Shabu-Bakmen walked along the palace grounds, hands clasped behind his back. As usual of late he was not happy. He passed through the royal grounds casting an eye to a gardener who jumped at his sudden appearance. His brow furrowed at the man’s actions. The whole palace behaved this way now. From the administrators to the servants, everyone was nervous and on edge. It was really quite difficult to get anyone to remain on the premises for the past nineteen years—at least not of their own will. That was how long it had been since Akhita had come to power.
He looked down to the hawk insignia emblazoned upon the armor that covered his chest. The sign of a Maak: a guardian of the Royal Household. He had taken up the position as a young man, serving the old king whom he as well counted a friend. For the better part of that time he had his duties immensely. He enjoyed anything he was good at.
He was at one time one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom. An expert weapons master and guardian, he had risen quickly through the ranks. Appointed lieutenant at a young age, it was not too much later that he earned the title of captain. He had performed so well that instead of assigning him to an irrelevant position guarding some distant relative of the royal family—as he had seen happen to so many of his colleagues as they reached his age—he was made Imjer Per-ah Nesew, Overseer of the Great Royal House.
And so while many others had left once Akhita was proclaimed queen, he remained. Who was in power did not affect the responsibilities of his position. He was honor bound by a sworn and sacred oath to protect the royal palace itself. But sometimes, when he looked to see Akhita sit upon the throne, he felt that he had in some way broken that oath. The palace was not the place it had once been.
A young man walking by him stopped abruptly, dropping a hand in salute. Tall and bronze skinned, his youthful face matched his muscular build. Shabu recognized him as Asheru, one of the more fresh recruits to the palace guards. The front of his scalp was bare and painted dark red, while his remaining hair came together in a long plaited braid that hung down to the middle of his back. It was the marking of his dedication to the local gods of his family, who came from a city far north in the Lower lands. In the thousands of years since the earliest dynasties, more peoples than could be counted had been absorbed into the kingdom—bringing their local beliefs and customs with them. All proudly named themselves citizens of Kemet, but many never completely abandoned their old ways.
“Peace be upon you, Imjer,” the man said with a deep bow. “May the life giving light of our holy father keep you in health.”
Shabu winced slightly at the greeting. It was quite common to show a man of his rank and age such respect. Still, it was disconcerting to be treated like those entering the time of the setting sun. Did he possibly look that old to those still touched by youth?
“May you also be in great peace,” he replied. “And let wisdom continue to fill your heart.”
The young man looked up, the dark eyes above his sharp nose glittering with pride. He gave a final bow and walked away, seeming quite pleased with himself.
If not for his foul mood Shabu might have laughed. He remembered when he was that young, a ripe recruit trying his best to impress those of higher rank. Such a compliment would probably have filled him with similar emotions. He supposed his graciousness was needed, if only to help lift the spirits of those under his command. In these troubled times, morale was a precious thing.
Excerpt, The Ankh of Ausar, Book 1
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