This fantasy novel is set in ancient Kemet (aka Egypt) and stars a troop of elite Egyptian warriors known as the Medjay. This chapter's function is simply to introduce one of the protagonists, but the main plot is actually about the Medjay searching for a legendary rainmaker to cure their country of a drought and thus prevent a civil war. Please enjoy and provide feedback!

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Mkhaita's dark brown skin and woolly black hair were wet with perspiration, but she shivered. It wasn't because the sun was sinking towards the dunes behind her, bringing about the desert's nightly chill. Or maybe it was; after all, the encroaching darkness would make it harder for her and her men to see their enemy, and then there were the lions and hyenas that awoke after sunset. Either way, dread brooded over her.

She glanced at her lieutenant Horwedja, whose smile soothed her. Fond memories stretching back to their childhood surfaced, memories of them playing war games and chasing each other around their village. Both of them had wanted to join the Medjay ever since they were five years old, and after years of rigorous training had sculpted them into muscular warriors, those dreams had finally come true. And they had done it all together.

But now was not the time for nostalgia. They had a mission to concentrate on.

Mkhaita scoured the desert around her as she and her Medjay glided across it. Although scattered tufts of grass and acacia trees were the only vegetation, it was far from an open landscape. Huge boulders and craggy rock formations were strewn everywhere. Combined with night's approach, this clutter of massive stones would allow bandits and predators to hide effortlessly. Knowing that chilled Mkhaita's back even more.

And then there were the skulls mounted on wooden pikes.

"We must be getting close, captain," Horwedja whispered. Mkhaita nodded.

She heard rocks clack against each other. She froze. Her skin crawled over her muscles.

"What was that?" she asked.

She listened carefully for another disturbance to the desert's tranquility, at the same time studying the vicinity for any kind of movement. All she could hear was her heart's frenzied throbbing.

"Must have been some animal," Horwedja said, gently placing a hand on Mkhaita's shoulder. "A leopard or a jackal, perhaps."

She shrugged and sighed in relief. "You're probably right. Let's press on."

As they continued, the skulls on pikes seemed to grow more common. This both unsettled and excited Mkhaita. It was a sign that they were approaching their mission's goal. And danger.

"You see smoke over there?" Horwedja asked.

Mkhaita looked over to where he was pointing and could indeed make out a twisting white column of smoke rising behind a dune.

"It's got to be them, all right," she said. "Double the stealth this time."

The Medjay lowered their torsos to the ground as they stole towards the smoke. When they reached the dune's base, Mkhaita had them crawl on their bellies. The sand was still warm from being heated up by the daytime sun, but she felt even colder now.

Peering over the dune's crest, Mkhaita saw a cluster of leather tents with a campfire's orange light dancing on them. Waving from a wooden pole was a yellow banner with a red emblem depicting a snarling hyena's face.

The Blood Hyenas, she thought.

Gathered around the campfire were bandits chattering, laughing, and sharpening their bronze daggers. Mkhaita noticed that one of them was a titanic man with bulging muscles, a spotted hyena-skin cape, and a necklace of human teeth. The character's enormity was enough to send a shiver through her, but worsening that even more was his blood-reddened scimitar. Even for a man of his bulk, the weapon was huge; it could conceivably cleave off a hippopotamus's head with one stroke.

It's him, she thought. Iabi, the dreaded chief of the Blood Hyenas.

Mkhaita was tempted to run back to civilization, but then she thought about the little girl she was supposed to rescue. She couldn't abandon her no matter what. But how would she get past these bandits? Iabi alone could kill her with no effort whatsoever. Unless something directed his attention away from her…

“This is what we’re going to do,” she whispered to Horwedja and the other Medjay. “You lot are going to distract the bandits while I look for the girl.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Horwedja said. “Should we soften them up with arrows first?”

Mkhaita nodded. “Anything to direct their attention away from me. Now…go!”

She watched as her Medjay got out their bows and shot their arrows into the camp. There were thunks and hollers of death as bandits fell to the shafts.

“What in Sutekh’s name was that?” Iabi roared.

The Medjay answered him by charging down the dune, roaring with bloodlust. Their bronze swords glistened from the firelight.

As their blades clanked against the bandits’, Mkhaiti sneaked away and slowly penetrated the camp’s far side. Her heart pounded like savage battle drums as she peered into each tents’ interior, all the while silently praying that the Blood Hyenas wouldn’t kill all her men before her search was over.

Someone screamed death. Mkhaita jerked her head behind her and saw that one of her Medjay had fallen. To lose a fellow warrior mortified her. She had no time to waste.

Mkhaita heard a muffled female voice coming from one of the tents. Her spirits flew up. Racing into the tent, she saw that it contained a little girl with cloth wrapped around her mouth and rope around her body. The girl’s eyes opened wide with dread and she thrashed her body.

“Don’t be scared,” Mkhaita said to her. “I’m a Medjay. I’ve come to save you.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” a voice growled.

Mkhaita turned around to face Iabi towering over her. Her legs wobbled as she stared up into his hateful eyes.

“So you take me for a fool, Medjay?” Iabi said. “Well that will be the last mistake you ever make!”

He drew his scimitar far back, stretching his arm muscles, and then swung at Mkhaita. Only sheer terror spurred her into barely escaping the blade’s arced path. She could feel a gust of wind flowing with his weapon.

The brute swung again and again, but she was able to evade these attacks too. Still, Mkhaita was daunted. She knew she couldn’t dance around Iabi forever and that sometime she had to kill him, yet how on earth would she get past his sword? It didn’t help that the giant spun around with an agility that belied his size.

Maybe she should try striking somewhere where he least expected.

Mkhaita unsheathed her sword and thrust it towards Iabi’s eyes. To her surprise, his weapon flashed in front of hers and parried it so hard that it was knocked out of her hand. The collision’s force sent Mkhaita recoiling and groaning from her pained tendons. Iabi cackled.

“Over here, you big gorilla!” a voice cried out from behind him. Mkhaita looked over and saw that it was Horwedja. He was sprinting towards Iabi’s back with his sword raised. Maybe her life would be saved after all.

She was about to break out into a cheer when Iabi twirled around and struck Horwedja. In an eye’s blink, a scarlet wet stump was all that remained of his neck. Mkhaita was petrified.

She had lost the best friend she had ever had in her twenty-seven years of life. Soon her initial shock was burned by vindictive rage. She would make the monster pay for his murder.

Sprinting to retrieve her sword, Mkhaita then leapt high into the air towards Iabi. She sent her left foot into his lower jaw, snapping its bone. The giant crashed onto his back and roared. Before he could scramble back onto his feet, Mkhaita plunged her bronze into his chest. Now Iabi was thankfully dead.

She sped back towards the girl and cut her free. “You’re safe now,” she said as she held the child in her arms. “Medjay, retreat!”

Mkhaita and the remaining Medjay immediately jogged out of the bandit camp into the now dusky desert. For a moment she stared back at the camp. Her muscles were sore and her throat parched from so much exercise, but even worse than her exhaustion was her grief. Horwedja was dead. The man who she had befriended all those years ago, the man whom she always turned to when she was feeling down, now lay headless. Her eyes filled with tears as the memories replayed in her mind.

The only consolation she could imagine was the knowledge that Horwedja had sacrificed his life to save hers. She owed him the world for that.

Mkhaita would continue to be haunted by Horwedja’s loss the whole journey back to Kemet. Although she was rewarded handsomely for returning the girl to her family, she did not feel the swell of pride she had anticipated. Perhaps this experience had taught her a vital lesson about being in the Medjay: it was a dangerous job that could claim your dearest friends.

Not that she would let it happen again. From that point forward, she would see to it that as few of her warriors as possible would suffer Horwedja’s fate. She did not want to lose more of her friends.