Chapter Four: Waiting

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In the mountains, to the southwest of the Nile and the fertile river valley where Imhotep was building his mighty palace, Ardeth Bay plotted.

His life had been reduced to the knowledge that he and his people had failed, and within him lived the absolute and uncompromising need for revenge. Imhotep would die. Oh, how Ardeth hated him.

Ardeth hated him for many reasons, the least of them being the ancient hatred, ingrained into him and his ancestors, passed on for generations and generations. No, the reasons that Ardeth hated Imhotep were numerous and new, fresh as newly spilt blood.

“Ardeth,” a voice said deferentially, bringing him from his reverie.

Ardeth turned.

“Yes, Adil?” he said gently, turning to look at the young man.

“The scouts have returned.”

Ardeth turned to face him completely, slightly surprised. “Already?”

“Yes,” the boy replied proudly. Looking into Adil’s eager young face, Ardeth felt a twinge of deep sadness, an emotion he had been feeling so often recently. So much had befallen them in recent months, so many had been killed or ripped away. This boy could not be older than nineteen, and yet he was ready to serve and die for his people.

Turning slightly to hide the wetness in his eyes, Ardeth asked, “so what is their news?”

“The scouts had a surprisingly easy time of it. They were able to get within four miles of the palace site without any sign of Imhotep’s mummies or human guards. Apparently he does not feel such a need to patrol or safeguard himself.”

Adil paused as Ardeth smiled grimly. “Then he thinks that he has killed us all.”

Adil looked down. “Yes,” he replied simply.

Ardeth took a deep breath. “Go on,” he said.

Adil continued. “At about four miles the scouts could clearly see the palace in the distance and the slaves, as well as the six main watchtowers Imhotep built. They are not very high but can see a long distance. So far, that appears to be the only defensive measure Imhotep has put in place. His powers are so immense that he practically fears nothing, and the watchtowers are apparently much more concerned with keeping the slaves in check than watching for attacks.”

Ardeth stopped him with a slight gesture of his hand. “How do you know the watchtowers are mostly for keeping the slaves in check?”

“Well, Dalil described them strangely. He said that three of the towers were standing sideways, and only two were facing completely straight into the desert. One was close to the slaves quarters, and is presumably used to watch over them closely as they do their work and also as they relax at night, to stop potential rebellion from within.”

Ardeth nodded, pondering his words. “Continue.”

“It is mostly desert out there, and so it is difficult in the daytime to get closer without being seen. Of course, we cannot see anything useful at night from that far distance.”

“Before we risk moving any closer to the site, before we risk any more lives, we must be sure of Imhotep’s defense system and the routine of his guards,” Ardeth broke in strongly, turning to face Adil completely.

Adil nodded. “Once we know better where things are located, and we know for sure that Imhotep does not send out guards into the surrounding desert, we can begin getting closer. When the building is nearing completion and we know the area well, we can begin scouting at night.”

Ardeth nodded, satisfied. “I will not risk any more lives than absolutely necessary. Remind all of the scouts that their safety is of the utmost importance.” He paused. “Imhotep does not know we exist. We can take our sweet time to learn all we need to know. There is no rush. He will only become complacent in his power.”

Adil nodded, encouraged.

Ardeth smiled at him. “Good Adil. Send Dalil and Hamir to me later, I wish to commend them on their fine work.” Adil nodded, flushed at the praise, and left, leaving Ardeth alone.

It was torture not being able to do anything, not being able to pull his scimitar and fight Imhotep like a man. It was not easy for Ardeth to admit that the Med Jai were weak, and that they were nothing when compared with Imhotep’s physical power. Clearly, vast armies could not defeat the Creature. Some, early on, suggested attacking Imhotep with the use of high speed bombs of mass destruction. The Med Jai, and, thankfully, many others, were horrified, as they knew or came to realize that Imhotep would survive any explosion, ball of fire. And he would relish watching the world destroy itself, placing itself easily into his waiting hands. The way to get to Imhotep had nothing to do with modern weapons or advanced armies.

The secret was an ancient one, Ardeth was sure. Imhotep was from another time and place, another world. The way to destroy one with immense mystical powers was to go to the source of those powers.

What that source was, however, Ardeth was not sure.

Imhotep must have both The Book of the Dead and The Book of the Living, as well as the key to control them. But Ardeth knew that there must be another way. Imhotep had a weakness.

Anck-su-namun.

The way to get to Imhotep was from the inside, not from force but from stealth, from cleverness, from knowledge of the ancient times and the roles they had played within them. They were all tied with unbreakable bonds to events in the past, to ancient love, betrayal, the murder of a Pharaoh. History repeated in cycles, and to break it Ardeth knew that he must reach the O’Connells, the Princess Nefertiri and her Med Jai, his old friends, to defeat the Creature once more.

Remembering Rick and Evy brought a shadow of a smile to his face and a surge of painfully fresh memories. Rick, the first time he had seen him, young and inexperienced and dying, wandering in the desert. Even then, Ardeth had known that Rick was strong. Evy, and the look of pain and betrayal on her face as Imhotep pulled her away and ordered the mummies to kill him and Rick. The three of them, laughing as they rode away from Hamanuptra, surging with victory and triumph. That had been before Imhotep rose a second time, before Rick and Evy had even been married. How long ago that all seemed.

Ardeth lowered his head, filled with rage and helplessness and shame and utter sadness. So much had been lost, and so much was at stake.

For now, scouting and learning about Imhotep’s new home was a practical way to keep busy. And it was true that Ardeth had no other options. Learning about the holes in his system of defense was comforting. And the more he knew about Imhotep’s palace, coupled with the fact that Imhotep did not know he was alive, gave Ardeth hope. The place was not impenetrable.

But he Med-Jai were indeed weak, and Ardeth was grateful for his unquestioned leadership. Immediately after the attack, he had been afraid that his people would scatter to the four winds, their horror and shame and desperation driving them apart. But his people were stronger than he had imagined. They had banded together, stronger than ever, vowing with newfound vengeance and pride that the Creature would die. Perhaps the Gods were merciful, for why did they spare Ardeth’s life? Without him, his people would surely have dispersed, run into hiding. The knowledge that he had been saved, by pure chance when so many had died, let Ardeth believe that the Gods were on his side.

But how had Imhotep managed to rise again? Ardeth himself often wondered how it had happened. He had risen so quickly, acted so decisively, that there was no time for thought of defense. Ardeth was in awe of how quickly so much could be destroyed.

Many stories had been told, most of them false, but perhaps in a few were elements of truth. One tale told of some unsuspecting archaeologists, who, on a fateful last dig in pursuit of ancient knowledge, spoke the wrong words and opened the wrong door within Hamanuptra, releasing the plague that was Imhotep upon the earth. Another told that halfway across the world, in her nightmares, Nefertiri reborn murmured aloud the curses plaguing her dreams. Even those Christians who had seen Imhotep for themselves and the results of his power believed him not an ancient curse but an emissary from God, the bringer of the Apocalypse. Was this destruction of the world not God’s punishment for the sins of mankind?

Ardeth knew that all Gods are the same, no matter by what name or names they are called: Amun-Ra, Cerrdiwen, Jupiter, Adonai, Allah. But he himself, in tiny moments of doubt, wondered if the Gods themselves had given Imhotep life, the destruction of the world a tiny part of their plans for the history of the earth.

In the end it did not matter.

Imhotep would die. Ardeth would wait and bide his time while his information and knowledge grew and while his people became stronger. They would close in on him, like a snake curls around its prey. Then, they would strike.