* * * *

Khafra swallowed. It was time. Heavy-hearted he made his way to the stable. Was this the last time he’d see his team of prized black horses? As though they sensed something amiss, the team moved skittishly while he harnessed them to the chariot.

“Scepter, Scimitar, you are restless tonight.” He patted each on the neck. “Like me.”

As he led them outside, his gut churned. Not wanting to take them, he needed his swiftest and strongest horses if he was to make good time. His most trusted second-in-command of the squadron of charioteers, who’d sworn an oath of silence, would collect the horses tomorrow and bring them back to Hapu.

Time now to say farewell to his family, to hold them in his arms, perhaps for the last time. Despite fears he might never return, he must reassure them, give them hope. They must not sense his pain.

At the sight of Rekhemire and Nofret standing in the doorway, he choked up. They held each other closely, but pulled apart when he entered. It would be so easy to change his mind.

Neither his father nor Nofret would understand what he must do, so he said nothing. He’d waited a long time for the gods to speak. If he should fail, and his name disappeared from eternity, at least he’d have died trying. A warrior’s death was preferable to never having his name recorded, and to forever roam the netherworld forgotten and alone.