"All men who err must suffer the consequences. If you'd offended the gods to the extent some men have ... " Commandant Nakht must have realized how harsh his voice had become, for he clamped his mouth shut, focused on Bak, and smiled. "Forgive me. I've no wish to burden you with the wrongs of others."

Bak uttered a sharp, bitter laugh. "Is that not why I've been sent to Buhen?"

Nakht, commandant of the fortress of Buhen, eyed him thoughtfully, shook his head. "No. Some burdens are mine alone." He turned away, closing the subject, and began to climb the long series of ladders that led to the battlements. "Come, Officer Bak, let me show you your new home."

Bak wondered if he should press further, but Nakht's rigid back forbade him. He climbed after him, his thoughts returning to the dull and dreary life he faced in the grim, uninviting fortress.

The interior of the tower was dimly lit, the mudbrick walls too thick to admit much light through the narrow loopholes placed at regular intervals so archers could rain arrows down on the enemy. Except, Bak thought dismally, the last uprising in this foul land of Wawat had been smashed twenty-six years before. The battles now were little more than skirmishes with tribesmen who swooped down on the caravans, stole whatever they could, and slipped away in the desert.

The two men climbed to the uppermost landing, passed through the open portal, and stepped onto the sunstruck walkway atop the massive white mudbrick wall surrounding the city. The hot breath of the lord Re, the sun god, enveloped them. Rivulets of sweat trickled down Bak's face, chest, and legs. Even skirmishes, he thought, would be better than the loathsome task he had been given.

"I'm an officer," he said, "a man trained in the art of war. Give me a company of spearmen or archers. I'd at least be doing what I best know how to do."

"No, Bak." Nakht's voice carried a note of sympathy, but was firm nonetheless. "Commander Maiherperi sent you here to police this city. That you will do."

As if to stress the finality of his words, he strode up the walkway. Wide enough for four men abreast, the path connected the regularly spaced towers projecting from the outer face of the battlemented wall. Bak walked beside him, half-blinded by the glare. A warm northerly breeze stirred the air, vying with the heat to dry the moisture seeping from his body. A dog's mournful howl sounded in the distance. The faint odors of fish, cooking oil, and animal waste mingled with a dust so fine he could feel it between his fingers but not see it.

Far below the breastwork lining the walkway, the white rooftops of the buildings within the citadel lay spread out like a map. Block after block of interconnected structures filled the almost square fortification, each block separated from the others by narrow lanes and streets. The heat rose in waves from the roofs. Air shafts and courtyards, flimsy pavilions erected for shade, and the people who walked the lanes seemed to shimmer in the slight breeze. A second, outer wall enclosed a much larger rectangular area spreading north and west and south of the citadel, its stark white towers appearing to melt into the pale sandhills rising behind Buhen.

Bak eyed the city with distaste. "I've been torn from my regiment and my companions. Another officer leads my men. My horses grow fat and lazy at my father's home and my chariot grows dusty. Is that not punishment enough?"

Nakht stopped in the shade of a tower and silenced the plea with a reproving scowl. "You were a lieutenant of high merit, I've been told. Yet you felled a man of noble birth and you, with the men in your...