Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga)

by Anna Erishkigal

  "No graft?" Shay'tan gave him a toothy grin. Graft was a necessary evil to grease the wheels of commerce. It also provided an excuse to be rid of somebody after they had outlived their usefulness by accusing them of corruption. No graft meant more money for him.

  That peculiar feeling which had been eating at his gut ever since Ba'al Zebub had disagreed with him about selling humans, the one that was never wrong, marred his pleasure. Shay'tan prided himself on being an accurate student of humanoid nature. Graft provided catharsis for the movers and shakers in his empire, a sense of 'getting one over on the old dragon' when nothing could be further than the truth. The root of all humanoid behavior was greed.

  "It's more than that, Your Eminence," Utbah's tail slid from its formal position as emotion caused him to become animated. "For that level of tribute to have been sustained, not a single planet under your protectorship could have experienced a crop failure."

  "It is a testament to your stewardship," Shay'tan rumbled in a pleased tone. He had given Utbah free reign to experiment with his agricultural theories. He did not regret that decision.

  "It is no such thing," Utbah said. "My plant yield program is good, but even She-who-is could not produce those kinds of yields."

  "I control millions of worlds," Shay'tan said. "Perhaps things just averaged out?"

  "Not a single tributary has faltered due to bad weather or natural disaster."

  That bad feeling grew louder, causing his stomach to rumble in response to his emotional state. He sat up straight to ease his discomfort, pressing his leathery wings against his back.

  "What are you insinuating?"

  "That's just it, Sir," Utbah said. "I don't know what to think of it. All I know is that the more recently the planet was conquered, the more pronounced these ridiculous crop yields seem to be."

  Shay'tan scratched his chin with a clawed hand. Why would tributaries pay him more money than he was owed? That didn't make any sense!

  "Do you suspect Ba'al Zebub has any connection to this?"

  "I will make no accusations without proof." Utbah tucked his tail along his right side once more. "At this point, I have no evidence of anything at all. Only suspicions that these crop yields are unprecedented."

  Shay'tan's tail twitched. There was little that went on in the Empire without Ba'al Zebub's knowledge. The graft he skimmed was easily traceable to a vacation home he didn't know Shay'tan knew about and treasure kept in a safe on his diplomatic flagship. On the other hand, even he had been unaware of the goings on in Shemijaza's Third Empire, a pesky little experiment in democracy that he'd tolerated just to tweak Hashem's nose.

  Unfortunately, Hashem had rid himself of the rebel planet before he'd had a chance to study the strange pattern of trade. All that remained of Tyre was a string of asteroids orbiting the sun. As a god, he might be powerful, but even She-who-is had limits on how many worlds she could juggle before she began to drop a few. It would not surprise him if someone was cooking the tribute texts.

  "You said the newer the conquered territory, the more ridiculous the crop yields?" Shay'tan clarified.

  "Yes, your Majesty."

  Shay'tan's tail twitched back and forth, pausing to curl around itself and occasionally strike the ground. At last he settled upon a course of action.

  "I am reassigning you to take a baseline inventory of a new pet project of mine," Shay'tan grinned. "Top secret. Your wives and hatchlings will be well taken care of in your absence."

  Utbah did not appear thrilled at the prospect of being sent to a remote seed world. He would be even less thrilled when he learned his newest 'agricultural rollout' wasn't even within the bounds of the Sata'an Empire. Ever loyal, Utbah clicked his heels together and gesticulated to his forehead, his lips and his heart.

  "I am your most loyal servant. How long before I leave?"

  "Tonight. There's a shuttle leaving for rendezvous at twenty-two hundred hours. I want you on it."

  Utbah's snout tightened in a line of displeasure. Shay'tan understood it wasn't unwillingness to serve, but disappointment he would not be able to kiss his family goodbye.

  "I will grant an exception to the modesty laws," Shay'tan said softly, "and allow your family to accompany you to the edge of my Empire. It will take two weeks to catch up with the armada."

  "An armada? What is this planet and where is it located?"

  Shay'tan told him. Utbah's jaw dropped to his chest.

  "Won't the Alliance show up the moment the Eternal Emperor announces he has discovered a surviving colony of the root stock of his dying armies?" Utbah asked.

  "Hashem will do no such thing." Shay'tan's snout turned up in a predatory grin, this time his gut confirming what he knew to be true. "He will keep this news sequestered for as long as he can."

  "But that doesn't make any sense!" Utbah exclaimed, and then bowed deeply. "My apologies, Your Eminence. I meant no disrespect."

  "You opinion is valued, old friend," Shay'tan rumbled. "Do not concern yourself with the intrigues of gods."

  Shay'tan only knew too well what the real stakes were. Hashem had screwed up when he'd let the Seraphim homeworld be destroyed. Now SHE was giving him a chance by manipulating him to find the planet first! He would not let her down!

  "What official orders will I be carrying, Sir?" Utbah asked.

  "I launched an armada to roll out the red carpet to this world and you are the Empire's top agricultural expert," Shay'tan said. "You have free rein to try any experiment you wish to increase crop yields. Anything else you stumble upon will be a bonus."

  "And who shall I report to?"

  "General Hudhafah is a good man," Shay'tan said. "Decorated in battle … if a bit too liberal with his men. You might as well keep an eye on him while you are at it. Never hurts to get an unbiased opinion of my general's effectiveness."

  Utbah's long, forked tongue nervously flitted into the air.

  "Is there something you wish to say?" Shay'tan asked.

  "It's just … Your Eminence," Utbah's voice developed a slight warble, "some of the planets with the most unrealistic crop yields were worlds Hudhafah was assigned to oversee annexation."

  A sensation akin to having swallowed a boulder thudded into the pit of Shay'tan's stomach. Hudhafah was one of his most trusted generals. His entire empire was built upon a clear chain of command, stretching from him all the way down to the lowliest soldier. If first Ba'al Zebub, and then one of the generals immediately beneath him, was compromised, how far did this conspiracy go?

  "You shall then report directly to me," Shay'tan said. "Whatever you have to say, to convey it through my scribe. Is that understood?"

  "Yes, Your Eminence," Utbah signed the hand-greeting of respect and bowed.

  The Assistant Minister of Agriculture left him deep in thought. Thank the goddess he had rejected Ba'al Zebub's proposal to sell humans on the black market as mail order brides! Hashem would keep his mouth shut until he actually had the location of the human homeworld because the evidence humans carried in their genome, without enough humans to solve the hybrid infertility problem, would cause Hashem's armies to implode. Right now, the only human not under Shay'tan's control was married to Lucifer, a secret 'gift' he had given the man to tweak his adversaries nose.

  His tail twitching, he called back his scribe.

  "Your Eminence," the scribe bowed and stood, an old-fashioned pen poised in his hand, technology Shay'tan favored.

  "Summons back Rear-Admiral Musab. Is he still within the palace?"

  "Yes, Your Eminence." The scribe disappeared and, within twenty minutes, reappeared with the requested military leader.

  "Your Eminence," Rear-Admiral Musab bowed. "To what do I owe the honor of two meetings in one day?"

  Shay'tan examined the hard, muscled lizard-man who bowed only deeply enough to convey respect without submission. The admiral never took his eyes off his emperor despite the bow. A fighting man, not a politician, the kind of soldier Shay'tan liked to breed. More impo
rtantly, Musab had been busted down in rank by Ba'al Zebub many years ago and promoted to full-fledged Rear-Admiral over his objections after a particularly heroic battle. Whatever intrigues Ba'al Zebub might be running off the books, Musab was not involved.

  "My intelligence indicates the Prince of Tyre has been lingering in the uncharted territories," Shay'tan said, "supposedly as a platform to launch discreet diplomatic missions to colonies nobody cares about. I'm not buying it."

  "To attack the Prime Minister's flagship would be an act of war," Musab said. "What are your orders?"

  "If I was Lucifer and I wanted to hide something from my immortal father," Shay'tan said, "I would do what his biological father did before him. Stick the damned thing right in the middle of converging hot spots and leap into whichever one is most convenient should the excrement hit the fan."

  Admiral Musab gave him a knowing grin. If the Prince of Tyre wandered into his territory to escape an Alliance inspection, he could legally board and 'inspect' the Alliance flagship the exact same way Alliance military vessels searched his merchant vessels and then release it once he'd retrieved the human female. Offering, of course, full amnesty to Lucifer if he wished to defect … or use the offspring the ebony-skinned female now carried as leverage. Hashem would have an apoplectic fit once he found out his own son had so little faith in his ability to save their species that he'd gone behind his back.

  "I shall station a squadron of battle cruisers to shadow him," Musab said.

  The Admiral bowed and left. Shay'tan summoned back his scribe, who never went any further than just outside his chamber door.

  "Relay a message to Ba'al Zebub," Shay'tan ordered. "Set up a diplomatic meeting between Lucifer and the Eternal Emperor. I want him to feel out how much Lucifer has told the Emperor about his wife now that the cat is out of the bag."

  "Such a delicate negotiation will take time to arrange," the scribe said. "But I think I can make it happen."

  It would take weeks for Ba'al Zebub to traverse the galaxy, plus however long Hashem kept the Sata'an Empire's highest-ranking official cooling his heels waiting for an official audience. Given the worries Utbah had raised about a potential influx of unexplained funds, keeping Ba'al Zebub occupied elsewhere suited his plans.

  "Order Ba'al Zebub to manipulate the situation so that Supreme Commander-General Jophiel attends this meeting," Shay'tan added. "Two seconds in the same room with Lucifer and she'll be looking for an excuse to bust his chops."

  His belly shook with a suppressed guffaw. His spies kept track of every female the Alliance Prime Minister bedded. Nobody had predicted an anonymous cadet would suddenly be elevated to a brand-new military position that was Lucifer's equal, probably done to spite him by elevating a female to command Hashem's armies.

  "Yes, Your Eminence," the scribe said blandly, immune to becoming excited even when the idea was brilliant. He gesticulated to his head, his lips and his heart and silently exited.

  Shay'tan pulled back the stage-type curtain behind his golden throne to expose an enormous replica of the galaxy, humming with power as it slowly careened around its axis. One wall remained dark and silent. On the other stood a breathtakingly accurate likeness of the siren that had tempted him away from his former mission, She-who-is. He waddled over to the wall and caressed the fresco with his tail.

  "Hello, gorgeous," Shay'tan propositioned her. "They say once you've had a dragon, you'll never settle for anyone else."

  He glanced across the chessboard at his old master, He-who's-not. Nothing but a dark wall. One of these days She-who-is would reach out of her painting and slap him. Either that, or the Dark Lord would tire of his constant propositioning of his mate and uncreate him, putting him out of his misery.

  Shay'tan shot the third image on the far wall a toothy smirk, the reason he lingered after every other true-blooded dragon had disappeared. Hashem was the only immortal perhaps even smarter than himself or She-who-is, but Shay'tan had been playing this game far longer than the 'new' old god. Unlike his idealistic counterpart, Shay'tan knew a thing or two about being played in the higher game of universal chess.

  Chess moves. Chess moves. Chess moves. Shay'tan's claws moved over the enormous, wheeling replica of the galaxy and scrutinized each chess piece, plotting his next one thousand moves. Hashem swore his citizens continuously surprised him when he gave them the freedom to make their own decisions, but Shay'tan understood true humanoid nature. People wanted someone else to do all the thinking for them. Give them clear scriptures, a chain of command to follow and a promised reward, and few would deviate outside the norms.

  Oh, how easy it was to lure humanoids to do what he wanted them to do instead of Hashem's lofty, often unrealistic goals, when their leader did not provide them with a clear chain of command!

  With practiced brilliance, Shay'tan plotted every potential move and countermove Hashem might make and formulated a strategy to outwit him. Plotting gave him an emotional high, but it left his body knotted with anticipation, his dragon visage eager to carry out now what his mind foresaw weeks or eons down the road.

  He summoned back his wives, eager to resume the pleasure his Assistant Minster of Agriculture had interrupted. Forty-six wives, each a testament to their respective homeworlds. With a sigh, he stripped off his robe and stretched out upon his warming mat, his dragon-flesh never able to soak up enough of the heat he piped beneath the palace floor.

  "What troubles you, my Lord?" Edasich asked, his most comely wife. She was a perfect Sata'anic specimen, right down to her supple tail, a miniature replica of his tail. Her hands kneaded that hard-to reach spot behind his dorsal crest and massaged it until he felt he would melt into a puddle of pleasure.

  "I was just wondering what would happen if the Alliance hybrids caught wind of what their emperor has been hiding from them all these years…"

  Chapter 15

  September 3,390 BC

  Earth: Village of Assur

  Ninsianna

  "Ninsianna! Wait!"

  She glanced back the way she had just come and groaned. What in the goddesses name did he want? She considered making a break for it the moment she reached the narrow gate between the outer ring of houses, but decided against it. Mikhail was in Gasur and she had foolishly made eye contact before realizing who had called. She had no choice but to speak to the tall, muscular man running up the hill after her.

  "What do you want, Jamin?"

  Ninsianna did her best to sound friendly but, in reality, the last thing she wanted to be towards her former fiancé was cordial. Mikhail's arrival had saved her from forced marriage to him, but to this day Jamin plotted revenge against the man he blamed for the blow to his ego.

  "Ninsianna," Jamin said. "Please! I need to speak to you." Sweat beaded across his brow.

  Ninsianna gave him the kind of tolerant smile you might give a toddler when they persisted in begging you for a honey-cake moments before you fed them supper. A smart parent would say no until the child got the message or, more likely, the dinner you were cooking was ready to emerge from the beehive oven. Well … it wasn't yet common knowledge … but Ninsianna had her own little 'honey cake' in the oven. It was just the throwing-stone she needed to get Jamin to take a hint. Her hand moved to touch the tiny swelling of her abdomen.

  "Yes, Jamin," she asked more sweetly than usual, her feigned sweetness her way of telling Jamin to go jump off a cliff. "What can I do for you?"

  "I … uh …" Jamin stammered. "Can we go somewhere to talk?" His dark eyes were troubled, but with Jamin, goddess only knew what that meant.

  She silently counted how many fellow villagers trailed up from the riverbed below, their baskets laden with crops from their fields. Once upon a time these people would have let Jamin drag her off, but these days it was her they looked to for guidance. She … and her powerful winged husband. She was enjoying the sudden shift in power.

  "We can speak here." She raised her chin, her back straight as she imagined how a woman chief wou
ld look when addressing an upstart.

  The villagers moved to stand behind her. Although Chief Kiyan was still their undisputed leader, Jamin had lost face during the last Halifian raid. Whenever the village was under attack, all disputes were to be suspended until the crisis passed. He'd shown his loyalties lay with his own ego, and not the good of the village, when he had refused to come to Mikhail's aid.

  Jamin pulled something out of the pouch he wore attached to his belt. He held out a small, round disc and stepped closer, his dark eyes glittering as though he had won a wager.

  "I just met with an emissary from the Halifian tribe," Jamin said. "They gave me this."

  An angry buzz arose from the villagers who stood perched upon the pathway, baskets balanced precariously upon their shoulders.

  "They are our enemies," Ninsianna said curtly. "They killed eleven of our people. Why would you meet with them?"

  Jamin shoved the disc under her nose.

  "Take a look, Ninsianna," Jamin said. "Take a good look at it! Do you know what this is?" The disc was the diameter of a fava bean, the same color as the sun. On one side was stamped a winged, serpent-like creature wearing a crown. On the other was a star. The disc was beautiful, the etching so intricate it was unlike any religious icon she had ever seen.

  "I don't know what it is," Ninsianna shrugged, "and I don't care." She turned, giving him a dismissive wave.

  "It's gold," Jamin said. "Gold of a type this village has never seen before, so pure it rivals even my father's golden torque." He bit into the disc, leaving tooth marks, and held it high above his head, high enough for the harsh Mesopotamian sun to shine off of it as though it were a ray of sunlight. He wore the look of a hunter moving in for the kill.

  Ninsianna stiffened. A curious buzz arose from the other villagers. Drat! Perhaps she should have agreed to meet with him in private? How was she supposed to know what he was about to pull?

  'You could have warned me…' Ninsianna muttered to She-who-is. What use was being the Chosen One if SHE didn't warn her when somebody was about to spring a nasty surprise? Although, truth be told, Jamin always had been a favorite of the goddess. It was well-known that SHE had a soft spot for the pretty boys, especially the arrogant ones.