The Amarna Letters

Sand slid across the ridge in pale, hissing ribbons. Aziru’s spearmen stood in their rows like carved figures, their bronze tips throwing the afternoon sun back in sharp white flashes. Timer gave them no more than a glance. His attention stayed on the man on horseback, who sat there as if the ridge belonged to him.

“Why did you even betray us?”

Aziru shrugged, unbothered, one thumb tapping the flat of his curved blade. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t care. Just fight me and die, you worthless king.”

“And that king Suppiluliuma.” Timer let the name hang in the dry air. “How is he treating you?”

The tapping stopped. Something cold crept into Aziru’s face, and his smile pulled thin. “Don’t utter a single word about my lord.”

Timer smirked, slow and lazy. “Huh. Last I remember, I was your lord.”

“Yes, you were.” Aziru said it almost fondly. “Just like you’re the temporary pharaoh of Egypt. And then Tutankhaten, ooh, sorry, he changed his name, didn’t he?” He tilted his head, savoring it. “So, Tutankhamun.”

The smirk slid off Timer’s face. Behind him a horse snorted and Horemheb’s saddle creaked, but Timer kept his eyes forward. The wind had dropped. All that remained was the low thud of drums somewhere beyond the ridge, steady as a pulse.

When he spoke again, his voice was flat and quiet.

“Don’t worry, Aziru. Today is your last day. And if Meritaten has mercy, I’ll only cut off your manhood.”

He dropped from the saddle, and the sand took his weight with a soft crunch. His hand went to his hip, and the khopesh left its sheath with a long metallic rasp that carried across the stillness.

Horemheb edged his horse closer, fingers locked around the reins, glaring at Aziru as though the man were already dead. “Don’t waste your energy on him, my lord. Even a dog can kill him.”

“No, Horemheb.” Timer didn’t look away from Aziru. “Go. It is better if you handle the army.”

A muscle worked in Horemheb’s jaw. Then he hauled his horse around and kicked it into a gallop, and the hoofbeats faded down the slope, leaving a smear of dust hanging in the light.

Timer walked out into the open, alone, the khopesh swinging loose from his fingers. “So, Aziru, why don’t you come down and we have a little duel?”

Aziru laughed under his breath and shortened the reins, his horse pawing at the ground. “Do you think I am an idiot? Why would I come down when I can just run you over with my horse?”

His heels struck the horse’s flanks. It surged forward, and the ridge began to tremble under its hooves, sand spraying behind it in dark fans. Aziru crouched low over its neck, his blade ready.

Timer didn’t move. He set his feet apart, sank his weight, and felt the vibration climb up through his boots and into his knees.

Then, as the charge swelled to a roar, he swung the khopesh up into the air. It blazed against the sky, the curved blade steady in his rigid grip, while the horse thundered closer, close enough that he could see the white rolling in its eyes.

He brought the khopesh down through its head.

The charge ended in an instant. The horse collapsed, its legs folding and its whole body plowing into the ground, and Aziru was flung from the saddle. Hot blood sprayed across Timer’s face and ran down his cheek in slow, dark lines.

Aziru scrambled to one knee, eyes wide, his sword forgotten in the dust. “How is this possible?”

Timer didn’t answer. He didn’t wipe his face either. Blood dripped from his jaw as he stood over him, and slowly, one corner of his mouth curled into a smirk.