"Smith, Wilbur - [Egyptian 03] - Warlock(txt)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

manoeuvre, and the charioteers swarmed down from the footplates to
begin watering the horses. When Pharaoh opened his mouth to speak
the coated dust crumbled from his cheeks and dribbled down his chest.
‘My lord!' Pharaoh hailed the Great Lion of Egypt, Lord Naja, his
army commander and beloved companion. ‘We must be away again
before the sun touches the hilltops. I wish to make a night run through
the dunes to El Gabar.'
The blue war crown on Tamose's head gleamed with mica dust, and
his eyes were bloodshot with tiny lumps of tear-wet mud in the corners
as he glanced down at Nefer. ‘This is where I will leave you to go on
with Taita.'
Although he knew that it was futile to protest, Nefer opened his
mouth to do so. The squadron was going in against the enemy. Pharaoh
Tamose's battle plan was to circle south through the Great Dunes and
weave a way between the bitter natron lakes to take the enemy in his
rear and rip an opening in his centre through which the Egyptian
legions, massed and waiting on the Nile bank before Abnub, could pour.
Tamose would combine the two forces and before the enemy could rally,
drive on past Tell el-Daba and seize the enemy citadel of Avaris.
It was a bold and brilliant plan which, if it succeeded, would bring to
a close, at one stroke, the war with the Hyksos that had already raged
through two lifetimes. Nefer had been taught that battle and glory were
the reasons for his existence on this earth. But, even at the advanced
age of fourteen years, they had so far eluded him. He longed with all his
soul to ride to victory and immortality at his father's side.
Before his protest could pass his lips, Pharaoh forestalled him. ‘What
is the first duty of a warrior?' he demanded of the boy.
Nefer dropped his eyes. ‘It is obedience, Majesty,' he replied softly,
reluctantly.
‘Never forget it.' Pharaoh nodded and turned away.
Nefer felt himself spurned and discarded. His eyes smarted and his
upper lip quivered, but Taita's gaze stiffened him. He blinked to clear
his vision of tears, and took a pull from the waterskin that hung on the
side rail of the chariot before turning to the old Magus with a jaunty
toss of his thick dust-caked curls. ‘Show me the monument, Tata,' he
commanded.
The ill-assorted pair made their way through the concourse of
chariots, men and horses that choked the narrow street of the ruined
city. Stripped naked in the heat, twenty troopers had climbed down the
deep shafts to the ancient wells, and formed a bucket chain to bring the
sparse, bitter water to the surface. Once those wells had been bountiful
enough to support a rich and populous city that sat full upon the trade
route between the Nile and the Red Sea. Then, centuries ago, an
earthquake had shattered the water-bearing stratum and blocked the
subterranean flow. The city of Gallala had died of thirst. Now there was
scarcely sufficient water to slake the thirst of two hundred horses and
top up the waterskins before the wells were dry.
Taita led Nefer through the narrow lanes, past temples and palaces
now inhabited only by the lizard and the scorpion, until they reached
the deserted central square. In its centre stood the monument to Lord