They burst through the leaders of the mob and out of the lane. Compared to the dark, narrow thoroughfare, the shoreline and river seemed awash with light. The moon and stars glowed strong and full on the narrow sandy beach. Low swells on the river glittered with a reflected sheen, carrying fragments of light north on the current.
Some distance upriver-how far was hard to guess with night flattening the landscape-two figures ran along the steep bank above the strip of sand and the water. Farther south, bank and shore gave way to blackish boulders much like their counterparts across the river at Abu. To get away, Nenu must either go into the river or out on the desert. Either way, he could vanish in the night.
The mob burst from the lane. Seeing Bak and his party at a standstill, they spread out along the riverbank, momentarily at a loss as to, where to go.
Determined to reach the guard before the crowd could interfere, Bak issued hasty orders. "Take Pahared's men and cut Nenu off from the desert." Psuro would need all the help he could get to cover so vast an area. "I'll try to catch Kasaya. With luck, the two of us can keep him out of the water."
Psuro gathered up his men and hastened away. Bak headed down the bank, half sliding, half running on earth that tore away beneath his weight. He hit the sand at the bottom and, without breaking stride, raced full-tilt along the shore. The torch he carried sputtered; sparks showered in his wake. He heard pounding feet behind, glanced back. The crowd had begun to move upstream along the bank, those at the rear urging their leaders to greater speed. 'Three men, one a soldier carrying a spear and shield, raced after Bak along the water's edge. He could have ordered them away, but decided not to. He might need the weapon.
Approaching a small flotilla of skiffs drawn out of the water for the night, he plunged into the shallows. Water splashed around him, cooling his legs and dousing a kilt already damp with sweat. Flying sparks struck the water and sputtered out. Ahead, Nenu slid down the bank to the river, sped along the shore to the first of the boulders, and ducked out of sight in its shadow. Kasaya slowed, wary of an opponent carrying bow and arrows, and pulled back from the edge of the bank to kneel behind a rock not nearly large enough to shelter his bulk. On the riverbank, the flow of men stopped well out of Nenu's range yet near enough to have a good view of the action. The excitement dwindled, sapped by inactivity and speculation. Someone yelled a wager, hoping to revive the fun with bets on the outcome of the chase. Soon the betting grew raucous, loud with fervor.
A speck of white caught Bak's eye, a kilt. Nenu, hunched over to make himself small, slipped farther along the water's edge and disappeared behind another boulder. Bak darted forward, giving" him no time to arm his bow, and took shelter behind the first boulder. Kasaya leaped to his feet to race along the riverbank to a stony outcrop above the archer. The trio following Bak held back, unwilling to face a rain of arrows, but the mob surged after the young Medjay, their voices gaining in volume and excitement, each man's frenzy feeding on that of his fellows. Bak's blood ran cold.
Nenu had no choice but to enter the river. Vowing to catch him before he disappeared as he had at the island of inscriptions, Bak rammed the torch into the sand. He disliked giving up the light, but could not manage it in the water. He patted his sheathed dagger, reassuring himself that he had not lost the weapon in the crowd, then waved to catch Kasaya's eye and signaled his intent.
Certain the Medjay understood that he must remain on shore, Bak slipped into the river. Keeping his head low, making as little noise as possible, he swam upstream toward Nenu's hidingplace. Each stroke he took seemed to tear his shoulder muscle further, making the swim a trial as well as a necessity. He offered a silent prayer to the lord Amon, pleading for a hasty end to the chase.
The distance shrank to fifteen paces, ten, five. Someone among the mob spotted him in the water, yelled to urge him on, and pointed so all could see-including Nenu. Others joined in, pointing, yelling, so intent on winning their bets that rational thought fled. Nenu fired off two arrows in rapid succession, both missing by at least an arm's length. The onlookers booed and jeered.
Bak sucked in air, ducked beneath the surface, and lunged toward his quarry. Touching bottom, he clutched his left arm close to relieve the pain and eased his head out of the water. Nenu, standing not five paces away in the shadow of the boulder, was looking straight at him. The guard let out a harsh laugh, flung his bow aside, tore the quiver from his shoulder, and leaped. Bak shoved himself backward, making for deeper water, and rolled sideways. Nenu struck the river's surface hard and flat. Water erupted, showering them both. Bak reached out, meaning to grab the other man, but again his shoulder failed him and he missed.
Nenu, taking advantage of a weakness he clearly did not understand, grabbed Bak by the neck and began to squeeze, at the same time forcing his head underwater. Feeling himself sink, Bak spread his legs wide, caught Nenu's legs between them, and pulled the guard down with him. Nenu held on. Their combined weight dropped them to the riverbottom; the current dragged them across the rocky bed and through the heavy silt. Bak's head began to throb, his lungs felt ready to burst. He tried to pry the guard's fingers from around his neck, but Nenu simply tightened his grip.
They struggled on, a silent desperate battle in the black depths of the river, with neither man able to gain an advantage. Bak weakened fast, his fingers grew numb, his thoughts fuzzy. He had to free himself. Soon. Or he would die.
Then he remembered his dagger. Or perhaps the lord Amon whispered in his ear.
He fumbled for the weapon, pulled it from its sheath, and pressed the point against Nenu's side. Though close to a state of utter desperation, he hesitated. If he took the guard's life, he would leave unanswered a multitude of questions.
He released Nenu's legs, and together they rose through the water, slowly, gradually, a journey that seemed never to end. They broke the surface. Gasping for air, the guard shoved Bak's head back underwater, never for an instant relieving the pressure on his neck. Bak sliced the top ofNenu's left wrist. Blood gushed. The guard tore the hand away, cursed, but continued to hold on with his right hand, his fingers digging deep and cruel. Bak shifted the blade to Nenu's neck and ran it across the flesh, no longer caring how deep the cut. Again blood gushed. Nenu's eyes widened. He jerked back, released Bak's neck to touch the wound, and stared at the stains that came away on his hand, stunned, horrified.
Bak sucked in air, tried to swallow. The sound of yelling, made hollow by ears clogged with water, seeped into his thoughts. The mob, forgotten in the struggle. Ignoring his aching shoulder, the queasy feeling, and a blackness around the edges of his sight, he lunged forward and grabbed Nenu by the upper arm. The guard offered no resistance, apparently convinced he had only moments to live. Bak knew better; the cut could not be much more than skin deep. Shifting the dagger from neck to breast, displaying not the slightest sign of weakness, Bak forced Nenu to swim toward the shore. The crowd on the riverbank roared approval.
Locked together and exhausted, they swam erratically, splashing water, bright gems of liquid color. Along with the moonlight, Bak realized, the waves around them were aglow with light beaming from several torches on the shore. He aimed for them and a large silhouette he hoped was Kasaya.
Not until they neared the shore and Bak's feet touched the bottom did he notice that the river had carried them a couple hundred paces downstream. The onlookers, who had followed, were standing along the bank, looking down upon them, while a dozen or so spearmen stood at the water's edge with Kasaya.