wilbursmith_warlock-第92部分
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near him； his back to the rocky cliff face。 He looked like an exhumed corpse that had been dead for days。 Then Ishtar opened his one good eye。
'Water？' Trok's voice was only just intelligible； but the Mede shook his head。
'So we have survived the storm just to die in the same grave；' Trok tried to say； but no sound came out from his ravaged throat and mouth。
He lay for a while longer； and felt any instinct to survive being extinguished under the slow seep of exhaustion and resignation。 It would be so much easier just to close his eyes and drift off to sleep； never to wake again。 That thought spurred him and he forced open his crusted eyelids； felt the grit under the lids scraping at his eyeballs。
'Water；' he said。 'Find water。'
Using the cliff side as a support he lurched to his feet and stood there swaying； hugging his useless arm to his chest。
Ishtar watched him； his one blind eye like that of a reptile or a corpse。 Trok started forward drunkenly； bumping into the cliff at every few paces he took； making his way along the base of the rock until he could look out over the desert。 The dunes were pristine and unblemished； as voluptuously curved as the body of a lovely young girl。
There was no trace of men or vehicles。 His fighting divisions； the finest in all Egypt； had vanished without trace。 He tried to lick his lips； but there was no spittle in his chalky mouth。 He felt his legs give way under him and knew that if went down he would never rise again。 Using the wall of stone as a support he tottered on； not knowing where he was going and with no thought in his head but to go on。
Then he heard human voices； and knew he was hallucinating。 There was silence again。 He went a few steps further； stopped and listened。 The voices came again。 This time they were closer and clearer。 He felt unexpected strength flow back into his body； but when he tried to call out no sound came from his parched throat。 There was silence once more。 The voices had ceased。
He started forward again； then stopped suddenly。 A woman's voice； no mistaking it。 A sweet； clear voice。
Mintaka。 The name formed silently on his swollen lips。 Then another voice。 This time a man's。 He could not make out the words or recognize the speaker； but if he was with Mintaka he must be one of the fugitives Trok had been pursuing。 The enemy。
Trok looked down at himself。 His sword…belt was gone； and his weapons with it。 He was unarmed； dressed only in his tunic； which had so much sand in the weave that it chafed his skin like a hair…shirt。 He looked around him for a weapon； a stick or a stone； but there was nothing。 The scree had been covered by sand。
He stood undecided； and the voices came again。 Mintaka and the man were in a gully among the rocks。 While he still hesitated he heard the sand crunching like salt crystals under someone's feet。 That person was ing down the gully towards where Trok stood。
Trok shrank back against the stone wall and a man emerged from the mouth of the gully； twenty paces from where Trok hid。 The stranger set off with a determined stride into the dunes。 He was strongly familiar； but recognition eluded Trok until the man turned and called back towards the gully； 'Do not tax yourself unduly； Mintaka。 You have e through a trying ordeal。' Then he walked on。
Trok gaped after him。 He is dead； he thought。 It cannot be him。 The message from Naja was clear 。。。 He considered the possibility that a djinn or some evil spirit was impersonating the young Pharaoh Nefer Seti as he watched the young man go out into the desert。 Then； through eyes bleary with sand； he saw him join three others； among them the unmistakable figure of the Warlock； who； Trok realized； must be responsible； in some strange and miraculous way； for the resurrection of Nefer Seti。 But now he had neither the time nor the inclination to ponder this further。 There was only one thought in his mind and that was water。
As stealthily as he could he crept forward into the gully where he had heard Mintaka's voice and peered round the corner of the cliff。 He did not recognize her at first： she was as bedraggled as a peasant。 Her hair and her tattered tunic were stiff with sand； and her eyes were sunken and bloodshot。 She was kneeling at the head of one of a small herd of horses； holding a water bucket for it to drink。
Water was the only thing Trok could think about。 He could smell it and his whole body craved it。 He staggered towards Mintaka。 Her back was turned to him and the soft sand covered the sound of his approach。 She was not aware of him until he seized her arm。 She turned； saw him； and screamed。 He snatched the bucket from her hands and knocked her down。 As his arm was useless he knelt on the small of her back to pin her down； while he drank from the bucket。
He swallowed huge gulps； gurgled and belched； then drank some more。 Mintaka was wriggling under him and screaming； 'Nefer！ Taita！ Help me。'
He belched again； pushed her face into the sand to silence her； and swallowed the last drops from the bucket。 He looked around him； still crouching over her like a lion on its kill。 He saw the waterskin against the wall of the gully and the javelins and swords stacked beside it。
He stood up quickly and started towards them。 Instantly Mintaka tried to jump to her feet； but he kicked her down again。 'None of that； you bitch；' he croaked； and seized a handful of her thick sand…drenched hair。 He dragged her after him through the sand until he could reach the waterskin。 Then he had to drop her。 He placed one huge sandalled foot on her back again； reached for the waterskin and held it between his knees while he unfastened the wooden stopper。 He lifted the nozzle to his lips and let the warm； brackish liquid flow down his throat。
Although she was face down in the sand Mintaka realized that Trok was engrossed in his craving for water。 She must act before he had satisfied it and turned his full attention on her。 She knew that he had suffered more humiliation than he could bear and that he would kill her now rather than let her escape him again。
Desperately she reached out to the bundle of weapons stacked against the rock。 Her fingers closed around the shaft of a javelin。 Trok was still drinking with his head thrown back； but he felt her movement and lowered the waterskin just as Mintaka twisted to stab up at his belly and groin with the short but deadly weapon。 However； the blow was aimed from her prone position under him and lacked force。
Trok saw the bright bronze point flash and； with a startled exclamation； jumped back to avoid it。 'You treacherous little slut！' He dropped the waterskin and lunged for her； but the moment his weight was off her Mintaka jumped up。 She tried to slip past him and run out of the gully into the open desert； but he cut her off and reached for her with his long arm。 He caught the hem of her tunic； but she leaped aside。 The linen tore in his fingers and she twisted away from him； but he still had her trapped in the gully。
He lumbered after her but she ran to the cliff wall and started to scale it； lithe and quick as a cat。 Before he could catch her she was out of his reach。 She went up swiftly and he could not hope to follow her。 He picked up the javelin she had dropped and hurled it up at her； but he was using his left hand and there was little power in the throw。
Mintaka ducked as the javelin flew over her head and struck the rock in front of her face。 She climbed faster； driven by fear。 Trok staggered to where the other weapons were stacked； and grabbed another javelin。 He threw again。 It missed her by a hand's width。
Trok grunted with fury and frustration and snatched a third javelin； but at that moment Mintaka reached a ledge in the cliff and crawled over it out of his sight。 She lay there pressing herself to the rock。 She heard him raving and swearing at her。 Even in her distress she was sickened by the filthy words he sent after her。
Then another javelin flashed over where she lay and clattered against the
