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

by Anna Erishkigal

  Jamin glowered at his soon-to-be father-in-law even more than he glowered at Mikhail. Ninsianna had enlightened him about Shahla's 'condition.' There was no denying Jamin was the father. Every person in the village had seen those two coming out from behind the goat shed, or the date-palm orchard, or a copse of reeds left high by the receding river, their clothing disheveled.

  "The Uruk are a hostile tribe," the chief of Arrapha contradicted him, Chief Yasma'addu, an elderly man with a look of profound weariness. "We have suffered their incursions for years. To break our bonds of unity now would be a mistake!"

  "Immanu?" Chief Kiyan turned to Ninsianna's father. "What do the gods advise in this matter?"

  Everyone knew Ninsianna spoke with the voice of the goddess, but it was hard enough getting the other chiefs to accept the fact a woman had been invited to this meeting at all, much less ask her what the gods thought. If She-who-is felt like making her presence felt, there would be no doubt in the men's minds if Ninsianna spoke with HER voice. If not, the chiefs would give Assur's opinions more weight if they were uttered from the mouth of another man. Mikhail chafed at this injustice, but Ninsianna had taken it in stride, happy to be invited at all.

  Foolish, primitive people. They were every bit as recalcitrant as the goat!

  "The goddess has spoken," Immanu said. "We gather because each of our villages has been attacked by foes possessing these!" He pulled out the gold coin Mikhail had brought back from Gasur, one of several they had taken from the bodies of the slain attackers. "As did Quattara."

  The Sata'anic coin glittered in the light streaming through the skylight above, turning the golden dragon red. Mikhail shivered. He should remember more about the real enemy building a base somewhere on this planet, but his memories were like a spider web, a network of silver threads sturdy enough for him to still function, but not solid like a woven cloth.

  "Qattara is not here," Laum spoke, the cloth trader. "And they were attacked by the Anatolians."

  Mikhail decided he did not like the man. Not because he promoted a different opinion than the others, but because he used Qattara's distance and the infeasibility of travel on such short notice for an emergency meeting as an argument against them. It seemed unfair. He could see where Shahla got the conniving Ninsianna hated so much.

  "Our attackers were also Halifian," Chief Sinalshu said, the chief of Nineveh. "But they only killed our apprentice healer."

  "Only?" Immanu asked. From the worried look in the shaman's tawny-beige eyes, there was no 'only.' He was worried sick about Needa.

  "Ours were Uruk," Chief Jiljab said from Gasur. "They killed both our healer and our apprentice healer."

  "Don't you see a pattern?" Immanu said. "Four villages, all attacked by hostile tribes carrying these golden discs with a dragon stamped into the back. Two of those villages lost healers. It's too much of a coincidence."

  "Happenstance," Laum, the cloth-merchant said. "Everybody knows the apprentice healer's house in Nineveh was at the outer edge of the village. Those are always the first houses hit. And your two healers were killed within the same house. Don't read intentions into actions that may not exist."

  "We did not take any of the gold-wielders alive to ask what their intentions were," Chief Jiljab sighed. "Had we known they were coordinating their efforts with other tribes, perhaps we would have made a greater effort?"

  Mikhail remembered the man he had set free, the one who had lowered his spear. How he wished he had grabbed the man now and put him to questioning with Ninsianna's gift of tongues! Had the Gasurian's not been in the process of butchering the other Uruk they'd defeated, he would have done so, but killing a man who wished to surrender went against the direction of his feathers.

  He glanced up. Ninsianna's coy expression indicated she found his irritation to be amusing. Despite his best efforts to maintain a neutral mask, he'd been having trouble keeping up the facade lately, feeling out-of-place being the only emotionless one amongst a horde of people so expressive. He allowed himself the luxury of a single raised eyebrow. Ninsianna's smile grew wider. Her ability to perceive what he felt was uncanny.

  Jamin saw it too…

  "This one is a fool!" Jamin practically spat at soon-to-be his father-in-law. He grabbed the coin and shook it in Mikhail's direction. "This coin is a bounty … for him! They target healers because the lizard-demons pay a bounty to find him. Word has gotten around that an Ubaid healer found him and healed him! The only thing working in our favor right now is the fact they still work against one another, eager to keep secret which village harbors him so their tribe can collect the bounty!"

  "And how did our enemies come by this information?" the dulcimer flute of Ninsianna's voice asked. "He who traveled out to the Halifian tribe to treat with our enemies?"

  Her voice was soft and light, but her narrowed eyes belied her simple question. For a moment Mikhail thought she spoke with the voice of She-who-is, but her words, while having the ring of unshakeable truth, did not carry that odd electricity he'd come to associate with the goddess of All-that-is telling him how much he failed to measure up. This was Ninsianna's voice … but her question was every bit as deadly.

  "I needed information," Jamin hissed. "So I took flaxseed oil and traded for it."

  "Your own son broke our treaty, Kiyan?" the three other chiefs spoke in unison.

  Chief Kiyan gave his son a look that was neither anger nor pride, and then looked down. This revelation was planned. The reason for Jamin's presence was becoming clear.

  "It was necessary," Chief Kiyan said. "A good chief needs to know what his enemies are up to." He pulled out his own gold coin and added it to the ones Immanu and Jiljab had brought. "You've all been told of Ninsianna's prophecy?"

  "Lizard-demons," Jiljab and Sinalshu said together. "Come down from the sky like he did. Only these ones are led by an Evil One."

  "Is this creature on the coin what you see, Ninsianna?" Arrapha's chief Yasma'addu asked.

  "Not exactly," Ninsianna answered truthfully. "The creatures I see do not have wings, but are in other ways similar."

  Her eyes met Mikhail's across the room. It remained unspoken, but he knew what words she omitted. 'Except for a white-winged Angelic more horrible and evil than any dragon.'

  "That's not all," Jamin rose from his seat-cushion and pointed at Mikhail. "They also told me…"

  "Jamin!" Chief Kiyan snapped. "That's enough!"

  "But he…" Jamin lurched forward.

  The Chief rose like an animal handler yanking back a viscous dog on a leash, grabbing his son by the arm and giving it a twist.

  "I said that's enough," Chief Kiyan hissed. "You say one more insult and I swear by the gods I will banish you from this village and send word you are to be given no quarter in any Ubaid village!"

  Jamin's black eyes smoldered with hatred. Chief Kiyan knew, but they had agreed to keep it quiet lest it cast doubt upon his command. Jamin shook off his father's arm. He jerked his head in Mikhail's direction as though to say 'you'll get yours soon enough' then sat back down, his expression seething.

  Mikhail could feel the man's hatred boring into his body, as though Jamin thought if he stared hard enough, he could carve out his internal organs and kill him.

  The Chief picked up the two coins and looked at Laum, the man who was soon to become his brother-in-marriage.

  "Just as Jamin used something he knew the Halifians were desperate to obtain to get information," Chief Kiyan said, "I summoned as many of you as I could on a day's notice to seek permission to try something similar with the Uruk. I do not condone how my hotheaded son got this information, unilaterally, without first reaching an agreement with our friends. But I do acknowledge that getting it was necessary."

  Chief Kiyan looked at the men seated around him on cushions.

  "Laum has trading partners familiar with the Uruk tribe," Kiyan continued. "I would like a consensus to send him there on a limited trade."

  "What you propose will anger th
e northern Ubaid tribes," Sinalshu from Nineveh said. "Unity is unity."

  "I sent runners," Chief Kiyan said, "but we bear the cost of holding the line so the northern tribes can be free of Uruk aggression. It is we who bear the cost, just as our northern brothers keep the Anatolian tribe on their own side of the Taurus Mountains."

  "You wish to send me on a false trading mission?" Laum asked unhappily. Mikhail could see the cloth trader adding up in his head what it would cost his reputation.

  "Perhaps it need not be false," Immanu said. "If the future happens as Ninsianna foresees, our tribe may need to unite with enemies to fend these lizard demons off. It does not hurt to feel out a potential alliance."

  Immanu looked at Chief Kiyan. Kiyan nodded. One by one, the other Chief's nodded as well.

  "Who will pay the cost of a one-sided trade?" Laum protested. "I don't want it coming out of my funds!"

  Chief Kiyan tossed the coin in the air and slapped it on the back of his hand, exposing it to show the six-pointed star that adorned its back.

  "Who said the trade needs to be one-sided," Chief Kiyan grinned. "The oil my son brought my enemies had grown so stale it was useless as anything except lamp oil. The Halifians were so desperate to have it, they gave him something far more valuable in return. The information was just a bonus."

  From Jamin's surprised expression, he'd not been aware the gold coin was that valuable. The other chiefs broke out a vat of Yalda's most potent brew and began passing around reeds to sip the beverage from the communal bowl, the straws necessary to sip the liquids from the bottom without consuming the disgusting yeast sentiments which floated on the top. Even Laum looked pleased. He had permission to conduct a test-trade with their enemies. Chief Kiyan had saved face for his son's transgression, a masterful move.

  Jiljab handed Mikhail one of the cubit-long straws, while Sinalshu handed Jamin another. Happenstance caused them both to move towards the vat at the same time. Jamin stiffened and drew back, that momentary look of puzzlement hardening back into the hatred which had been his state of being from the first time Mikhail had ever laid eyes upon the man.

  "I do not drink with demons!" Jamin spat. He crumpled the reed in his fist and jabbed it forward, like a knife aimed straight at Mikhail's heart.

  Anger surged through Mikhail's entire body, an anger matching that of the angry young chieftain and then surpassing it, exceeding it until it drew upon something more. Every man in the room intuited the shift of energy as a dark rage descended upon him and whispered it was time to set it free. Mikhail's pupils expanded, causing them to lose all but the thinnest edge of blue and giving him the appearance that his irises had almost turned back. The room grew deathly silent.

  "Mikhail," Ninsianna touched his wings.

  He glanced up at her. Whatever she saw within his spirit-light with her goddess-kissed eyes caused her to recoil, but she had seen him thus before and this was only the slightest edge of that state, the one the Cherubim had taught him he must never succumb to.

  "Let's leave Jamin to break bread with his soon-to-be father-in-law," Ninsianna said. "It is right that he share this moment with the chiefs, for someday soon he will be one of them."

  Her words were gentle, but from the way she glanced between Jamin and his soon-to-be father-in-law, she saw something that led her believe Jamin would rather share a beer with him than Shahla's father. Her lips curved up in a sweet smile, perhaps a bit forced, but also bearing a hint of maliciousness. Yes. The Chosen One saw a better way. As he had since the day his ship had first crash-landed here, he took her lead.

  "Ninsianna is with child," Mikhail glanced back at the chiefs. "If she cannot drink, then it would be unfair for me to drink, either."

  He rose as graciously as morning glory opening at dawn, not a man who had just been terribly insulted. 'Charming goats' his father-in-law called these lessons … how to handle the foibles of humans without losing face. His calm reaction made Jamin's poor-sportmanship appear even more petty than it already was.

  "If you'll excuse me," he said, that dark pit of anger subsiding, "I will see my wife home."

  As she led him out of the Chief's house, he could hear the explosion of questions behind them as her words registered and congratulations erupted from the other chiefs, both at the news Ninsianna was with child, and also that the Chief's son was about to marry Laum's daughter. From Jamin's murderous expression, Ninsianna had just condemned him to a fate worse than death.

  Her sweet laughter tickled his ears the moment they got outside the door.

  "You … are an evil woman," Mikhail pulled her into his arms. "Did you know that?"

  "Yes … I am," Ninsianna stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his lips. "And you love me for it!"

  Warmth spread into his loins as she stretched against his torso, her breasts pressing against his abdomen like luscious, ripe chate melons, erasing the memory that lurked beneath the surface, the one he did not want to remember, the cause of his rage. Her scent filled his nostrils, soap root and a scent which grew more delicious every week her pregnancy progressed, eliciting a response that was primal.

  Such full lips she had, made for kissing and watching them tremble as he brought her skyward to commune in ecstasy, a feeling of joy he could never get enough of. Let Jamin have his beer! He had better things to do.

  "I love you," he pulled her against him and picked her up. "Everything else is just a honey cake."

  With an exhalation of laughter, he unfurled his wings and carried them both up into the sky.

  Chapter 31

  Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.10 AE

  Kilo Sector: 'Prince of Tyre'

  Alliance Secret Services: Special Agent Eligor

  Eligor

  "Eligor!" the call came over his communications pin. "Report immediately to the Chief of Staff."

  Eligor glanced up from the air ducts he was cleaning inside the dormitory where Lucifer's seventeen 'wives' huddled, hissing at them like angry cats. Outside they appeared to be Angelics, only without the wings, but inside, well, thank the goddess the Emperor had gifted his species with sentience when he had spliced their genome together from the root races of humans and raptors … and then made those genes dominant so none of their offspring would end up like … that.

  "I'll be right there, Sir," Eligor called into the pin attached to his breast pocket. His lips pressed into a grim line as he finished pulling out the dust dragons that forever clogged these ports even though space was supposed to be a sterile atmosphere and screwed down the screen.

  "What's that about?" Lerajie asked.

  "Don't know," Eligor straightened and threw the screwdriver back into the toolbox. "And wish to Hades I didn't have to find out."

  The women yowled at his sudden movement, their guttural hisses and grunts reminding him of a pack of wild mhoncaí in a jungle world, hissing and throwing rotten fruit from the trees.

  "Shut up!" Eligor snapped at them. He flared his wings just enough to get them to back off. Otherwise, they'd pick up their own excrement and throw it at them as they retreated through the door.

  "That one shit in the corner again," Lerajie pointed to the alcove the disgusting creatures had designated a bathroom instead of going to the real bathroom, the one with running water. "Never have I seen a species more terrified of the sound of a flushing toilet!"

  "I don't get their proclivity to shit in a bowl instead of using the toilet," Eligor wrinkled up his nose in disgust. "I mean, okay, if you don't like the sound of the toilet, then just shit in the toilet bowl and leave it for us to flush. Not shit in a dinner bowl and then put a napkin over it!"

  If that wasn't disgusting enough, sometimes the creatures would retaliate for letting the bowl get too full between emptyings and shit on the floor. Like one had just done. Or worse! More than once he'd had to go back to his room and change because one of them had picked up their own turds and flung them at him, like mhoncaí in a zoo!

  "At least they go in the same place
all the time," Lerajie said. "A lot of pre-sentient creatures do that. The first one designated that spot their litter box, so now all the beta-females follow her example."

  Eligor glanced over at the statuesque, ebony-skinned female who sat apart from the others, knees tucked into her chest. Lucifer's first wife. That one never gave them any trouble, unlike the others who would claw out his eyes if they weren't careful. She just sat there, rocking, making the same sound over and over again as if it were a word that a sentient species might speak. Iblisi. Iblisi. Iblisi.

  "I'll come back with a shovel to clean it up later," Eligor said. "We've still got to herd them into the shower. That should be a lot of fun."

  The first few times they'd showered the ebony-skinned female, he'd admit it. The sight of her taut black skin stretched over her curves had given him an erection, especially when her pregnancy had begun to swell her breasts and enhance her curves. Unfortunately, the female screeched in terror and tried to climb the walls the moment they flared their wings. They'd learned to get the shower started first so the water wasn't too cold, then hold her down and strip her, an action she always fought tooth and nail. Once they got her clothing off she wasn't too bad. They'd herd her into the shower and let her stand under the faucet. That one, at least, seemed to like the water once she'd gotten in there. Unlike some of the others, who acted like they'd never even seen water before ... or soap.

  "I'll take care of it," Lerajie said. "You go find out what his holiness the puppetmaster wants before he sic's his goons on us."

  Eligor shoved his hands into his pockets and trudged through the ship, curiously empty for one so large, greeting fellow crewmen only when he had to. The military tended to produce a breed of Angelics that were taciturn, but even amongst them Eligor was an enigma. He didn't know his fellow crewmen all that well, despite having served in Lucifer's service for well over 200 years, and he didn't want to know them, either.

  Technically, every man on this ship was Secret Service, not military, a special security branch whose sole purpose was to protect the Prime Minister. That meant he didn't answer to Supreme Commander-General Jophiel. Secret Service his foot! They were all mercenaries here, but Eligor suspected he hid the most skeletons in his closet. The most except for the two cold-eyed goons who stood like gargoyles in Chief of Staff Zepar's office when he got there.