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

by Anna Erishkigal

  "Yes, General," the pilot and co-pilot said together.

  Abaddon returned his focus to the Jehoshaphat, flagship of the Alliance Air Force. She was the largest and strongest of all the command carriers, Parliament's thank-you gift after the Emperor had disappeared and Shay'tan's first act had been to wage war against them, trying to achieve in his adversary's absence what he'd been unable to do for the previous 150,000 years.

  They'd defeated him … he and Lucifer together. They had put the old dragon back into his place, showing him that it had not just been Hashem who'd kept him at bay all these years, but a clever boy and the military machinery the boy had been playing with as chess pieces for almost as long as the kid had been alive.

  Oh, how quickly the Emperor had forgotten how much he owed them! Lucifer had filled the Emperor's shoes, but that kind of power was corrosive, especially to a 15-year-old boy who had just lost his mother and the only father he had ever known.

  Lucifer had understood what it took to make the armies serve him, unlikely candidate that he was. Abaddon did not flinch at sacrifice, but he expected to be acknowledged for those sacrifices, especially those of his men. A fleet which had been aging and falling apart had been reinvigorated, newer sentient races recruited to fill the ranks of their dying armies, and a system of commendations and rewards crafted to thank the soldiers they lobbed at Shay'tan like mortar shells for the sacrifices they made. The threat of Shay'tan nipping at their borders had compelled the ancient races to finally open up their tax rolls and fund development of the hybrid fleet. It would have been a golden age, had Hashem not left them teetering at the brink of extinction.

  Hashem's return had seemed a godsend … hah! Godsend. Oh, goddess that was funny! Abaddon choked out a laugh.

  "Sir?" Lieutenant Sikurull tilted his green, heart-shaped head with curiosity. Green compound eyes regarded him with interest.

  Abaddon gave him a grimace that might have been a smile … or just him breaking wind. Sikurull had served as his personal assistant long enough to know that meant he didn't feel like enlightening him about what he found so funny.

  "Yes, Sir."

  Sikurull turned his attention back to his tablet device where he plotted out Abaddon's schedule for the next few days, the conference calls he would make, the in-person meetings, all the people whose asses he needed to kiss to fill the holes being created by the resources Supreme Commander-General Jophiel yanked out from under his feet without first consulting him or telling him why one resource was a better choice than an equally good, more logical one.

  "What in Hades is she up to?" Abaddon stared back out the window. The Jehoshaphat grew larger as the shuttle lined itself up with the one of the launch bays.

  "Would you like me to schedule time for you to return to your quarters and freshen up before you brief the men?" Sikurull asked.

  Abaddon looked down at his crumpled uniform. Unlike the Emperor, who could simply manifest himself from one end of the galaxy to the other, Angelics had to rely upon the vagaries of interstellar machinery. He'd spent three days in a cramped shuttle with little more than a seat to recline and a cramped watering closet to freshen up. He'd been sleeping in his uniform and it showed.

  An image of his wife touched upon his mind. She knew he was coming. Warmth spread through his heart. He could feel her anticipation as though it was his own. He'd always believed the stories about his Seraphim ancestors to be little more than fairy tales, but now he believed they might be true.

  Telepathic? Perhaps not. But sometimes it felt like the bond he shared with his wife was telepathy. That sensation of knowing what one was about to say before the other one said the words. The way one's unhappiness echoed in the other's heart. The way she just knew things about him, in spite of their lingering language barrier, or he her. She knew his shuttle approached even though she had no idea what a shuttlecraft was, or how far he had traveled to return to her.

  Haven help him, if he went to his quarters first, not even the Emperor would be able to pry him out of Sarvenaz's arms!

  "Not yet, mo ghrá," Abaddon whispered out the window to the command carrier which had grown to fill the entire portal. "Soon."

  His heart registered her disappointment, if it were possible to communicate between two species thus. Heart … to heart. He would make it up to her, the delay duty kept infringing upon his time with her. Someday soon his mission would be finished here, his duty to protect the Alliance, and then he would retire.

  "As soon as this shuttle lands, assign someone to go to my quarters and slip this beneath the door." Abaddon pulled out a slender package he had purchased while in Haven, little more than a manila envelope

  "Would you like me to have it placed inside your room?" Sikurull eyed him with a neutral expression. "Your bureau, perhaps?"

  "Just slip it beneath the door," Abaddon said. "Remind the messenger of the penalty for breaching my personal quarters."

  "Yes, Sir." Sikurull placed the package in a satchel he carried with dozens of other messages, orders, and packages carried on his general's behalf and tapped a series of instructions into his tablet device with his armored insectoid fingers. One of the things Abaddon liked best about Sikurull was his discretion.

  He turned back to scrutinize the ship which had been the love of his life until Lucifer had brought him an even greater love to tempt his loyalty to the Emperor. She was beautiful, the Jehoshaphat, not just a warship of the Alliance, but a beacon of the very light Shay'tan had dared question when he'd attacked their borders. A long, slender bullet of a ship, twin hyperdrives lifted out of her fuselage like Angelic's wings. Her name was emblazoned in cuneiform in large black letters … Jehoshaphat … Judgment of God.

  Her coloring was grey, to match his feathers, and like him, every square inch of her bristled with weaponry. Until Lucifer had introduced him to his wife, Jehoshaphat had been the mistress in whose arms he had sworn to spend the rest of his life. To blazon a path together until someday a battle would occur so great they would go down together like two ancient lovers who, unable to bear the thought of separation, cast their bodies into the sea as one to drown.

  She could take on any ship in Shay'tan's navy, but her true talent was the countless vessels she could birth like arrows from a quiver, his deadly offspring, each carrying a battalion of Angelics and airborne Mantoid soldiers who could not only fly dogfights in outer space, but could abandon their vessels and fight mid-air once a ship had breached the inner atmosphere.

  Radar could pick up metal objects, but a living weapon hurtling through the sky meant Shay'tan's forces had a hard time seeing them coming. Once a battle shifted planetside, Angelics had an advantage because all they had to do was dive onto any ship which happened to be passing by and drop a grenade into the antimatter induction ports.

  "Fasten all seatbelts," the pilot called out. "The autopilot will now guide us in."

  The machinery guiding the shuttle into the landing arm gave a familiar bump. Abaddon stared out as the ship was carried in through the outer launch bay doors and waited for the enormous gateways to close. His ears popped as the exterior of the ship was repressurized. Sikurull diligently tapped away at his tablet device, relaying his orders even though the shuttle had not yet touched down. The inner set of launch doors opened. The crane hummed as it carried the shuttle down the central launch strip and turned it to park in a line of dozens of identical transport shuttles.

  Abaddon was at the door before the ship even touched down upon the flight deck, eager to reunite with his inanimate lover.

  "Sikurull," he shouted when he did not see his men assembled. "What's the status of my briefing?"

  "There's a battle cruiser coming in for maintenance in twenty minutes, Sir," Sikurull said. "I've assembled them in Launch Bay Four rather than delay maintenance of the smaller ship."

  "Fine," Abaddon grunted. Had he been asked, that's exactly what he would have ordered the Lieutenant to do. He returned the salute of the A.T.O. as he descended the gangp
lank onto the flight deck, the Jehoshaphat solid and welcoming beneath his feet. He knelt down and placed his palm upon her deck, flaring his wings so they did not drag.

  "Hello, beag gorm [little falcon]," he whispered to the ship which would always be his first, but no longer his greatest, love. "I missed you while I was gone."

  The reassuring hum of Jehoshaphat's engines vibrated up through his hands, suppressed power, waiting to be released. Her vibration settled into his feathers and sent warmth into his heart, pleading with him to carry her away from this tedious duty and send her soaring through the heavens to hunt.

  "Soon, beag gorm," Abaddon murmured to his ship. "Your heart is so strong it does not matter that I have brought you home a sister-wife. Only the hunt … and that I love you still."

  Sikurull pretended to look the other way, used to this oddity in his commanding officer's behavior. With a few barked orders, he rose and marched from Launch Bay Three to Launch Bay Four, returning salutes along the way. The men stood in loose formation, not the tight ship he customarily ran. Already, Jophiel's cockamamie pillaging of their resources undermined crew morale.

  "Attention!" the Mantoid Shift Commander shouted. "General Abaddon is on the deck!!!"

  The men snapped into attention, straightening up their lines and eyeing him with the respect he demanded. He paced up their line, his burly physique intimidating even to the foolhardiest. They were good men, dozens of Angelics, an assortment of men and women from the assorted thousand species which made up the Galactic Alliance, and Mantoids. Lots and lots of Mantoids. He turned the scarred side of his face to them as he briefed his men.

  "Three days ago the Eternal Emperor compiled evidence that the Sata'an Empire may be developing some kind of expeditionary force," Abaddon said. "To counter that threat, excess resources from all four branches of the military are being reassigned to figure out what in HADES Shay'tan is up to!"

  A low rumble of discontent rippled through his men. He waited for the anonymous comment he knew would come from somewhere in the back of the assembly.

  "We're already spread too thin."

  Abaddon puffed out his feathers and flexed his biceps to appear the way his men always depicted him. The Destroyer. Larger than life. Ready to take on any threat to the Alliance, including Shay'tan himself. His hand reached down as he spoke to caress the hilt of his sword.

  "That's the mistake we made when we chose not to assign ships to defend the Seraphim homeworld," Abaddon growled. "Does anybody care to make that mistake a second time?"

  No smart reply issued from the assembly. His men trusted him to lead them into whatever shit storm the Emperor threw them into and lead them out again, largely intact. No man dared question the Destroyer, not only because of his reputation, but also because he always watched out for his men. If it was time to give Shay'tan his due, every man in this room knew Abaddon would make the old dragon pay … with interest.

  "Dismissed!" Abaddon ordered. The general assembly broke up. Around him swarmed the lesser commanders Sikurull had messaged and told to approach him for a second briefing.

  "She's pulling ships we need," one protested.

  "How in Hades will I replace that ship?" a second complained.

  "Why did she pull the Graupius when the Carnedd was so much closer to Zulu Sector?" a third scratched his head.

  "These orders have been handed down by the Eternal Emperor himself," Abaddon said. "Who are we to question the will of our god?" He might not like the Emperor's orders, but he would carry them out.

  "Thy will be done," his colonels murmured.

  Several conference calls with his expanded fleet later, he was free. Blaming exhaustion, he made his way to his personal quarters and stood before two airmen standing at attention on either side of his door, one a Mantoid, the other an Angelic. It had raised eyebrows when he had first assigned two crewmen to conduct so curious a duty as standing outside of his empty quarters, but none dared question him.

  "Sir!" the two airmen saluted.

  "At ease," Abaddon ordered. "Anything happen while I was away?"

  "No, Sir!" the two airmen said in unison.

  "Thank you, men. You're dismissed."

  With a formal clack of their heels, the two marched away, neither daring to question their peculiar duty.

  He knocked twice. An answering tap came from the other side. Shooting one last glance down the hallway to make sure the coast was clear, he pressed his palm against the scanner he'd installed to back up the keycard that locked his door and slipped inside.

  "Husband!" Sarvenaz threw her arms around his neck. "You … late. You say … come home … yesterday."

  She had mahogany brown eyes that could perceive every nuance of his behavior and three grey hairs which graced her long, dark tresses. Three hairs, exactly, for he counted them every time he made love to her and kissed the almost imperceptible crow's feet which graced the corners of her eyes. He had no idea how old she was; she had no memory of this herself, but had she been an Angelic she'd be well into her four-hundredth year, an age when most female hybrids were given up as beyond hope for reproduction. The child which grew in her womb must be a miracle for her, as well, for she could recall having no previous ones.

  "I'm sorry, mo ghrá," Abaddon relished the feel of the silks he'd sent down ahead of him, slender enough to pass beneath the crack under the door, as they pressed against the coarse fabric of his uniform. "I had no way to get you a message."

  With the Emperor's peculiar behavior, he hadn't dared send a transmission. His men would deflect Jophiel's inquiries until he got back, but if the Supreme Commander-General herself was doing the investigation, there was no safe code to scramble a subspace message.

  What he'd been about to say next flew out the airlock as she silenced him with a kiss. Her intoxicating scent crept into some ancient part of his brain that not even Hashem had been able to breed out of his species and caused his manhood to harden. The swell of her breasts reminded him of the fruit it was said had once graced the branches of the Eternal Tree. She knew the power she had over him and she gave him no quarter.

  "Sarvenaz … miss … Husband." Her brown eyes filled with hunger as she pressed her body against his. "No should spend … time … away." The scent of HcgT, the hormones of her pregnancy, overwhelmed his senses like a drug.

  "No."

  And with that one simple word, the Destroyer acknowledged his complete and utter defeat at her hands, not a single shot fired before he threw up the white flag. Without another word, he picked her up and carried her to their bed.

  "Husband miss … too?" she laughed as he fumbled with the buttons of his uniform shirt and resorted to pulling it up over his head, forgetting about the buttons which enabled the shirt to fit around his wings and getting it tangled in his feathers. With a delicious smile, she unbuttoned each button, one at a time, prolonging his submission as he whimpered beneath her exquisite torture, starved to feel her touch.

  He had no words to describe how painful it had been to be away from her, so he captured her mouth and exhaled into her lungs, his heart racing as they passed the same breath back and forth until, at last, its oxygen depleted, they were forced to come up for air and capture a new breath to share. He fumbled with his breeches, just barely able to push them down before she took his manhood in her hand and pulled him towards her.

  "Oh, gods!" he took his emperors name in vain. The earthy scent of her arousal called to him. The animal part of his brain shut down all thoughts except for one. To reconsummate his forbidden marriage.

  She moaned as he pushed into her depths, frantic to feel at one with her again. His grey wings pounding against the bed, she rose up to meet him, her soft cries egging him to carry her higher as they rose together in a flight that had nothing to do with wings or the sky, but the beating of two hearts which yearned to be as one.

  "Husband!" Oh, how he loved to her say that word, that forbidden, delightful word which had been the first word he had taught her, eve
n before she'd learned to say his name.

  He felt her release as if it was his own, pushed it ahead of him and raced to keep up, this sensual woman who had tempted him to rebel against the edicts of his emperor. With a triumphant cry of ecstasy, it was she who carried him into the heavens, their mutual release feeling as though they were being carried along on the tide of a beautiful song. The sensation was fleeting, a glimpse of godhood, but he knew this feeling was right, and that the Emperor was wrong to deny his species love, and that the gods themselves had no power to separate them once they'd made up their mind to be together … always.

  His flight expended, he collapsed on top of her, weeping at a sensation he was unable to put into words. He curled his wings around her and nestled her into his arms, unashamed of the tears which streamed down from his grey eyes as he sank his nose into her neck and inhaled the scent of their pregnancy.

  "Husband … miss … me," Sarvenaz said tenderly, her dark eyes glistening as well.

  "You know I did," he whispered. "You felt it."

  "Yes." She touched her chest, just above where her heart beat, and then touched his. "I feel. Here."

  He adjusted the mate ring she wore on the second finger of her left hand, the twin of the one he wore hidden on a chain directly over his heart, and drifted off to sleep, to dream of one another and the child which grew in her womb.

  Beneath them the Jehoshaphat hummed a contented purr, warship, lover, Judgment of God. Cradling them the same way they wrapped their hearts around each other, she whispered, if such a thing was possible, that their love was right.

  It felt as though heaven, itself, carried them in her song…

  Chapter 28

  Galactic Standard Date: 152,090.10

  Haven-1

  Young Lucifer – Age 9

  231 Years Ago…

  Young Lucifer

  'Ea-katella, kowtella, kahtellah, kow'ten' droned in the background like the buzzing of a fly. I watched the pretty colors dance around inside Dephar's head as he drilled the lesson about conjugating Sata'anic verb tenses into my brain. His mind wasn't on the lesson any more than mine was, but I couldn't very well come out and tell him I could read his mind, now, could I?