Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [147]
“It isn’t Nefret,” Ramses said, more loudly than he had intended. Tarek must be blind or bewitched to have mistaken the two, even in the semidarkness. And he was still talking like a character in one of the old-fashioned romantic novels to which he had become addicted.
Tarek put out a hand and lifted a strand of dark hair. “No,” he said.
“I couldn’t get to Nefret,” Ramses said. The pain in that single word put him on the defensive. “It was impossible, she is too closely guarded. This is Daria. She—”
“I know.” Tarek got to his feet. “I know all that has befallen you.” He sighed heavily. “I should have been prepared. Only a god or a great magician could steal the High Priestess away. Let us go now, we can talk another time. It will be easier from here, lady, with three of us to help you.” He raised Daria to her feet.
Gallant as ever, Ramses thought. “Two of you,” he corrected.
Daria didn’t look at him. She had expected this. Tarek wasn’t surprised either. A gleam of white teeth broke the darkness of his face. “So, you would return to the city? What good could you do?”
“My mother and father are still prisoners, and so is Nefret. There is to be a ceremony in the Great Temple in four days. They want my father to proclaim his allegiance to the usurper.”
“The Father of Curses will never do that,” Tarek said calmly. “Have no fear, my young friend. We will free them. I have planned my attack to take place that night.”
The faint starlight outlined Tarek’s strong body and the proud tilt of his head. He had filled out in the last ten years, but he was still slim and fit.
“Listen to me,” Ramses said urgently. “If you attack, many will die, including my mother and father. The usurper will kill them rather than let them be taken by you. There is another way, a better way.”
Tarek held out his hand. He was still smiling. “We cannot talk here. Once we are over the pass and in my own country, we will plan together. Then, if you wish to return, I will not stop you.”
The suggestion made excellent sense. He knew very little about the lay of the land and the strength of Tarek’s forces, his defensive strategy, his methods of gathering information—a dozen other things that would prove useful. He couldn’t imagine why he was hesitating.
“Come,” Tarek said. “It will not take us long, I promise.”
That’s why I’m hesitating, Ramses thought. He’s talking to me as if I were still ten years old. Maybe I deserve it. This is no time for childish sulks.
“You are right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
This part of the ascent was even worse than the other—straight up the sheerest part of the cliffs, with only the faintest traces of what might be called a path. Harsetef had brought another rope, and in some places Ramses stamped on his pride and made use of it. He didn’t argue when Tarek took charge of Daria, fastening Ramses’s rope carefully round her slim waist, holding it taut as she climbed, murmuring words of encouragement and praise. The sun was rising when they reached the top of the ridge and were hailed by three of Tarek’s scouts.
“Rest awhile,” Tarek said. “The descent is easier.”
Ramses would have liked nothing better than to collapse onto the rocky ground, but a combination of pride and curiosity kept him on his feet. The view was certainly spectacular. The spurs of rock that formed the pass were lower than the enclosing cliffs; the heights rose up ahead and on either side, shaped into fantastic towers. Other outcroppings jutted out around the circumference of the northern valley, like teeth in a gaping mouth. The air was clear that morning; in the distance, perched on the hillside, he saw several large structures that might have been temples or houses. Former country houses, perhaps? The floor of the valley was a pleasant, pastoral place, a green cup in the harsh grasp of the hills. He could even make out the heavy gate that blocked one of the side wadis—a fortress into which the defenders could retreat if necessary.