Walking on narrow ridges alongside the ditches, they hurried to the base of an ancient staircase rising up the hill. The slope was smooth, the steps blanketed with untrampled sand. From the water, they had seen two other stairways ascending to the southern end of the burial place. They hastened in that direction, walking one moment on the sand and the next on the cultivated land, sometimes with one foot in each. Insects and reptiles, frightened by their passage, darted beneath boulders that had tumbled from above to lie along the edge of the fields. Fallen giants resting.
Kasaya loped on ahead to the closest of the two stairways. "Someone's climbed up here," he called.
Bak and Psuro hurried to join him. The footprints, shapeless indentations, rose up a long and steep flight of. steps covered much of the way with sand. Enough remained bare to see that the ancient staircase consisted of two parallel flights of steps separated by a low ramp up which heavy coffins had been drawn many generations earlier. A kneehigh wall set the stairway apart from the hillside.
The three men stared upward. Psuro whistled softly between his teeth. Kasaya muttered something in his own tongue, impossible to understand. Bak stood silent and still, awed by the determination that had driven Khawet to the top. If the prints were hers.
Psuro knelt to examine the indentations. "The breeze hasn't worn away the sharp edges. I'd say they're fresh." Bak studied the terraces above. He did not like the silence, the utter lack. of life. Was Khawet standing somewhere out of sight, determined to fend off any man who approached? Or was she on her knees in some ancestor's house of eternity, making a final offering before she gave herself up? Or had she brought along a vial of poison, meaning to take her own life? He turned around to scan the oasis and added another possibility. Was she even now making her way to the two skiffs drawn up at the water's edge?
"Psuro, you must hurry to the river and set sail, towing mistress Khawel s vessel behind ours. Keep a wary eye on shore. Let no one else set out. I'd not like to be stranded here while she makes her escape."
"But, sir!" The Medjay pointed at the terraces, clearly unhappy with what he considered a lesser assignment. "You might need me up there."
"Your task is as necessary as mine. Go!"
"Yes, sir." Psuro swung around, too quick for Bak to catch his expression, and stalked away.
Bak turned to the younger Medjay, the hard look on his face brooking no argument. "You, Kasaya, will remain here, while I climb up to the terraces and look for her there. If I find her and she attempts to flee, I want you here to snare her."
Kasaya's mouth tightened in objection, but he nodded compliance.
Bak eyed his spear and shield, tempted to leave them behind and go armed with only his dagger. The heavy shield aggravated the ache in his shoulder, both it and the spear would be awkward during the climb, and the latter would be close to useless until he reached the terrace. But he had badly underestimated Khawet before, never once considering her a suspect, and he knew better than to do so again. Resigned to the discomfort, he nodded a curt good-bye to the young Medjay and headed up the stairs on the right side of the center ramp.
He was accustomed to long, steep, and arduous stairways, having climbed many in the fortresses of Wawat. Thinking the effort here no different, he started out fast and confident, treading in the footprints of the one who had gone before him and looking up at his ultimate goal more often than at his feet. A mistake, he learned at the sixth step, one that could have had grave consequences. He took a quick step up, but the stair was not there, the stone broken. His foot came down hard, jarring his teeth, pitching him forward onto a knee.
He growled a curse.
"Are you alright, sir?" Kasaya called.
"Fine." Bak brushed the grit from his skinned flesh and climbed on, his pace slower, his eyes on his feet much of the time, paying more heed to where he placed them.
The staircase was old, treacherous, the steps uneven and broken, and at times inconsistent in height. Buried in sand as they were, hidden from view, he stubbed his toes, stumbled on shattered stones that rocked beneath his weight, and stepped into holes of varying depths. The windblown sand was slippery, flowing downhill at the slightest disturbance, threatening to carry him with it. No longer trusting the earlier footprints, he began to probe the steps with the spear, using the butt end to locate irregularities.
The higher he climbed, the more conscious he became of the long way down to the bottom. With the sand as slippery as wet river mud, the gradient steep, and the hill denuded of outcrops, offering nothing to grab hold of, he could imagine himself sliding, falling, tumbling head over heels like a ball, coming to rest at Kasaya's feet, looking the fool. Worse, he might break an arm, a leg, his back.
Shaking off the thought, he plodded on, dogged in his determination. His leg muscles tightened, prelude to a cramp. Pain nagged his shoulder. The sun beat down, heating the sand beneath his feet. Sweat beaded on his forehead and rivulets flowed down his chest. He passed the halfway point, neared the three-quarter mark. Why, he wondered, had he not had the good sense to send Kasaya on this infernal mission?
Without warning, a rumbling sounded above him. His eyes, which had been locked on the next step, snapped upward. A boulder, poised on the upper edge of the stairway, pitched forward. Kasaya yelled, his words meaningless in the instant of shock. The heavy stone landed on a lower step, bounced, struck another step, bounced a second time. Another bounce and it would be upon him.
With no time to think, barely time to react, Bak leaped to the side, hurdling the low stone wall, and landed in the sand beside the staircase. Immediately he began to slide downhill. His feet skidded-out from under him, the spear flew from his hand, and he fell on a hip. Khawet, he was sure. She had shoved the boulder off the terrace. She had meant him to die. Anger struck him and with it a rock-hard determination not to give her the satisfaction.
Aware he risked tearing his flesh to shreds, he shifted the shield from left hand to right, held it hard against his side, and flung himself toward the low wall. His sandal skidded along the stones, and the shield bumped the rough surface, making it hard to hold. Digging the heel of his other foot into the sand, using it as both brake and rudder, he brought his downhill plunge under control. Much sooner than he dared hope, he mercifully stopped.
Catching his breath and at the same time scrambling to his knees, he looked upward. Khawet stood at the top of the staircase, watching him. Slowly, deliberately, she raised a sling and lobbed a stone at him. Snarling an oath, he swung the shield up, deflecting the missile. When next he looked, she was gone.
Holding the cowhide barrier before him, he rose to his feet and took a hasty glance around, evaluating his position. He stood about halfway up the stairs, out in the open with no available shelter and the enemy above. The boulder had lodged between two others at the edge of a field of young melon plants. His spear lay at the bottom of the steps, its point glinting in the sun.
"Are you alright, sir?" Kasaya, heading upward as fast as the damaged steps would allow.
"I'm fine. Now get off those stairs! If Khawet descends this hill by another route, I want you in a position to cut her off."
"Yes, sir." The Medjay lowered his head and plodded down, sulking, Bak suspected.