Ardeth looked across the vast ranks of his fellow warriors, his brothers,
and his heart filled with an aching pride. Many would die here today, and
though he hoped otherwise, it was possible that the Med-jai themselves would
be no more after sun's fall. Though his warriors were well trained and burned
with god-driven fever, they would not be able to hold off the might of Anubis
and his favorite forever. That hope rested on their other brother, the one
separated from them by birth and circumstance. He thought briefly on the wonder
that was Rick O'Connell, the man of dry wit and ready arms, then shunted him to
the back of his thoughts. Now, he must fight the battle in front of him, not ones
he held no power over.
The sun reflected off the hard-packed earth as brightly as ever, unaware of
the shadows soon to come. To one not of the desert, there would appear little
variation from hill to dune, dusk till dawn. But Ardeth could tell that the
land knew that a great battle was to come. He had not sighted the small desert
rats for some time, and even the persistent gnats that clung to the horses and
fed from their droppings seemed less abundant. Perhaps it was the presence of
so many of his men, but he felt otherwise.
Suddenly there was a tension in the air, a tightening in his chest that had not
been a moment ago. So. It starts. He whispered a quick prayer, whether for his
men or the O'Connells, he could not say. Better for Allah to decide. He wheeled
his horse and charged across the front line, sand and dust trying to catch him.
He halted in his ordained place, waiting for whatever was to come.
And then the sun knew. Night raced toward them, an unholy shadow darting and
flickering like a playful colt. It reached the edges of their own shadows, and
halted, waiting. Ardeth could hear the panting of his men around him, the shifting
of the horses near panic. And something else. A sound like water boiling, or sand
scouring rock. As soon as thought the land as far as he could see...grew things.
He had seen the drawings before, but they had in no way prepared him for the actual
creatures. Taller than a man on a horse, wider, black as the night that surrounded
him.
There was a moment of stillness, as if even nature had to grasp the idea of the
things. And then jackal jaws snapped, white teeth flashing in the gloom. Both
companies sprang forward in a crazed fury.
Ardeth ducked the first heavy scythe easily, steering his horse to the side
with a flicker of thought. His blade flew up and through the throat of the
creature. It exploded in a puff of black sand. It was an odd sensation, strange
resistance followed by nothingness. He almost wrenched his shoulder on the
follow-through. He didn't dwell on it long, for another was on him in less than
a breath. Again his blade flashed, and again black sand exploded around him.
His blood sang. This was what he was made for. A warrior of the Med-jai, a
protector for all time. He guided his horse as if it was his own flesh, and
together they destroyed snarling face after face. Sand stung his eyes and
clogged his nose, but he had faced worse in the terrible sandstorms that
sometimes raged in his homeland. Thoughts of saving his people and the rest of
humanity receded-there was only him, his horse, and the might of Anubis.
A tingle of warning and he was ducking, forcing his steed to do likewise as a
great scythe whirled above his head. He was forced to foot by the maneuver, but
he quickly compensated by cutting out the legs from the nearest beast. The next
stroke took its head, and he was showered anew in the black dust.
The attacks were losing frequency, but he spotted another creature closing. With
a fierce cry he engaged, quickly beheading it. As he paused to sight his next foe,
he realized the pounding blood in his ears muffled a joyous shouting. All around
him his men celebrated. All of the creatures were destroyed. Every one.
For half a heart beat a sense of worthlessness and loss overwhelmed him. His purpose
was done, there was no more need for the blade that he was. And then reality crashed
in. He was Ardeth Bey, leader of the Med-jai, sworn protector of the peoples of the
earth. Thanks be to Allah, most of his brothers still stood.
And yet, the strange tightness in his chest, the one that was different from the
battle lust and fear, it still raged in his heart. He looked around but could see
nothing but laughing warriors. He started to the nearest crest, hoping to sight the
enemy before it was on him. Those around him began to sense their leader's urgency.
As he crested the dune he was not alone.
He had known that he might die today, but after facing death so many times it was
an old friend. But never had he known the certainty of death like this. Wave after
wave of the dog-beasts poured over the horizon. Even as well as his men fought,
there was no way they could stand against this mass.
With quick shouts he gathered his brothers in a line. To a man they were
unhorsed, those who had retained their mounts choosing to stand beside those
who hadn't. Again he felt the aching pride, riding on a crest of power that
felt as if it could burst from his chest and bury the monsters forever.
He bade his men to hold as the beasts raced toward them. Conserve their
strength, gather their breath from the last fight. They would face their
doom as Med-jai: proud, strong, and implacable.
Like the waves of the ocean he had seen on his trip to the O'Connells, the
creatures flowed forth. There didn't seem to be an end to their numbers. Clawed
feet on hardened sand and twisted baying nearly deafened him. Again his mind
started to empty, a last prayer leaving his lips. The netjeru might be powerful,
but the one God would hold him safe in his palm.
As his breath quickened with the beat of the horde, a stray thought flitted
across his mind. Did this mean his soul-brother was defeated as well? He fervently
hoped not, and found that that hope had little to do with humanity's fate.
Ten paces. Five. Ardeth raised his sword, aiming for yet another throat, and...
Nothing. Nothing but choking black dust, drenching him like English rain. He
blinked his eyes, searching for his opponents, desperately trying to sink his
blade in before a blade met his own flesh. Again realization came slowly.
The enemy was no more. Instead, the shadows retreated like a stampeding herd,
the sun again ascendant.
Ardeth let loose a wordless cry of relief and victory. His brothers' voices
joined him, a sound as deafening as the earlier horde. His ears might never be
the same after today.
Exhaustion and disbelief passed over him then, and Ardeth tried to gather his
wits. From what he could see, the better part of his force was still standing.
Earlier casualties would have to be seen to, as would the inevitable dead. There
would be mourning to be done alongside celebration. Countless horses would have
to be gathered before they were lost in the wild desert.
He glanced back at the horizon, wondering what had happened. Shadows were still
pulling inward, and a sound like a distant summer storm played on his ears. Now
that his own survival was assured, his heart once again leapt out to his
soul-brother and his family. Were Rick and Evie safe? Surely the destruction of
Anubis' army meant their own victory. But at what cost?
He sighed, reminding himself that nothing more could be done. He was Med-jai -
always loyal, but ever practical. Now, he must see to his men.
Ardeth reigned in his horse as he reached the crest of the highest dune in
sight. The horses had been gathered, as had the wounded and dead. Camp had been
made, messages sent. He could take a moment now to just be Ardeth. Though he
was always mindful of his people, sometimes he found himself looking for his
own destiny. Those moments had come more frequently since his adventures with
Rick O'Connell some ten years before. The man had stirred something in him,
something he had not understood until he had seen the tattoo. All holy warriors
of the Med-jai were marked when they came of age. But only the leaders were
branded with the intricate three-sided tattoo. His father had carried such a
mark, and he had received one in his thirteenth year. Only the Med-jai leaders.
The leaders, and their soul-brothers.
O'Connell had no idea, and Ardeth would not enlighten him. It was enough that
he accepted that he was a warrior ordained by the Gods.
Ardeth caught sight of movement against the far horizon. Soon enough it resolved
into the strange air-ship he had ridden earlier. Hope leapt inside him, but he
held it tight until he could make out four forms on the deck. It seemed as if all
the breath in his body left him. Finally, the fear and dread of the past week
lifted from his soul. He lifted his hand in salute as they drifted past. He could
just make out O'Connell returning the gesture.
He was Ardeth Bey, leader of the Med-jai, protector of the free peoples of the
earth. And if four specific people received a little more protection for the rest
of their lives, what Gods would notice?