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Defilers.
Menrep awoke wearily to the dusty interior of his chambers. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the acrid darkness that surrounded him. Nothing stirred in the shadows, only the now rising figure disturbed the oppressive silence that filled the room. A few slender rays pierced the air, suspending golden motes in their light. Menerep absently drew a hand over a dust covered chest, revealing the burnished gold beneath. Generations of wealth lay about him, and it was this that invaders sought.
Leaving his chambers, Menrep beheld the expanse of a great atrium growing about him, its delicate supports carved by generations of slave labor. Fondly he looked at the gilded images of hounds that sat near his chambers. His hunting dogs, he recalled softly. They had been quick and strong, always glad to see their master and eager to stretch their sleek bodies on the hunt. A nearby image of a bird reminded him of his falcons, noble hunting birds he had taken out with the hounds. Grand were those days, before the coming of the invaders. How many had died building this place, he wondered. Hundreds? Thousands? And how many more had died trying to plunder it? Their flesh had fed the wild beasts; their bones were now scattered to the winds. But that was long ago. Perhaps that was not even his memory, for had not even his father's father spoken of the foreign thieves and their covetous ways? And dogs of this sort had not been used since the time of his ancestors.
His gaze caught on a gilded alabaster column and drew upwards to the ceiling concealed by shadows far above. A sensation as of flying filled him. Was his spirit leaving him? Had not ancient artisans designed these buildings to conduct the soul onto the ancient spiritual paths of their people? Yes it must be, for now his spirit drew over the great lush lands of his kinsmen. Diligently they worked their fields, dusky skin glimmering in the sun like bronze. Ever did they exalt his name. Dancing, they sang praises to their leader, their king, their god. Now he saw the high priest extolling praises at the foot of the palace. The words tugged at him oddly; they were filled with strange tones and hidden meanings. He saw his body emerge. It was the form a young man, tall and strong. His face bore the regal cast of a noble line. Yes, surely that must be me, Menrep thought, for who else bears such a face? But it could not be, for his spirit yet drifted. It must be a vision from ancient times, my father or an ancestor. Yet the words continued, louder and more forceful. Perhaps a son or grandson. The people bowed in unison. Menrep felt a lurch and suddenly plummeted towards the youth.
The high priest bowed low before his lord. The king surveyed his surroundings. Behind him was no palace but a great tapered pyramid, cracked and ancient. Before him was no grass, only dust and sand swirling under the merciless gaze of a blazing sun. His people, once beautiful and young, now stared from hollow eyes, tattered remnants clinging to their skeletal frames. Cracking stones signaled the arrival of his chariot. The great golden crest gleamed in the sun in stark contrast to the grim figures about it. Without a word Menrep allowed the arms of his line to be fastened upon him and stepped into his transport. Turning his head, his gaze fell once more upon his people. In lock step they quietly took position behind him. Looking down at his skeletal hands, he turned them slightly, the parchment-like skin peeling away to reveal ancient bone. Then, with a nod, Menrep, whose name means “To me death is a judgment”, lead his dead army to drive out those who would despoil their lands.
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