Kerma, the Eastern Pass
July, 1300
The salty wind from the sea is still detectable here, given that, although the sea is many miles away, the way eastwards is essentially flat, dry, desert, with nothing to stop the breeze. That breeze is the one, blessed, source of relief from the oppressive heat of this land. Not a tree, nor a bush is in evidence, not a blade of grass makes its way between the rocks. Here and there a scrubby, almost bare, scrap of plant life clings to the edges of cliffs or at the bottom of basins, awaiting the torrential summer rains.
This is Kerma.
The eastern pass was long the gateway from the south, where trade passed to come to the great cities along the Sacred Iteru. Almost daily, during the reign of the Great Empire, caravans of donkeys, oxen and mules hauled carts through this pass, watched over by the great Fortress Kerma. But now, there are no donkeys. There is no trade. All that passes through here now are snakes and wild dogs. And the great halls of the Fortress Kerma, the Black Citadel, are home to spiders and dust.
But this is changing now.
Captain Mentuhotep, blessed of Montu, an auspicious name for a military commander, brushed aside a cobweb and coughed. He wondered how spiders could proliferate like this in such a climate, but apparently they had done well enough to fill this whole cavernous room with their webs.
Kerma was partially built into the cliffs that formed one side of the pass. It's great central keep, built of black granite (which gave it the nickname of 'Black Citadel'), was still mostly intact, having been built in the days of the Great Empire, and subsequently maintained throughout the course of history, expanded sometimes and otherwise kept in shape. It had been abandoned a hundred or so years ago by it's last owner, a warlord of some description. Menthuhotep now stared into this space, and was somewhat disturbed by the number of skeletons.
Legend had it that the warlord had ordered all of his subjects killed, and apparently they had done so. Quite what had driven them to this, it was difficult to say. Maybe the spiders had driven the mad. Gods knew they were big enough. Menuthuhotep winced as he stepped on one of the scurrying creatures, which popped with an unpleasant splattering noise. It was nearly the size of his hand. A jungle spider, one might say if one had to assign a classification.
Ancient and rusted swords were still lodged in long dead ribs, one figure appeared to have been nailed to a wooden pillar, although only the nails and hands were left to testify to this. Fortunately there was light, at least. Windows at the upper level, and slits on the floor, allowed some measure of second-hand light into the chamber. The wooden floors had clearly rotted out long ago. A pile of what had probably once been loot was visible in one corner. It would probably bear further investigation later on.
Menthuhotep was slightly dissapointed.
He had been assigned to this fortress with the mission to rebuild it, to guard what was probably the most important pass into Dashret. At least there was plenty to work with. The fortress itself was L-shaped, it's main body sitting on the plain, while it's outer wall stretched to cover the entire entryway to the pass. Unfortunately it was also in ruins, stumps of towers protruding from the sand like rotten teeth, only the stone foundations remaining, the bricks having broken down over hundreds of years.
The inner walls were hardly better, although of stone and better maintained by the fortress' various unofficial owners, they were still rough and much shorter than recorded. It would be hard work for many architects and engineers to rebuild this place. Still, the central keep was more or less intact, it's towering black edifice providing an intimidating sight to all those who came this way.
In the courtyard, packed with rubble and the detritus of centuries of neglect, a gaggle of workers and soldiers were busily making camp. The ancient barracks, wood and brick constructions, had long rotted away. They would be sleeping in tents for now. But it wasn't all bad, after all. The central keep's well was still functional and, although some efforts had to be made to clear the mud out, it now provided an ample supply of fresh, cold, water. A true blessing out here, in this harsh land.
The first order of business was getting the keep back in fighting condition. It was the most intact structure on the site, and thus their main defensive position for now. Cartloads of wood, bricks and tiles were hauled to the doors where they could be offloaded and carried in. An order for a few loads of granite was dispatched as well, while the structure was mostly solid, a few places certainly required a bit of patching. The skeletons were cleared out, of course, provided with a modest burial and quickly forgotten.
August, 1300
Menuthuhotep was quite proud of the progress that had been made. His suite on the second floor was well appointed, and the Pharaoh himself had dispatched a gift, a wonderful hardwood desk. Menuthuhotep was moderately literate, and fairly wealthy, but couldn't afford a personal scribe as yet, even in his high position. Not that one would come all the way out here anyway. But he still had to sign orders and paperwork, so the desk had been useful, and it was quite pretty anyway. The suite had been re-plastered and painted now, featuring scenes taken from the scrolls and carvings of the Great Empire, chiefly Pharaoh's smashing peoples heads or trampling their foes beneath chariots.
A few trade caravans had even passed by. It was good to see that this fortress was serving a purpose. Word would get out soon enough that the pass was once again held by Dashreti soldiers, and those passing through it would not be subject to the mercy of bandits, rouges and raiders. It gave the captain a warm feeling inside, which might not be such a good thing considering how hot it was.
Still, once the outer wall was completed his posting would become official, which would mean a pay increase and a proper title. And THAT was something to look forward to.
