref said Egypt's got a huge river down the middle, and fields and villages and temples along the banks.
He said . . ." She licked her lips. "He said that on either side of it there's only endless red sand. He called it- deshret ." "Desert," said Hylas. She met his eyes.
"It's where they bury their dead." Deshret. The Sun was fiercer than he'd ever known, the air so hot it was like breathing smoke. Squinting in the glare, he scanned the quivering plain. No villages, no river. Just the odd clump of rocks and dusty scrub, and a twist of windblown sand whirling like a demon over the ground. Far out on the Sea, their ship had dwindled to a speck. "They never intended to take us to Egypt," he said bitterly.
"They stole our gold and dumped us here to die." "They could've killed us and chucked us overboard," Pirra pointed out. "And they did leave us our weapons." "What, so we're lucky ?" "No, but we're alive." She was right-but he wanted to rage and fling curses at those filthy, l.