Ahmen went out to find Ramesses. The settlement was empty. At the boundary of the buildings, he shaded his eyes, searching along the base of the cliffs. Half a short iter away, his body distorted by shimmering heat waves, Ramesses gestured for Ahmen to join him.

Beside a breach in the cliff wall, Ahmen handed over Ramesses's weapons. Ramesses jerked his head toward the opening as he adjusted the quiver's position against his torso.

"It is as I suspected, the lion keeps his den within. This crevice leads to a gully. Inside there is fresh spoor, not even an hour old."

He took up his bow and spear and slipped inside. A few steps behind, Ahmen followed, moving into the narrow channel, no more than an arm span wide. He looked up. High above, he glimpsed a narrow ribbon of blue sky.

They reached the mouth of the gully. Ramesses slowed and sank into a crouch. He tilted his head, listening. Silence greeted them. Creeping out of the shadows into the gully's white glare, he followed its smooth contours to the far side. He turned and stopped. He lifted his spear, slow, pointing it at the curved wall beside him, motioning for Ahmen to move in. As Ahmen drew closer, he saw it too, another crevice hidden by a fold in the gully's walls, burrowing deeper into the cliffs.

They entered a small basin where the crevice separated into two channels. Ramesses jerked his chin toward the largest one and slipped, silent, into its dense gloom. Gripping his spear, Ahmen followed, despite his instincts prodding him to turn back. He pressed on. He was no coward. The channel ended at the mouth of an enclosed circular canyon, its sheer vertical walls towering up to a brilliant blue sky. Heat hit him, hot as a baker's oven. Along the perimeter, more than a dozen caves, some of them so deep they remained sunk in shadow, even at midday. Further down, Ahmen spotted the other channel's opening. His instincts prodded once more, warning him, urgent, insistent. He silenced them.

Ramesses motioned toward the nearest caves. They would start there. He gave the hand sign to separate, his spear moving back and forth as he picked the caves out one after the other, the nearest to the furthest.

Ahmen nodded his understanding. They would check the caves one by one, when they found the beast, one would flush him out, striking him with their spear as he emerged, the other would bring him down with their arrows. They had done this once before, with success, although not alone. There had been a dozen more men with them, all armed with bows and spears. He bit back another prayer and slipped away to the right, measuring his steps to match Ramesses's.

The nearest openings proving to be far too shallow to be of any use to a lion. They moved deeper into the canyon where the shadows of larger grottoes held more promise. Ahmen reached the first cave. He listened for the sound of breathing, counting, slow, to thirty. Nothing. He turned to Ramesses and shook his head. As they crept toward the next grotto, a shriek--faint, high and thin--broke the silence. Another scream followed, then another, crescendoing, riven with terror and pain.

Cursing, realizing too late what his instincts had been trying to tell him, Ahmen bolted across the canyon's uneven ground into the channel, the butt of his spear clattering against its sides. He darted through the gully, his sandals sliding on the loose rocks. Ducking into the crevice, he choked back yet another prayer as he tumbled out onto the burning desert floor.

Ramesses burst out after him. "The lion must not escape," he bellowed, "or we will be next."

Ahmen ran, his stride lengthening, his feet barely touching the ground, the desperate cries of the horses maddening him. He darted into the settlement, the buildings sliding past, a blur. Ramesses raced past him and vaulted up onto a workbench, pulling himself up onto the building's roof. Ahmen clambered up after him, pieces of mud brick falling away under his feet.

They were too late. Kerkhem stood trapped, quaking, between the workshop and what was left of Haran. Ahmen stared, disbelieving. Somehow, Haran was still alive. The muscles of Haran's shoulder were gone. Ahmen could only see bone. Through the torn openings of his abdomen, Haran's internal organs lay exposed, his ribs protruding from his flayed flesh. Ruptured intestines slid out, trickling onto the ground, the foul stink of them saturating the air. Deep in the act of feeding, the lion tore into Haran's abdomen, Haran grunted, tears running from his eyes.

Ahmen dragged an arrow against his bowstring. "I must end his pain."

"No." Ramesses shoved the bow down. "We have one chance. We need Haran to hold the lion in position until we can mark him. Aim for the beast's spine, sever it so he cannot run away. We must not fail. On my command."

Ahmen's gaze slid back to the suffering, eviscerated horse. He had never seen such a thing before. Why did the lion not kill Haran first? Ahmen aimed, pulling his bowstring taut. Long heartbeats passed as the lion continued to feed, Haran's cries of suffering unbearable.

"The lion is not moving," Ahmen persisted, aiming at Haran. "I beg you, let me end Haran's pain."

"If you release before I give the command, we will all die." Ramesses cursed as Haran cried out again. "There! Mark the beast, he's about to shift."

The lion moved to the right, just a little, enough to expose his spine. A perfect mark. Ahmen concentrated his aim until there was only the mark and the point of his arrow. From far away he heard Ramesses give the command to release. Ahmen's fingers opened. The bowstring snapped free, cutting into his forearm. He felt nothing. He slammed another arrow against his bow, automatic. Ramesses shouted for spears, jostling Ahmen as he leapt down from the roof.

Hefting his spear, Ahmen joined Ramesses. He eyed the paralyzed lion, his arrow protruding from the base of its neck. Haran's eyes streamed with tears, and with every labored breath, black blood bubbled out of his mouth and nostrils. Ahmen's hand went to his dagger. Rage, vicious and vengeful, spilled free. He would skin the lion alive.

"Finish it." Ramesses ordered, shoving him forward. "Haran needs you."

Fury consumed Ahmen. The scream burst from his torso, a living thing. He rammed his spear into the lion's side, past its rib cage and deep into its heart. The lion grunted, his eyes widening with pain and shock. His head drooped onto his front paws. A quiet shudder. The light in his eyes, gone.

Ahmen dropped to his knees beside Haran. Gently, he lifted the horse's head onto his lap. "Can you hear that sound?" he asked, his throat taut with grief. "That is Re, calling for you. You must run to him. Do not make him wait."

His heart constricting, Ahmen lay his dagger against Haran's throat. He pulled the blade, deft, quick. Haran lay quiet in his lap, looking up at him, his blood pumping out, slow, viscous. The light in his eyes flickered and dulled, a heartbeat later, it extinguished. Ahmen lowered Haran's head onto the ground. He rose, his blood-soaked kilt clinging to his legs. For several heartbeats he stared at what was left of the horse, trying to piece him back together. He could not. Haran had become a macabre thing. Only his face remained intact.

He looked up at the sky, Haran's ka was up there, flying away to the gods; he would be able to see Ahmen, looking down at his remains. Something glimmered in the sky. Ahmen choked. Haran.

High overhead, vultures circled, patient. His throat aching, Ahmen looked back at Haran's body. "I cannot leave him like this, to become the food of scavengers."

Ramesses wrenched Ahmen's spear out of the lion. "Do as you see fit," he said, callous, the slain beast's blood pooling against his feet. "When Re's barque descends, we walk."