Sethi drove his chariot out from under the towering canopy of Labwi Wood, emerging from beneath a ragged line of ancient cedar trees, their boughs glistening with damp. He drew a deep breath, savoring the sudden reprieve of open air as he scanned the sky, still laden with dense, dark clouds.

For days, the Division of Pre had endured a constant state of near darkness as it crossed a land of perpetual gray; the further north Sethi led them, the colder and darker the skies became. Since his campaign thirteen years ago at the seige of Kadesh, the once verdant lands of Hatti had become cold, bleak and depressing. He wondered what the Hittites had done to anger their gods. With weather like this, they would have no harvest and would starve come winter. And yet Muwatallis had chosen to pour his waning resources into war, mustering the able-bodied men of his empire against Egypt so he might cling to next year's graveyard. Sethi scoffed, incredulous. Hatti's king was nothing less than a madman.

Leaning his weight against the reins, Sethi slowed his horses, eyeing the vast deforested area to his right, the trees' stumps broken apart and pulled free, left to rot in heaps along the clearing's perimeter. The cleared ground angled away, an open, gentle slope extending all the way up to the horizon. He gazed at the open space, suspicious. Forest surrounded the field on all sides apart from the east. Why would anyone go to all the effort to carve out a swathe of forest in the middle of nowhere? No one lived here. This land would never be used for farming. He narrowed his eyes, filled with misgiving. There had to be another reason.

He pulled his horses to a standstill, signaling for Naram to order a halt. His captain shouted the order down the line and approached Sethi's chariot, pressing his fist against his chest.

"Your orders, Commander?"

"We wait until a scout returns from the top of the clearing," Sethi said, nodding at the rutted ground, his instincts sharpening. "I would know what is beyond the crest before bringing Pre through."

The scout soon returned, his face ashen. "Commander," he said as he knelt in the mud, "at least two thousand Hittite chariots have massed on this side of the river. On the opposite side, hundreds more still wait their turn to cross the ford."

Sethi digested the scout's intelligence, grim. Pre would never make it to the plateau in time, which only left one option. So be it. If Muwatallis wanted an unfair fight, Sethi would give him one. He turned to his captain. "Naram, Scorpion Formation. Shields two lines deep, spearmen to the front, archers to the rear, split the soldiers into two companies, one at each flank. Make certain to use those piles of rotting trunks to our advantage. We must hold them here for as long as we are able."

He left Naram to his work, and drove the horses up the slope, their leather-shod hooves sliding in the thick mud. Halfway up, one of the box's wheels snagged against a sunken boulder. The horses lurched to a halt, dragged backward as the box slid sideways into a pit. A sickening crack shot upward. A heartbeat later, the hardened axle snapped, sharp. Under Sethi's weight, the box's floor sagged, caving in. Biting back a curse, he quit the ruined chariot, his feet sinking ankle deep in the cold muck. He grabbed onto the offending boulder and hauled himself free, his legs and kilt blackened by the mud.

Near the top of the slope, he crouched down. The clear-cut's scar swept all the way to the bank of the Orantes River where dozens of Hittite war chariots struggled to ford the river's rising waters. As he watched, several teams of horses burst out from the churning river, cantering onto the plain, the drivers organizing into ragged battle lines fifty wide. On the opposite bank, those still waiting swarmed back and forth, impatient for their turn to cross.

A suspicion came to him. He sifted through the mud, extracting several pieces of blackened, charred wood. His suspicion confirmed, he tossed the pieces aside, disgusted. He eyed the walls of Kadesh, wondering how Amunira had felt as the ancient wood--worth a king's ransom--burned at Muwatallis's command.

His heart cold, Sethi watched the Hittite chariots plowing their way across the ford; the frightened whinnies of the horses carrying across the ruined land. He narrowed his eyes, searching for the royal chariot of Muwatallis. There. Leading from the center of the third line, he spotted the king's chariot, the crests of the horses' bridles sporting the royal plumes of the peacock. Despite hundreds still waiting to cross, the Hittite king raised his arm and signaled their departure. Horns blew, thin with distance. The front lines advanced, moving out at a canter.

Slipping back down from the crest, Sethi half-ran, half-slid back to his chariot, black mud splattering his chest. Using his dagger, he cut his horses free. They surged away from the chariot, eager to escape the muddy pit behind them. His muscles straining, he held them steady as he unbuckled the girth of the nearest one and yanked its gold-embossed harness away, sending it tumbling into the ooze. Pulling himself astride the horse, he galloped back to his men, the reins of the second horse caught tight in his fist. Cantering up and down the line, he inspected Pre's formation, bellowing orders, tightening the ranks. Pride hurtled through him; in almost no time, Pre had formed a perfect Scorpion. The ground tremored. He turned, his skin prickling, his senses awakening at the drumming of thousands of hooves. His blood burned, hot with anticipation. This was what he lived for.

He gestured to a soldier he knew could ride, beckoning him over. Throwing him the reins of the second horse, he gave him the message for Ramesses. In a heartbeat the soldier was gone, absorbed into Pre's lines, disappearing down the road to Kadesh. Sethi grunted, satisfied.

Horns blared from the crest. A slew of Hittite chariots streamed over its edge at full speed, careening down the slope, reckless, arrogant, fearless, determined to smash through the bristling Division of Pre.

Sethi pulled his khopesh free and screamed Egypt's battle cry, raising his sword in the air, giving the signal to fire. A thousand barbed arrows hurtled into the oncoming wall of horses. Equine screams rent the air. The wounded, blinded horses bolted, colliding into each other, scrambling over the fallen, dragging their broken chariots behind them. He bellowed the command to fire again and another thousand arrows exploded from the wall of Pre. The second line of chariots came over the crest at full speed, plunging into the stricken first line, trampling their own men. Fresh screams tore across the ravaged land.

The men of Pre roared, savage. Sethi shouted for the pincer offense before the third and fourth lines arrived. Swarming into the roiling mass, the soldiers slashed their way through the chaos, their khopeshes despatching the survivors with ruthless efficiency.

As Pre's soldiers scrambled back to their positions, Sethi surveyed his men's work. Hundreds lay dead or dying among the fallen chariots, the bodies and wreckage forming a grisly barrier between his men and the Hittites still to come. He clenched his jaw, gratified. Now Muwatallis would have to drive over his own men to get to the pharaoh. Sethi eyed the oncoming line, his heart cold. He would hold Pre in position as long as he could. They would never win this battle, foot soldiers against war chariots, but before they died, his men would take down as many Hittites as possible, each Egyptian death granting Ramesses a little more time to prepare.

He lifted his khopesh, waiting to give the order for the next attack. A rush of adrenaline coursed through him. He would die soon, but he would die protecting his king and empire. A noble death, one worth having lived for. He looked up at the crest, catching the King of Hatti staring down at him, his face black with fury. The third line tore down the slope, the massive war chariots slewing their way toward Pre. Meeting Muwatallis's eyes, Sethi shoved his khopesh high and gave the order to fire.

❃

The last strap tightened on his breastplate, Ramesses's armorer stepped back, his head bowed. Ramesses moved in front of Pre's kneeling soldier, noting his mud-spattered body. The man was still panting.

"You bring a message from Commander Sethi?" he demanded, terse.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the soldier nodded, gasping, struggling to catch his breath long enough to deliver his message. "One short iter distant, on the road to Kadesh, the Division of Pre stands--" he gulped at the air, "--against fifty battle lines of chariots, led by the King of Hatti."

"And the numbers?" Ramesses asked, terse.

The soldier snatched at a breath before answering, "Commander Sethi reported four to a chariot."

Ramesses stared at the man, stunned. Ten thousand men. Twice Pre's numbers, and twice his own. Comprised of foot soldiers, Pre would be crushed by the Hittite chariots, which meant Ramesses stood alone, isolated, and unprotected, his men outnumbered two to one. Anger, cold and hard washed over him. The King of Hatti had no honor. None at all. If it were not for the woman from Kadesh warning him, Egypt's first division would have been annihilated. Thank Re he had spared her.

He looked at his commanders, waiting for their final orders, their faces grim. He met his vizier's eyes. "Lord Paser," he said as his vizier bowed his head, "send another rider to King Bentesina, commanding him to bring Na'arn's division to us with all haste. The last five companies of Amun are now yours to command. Prepare the defense of the camp. If the line is breached, fall back to the royal enclosure. You will protect our queen to your death." He paused. "The woman from Kadesh has spoken the truth, to the last detail. If she truly is the wife of the Prince of Hatti, we have been granted a valuable hostage. Move her into the queen's presence, commanding the royal guard to protect her. Go, there is little time. May Horus protect you."

Paser bowed from the command tent. Ramesses looked over his men. "Right now, Commander Sethi is buying us time with his men's lives. However, I suspect Muwatallis will not remain long with Pre, we are the prize he is after. He may be on his way to us even now." Ramesses turned, and pointed to spot on a map of the plateau tacked against the tent's wall. "We will wait for them at the top of the slope. One-third of the way down from the crest, the slope narrows, where only four chariots abreast may pass. We will hold them there until we run out of arrows. When we do . . . " He moved his finger to point at a position on the plateau halfway between the crest of the slope and the camp. "We fall back here. Hawk formation. Keep the enemy in small groups as they take the crest. If they cannot form up, we will hold our advantage. Equip the horse burrs, but do not use them until the command is given, those vile things are, and always will be, a means of last resort." Pacing in front of his men, he eyed them one by one. "We have one priority, to hold them until Na'arn comes from the north, and those who still remain from Pre arrive from the south. If we can hold until then, victory will be ours. Muwatallis may believe he is about to grind us under his heel, but today it will be Hatti who will be annihilated, not Egypt. Do not fear, do not waver, we will overcome. The gods have proven they are with us, with them by our side, we cannot fall. Men, to battle."

He strode out of the tent to his gilded chariot, watching his men as they lined up, their fists against their chests. He stepped into his chariot. "Look now upon the Pharaoh of Egypt, Ramesses, Keeper of Harmony and Balance, Strong in Right, Blessed of Re," he called out, imperial, waiting as their eyes came to his. "We will lead Egypt to triumph this night. Know Ptah, Osiris, Horus, and Re are with us. We are Egypt. We cannot be defeated."

His men, all of them veterans of war, gazed at him, their eyes hard, glinting with purpose. They lifted their fists, saluting him, united, fierce, their message clear. They would not fail him.

Ramesses nodded, satisfied. Tonight, Hatti would fall.

❃

Bellowing orders to strengthen the weakest points of the Scorpion, Sethi bit back a foul oath as another section of Pre collapsed. His men rushed in to fill the breach, huddling under their shields. Everywhere, the clearing swarmed with Hittites pushing through the muck seeking a way past their fallen, goaded by Muwatallis. Their desperation to find a way through made clear by their recklessness, as Pre added more bodies to the growing pile of the dead.

Still, despite the onslaught, Pre continued to hold, a wall of men, against a horde of war chariots, protected by a grisly wall of flesh and bone. Unless the Hittites left their chariots and met his men on foot, all the Hittites had left to them were their slings, spears, and arrows. Yet, despite their limitations, they had still managed to bring down almost half of Pre's men. Sethi eyed the formation, so thin in places, it was only three men deep. He gritted his teeth. Hold. Just a little longer.

Muwatallis signaled. Sethi narrowed his eyes, watching as the Hittite chariots pulled back from the dead, organizing at the crest of the slope. Surrounded by a square of chariots, Muwatallis pulled to the front, shaking his reins, forcing his horses to gallop straight at the weakest part of the Scorpion.

Sethi screamed over the noise of the chariots as they drove over the bodies of the fallen, pulping them.

"Retreat! Retreat! Let them through!"

The retreat orders fanned out, Pre's soldiers scrambling to escape the wall of thundering horses gouting into what was left of the Scorpion. A bloody swathe opened. Helpless, Sethi watched his men fall to the onslaught, the Scorpion torn to shreds, the mud under Pre's feet no longer black, but red.

❃

It was a long time before the last of the Hittite chariots galloped down the road and disappeared into the forest. Sethi called his captains to him. Only three arrived. Idri and Khutu had gone to the gods, along with most of their men. He harnessed his rage, saving it for later. They were good men. Their lives had been needlessly taken, because of the dishonor of one man.

"We have no time to waste," he said, eyeing his captains' injuries, "the severely wounded are to remain with the followers, out of sight. Naram, send scouts to find a way through the forest to the plateau since we cannot use the road anymore--at least not while there are still Hittites fording the river. Gather your men. We depart in a quarter hour. Go."

As they left, he surveyed what remained of his division. After thirty days of marching, Pre was just one short iter from Kadesh--a mere one hour's march--and within what felt like heartbeats Pre had lost almost half its men. There had been no honor in this battle, none at all.

He slid off his horse and slogged through the carnage toward an eviscerated Hittite, still living. The man held up his hand in supplication, crying out in his incomprehensible language. Ignoring his pleas, Sethi lifted his khopesh high and brought the blade down, a clean kill. Hot blood sprayed onto his legs and kilt. Picking up the man's head, he kicked a broken chariot shaft free and ascended the blood-soaked slope. At the top, he impaled the man's head on the shaft, and wedged it between two rocks. He looked down at the remains of his division, his men sifting through the fallen. Burning with rage, he raised his bloody hands up to the black sky. Warm rivulets of the Hittite's blood slid down his arms.

"We will avenge our dead!" he bellowed, his voice carrying, harsh, across the grisly clearing. "May Ammit devour me if they have died in vain!"

The shouts of Pre's survivors rose up, ragged. Raising his bloody khopesh in the air, Sethi dined on his fury, screaming Egypt's battle cry, tasting blood.

Looking up from their dead, the survivors of Pre found their voices and roared.