Abaddon nodded. He noted the way General Kunopegos accosted the Prime Minister the moment he was out of Abaddon's earshot … and likely given a similar appeasement. Abaddon stepped up to his shuttle to leave and glanced across the palace to where the Eternal Tree rose above the adobe of their Emperor and god, rays of the dying light radiating out from behind its silver leaves as though the sun set behind a mountain.
The next time that tree bloomed, he would pluck a fruit from its branches and gift it to his wife. He swore he would.
Chapter 18
September 3,390 BC
Earth: Gasur
Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili
Mikhail
"Just before we land, I need to shift my body towards the ground," Mikhail warned his mother-in-law. "Don't panic or we'll land face-first in the dirt."
Needa's words were lost to the wind. Between the eyes she’d kept scrunched shut the entire way and her face buried into his armpit, she'd been a model passenger. All except for the gouge marks where she'd clung to him for dear life.
She wasn't any heavier than Ninsianna. The three bundles of medicinal herbs she'd tied to him, on the other hand, had added weight in places he wasn't used to carrying. Thank the goddess they were here because, otherwise, he was ready to drop out of the sky!
Gasurian villagers spotted his approach. Two familiar faces ordered the others to move back and give him room to land. He shifted his weight, earning a shriek from Needa who dangled from his grip like a prey animal in a raptor's claws as his wings flapped backwards to slow their descent. Thank the gods she had enough sense to freeze rather than attempt to run mid-air.
With a grunt he thudded down upon the earth, not light on his feet as an Angelic was supposed to land, but then again, he possessed no recollection of ever carrying a passenger in his service to the Emperor. His two enormous brown-black wings extended fifteen feet in either direction, the wind they created stirred up maelstroms of dust as he slowed their forward momentum.
Two archers stepped forward, graduates of his archery training program when he'd convinced the Chief to allow two from each Ubaid allied village to come to Assur to learn.
"Mikhail," Shumama greeted, hand extended in a reasonable facsimile of an Alliance handshake. “We did not expect you to travel here. We are honored.”
“Shumama, Harrood,” Mikhail tucked his wings behind his back and set his mother-in-law down. “Needa did not wish to waste any time once she’d heard about the attack.”
Needa stepped back from his grip. With an indignant huff, she rearranged her shawl back into the draped dress most Ubaid women wore belted around their waist, shooting him a cross look when he rearranged his own disheveled feathers by beating his wings like a duck emerging from the river.
All around him, villagers ogled him with a combination of fear and awe. As had happened in Assur, it was the little ones who crept forward first, eager to pat his wings and pluck his feathers. He took no offense, but had come to expect such behavior as normal.
“Can you stay?” Harrood asked, the second of the archers he had trained. Behind him stood a handful of fellow archers, six men and three women, all carrying a reasonable facsimile of the bows he’d taught Shumama and Harrood to build. As promised, the two had gone back to their village and trained the others, discipline which had proved invaluable when this village had been attacked.
A seventh man hurried out of a modest mud-brick house, fumbling with the woven rope he used as a belt to hold up his kilt. Although his kilt had the same five layers Chief Kiyan’s did, the fringes were unbeaded versus his Assurian counterpart's ceremonial finery. Nonetheless, it was obvious this man was the Gasur village chief.
“Needa!” the chief greeted. “We feared you would not come.”
“I swore a blood oath when you freed me from my promise,” Needa said. “Did you think I would so casually break my word, Jiljab?”
“It was not you I doubted,” Chief Jiljab said, “but that old tightwad Kiyan. He is a bit, how shall I put it delicately … stingy.”
“Not as bad as he used to be,” Needa grunted. “Ever since my son dropped out of the sky, he has been reforming his parsimonious ways.”
“We are grateful for whatever assistance you can render, old friend,” Jiljab grasped Needa by the hand.
Mikhail noted the chief’s hand lingered longer in Needa's than was appropriate. Oh? Ninsianna accused him of being clueless, but her jealous fits over which female touched his feathers or lingered too long chatting about whatever lesson he’d just taught had sensitized him to the subtle nuances of human courtship. An old suitor, perhaps? He hoped the Gasurian chief was not a poor sport as Jamin had been.
“Where are my parents?” Needa asked.
“Your mother is at Tutanraman’s house,” Chief Jiljab said. “He did not fare well in the raid. But now that you are here, perhaps he has a chance to live?”
“What of my father?”
“Out with a band of warriors on patrol,” Jiljab said. “The young warriors are an energetic bunch, but we suspect this attack could have been foreseen had the they been more familiar with Uruk traders.”
“Uruk?” Mikhail interrupted. “You mean they weren’t Halifians?”
“Not that we’ve been able to ascertain,” Shumama interjected. “Usually they don’t travel this far north, but they’ve become more aggressive ever since the Pars Sea began to recede.”
“Were they armed with bows and arrows?” Mikhail asked.
“No,” Jiljab said. “They had these, instead.” He pulled out a device like an atlatl, but instead of the usual throwing stick the Ubaid used for flinging a spear, these spears were weighted … and shorter. He held out the device so Mikhail could take it as if he were some sort of oracle. “Are you familiar with this device, winged one?”
Mikhail took the weapon and turned it so he could look at it this way or that. The spear was shorter and thinner than a regular spear, halfway between a traditional heavy weapon and an arrow, and weighted just short of the primitive fletching, which no spear had, with an elongated rock lashed to the shaft. He whispered the Cherubim focusing incantantations, but the weapon held no familiarity in his hand.
“I have never seen such a weapon,” Mikhail said. “But I can see how it might be used. The device is used as a fulcrum to increase the velocity of a short spear?”
“The what?” Jiljab asked.
Needa laughed. “If you’ll excuse me, old friend, I have wounded to attend. I’ll leave you men to yammer over weaponry.” She headed down the narrow road which laced between the huddled houses, her footsteps certain as though she knew where she was going.
“We have seen this weapon before,” Harrood said. “Long before you fell from the sky.”
“An earlier version of it,” Shumama corrected. “The spears used to be longer and heavier, while the throwing stick used to be much shorter. These Uruk wore the atlatl strapped around their wrists by a strap and, here, see this? This handle is an improvement over an earlier design.”
"Is this a natural evolution of Uruk technology?" Mikhail asked. "Or have you heard rumors that someone is feeding them improvements and then riling them up to come against you?"
Harood and Shumama stared at the throwing stick. The atlatl, unfortunately, could not talk. From the way the two had already dissected the weapon, Mikhail had no doubt such improvements would be proliferating in the Gassurians own weapons by weeks' end.
"Do you fear it might be these lizard demons?" Chief Jiljab asked.
Mikhail searched his memory for the information and came up empty. The gaps where he just knew things, without remembering where he had learned them, were frustrating. It was one of the reasons Jamin had gained so much traction against him. How do you explain you don't know what you don't know … until all of a sudden you just do?
"The Sata'an Empire frequently teaches collaborators just enough to get other people to do their dirty work," Mikhail said, "without giving them anything w
hich can be turned against them if people realize their purpose is anything but benign." He didn’t know how he knew this, but he just did, the same way he knew how to flap his wings.
"I have heard no reports of lizard demons from our trading partners to the south," Chief Jiljab said. "But the Uruk hold the confluence of both great rivers to the Pars Sea. Any trader who comes upriver must pass through their territory. If they have it, soon the Uruk will."
Mikhail examined the atlatl one last time. Unless the Gasurians managed to capture one of the men who attacked their village and made him talk, chances are they might never know.
"Join us for supper," Chief Jiljab changed the topic of conversation. "Our table is modest, but I think you will find us good company?" Jiljab had the look of a man eager to swap battle tactics with somebody whose brain he wished to pick, a favorite pastime of men of war.
"I would love to," Mikhail said, thankful to get a night off, even if it was marred by Ninsianna's absence.
With his usual patience, he waded through a village full of people only too eager to meet the man who had fallen from the sky and consumed far too much roasted goat and fresh bread. For the first time in months, it felt okay to relax. Right about now, somebody else would be training those same Assurians, the ones who only came to his training classes because the Chief had ordered it thus. Siamek was a competent lieutenant and, unlike Mikhail, suffered from no division in loyalties. He and Pareesa would have the villagers trained in no time.
He could not wait until he was done training the Assurians so his life could be like this all the time. The Assurians were in good hands…
Chapter 19
September – 3,390 BC
Earth: Village of Assur
Pareesa
“Alright, men, listen up!” Pareesa barked in her best approximation of what Mikhail called his 'drill sergeant voice.' “We shall repeat this move until you get it right.”
"It's after sunset."
"I'm tired."
"Everyone else went home. Why can't we?"
"Because I said so, that's why!" Pareesa snapped.
The 16-member B-team was comprised of men who never would have trained as warriors if times weren’t so strange and troubled. Most were only a few years older than her, ranging from fourteen-summer Pirhum to nineteen-summer Yaggit, and all had so little natural ability it made her want to scream. All she did was repeat, repeat, repeat. And then, just when she thought her head would explode with frustration, she would need to repeat some more. And more. And more. And more. Gyaah!!! Mikhail always made it look so easy!
Her only consolation was how difficult the larger group of warriors had made things for Siamek earlier tonight. Without Mikhail there to make them do things, they found excuses to cut corners every chance they got.
"Why do we have to keep repeating the same move over again?"
"Because you were too thick-headed to learn it the first three hundred times I taught you!" Pareesa said. "Now quit complaining and get to work!"
"Why can't we just wait until Mikhail comes back?"
"My feet hurt."
"Can't we try something new?"
"I'm hungry."
“Pareesa,” Ebad interrupted before she could clock one of them over the head with the butt-end of her spear. “Could you please demonstrate that staff move again? If you broke it down into each component move, perhaps we could master it?”
Dark haired and brown-eyed, with the light-olive complexion of a man who spent most of his time indoors, Ebad helped his father earn a living turning the yellow clay of the Hiddekel into pots, bowls, urns and cups. He was good enough looking, she guessed, not that she'd noticed. Pareesa was just past the age where all boys were pests, and now that she'd started to notice them, noticed one, to be exact, a certain dark-winged Angelic, she found Ebad to be annoying, always underfoot, and full of questions. The others had voted him to be their squad leader.
“I already broke it down for you,” Pareesa scolded. “Twice! How many more times do I need to do it for you?”
“Um … until I get it right?” Ebad asked sheepishly. “Please? I really want to learn.”
Pareesa sighed. Mikhail had asked her to do this as a special favor. They were only as strong, he'd explained, as their weakest link, all sixteen of which stood before her now. She'd been thrilled to be selected out of all the older warriors to be one of Mikhail's lieutenants. Siamek said she was nothing but a mascot, but what did he know! She'd agreed to train the B-team out of pure selfishness. Mikhail was much too busy to train her personally anymore. Perhaps if she took up some of the burden, he'd have more time to teach her a few new combat maneuvers?
Nice muscle-rippling, feather-rustling combat maneuvers...
Pareesa pictured the next time she'd manufacture an excuse to sink her fingers into those lush, sable feathers.
Squee!
She realized Ebad was staring at her with his brown, doe eyes.
“If I show you again," Pareesa jutted her finger into Ebad's face, "you need to go home and practice. If you come back tomorrow and haven’t mastered it, I will crack you over the head and leave you laying in the gully for the hyenas to eat!”
"She's worse than the Amorite slavers," Ipquadad whispered, the son of a flaxseed oil dealer. "At least they would simply sell us instead of making us practice these endless drills."
Pareesa decided they needed another reminder of why she had been placed in charge, despite her tender age, and not one of them.
"Ipquadad!" she ordered. "Now it's your turn to demonstrate the move. Front and center! Now!"
The portly young man of eighteen summers moved to take Ebad's place. Although well dressed with a two-fringed kilt, the mark of a merchant's apprentice, his soft midsection overhung his belt. Pareesa crossed staffs with him before crouching into the ready position.
"Now it's time to see how well you practiced," Pareesa gave him a jackal's grin. "Ebad … count out thirty measures."
Ipquadad gulped, the motion made more obvious by his double chin.
"Now!" Ebad began to count the time-measure words. "One sanu, two sanu, three sanu…"
Pareesa waited for the young man to move against her, toying with him like a jackal circling a herd. Ipquadad watched for a chance to knock his smaller opponent down. Shorter by half a cubit, Pareesa was also perhaps one-half his weight.
Ipquadad made several feints in her direction, two hands still on the stick as he clunked it against her own. She rebutted each move without breaking a sweat. He swung his staff at her knees, looking to knock her legs out from under her rather than come after her directly, a respectable move.
Pareesa leaped into the air. The staff swung harmlessly beneath where she had stood only moments before. Her feet landed just in time to give her leverage to finish her blow upon the young man's shoulder.
"Ow!!!" Ipquadad shrieked in pain.
The other men laughed.
The still-green Ipquadad failed to perform the counter-move Mikhail had taught them, to swing up his staff to prevent a second blow. Rather than wound her charge badly enough that he would have an excuse to avoid further training, she merely gave him a glancing thwack, just hard enough to teach him a lesson, and then shoved her staff against his chest as she hooked her heel around the back of his knee to shove him backwards.
"Twenty-eight sanu!" Ebad shouted the moment Ipquadad landed on his back. For some reason, he took great pride in keeping track of how many measures it took for her to knock each one of them to the ground. Their times had grown longer, but they were still not up to par with the minimum 30 sanu of the regular warriors.
Panting, Pareesa held the butt of her staff at Ipquadad's throat. "Do you yield?"
With a pasty-faced pout, Ipquadad nodded, too winded to speak. Pareesa gave him a hand up and then whacked him lightly on the backside, a gesture the male warriors often did to signify good-natured defeat. The young man limped back into line, issuing no further challenges to her authority.
/>
"If she can almost throw Mikhail to the ground," one of the other B-team members whispered to Ipquadad, "then she can sure as hell take down you."
"I think she's the only one in the village," another added, "except for Ninsianna who isn't afraid of him."
Pareesa hid her smile. She knew what they said about her and it pleased her. All were wary of taking on a spitfire who was unafraid of the stoic creature that had come down from the heavens to train them to become an army of god … even if it rankled them to take orders from a thirteen-summer female. They didn't know her mentor had a tender heart. So far as they were concerned, it was deal with her, or deal with him.
The torches made of rushes dipped in bitumen began to flicker, their pitch expended. With less than a half-moon, there would be no more lessons tonight unless they wished to land their blows in the dark.
"Okay, B-team," Pareesa said. "Go home and practice! We meet back here tomorrow for your regular lessons. Siamek is filling in for Mikhail the next few days."
She didn't add, 'and doing a lousy job.' Siamek was good at what he did, but he inspired about as much motivation as a rock. Mikhail might hate being in charge, but damn! The way he just buckled down and did things without a thought for his own ego made everyone want to dig a little deeper and do better.
She overheard a whispered comment which wafted her way as her B-team trudged home.
"Little Fairy my foot … the next thing you know she'll make us go hunt lions…"
Chapter 20
Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.10 AE
Uncharted Territories: Battle Cruiser 'Beylan'
Leonid Colonel Orias
Orias
Leonids were a passionate race, prone to fits of temper and outward displays of emotion. Of the four species of super-soldiers the Eternal Emperor had spliced together from the now-extinct humans, Leonids possessed the most animal DNA. This had made them the largest, the strongest, the fiercest predator species in the galaxy, second only to Shay'tan himself and the Cherubim high guard, but it had also made them vulnerable after inbreeding had rendered them infertile.
Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 20
