Flesh of the God

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“All men who err must suffer the consequences. If you’d offended the gods to the extent some men have…” Commandant Nakht must have realized how harsh his voice had become, for he clamped his mouth shut, focused on Bak, and smiled. “Forgive me. I’ve no wish to burden you with the wrongs of others.”

Bak uttered a sharp, bitter laugh. “Is that not why I’ve been sent to Buhen?”

Nakht, commandant of the fortress of Buhen, eyed him thoughtfully, shook his head. “No. Some burdens are mine alone.” He turned away, closing the subject, and began to climb the long series of ladders that led to the battlements. “Come, Officer Bak, let me show you your new home.”

Bak wondered if he should press further, but Nakht’s rigid back forbade him. He climbed after him, his thoughts returning to the dull and dreary life he faced in the grim, uninviting fortress.

The interior of the tower was dimly lit, the mudbrick walls too thick to admit much light through the narrow loopholes placed at regular intervals so archers could rain arrows down on the enemy. Except, Bak thought dismally, the last uprising in this foul land of Wawat had been smashed twenty-six years before. The battles now were little more than skirmishes with tribesmen who swooped down on the caravans, stole whatever they could, and slipped away in the desert.

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