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

by Anna Erishkigal

  "Gamygen," Kunopegos sniffled. "One last thing? I’m no longer fit to command this ship. I’m hereby formally relinquishing command to you. You’re in charge.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Gamygen gave him a soft salute and headed out the sick-bay door, leaving him standing there covered in his dead wife's blood.

  He realized Lieutenant Edena, the nurse, was still in the room. She placed her hoof upon his arm, sorrow overcoming her anger at his stupidity.

  “You should name her, Sir,” Edena said. "If she doesn’t … at least she should have a name."

  All around them, Kunopegos felt the strange dislocation that indicated a ship jumping into hyperspace.

  “Attention all crew,” Colonel Gamygen announced over the loudspeakers. “General quarters. We are making an emergency trip to Haven-1 at the fastest speed this ship can travel. All crew report immediately to their assigned posts and start taking measures to compensate for the strain of prolonged post-warp travel on this ship.”

  Kunopegos moved back to the incubator, his steps as heavy as his heart. If he was executed for her mother's murder, her name would be the only thing he would ever be able to give to her. His lineage as part of a long line of noble Centauri cavalry would be meaningless, his name forever besmeared beneath the shadow of what he had done to her mother. He wouldn’t even be able to keep his promise that he would raise her himself.

  He laid his finger upon the tiny foal's back, no larger than the palm of his enormous hand, and breathed with her, in and out, as though by forcing the air in and out of his own lungs, he could help her breathe. The ship around them didn’t settle into the usual easy hum of hyperspace travel, but kept accelerating until, after a certain speed, it, too, began to jerk, the Syracusia expressing its empathy for the life which fought to live inside of it.

  The Syracusia had been created to run as the Centauri had, but never for the prolonged period of time that he demanded of her now. There were no living needle ships on this carrier. Centauri were far too large to fit, and his foal was too fragile to jam her, and all the medical equipment keeping her alive, into one. The uneasy vibration increased as Gamygen kept increasing the power to the hyperdrives. The backbone of the Syracusia began to shudder as the sub-audible hum of the hyperdrives overexerting themselves rattled his teeth. If this foal would fight to live, then every man on this ship, including the Syracusia itself, would sacrifice itself to get her to the only man in the universe capable of saving her.

  “Sir?” his comms pin chirped. It was Gamygen.

  “Yes?” Kunopegos interrupted his breathing to answer.

  “They’re on their way, Sir,” Colonel Gamygen said. “They’ll rendezvous with us in approximately an hour and a half.”

  “An hour and a half?” Kunopegos said. “That’s … fast.”

  “He’s a god,” Gamygen reminded him. “HE can be here in a few minutes. An hour and a half is how long it will take to load whatever medical equipment he needs onto a ship so he can transport the entire thing here along with him.”

  “Thank you,” Kunopegos breathed a sigh of relief and cut off the audio transmission. An hour and a half. All he had to do was keep encouraging her to breath for an hour and a half and then she would be in the Emperor’s hands.

  “Just keep breathing, baby girl,” Kunopegos touched her with one finger. “I won’t leave your side until the Emperor gets here.”

  Her skin was purplish in color, the blood moving visibly beneath the black peach fuzz of her translucent skin. He didn’t dare hold her, but he would let her know she was loved for as long as he could, until he was arrested.

  “Have you thought of a name for her, Sir?” Lieutenant Edena asked gently.

  He glanced over to the forlorn figure lying abandoned on the surgical table, her long black hair trailing out from beneath the white sheet which covered her face.

  “Dierdre.” Tears streamed down his face as his grief overtook him. “It means sorrow.”

  Chapter 42

  October – 3,390 BC

  Earth: Village of Assur

  Jamin

  He felt like a man being led to his own execution. His father had ordered he would marry Shahla at the late-autumn harvest festival, when they harvested the last remaining stalks of emmer, einkorn and barley before the winter rains deluged the fields. Today, Ninsianna's father would perform a shamanic ceremony to cut the last sheath of grain, fashion it into a wreath, and then crown a prince to march outside the city to reside in an Akitu house for five days. At the end of those five days, the 'Akitu Prince' would be marched back into the village in an elaborate procession and ceremonially marry the Grain Goddess, a symbol of fertility for the coming year. Only this year, since she was already proven fertile, Shahla would be the goddess.

  Lucky him. He got to play the role of the prince. And the marriage would be real…

  "I will not do it!" Jamin paced his father's living room like a caged lion. "Not only do I not love her, I despise her!"

  "You should have thought of that before you lay down with her again," the Chief said as flatly as if he were counting the annual grain tribute.

  Jamin raised his head and stared at his father. Tall, well-built and strong, with hair turning to more to salt than charcoal these days as age and worries lightened his once dark hair, he had always thought of his father as The Chief, but lately, he discovered he no longer even thought of him as his father. Other than the fact he had inherited his father's height and build, the man was a stranger to him. They did not even look alike!

  Would Shahla's child look like him? Perhaps he could he stave off marriage until the babe was born and then disprove it?

  "I tell you the child is not mine!" Jamin slammed his fist down on the table. "She is too far along! I have witnesses who will attest she has slept with many other men!"

  "Have you found a man willing to come forward and claim the child is his?" the Chief raised one eyebrow. "Because unless you find some man willing to lay a claim on her, the tribunal will adjudicate you as the responsible party because Shahla has named no other as being the likely candidate at the time this child was conceived. Whether or not you say your vows, if she takes you before the tribunal, you will owe to her all of the property rights of a lawful wife."

  That crushing feeling of being trapped, of being cornered like some beast he hunted and corralled so the others could close in and stab it to death weighed down upon him. Every woman in this village whom Shahla had burned by stealing their boyfriend or sleeping with their husband was willing to testify what she had done in the past, but no one would come forward and testify as to what she had done lately because no one wanted the finger put on them.

  "Just three days ago she claimed in front of half the village the child belonged to the winged demon," Jamin said. "There were at least three dozen witnesses to this accusation!"

  He kicked a cushion which had fallen onto the floor. Here he was, the best, no, now the second-best warrior in all of Assur and a mere woman had trussed him up and was leading him to the altar for slaughter.

  "You know that is not true," the Chief said.

  "How do you know?" Jamin shot him a glare.

  "Because you know it is not true," the Chief said. "You were there. At the time you thought it was funny when he refused her. You claimed it was because he lacked a manhood, remember?"

  "Argh!" Jamin paced, that muscle in his cheek that never sat still these days twitching in anger. "How do we know she didn't proposition him again after that? And he took her up on her offer?"

  "You should know the answer to that question better than anyone," the Chief gave him a bemused expression. "Since you were following him."

  "I was not following him!!!"

  The Chief gave him a raised eyebrow.

  Okay. He had been following him. Or more precisely, Ninsianna, hoping she would change her mind. That didn't mean the winged demon couldn't have flown in … no … his wing had still been broken. Okay. Maybe he had … walked … and bumped
into Shahla … who propositioned him …and the winged demon, being male … and teased by Ninsianna, who, oh gods he knew better than anyone what a tease Ninsianna was, especially as she'd been leading him around by the…

  His shoulders sagged. The winged demon would not have slept with Shahla to sate his baser appetites any more than he had been able to do because, once Ninsianna had healed your flesh with her sorcery, there was no way a man would ever want any other woman to touch him. His father was right. He knew that better than anyone.

  "If you have a witness who can implicate some other man," the Chief said softly, "I will back you if you take the case before the tribunal. I will bring every resource I bear to compel witnesses to come forward and tell the truth. I do not like this game Laum plays with his daughter. But I will not spread lies simply because you do not wish to take responsibility for your actions. It is time for you to grow up."

  Jamin's head shot up. It had to be the closest thing to a supportive statement his father had said to him in months. He would back him before the tribunal?

  The tribunal…

  Jamin shivered. It would not be tales of illicit liaisons behind the goat shed Shahla would speak of if he challenged her lies, but a far deeper crime. One he had made in error, but would earn him a punishment much worse than forced marriage to Shahla.

  "Father," he swallowed. "I do not wish to marry her. I have somebody else in mind. Someone who will bring more to this village than a few trades of cloth with our enemies."

  "Ninsianna is taken," the Chief said. "And she is carrying Mikhail's child."

  Betrayal still surged through his veins at the very thought of that, and was extinguished. She did not love him. She had told him thus. She had told him thus a thousand times. Everything he had done since then to earn her love had only dug him in deeper until he had committed a heinous crime.

  "Not Ninsianna," Jamin said. "Somebody else." He took a deep breath, fighting down that fight-or-flight instinct that fluttered in his gut right before he asked his father for something he knew would make him angry. "Someone else has caught my eye. And if I marry Shahla, I cannot marry her."

  "Who?" The Chief leaned forward, eyebrows raised.

  "Marwan's daughter," Jamin mumbled.

  "Who?"

  "Marwan's daughter," Jamin gestured west, towards the desert even though they were standing inside his father's house. "The Halifian leader. He wants peace. He has offered me a blood tie with his own daughter to secure it."

  "What do the Halifians know of peace?" the Chief exploded. "They who attack our village and killed eleven of our people? How could you even consider such a thing?"

  Jamin stared past his father's shoulder to the small, woven rug which adorned the wall. The one that had been woven by his mother. The one his father had loved the way he had once loved Ninsianna … and loved none other since.

  "Because Aturdokht lost her husband in that raid," Jamin said softly. "Marwan realized the Amorites are using them as fools. He is weary of fighting with us for access to the river."

  "Their herds will lay waste to our fields!" the Chief's voice rose in anger. "You saw what one goat did to our field, and you wanted to kill her. What do you think an entire herd of them will do with unfettered access?"

  "I considered dedicating a measure of land upriver for their herds," Jamin said. "They only want access for two months each summer, when the desert dries down."

  "They do not honor boundaries or fences," the Chief said. "Why do you think we had to evict them from these lands? They do not know how to respect the rules!"

  "They will if we give them a tie of blood," Jamin said.

  "And what else do these hyenas want from us in return?" the Chief spat. "For unloading this unwanted widow on us who will only spy on our weaknesses!"

  Anger turned Jamin's face hot and red. Memory of those green-flecked eyes, boring into his with hatred, and something else, fellowship, made him clench his fist. If nothing else, the woman intrigued him. Better to take to bed a woman who would make his flesh sing right before she buried a knife into his heart for revenge than a slattern such as Shahla!

  "You're one to talk of spies and weaknesses!" Jamin growled. "He who allowed a demon into our midst!"

  "Mikhail is a good man!"

  "He was sent to spy on us!" Jamin shouted. "Why can't you see that?"

  "Because your hatred over Ninsianna choosing him over you blinds you!" the Chief shook his finger in his face. "Mikhail stands between us and whatever threat comes our way!"

  "The threat comes is because his enemies have paid a bounty for his head!" Jamin said. "Why do you think they target healers?"

  "The people of the desert are cobras!" the Chief shook with violent anger. "I will not allow one into our midst!"

  "I will not allow one into my bed!" Jamin hissed. "I will not marry Shahla! The child is not mine!"

  "You will," the Chief said, his voice cold. "Or I will disown you and send you out to live amongst these desert cobras you prefer to your own people."

  "Bah!" Jamin grabbed his obsidian blade and shoved it into the belt of his kilt. The door shook dust from the bricks as he slammed it behind him and stormed out of there. Dadbeh stood just outside the door, his hands shaking as he clutched an icon of woven straw and held it out. The sight of it only fueled his anger. It was the crown he would be forced to wear as the harvest king, the crown that would seal his fate.

  "Um … Jamin?" The lanky man moved to intercept him.

  "Leave me alone," Jamin snarled.

  "I really need to speak with you!"

  Dadbeh's words were lost as he pushed him aside and stormed towards Shahla's house. He would get it out of her! He would get the truth out of her one way or another.

  He stalked through the village like a predator on the hunt, his black hair trailing behind him like an angry lion's mane. It was supper time, the time of the day when villagers thronged from the fields and took to the streets to collect water and vegetables for the nightly meal, and he found himself swimming against them like a trout upstream. It only fueled his rage. He pushed through them until he came to the second-largest house in the village, hers. He pounded on the door until her conniving father came to answer it.

  "Where is she?"

  Laum drew up his height as though he were a chief bestowing judgment upon a ceremonial villager.

  "You may speak to her after you have done the right thing."

  Jamin yanked his knife out of his belt and shoved it up to the underside of Laum's chin. Laum trembled as Jamin grabbed his shawl and pressed him against the door.

  "I will have the truth out of her," Jamin growled. "Or I will get it out of your hide!"

  Laum was a trader, not a warrior, but something about Jamin's barely-controlled rage caused this man who bore little love for his daughter to shut his mouth and refuse to answer him. Jamin shoved the knife further into his chin. A trickle of blood seeped down the blade. Laum trembled, but he would not answer.

  "She has snuck out to see that black-eyed waif who corrupts her to disobey," a woman came from the shadows, Shahla's mother, a woman whose tongue was so viperous it put even Shahla's to shame. Her eyes glowed with hatred, although whether it was at him or her own daughter he could not tell. "She has defied us, but this will not be the end of it! We shall not let thee off the hook for shaming us this easily."

  "Eshargemelet!" Laum chastised his wife. "Be silent!"

  "You will find her with Gita," Shahla's mother jutted her finger into his face. "And if you lay a hand upon her, we shall go before the tribunal and demand reparations from your father!"

  He shoved Laum inside the door to his house and stormed down the hill, indignant cries from the villagers he rammed aside as he made his way through the narrow streets to the outer ring of the village, where the lowest-ranking people lived.

  "Jamin! Wait!" Dadbeh chased after him, but at this point he was in such a rage that he was in no mood to speak to the man who had been the first to abandon
him the day Mikhail had won the solstice competition and then flown with Ninsianna into the sky.

  He found Shahla at the lowest well near the north gate, dressed in her finest dress and talking animatedly to three middle-aged men. More lovers? That black rage which had come over him whispered that no man could take what was his! Even when he did not want it! He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around.

  "We need to talk!"

  "Jamin?" Shahla squeaked. She looked to the three men she'd been flirting with, but they stepped back, anxious to be out of the path of his well-known temper and the explosion everyone could see was about to happen.

  "I will not marry you!" he shrieked at her. "Do you hear? I do not love you! And I will not marry you!"

  A throng of curiosity seekers, eager to alleviate the tedium of their ordinary lives, pressed around them to hear every word. The showdown the entire village had been betting upon, fodder for juicy gossip, was finally occurring. Shahla glanced at the people on either side of her who had begun to whisper. She put her hands over her ears as if she wished to block it out. The insinuations he had started against her. She uncovered her ears and her eyes flashed in defiance. Shahla was her mother's daughter. He had shamed her and she would retaliate.

  "But I am with child!" she jutted her chin into the air.

  "The baby is not mine!" Jamin dug his fingernails into her arm. "And even if it were, I still would not marry you!"

  "Then I shall bring you before the tribunal!" Shahla tossed her head and looked to the people around them, playing to the murmurs of this audience who would relish such a spectacle.

  "Go ahead," Jamin threatened. "And I shall bring twenty people in as witnesses to testify as to how you have lain down with every man in this village."

  Several villagers laughed. It was well known that Shahla was no stranger to men's affections. Shahla turned red at their whispered insinuations.