Siamek's gaze shifted to where Jamin sat watching both of them like a cobra eying a mouse, and then met Mikhail's gaze, his expression wary. It was an awkward dance they performed, two men who did not trust one another. Mikhail gave him a respectful nod and the young man relaxed. The other warriors circled around Siamek, congratulating him for getting in the blow. Jamin shot them both a hateful glare.
"Good going!" the warriors cheered the two lieutenants.
Pareesa danced back to the women warriors, their hands held high as they each gave her a victory slap and eagerly grabbed at her double-handful of sable trophies, his plucked feathers. That was part of the reason he tolerated her always being underfoot. For some strange reason, humans viewed women as incapable of fighting. If Pareesa could compensate for her lighter mass with speed, then so could the older women.
A buzz of anticipation rippled through the ranks now eager to try the move themselves. Getting the men to try something showy was never a problem. It was convincing them to perform the more repetitive aspects of training, to fight together as a single army. Each trio began to perform the move, cracking skulls and jutting knees into awkward body parts that earned yelps of pain and, in one case, a bloody nose.
"Pareesa … Siamek," Mikhail ordered, "spread out and look for bad habits."
As he moved through the trios, correcting errors and demonstrating the proper way to do things, the tension began to ebb from Mikhail's shoulders. He almost forgot about the twin black orbs of hatred boring into the back of his wings from his seat upon the slaughtered pig. At least the pompous jerk was silent.
A skirmish at the far end of the line caught his attention. A dozen men and women clustered around the two pranksters, Firouz and Dadbeh, cheering them on as they performed a dance routine. Mikhail stood in front of them, arms crossed, waiting for them to acknowledge his presence. The others moved back to practice, but Firouz and Dadbeh remained oblivious to his displeasure. He flapped his wings to get their attention.
"Is there something you don't understand?" He ruffled his feathers, perplexed at their odd behavior.
"No," Dadbeh shot him a goat-turd-eating grin. "We're good."
The two warriors went back to performing their dance.
"Ah-hem," Mikhail flared his wings to be imposing and cleared his throat. "Shouldn't you be performing the maneuver?"
"Yes," the two men said together. Dadbeh stuck his fingers onto his head and rushed at Firouz, while Firouz made an overhand stabbing motion as though he were throwing spear. Other warriors circled around and began to clap.
"You're supposed to be practicing!" Mikhail was a patient man, but these two would try the patience of She-who-is. An emotion which had been creeping up on him the longer he dwelled amongst these irrational people gurgled in his gut.
The other warriors faltered in their practice. The occasional grunt of pain broke Mikhail's stoney silence as someone failed to block a blow from a teammate because they were watching the tricksters instead of the person attacking them.
"We are practicing!" Dadbeh wiggled the two fingers he had perched on top of his head as though they were horns and made a low, grunting noise. "Errgh! Errgh!"
"Come, stag!" Firouz called with great dramatic presence. "I call thee! Come bless my spear with thy flesh!"
Dadbeh danced towards Firouz, tossing his 'antlers' as though he were a rutting buck. Firouz made mock stabs with an invisible spear. At this point, every warrior in the group had ceased their training and circled around the pair. Rather than help rein them in, Pareesa cheered them on.
His authority was being undermined by his own lieutenant? The one Ninsianna insisted bore an affection for him? Heat flared through his veins like a fire-breathing dragon. Shay'tan's tail! This was worse than being disrespected by the goat!
"You're supposed to be helping me instill order," Mikhail growled under his breath. "Not encourage them."
"Just watch." Pareesa pranced like a child eager to show off her new doll, reminding him of her tender age.
"Smite that stag and offer its heart to the goddess of the hunt!" several warriors called in a sing-song manner. Whatever stunt the two pranksters were pulling, every member of the tribe was in on it except for him.
"Come, Stag," Firouz called. "I call thee to offer thy heart to She-who-is." He pulled a stick out of his belt, a mock knife?
Dadbeh rushed at Firouz, making a lowing noise like a beast. Firouz grabbed Dadbeh by the shoulders and leaped to pull him off-balance, pulling him to one side so that as soon as Dadbeh went down, his legs snaked around his back so he could not get back up. Mikhail recognized the usefulness of such a move to subdue a larger creature without being gored by its antlers. A niggling sense of recognition ate at the back of his mind. The maneuver seemed familiar, but he could not place it.
With a shout of 'goddess be' Firouz stabbed his 'stag' in the heart and rose to stand above it, pretending to hold its heart above his head.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Dadbeh's tongue lolled to one side of his mouth. "I die for the glory of She-who-is." He jutted his feet in the air and kicked, making a great spectacle of dying.
The other warriors, including Pareesa and Siamek, burst into laughter. Heat surged into Mikhail's temples, making the vein throb in his forehead. He clenched his fist, forcing the unhelpful emotion back where it belonged, and rammed his anger behind the unreadable mask he'd been using as a crutch.
"You're next," Dadbeh pointed at Mikhail as he rose to his feet. "Jamin says if we're going to fend off the Angelics who hired the slavers, we must learn to take down you first."
A viscous laugh wafted over from where Jamin sat perched upon his dead pig like an emperor sitting upon a throne, mocking his ineptitude as a leader. An uneasy silence rippled through the warriors. Until recently, Dadbeh, Firouz, and Siamek had all been part of Jamin's elite group of warriors. The ones whose first act upon crash-landing on this world had been to attack him while he'd still been weak and injured.
"He means, um…" Firouz justified his friend's slip of tongue. "He's just talking about the rumors Jamin heard that it is your people who are buying our women from the slavers. Not … uh … you."
"What?" Mikhail's blank mask slipped as he glanced in Jamin's direction. Who in Hades had told his rival about Ninsianna's prophecy? Every night She-who-is sent Ninsianna a vision about a white-winged Angelic who was consumed by evil. While they had told the Ubaid about the lizard-demons, only Ninsianna's parents knew about that part of the goddesses prophecy.
That black pit of rage he'd felt lurking beneath the surface, the one his Cherubim masters had warned he must never lose control of, left him with an eerie coldness. He stared at the group of faces, these faces he had been charged with teaching, but who bore him so little regard. They might as well have been the faces of his enemies for all the respect they gave him. The rage bubbled closer to the surface, calling to him, whispering.
'Call upon me and the power is yours…'
An emaciated girl stepped forward, one of his female warriors. Enormous black eyes stared from a face so thin and pale it felt as though he were staring into the eyes of death. His own visage was reflected in those perceptive dark mirrors, wings flared like a carrion bird, a weapon to be aimed, not a leader. What he saw was ugly, not the man he wanted to be. The mirrors blinked. He clamped down on his anger and forced it back beneath the surface, covering it with a whispered prayer.
He glanced over at Jamin, who had stood as though he wished to challenge him. Oh, how he wished he had smote the arrogant jerk the day he had hired mercenaries to attack him in his ship! If Ninsianna's ex-fiance spread rumors it was his people who were responsible for the mysterious kidnappings, it would undermine his position even more. Although his adopted people valued his fighting skills, he had not yet earned their trust.
"Mikhail," Pareesa touched his wing. "They were only talking about the Stag Dance. Remember? That's the move I used to almost take you down. They've been practicing it for weeks. Dadbeh and
Firouz wanted to surprise you."
To surprise … him?
His anger evaporated, releasing that foul, dark wound which gripped his psyche, one memory whose absence he was certain was a blessing. Firouz and Dadbeh both wore an expression of hurt, not arrogance or hatred as Jamin wore, because he had misconstrued their intention.
"Before I teach advanced moves," Mikhail's tone was conciliatory, "you must allow your brothers in arms to catch up with you so you do not find yourself fighting without an army at your back. Keep practicing on your own and, when the time comes, I shall have you teach the others. Agreed?"
Raise both eyebrows … here. Display emotion with sheepish humility. It was all part of the awkward lessons he was learning about the non-verbal, dominant language of human communication.
The two pranksters recognized he offered them an olive branch. With no sign of their former good humor, they moved back to rehearse the defensive maneuvers. His faux pas sat upon the men like a shroud, their moods subdued as they practiced under the watchful, hateful gaze of the man who should have been in charge of this training, and refused.
Mikhail fingered his dog tags, tracing the stamped cuneiform which spelled the lie, colonel. Some leader he'd turned out to be! It was little wonder the Alliance had not responded to his distress call. His hand slipped down to the pulse rifle holstered on his hip, its power source too depleted to use as anything but a last-shot desperate measure.
As far as these people were concerned, he was nothing but a hired gun.
Chapter 4
Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.09
Haven-3
Alliance Secret Services: Special Agent Eligor
Eligor
Eligor hid his boredom as they escorted the Prime Minister back from the Emperor's palace on Haven-1. Usually it was Furcas and Pruflas who shadowed Lucifer everywhere like a pair of matching gargoyles, with their bulging muscles and flint-cold eyes, but whenever he was summoned to answer to his father, the two regular bodyguards were always indisposed. Chief of Staff Zepar also found excuses, leaving Eligor and his naive sidekick, Lerajie, to babysit the Alliance's highest civilian authority. Eligor suspected it was because the Cherubim would not let the two hired guns step foot inside the Eternal Palace, not that he was much better.
"Are we going to get shore leave?" Lerajie's pale wings fluttered with hope. It had been a long, boring stint out in the uncharted territories where Lucifer kept his diplomatic flagship stashed to avoid a surprise inspection.
"Depends on whether or not Zepar has any 'mating appointments' lined up for him," Eligor snorted in disgust. "I don't know why he persists trying to impregnate an Angelic when he's got 17 half-human offspring on the way."
Eligor was as ordinary as Angelics came, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, neither handsome nor unhandsome, with a nose which had been broken once and never quite set right, accentuating his natural expression of cynicism. He had white wings as all Angelics did, and was a bit taller than average, though not by much.
His feet hurt from standing outside the Great Hall for seven hours. The two unblinking Cherubim guard had neither offered them a seat, nor a bite to eat while they waited for Lucifer to get his ass handed back to him by his immortal father. Twenty-five years Eligor had been making these runs and never once had he been invited inside to meet the Emperor!
Both gave the clown-prince they shadowed a furtive glance.
"So which one do you think he is today?" Lerajie asked. "The good twin? Or the evil one?" That was how the Angelics stationed on the Prince of Tyre referred to the two sides of Lucifer they saw with increasing regularity.
Lucifer stared out the window, deep in thought. His snowy white wings and white-blonde hair picked up the dying sunlight as the spacecraft dipped beneath the stratosphere of Haven-3. Just for a moment it looked as though he were made of sunlight, his pale features reflecting the light that streamed in through the heat-shielded window and casting it deep into the recesses of the passenger compartment. The shuttle grew warmer as it descended into the troposphere and began its final approach.
"The good twin," Eligor whispered. "Whenever he goes to see the Emperor, he's always on his best behavior."
Lerajie shot him a conspiratorial grin. The pale-winged Angelic was always quick to argue on behalf of an emerging species or the civil rights of pond scum. Idealist. It had been Lerajie's mouth which had landed him on Lucifer's ship.
Eligor shot him a look that said 'knock it off.' The last thing they needed was the Alliance's highest-ranking civilian authority to overhear them making fun of him. It would be a one-way ticket to the Tokoloshe front.
The shuttle lurched as the VTOL pushed back upon the concrete space port and gave a momentary sensation of floating before setting down. This flight was supposed to have been confidential, but as usual, someone had leaked the Prime Minister's flight plans to the press. The terminal was so crowded it was a wonder the paparazzi didn't push each other off the elevated launch pad to their death below.
"I see our friends are waiting for us," Lucifer shot Eligor a displeased look. "Looks like you two will be earning your keep today."
A low rumble emanated from deep in Lerajie's chest. Eligor placed his hand upon his crewmate's shoulder. Lucifer had always been a bit of an ass, but ever since Ba'al Zebub had cut a deal to sell humans as mail-order brides, a whole other side of Lucifer had emerged. One that made Eligor want to cut and run.
Unfortunately, he had a few warts in his own past, the kind that would get an Angelic court-marshaled … or worse … executed for treason. Black marks Zepar made no bones about being able to make reappear … with interest … on his service record if he ever tried to quit. Every man on Lucifer's ship was in the same boat. Including Lerajie.
Lucifer sighed, his white wings drooping with exhaustion. "I'm sorry … I didn't mean that to come out like that." He shot them a weary grimace. "Rough meeting with my father. Let's just get through this clusterfuck, okay?"
Eligor stared into Lucifer's eerie silver eyes. Even on a good day Lucifer had always been an arrogant fuck, but lately the Prime Minister had been acting 'off.' Right now he just looked tired.
"We'll do our best, Sir," Eligor said.
"But…" Lerajie began to say.
Eligor elbowed him in the ribs. Ever since Lucifer had kept a few of the human females they were gifting all over the Alliance to sterile hybrids for himself, Lerajie had been on the warpath. The 17 women Lucifer had impregnated after 200 years of unsuccessfully trying to perpetuate his bloodline were little more than animals, not even sentient enough to speak, but it still goaded them to see the root-race of their own species mistreated. Only Eligor's warning that Zepar would 'disappear' them, along with any incriminating females, kept Lerajie's tongue in check.
They puffed up to their full height, ready to take out any threat, and spread their wings, shoving paparazzi aside who tried to stick microphones into Lucifer's face and, in one instance, knocking a too-aggressive reporter to the ground. Not a single reporter was one of the four species of genetically engineered super-soldiers which made up the Emperor's armies. With their species teetering at the brink of extinction, the Alliance could not spare a single hybrid on so frivolous a pursuit as reporting the truth.
"Mr. Prime Minister! Mr. Prime Minister!" A young male Angelic rushed up to them.
Eligor flared his wing to create a shield.
“Mr. Prime Minister … Please … Wait!” the young male persisted. “I need to speak to you!”
“The Prime Minister is busy,” Eligor gave his iciest stare. “If you want to speak to him, call the office and make an appointment."
The young man had neither the practiced persistence of the paparazzi nor the wild-eyed air of a crackpot. Eligor had never been prone to pity, but ever since Lucifer had taken that first human female against her will, he'd been experiencing bouts of remorse. He'd thought he was long past the point of caring, his chequered past dabbling in the intrigues of the Third Empire
making him hard and cold, but every now and again something reminded him that once upon a time he had been a good man.
"Sir?" Eligor lowered his wing, drawing Lucifer's attention to the young man.
Eligor had occasionally seen Lucifer use his position of power to help an ordinary citizen, with no hope of gaining anything in return, and keep it from Zepar and the press. It didn't happen often, less since Hashem had returned from the ascended realms, but he suspected Lucifer liked to remind himself why he ruled even though he'd become disillusioned by Alliance politics long ago. Perhaps this would be one of those cases?
“It’s okay,” Lucifer gave a weary sigh. “I’ve got to talk to my constituents some of the time.”
Eligor nodded. That same desperation which had caused him to take pity resonated with Lucifer, as well. Lerajie frisked the man for weapons while Eligor cleared a path to the terminal. Spaceport security did their best to hold back the teeming masses, but Eligor had been running interference long enough to see it would only be a matter of seconds before people slipped past and thronged around their rock-star of a leader like adoring fans.
“What can I do for you today?” Lucifer asked.
“My name is Hasdiel,” the young male said. “I’ve been looking for my half-sister, Pravuil. She's one of your junior legislative aides.”
“Pravuil … Pravuil …” Lucifer tried to recall the name. “Lerajie … do we have a Pravuil on our staff?”
“Not anymore,” Lerajie said. "She was the … um …" Neither one of them wished to say 'the ugly one' in front of the young woman's brother.
Eligor remembered Pravuil well, hard working and eager to please despite her plain-as-dirt features and mousy wings. They'd been surprised when she'd stopped coming around. Towards the end, she and Lucifer had always had their heads pressed together, whispering secrets and laughing like two best friends. Rumors had begun to circulate that the homely young woman had caught the alpha-stud's fancy, something different than the endless stream of beautiful Angelic females who threw away a precious mating cycle in a vain attempt to set Lucifer's seed.
Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 5
