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

by Anna Erishkigal

  Lucifer sucked down his entire glass in a single draught and rose from his chair, hand out to take Abaddon's glass and give him a refill. Abaddon looked down at the potent green liquor and waved off Lucifer's hand. Two glasses of this stuff and he'd have to summons his cadet to carry him out.

  "No thank you," Abaddon said. "I'm good. You go ahead."

  He was no stranger to watching Lucifer imbibe, as though the man could not embrace life fast enough to delight in all its pleasures. Lucifer had always been precocious, even as a child, but after his mother had died exuberance had given way to excess. Lucifer poured himself a second glass and stood at the bar, wings held weary.

  "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask for a little more patience." Lucifer downed the second glass in a single gulp, his lip twitching as the potent liquor burned down his throat. The façade of cheerfulness slipped, revealing once again that shaken, weary look Lucifer had exhibited yesterday.

  Abaddon took a sip of his own glass, relishing the way it turned his tongue numb. Given most Angelic's woefully low tolerance to alcohol, he'd learned to cherish every sip.

  "How much longer?"

  "I've found wives for 330 hybrids," Lucifer said. "But Shay'tan now plays games, promising more women, but making excuses why he can't deliver them. I'm also having problems finding females who will accept a Leonid or Centauri for a mate."

  Kunopegos angry demeanor yesterday made sense. If Lucifer had promised the man a solution, he could see why the Centauri general would be less than pleased.

  "Have you tried matchmaking a male on female pairing?" Abaddon fished for information. "One male could begat many offspring on our beleaguered hybrid females, and it would solve our inbreeding problem."

  "It failed," Lucifer said. "The one male I got the Sata'an Empire to cough up gave me this." He rolled up his sleeve. On his forearm sat the pink scars of deep scratch-marks, perhaps a month old. He returned to the bar and poured himself another glass.

  "What happened?" Abaddon asked. He swirled the liquor in his glass, scrutinizing the potent green substance so Lucifer would not detect his eagerness to free Sarvenaz's homeworld. If humans refused to accept their people, finding an excuse to annex it could prove difficult.

  Lucifer poured himself a third glass. Less graceful this time, though it was hard to tell whether his callousness was due to his weariness or the liquor, he moved back to the chair and plopped down, heedless of crushing his feathers.

  "I can't remember."

  "What?"

  Lucifer held up the glass in a mock toast and then downed it in a single gulp. Had it been Abaddon imbibing in that much liquor, he'd be crawling on the floor, but years of over-indulgence had given Lucifer a tolerance most Angelics could only dream of.

  Lucifer's entire lifestyle was one the average hybrid could only dream of…

  With an exhalation of satisfaction, Lucifer plunked his glass upon the small end-table which sat between them.

  Abaddon took another sip. Only two drops, but already he could feel the potent liquor hitting his system. Its warmth felt good, relaxation spreading through his body much the way it did whenever he lay entangled in his wife's arms. How he wished the Emperor had engineered his species to have an almost unlimited capacity to drink, like the Mantoids did.

  "Perhaps I should lay off this stuff?" Lucifer gave him that eerie look that Abaddon knew was the seasoned politician sizing him up. "Don't you think?"

  Abaddon could imagine the arrogant Lucifer getting stumbling drunk and then being attacked by the human male after he tried to explain, with a language barrier, why the Sata'an Empire had sold him to their enemies to be, essentially, a stud-animal. A human male would be smaller than an Angelic, but from what Sarvenaz said, they were every bit as fearless.

  "Perhaps you should take those self-defense classes I've been telling you to take," Abaddon suggested. "Who knows? If you get any good at it, perhaps your Chief of Staff can use it for one of his fake P.R. campaigns?"

  Chief of Staff Zepar forever leaked so-called 'candid' photo-ops to the media so the paparazzi could photograph Lucifer doing things that made the female hearts in this Alliance twitter while the males all wanted to be just like him.

  "That's what that is for," Lucifer pointed to a jewel-encrusted, gold-plated pulse rifle gifted to him by one of the weapons manufacturers. "One shot of that and anyone who comes at me will be primordial goo." Technically politicians were forbidden to accept gifts, but there were loopholes which allowed things such as weapons for self-defense purchased for a token price.

  The weapon was beautiful, but inaccessible should somebody come through the door and shoot him before he could dive for the glass case and smash it to release the gun. They'd had this conversation before and Lucifer had simply laughed it off. The two cold-eyed goons were disincentive enough for the occasional kook, he claimed.

  "How many more women do you think you'll need?" Abaddon asked.

  "They've been all gifted to men such as yourself, General," Lucifer said. "Men who can persuade large numbers of followers even though they, themselves, don't possess a vote. Beyond that, please don't ask me to betray confidences that you, yourself, would be upset about if I spilled it to the other recipients."

  Abaddon grunted acknowledgement. He was old enough to simply retire and keep his wife the moment the seed world restrictions that prohibited him from even having contact with her species were lifted. The other hybrids might not be so lucky. If Lucifer was not able to also lower the retirement age or waive the anti-fraternization laws, it would leave his younger peers open for court-martial. The Alliance power-brokers had a vested interest in making sure voteless hybrids acted as their cannon fodder, not the sons and daughters of naturally evolved citizens who had a vote. Lucifer had been playing the game long enough to hedge his bets.

  "All I need is a few more shipments to reach a critical mass," Lucifer said. "Enough to ensure the Emperor won't be able to thwart me with a veto. It would be tragic if I let the coinín [rabbit] out of the hat and then my father rallied enough support at the eleventh hour to defeat my override."

  Abaddon was familiar with Parliamentary overrides. Until the Emperor had returned from his 200 year vacation, it had been the only way Parliament had gotten anything done since, under Alliance law, any bill the Emperor did not sign was technically vetoed. Parliament's cooperation to govern itself had ended the day the Emperor had returned and seized back power, the past 25 years a tug-of-war between newer planets who had grown accustomed to the notion that self-governance was the way Alliance business should be done, and the older sentient races who still held much regard for the Eternal Emperor. Hashem gave much lip-service to free will, but he made damned sure nobody ever got their political act together well enough to threaten his position as sovereign.

  Not when it was so easy to divide them…

  It had been the chess move of a master, one even Lucifer had not seen coming. Three days after his father had returned from his 200 year absence, he had thanked Lucifer for keeping his empire intact by creating a military position so powerful it had reignited old fears about hybrid domination. Two hundred years of carefully orchestrating the admission of former seed worlds recently freed from Shay'tan's grip into the Alliance, all under the guise of building up a neutral zone between the two great empires, had quietly eroded the ancient races grip upon the electorate. The newer races did not remember a time, millennia ago, when Shay'tan's Nephilim had risen up against him and nearly destroyed both empires. Hashem had created the hybrids to defeat the Nephilim, but his benevolence ended the moment his super-soldiers began to assert rights for themselves.

  Even with his own adopted son…

  The newer sentient races looked up to the hybrids, but the older races feared the sheer physical power of four species that had been genetically engineered to fight. It was why the hybrids had never been given voting rights. Hashem had deliberately reignited that fear by creating the implied threat of military intervention for
any world which refused to follow his lead. It was why Lucifer had so much trouble getting traction for their people now. The citizens of the Alliance were grateful the hybrids kept the peace, but there were factions who feared Hashem would order his military to end their little experiment in democracy and return things to the way they had been before.

  Abaddon looked into Lucifer's eerie silver eyes and shivered. Lucifer had never met his biological father. Heck! What Shemijaza had accomplished in his short-lived experiment into a Third Empire had never even made it into the history books! But somehow in the Emperor's absence Lucifer had instinctively created an almost exact replica of the government Hashem had eliminated from the galaxy when he had blown up Tyre.

  Memory of the mural at the back of the Great Door whispered into his mind. Shay'tan holding up an eight-pointed star. What did it mean?

  "My wife is miserable," Abaddon said. "I don't care what it takes. Get this little intrigue of yours rolling, or I'll be making my own press announcement. I'm old enough to retire."

  "Can't you just give her some toys to play with?" Lucifer asked. "Though mine aren't even smart enough to amuse themselves. All they do is sit around and yowl."

  Yowl? Odd descriptor…

  "Have you tried teaching them to use the AI?" Abaddon asked. "Savanez's Galactic Standard is still a little rough, but she understands well enough to access educational tutorials."

  "Educational tutorials?" Lucifer gave him a curious look. "What in Hades do you expect to teach her?"

  "Our history, for one thing," Abaddon defended. "Sarvenaz is fascinated by our films."

  "Ahhh…" Lucifer said. "She must enjoy the colors moving across the screen. Perhaps I will ask Zepar to install a viewing monitor so the women can watch. What's that show the babies like about the little stuffed creatures that don't talk? Tel-ze-zubbies?"

  "Sarvenaz prefers to watch As the Galaxy Turns," Abaddon said. The show was an addictively popular Mantoid soap opera that two-thirds of the galaxy tuned into each week … including a censored rebroadcast in the Sata'an Empire. "But mostly she likes movies about us doing heroic things. Her favorite is All Quiet on the Tokoloshe Front."

  Lucifer gave him a patronizing smile. "Aren't you taking the whole mail-order bride propaganda a little too far, general? I'm glad you're trying to train her to act more sentient, but let's face it. Human's aren't the brightest species in the gene pool?"

  "Sarvenaz is quiet smart," Abaddon growled. Blood rushed to his face as his hand moved without thinking towards his hip.

  "They're little more than trained moncaís," Lucifer laughed.

  Wings flapping, Abaddon was out of his chair before he had a chance to temper his instinct to throttle the pompous ass and grabbed Lucifer by the collar. With a shriek that could only be described as girlish, Lucifer trembled as Abaddon stood over him, veins popping from his forehead.

  The door behind him burst open. Lucifer's two goons rushed in, followed by his Leonid cadet, and failed to pull him off of him.

  "Mister Prime Minister, are you alright?" the young Leonid shrieked. Had it been anyone but Abaddon holding Lucifer by the throat, she would have torn him apart. She stood there, her golden fur standing on end, as she tried to figure out if Lucifer was in any danger.

  "I-I-I'm fine," Lucifer stuttered. "General Abaddon and I were just having an … um … a demonstration. In … um … self-defense."

  Abaddon let go of Lucifer's collar, but did not back off. With a powerful flap of wings that a falcon might make upon dropping a prey animal into the nest, he puffed out his shoulders in a stance that warned the two goons it would be them he smote if they dared lay a hand upon him again.

  "This is my wife you are talking about," Abaddon snarled softly so that only Lucifer could hear. "I pray you shall never forget that fact again."

  Rustling his grey feathers, he adjusted his uniform and gave Lucifer's two cold-eyed goons a 'what are you looking at' glare. Furcas and Pruflas stepped aside to allow him to pass.

  Lieutenant Sikurull stood on the front steps of Parliament waiting for him, a box lunch and caife held in one of his armored exoskeleton limbs.

  "Take me home," Abaddon growled as he took his sandwich. "I've got work to do."

  He'd show Lucifer who the trained moncaí was!

  Chapter 23

  September 3,390 BC

  Earth: Village of Gasur

  Colonel Mikhail Mannuki'ili

  Mikhail

  "Mikhail," Needa's voice whispered. "Son … you have to wake up."

  He sat across the chessboard from the small, dark-winged Angelic. Beside them a timer counted out the seconds until the boy had to make his move. The boy did not speak, but then he never did.

  "Tá sé do bhogadh, Gabriel," Mikhail said. He pointed to the timer. "Tá tú beagnach as am."

  Those sullen blue eyes were angry because he did not yet understand the game. With a chubby little hand, he picked up his black bishop and made an L-shaped move across the chess board to capture Mikhail's white queen.

  "Mo banríon!" Mikhail pointed to the black bishop. "Ní sin an tslí go bhfuil píosa fichille ceaptha a bhogadh."

  He stared at the timer ticking at the side of the chessboard, counting out the seconds until he could crush his opponent. The boy's lower lip quivered as he projected an image of him being -mean- directly into his mind. With a chubby arm, the boy stood up and swept the chess pieces onto the floor.

  There was a knock upon the door.

  "Mikhail!'

  "Mikhail!" Mama called, her voice filled with terror. "Tá muid faoi ionsaí! Tóg Gabriel agus é a fháil amach anseo!"

  The door crashed open.

  Mama screamed...

  "Mikhail!" The shaking grew more frantic, shaking him awake.

  Those piercing blue eyes stayed with him as he opened his eyes. The room was dark, but with his enhanced genetics he did not need much light to see the outline which stood before him, clutching her shawl.

  "Mama?" With a groan he sat up from the makeshift bed and rubbed his back.

  "My father just got back from patrol," Needa whispered. "Forty raiders move towards us from the south."

  "Are they this Uruk tribe?" Mikhail asked. "Or Halifians."

  "Uruk, he thinks," Needa said. "It was hard to tell. He did not dare creep close enough to discern their attire."

  Mikhail grabbed at the dream, but it had already faded. He noticed a new scent mingling with underlying odor of in the room, musky, male, a combination of sweat and fear. When they had finally bedded down last night Needa's father had not yet been back from his patrol. Logic dictated this was the only person who would arrive here in the middle of the night. It was time to meet his grandfather-in-law.

  "Sir?" Mikhail asked the dark shape standing in the shadows. The man had not lit a lamp, a precaution, likely, to ensure the raiders did not know there was somebody awake. Pressing his palms against his eyes to shake off his scanty sleep, he instinctively held out his hand in an Alliance handshake before remembering these people were not familiar with the gesture.

  "I am Mukannishum," the man stepped forward.

  Mikhail could just barely make out a triple-fringed kilt and simple shawl in the murk of the room, but even in the dim light he could make out the echo the man's face bore of Needa's eyes.

  "I have heard much about my grandaughter's winged husband," Mukannishum said.

  "Father," Needa chastised him. "Remember what I showed you!"

  Mukannishum stuck out his arm, more a gesture of pointing than a handshake, but Mikhail was glad he made the effort. He took the man's hand in the proper greeting, weapons hand to weapons hand. The man was older, perhaps late-50's, but like any warrior he instinctively recognized the gesture for what is was and grasped Mikhail's hand firmly, a show of strength. It put Mikhail at ease.

  "What preparations do you make?" Mikhail asked.

  "Shumana and Harrood go quietly from house to house to raise the alarm," Mukannishum said. "We want to kno
w what you would do, winged one?"

  "I am not here to usurp your chain of command," Mikhail said. "Only to protect Needa and provide support. What of your warriors?"

  "Chief Jiljab gathers them now," Mukannishum said. "But we are a small village, less than 300, and of those many are young, old, or women. Our archers are also our warriors, plus twelve women taught to hunt squirrels with the bow.

  "Thirty archer warriors," Mikhail said, "and twelve females to provide cover against forty hardened raiders with these throwing sticks you showed me. I think, perhaps, they are depending upon the element of surprise?"

  "They killed nine people in the last raid," Mukannishum said. "And injured others, although they caught us by surprise. They will receive no quarter when we ambush them."

  Mikhail held his tongue. He was a soldier, not an executioner. He would stand at these people's side if the raiders came because that was what he was trained to do, but he would exact no revenge on their behalf. He'd learned the hard way that the hot-tempered humans were reluctant to cool their blood lust, a problem he'd been experiencing himself lately the longer he lived amongst them.

  "I have only seen the heavy atlatls used by the Assurians," Mikhail said. "Not these shorter ones the Uruk use. What can you tell me of them?"

  "They fly further and are silent," Mukannishum said. "Not as far as an arrow, but if it hits you at close range it is likely fatal."

  Mikhail nodded. Needa had come home weeping last night. Tutanraman, the man she had tried to save, had been a childhood friend. He had not survived any longer than it had taken him to take her hand and thank her for coming. The atlatl had shattered his ribcage and pierced his lung.