An indeterminate shape squatted on the hillside above the tomb. The phrase ‘as black as night’ flashed through his mind because it was black. Thick, impenetrable black. Blacker than the night sky. Blacker than the rocks around it. Blacker than any-thing he had ever seen in his life.

For long moments – too long – he stood paralysed. His throat closed. His mouth dried. His heart kicked in his chest. He stared. And stared. And then, some fragment of his training kicked in. Identify the threat and then proceed accordingly. He flipped down his visor to engage night vision.

It made very little difference so he pushed it back up again. The shape was still there. He was unable to distinguish any features or make out any form. It was just a thick, dark, hunched, shapeless shape. If it hadn’t been for the lack of noise and dust, he might have thought there had been a sudden rockfall.

Not daring to look away, he took a careful pace backwards. Then another. His shoulder brushed against a rock. Instinctively, he put out his hand to steady himself. His heart was pounding. Because this was more than fear. This was the deep, primeval instinct of our early ancestors. When the night was full of terrors.

I will not fear the terror in the dark . . .

He thought of Birgitte. Where was she now . . . ?

With a suddenness that made him jump, white lights slashed through the sky and lit up a part of the mountain off to his right. A second later, he could hear shouting. And then, a scattering of gunfire.

The thing on the tomb turned its head. Now, suddenly, there was a recognisable shape. A shape that sank his stomach and made every hair on his head stand up on end. A giant head was black against the black rock behind it. Two enormous pointed ears and a long, sharp snout. The head of a jackal. A monstrous jackal. A monstrous jackal was squatting over the tomb.

Luke had had the best education money could buy. And yes, all right, he’d squandered most of the opportunities that this had offered, but some of it had stuck. He would have done rather well if he had bothered to finish his degree. Even so, he knew exactly what he was looking at. He also knew this was no figment of his imagination. It was there. Right in front of him. A legend come to life. Anubis, Protector of Graves. Lord of the Sacred Land. Guardian of the Scales. He Who is Upon the Mountain. And he was. Anubis was right here. Right now. Upon the mountain. Crouching protectively over the open tomb. Even as Luke looked, it lowered its head at him, drawing back black lips to expose dog-like teeth.