The Sun sank low in the western sky, still blazing with heat as evening approached.

Its rays turned the slow-moving blue of the river into molten gold amid the green of

the fields.

On any other day, it would have been beautiful, but not this one.

The fields near the river were littered with the detritus of a battle, and the cries

and sobs of the injured drowned out the gentle chirping of insects and the splashes of water

birds in the river.

Broken chariot wheels competed for space with dead horses, shattered wooden shields, and

the bodies of the dead.

All of them mixed in among the trampled stalks of ripening grain.

The victors had not yet departed because their business wasn't finished.

The King's soldiers made their way through the trampled grain, seeking out injured or slain

comrades, collecting the valuable weapons of the follow and looting corpses.

Others had grislier work.

Carrying sickle-shaped swords and heavy, wickedly curved axes, they sought out the enemies

they had slain and took a hand from each.

Proof of their bravery and their service to the King.

Whether they were gomen from Tassetti, push the land of the bow far to the south, Magi

from the desert, or the sons of military families whose ancestors had served the kings of

Egypt for centuries, they knew their business and they had the scars and the experience

to prove it.

Their business was killing the King's enemies, and they had done so in Nubia, in the desert,

...