Then all was still.
A quarter mile away, on the far side of a dune, two dark eyes had watched the encounter. The observer waited a few moments, staring at the spot where the Libyan had disappeared, then he slowly slid down the side of the dune to his waiting camel. He headed back the way he had come, toward Giza. The sun glinted off a large ring set on the man’s right hand, highlighting the eye symbol etched on its surface. The hand that bore the ring held the camel’s halter, but it was shaking so badly from fright that he had to let go and allow the camel to make its own way home.
It was the middle of the night and by order of the great Pharaoh Khufu no one was allowed outdoors in sight of the Giza Plateau except himself and his high priest, Asim. Given the strange apparition the previous day of the flying “spider,” no citizens tried to resist the command. Khufu and Asim stood on the roof of the temple at the base of the Pyramid. The night sky was clear. Now that Khufu had Excalibur sheathed inside the scabbard strapped to his sword belt, the red capstone no longer glowed as if lit from within.
Khufu could still see in his mind’s eye the black spider that had come down from the sky. He did not understand what it was, but there was no doubt in him that it was a danger. Whatever entity controlled such a flying creature and was capable of fighting the Gods was indeed something to be feared.
“What are we waiting for?”
“When the sword is in the sheath, the”—Asim searched for the right words—“Chariot of the Gods cannot approach the capstone. You must take the blade out once more.”
Khufu drew the weapon. He watched as the capstone glowed once more.
Asim continued. “Since you have removed the sword, the capstone can be approached.”
“By who? What Chariot of the Gods?”
“There, lord.” Asim was pointing to the north.
Something was approaching through the sky. Khufu started, and then realized it wasn’t another air-spider. This object was shaped like an inverted dish and golden, reminding him of the glow that had surrounded him in the chamber far below during the day.
“The Chariot of the Gods,” Asim whispered.
The object passed by overhead and hovered above the very top of the pyramid. A glow extended down from the disk and surrounded the red Master Guardian.
Khufu started as the Master Guardian separated from the pyramid, lifting into the air as if by magic. The golden object, with the Master Guardian in tow, began withdrawing in the direction it had come from, to the north. Khufu watched until it disappeared into the night sky, then he turned to Asim.
“Where does it go?”
“To a secure place, my lord. Separate from the key.”
“Why separate the two?”
“The Master Guardian will be more secure if the key is not with it.” Asim absently rubbed his empty eye socket. “The sword you hold was once wielded by the greatest of the Gods. With it he controlled the Master Guardian, and in turn his entire domain.”
Khufu looked at the smooth blade. He had never seen such fine metal. “It is a great weapon, then.”
“It is,” Asim said. “Especially as it controls the power for the Master Guardian. It allows whoever has the sword to be very powerful.”
“And now?”
“Have your troops scoured the desert for the spider creature, my lord?”
“They have found no sign of the sky monster, but have apprehended all the people they found to the west.”
Asim nodded. “The prisoners must be part of what we do in the morning.”
“And?” Khufu pressed.
“My lord, tomorrow we must complete the undoing of what our people have worked so hard to do over the past twenty years.” He pointed. “The facing of the pyramid must be removed.”
“Why?”
“It sent out a signal as planned, my lord, but it did not bring the Gods as hoped, but their enemy.”
Khufu knew the pyramid could be seen from far away, and he imagined that if one could be in the sky, as the spidercreature had been, it could be seen from a great distance indeed. He did not wish for another visit.
“It will be done.”
Hidden in the dark shadows of a refuse pile of cracked stone blocks, the Watcher from the desert had observed the same thing as Khufu and Asim. He’d noted the direction the golden disk flew off toward, Master Guardian with it. Despite the darkness of his hiding place, he wrote all that he had seen down on a piece of reed parchment.
Then, keeping to ground he knew well, he made his way off the Giza Plateau and to a small hut near the Nile. Inside, he checked the writing, making sure it reported accurately what he had seen, then rolled it and slid it into a tube. He poured wax from a candle on the end and then used the ring to seal it with an imprint — the imprint had the same design as that on the medallion worn around Asim’s neck.
He slid the tube inside his robes and sat down cross-legged on the sand floor, waiting for the sun to rise. He’d managed to escape the Pharaoh’s troops in the desert, sticking to the hidden ways. He’d noted that the members of the Libyan caravan had been brought to the plateau in chains, the man he’d seen disappear under the sand among them.
He had accomplished the first part the strange woman had ordered. Tomorrow would be a most interesting day, he mused, as he would have to do the rest of what she had instructed.
When dawn came, it was assembly-line murder. The great Pharaoh Khufu, son of King Sneferu and Queen Hetpeheres, ruler of the Middle Kingdom, watched, his face impassive, as rivers of blood flowed down the smooth limestone facing of the Great Pyramid.
He was at the flat top where the Master Guardian had been, over 480 feet above the Giza plateau, seated in a throne made of gold. Four sacrificial tables were spread out in the small space in front of him, manned by priests of the Cult of Isis.
Asim was working swiftly, as there were many thousands of throats to be cut. A long line of stoop-shouldered men stood on the wooden scaffolding that led to the level platform at the top of the pyramid where Asim wielded Excalibur, the sword of the Gods, moving from table to table, sliding the razor-sharp blade across throats. Soldiers ensured that the line kept moving. Every worker who had spent even one minute inside the pyramid during its construction was in that line. When Asim’s work was done, the only ones to have been inside the pyramid and live would be Khufu and Asim.
As each worker reached the top, two soldiers would lift him bodily, throw him onto a slab, pinning his shoulders down, and a priest would hold his head back, waiting for Asim to come by and draw Excalibur across the man’s throat while quickly muttering the necessary prayer. Blood would spurt out of their carotid arteries, be caught by the lip of the slab, and be channeled into several holes to reed pipes at the bottom, which directed it to the edge of the platform and dispersed it onto the side of the pyramid. Three sides were drenched red and the reed pipes had just been redirected to the fourth side. As spectacular as the white limestone facing had been when pure, in an obscene way, the glistening red covering of blood made it even more awe-inspiring.
Dulled by years of labor, surrounded by troops, and conditioned to obey their Pharaoh and Gods without question, the men stood in line with little protest. Occasionally one wouldtry to bolt, to be cut down by the guards immediately and the body hauled to the top.
Not only were priests and workers among the condemned, but so were all those who had been caught in the desert to the west the previous day. The Libyan who had approached the sand dune was dragged up with chains around his ankles and thrown onto an altar. He had his head up, looking around as if noting all. When his eyes fell upon Excalibur in Asim’s hands, his calm demeanor suddenly changed and he struggled in the guards’ grip. As Asim drew the sword of the Gods across the man’s neck, the body convulsed, sitting straight up despite the blood pouring from the sliced arteries in his neck.