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

by Anna Erishkigal

  Hey! I can't be good at everything, now, can I?

  A pipette that was balanced precariously on one of Father's abandoned petri dishes rolled and tinkled upon the table. Dephar and Father both looked up, but luckily I'd had enough common sense to pin my wings to my back so the two fluffy white appendages didn't scream 'here is Lucifer eavesdropping on you again.' I crouched beneath the counter, praying Father wouldn't use his ascended powers to scan for life sparks. Luckily he was preoccupied. He ran another simulation to fill in one of the small pieces of Mama's missing ladder.

  "Sequence is viable," the Dardda'il-enhanced computer said.

  "See?" Father grew excited and jotted down the formula he'd just tested. "I'll try it on a living tissue sample."

  "She has refused her consent," Dephar reminded him.

  "Lucifer will fetch me a sample," Father said.

  Father always asked me to pick hair out of Mama's hairbrush and steal utensils she'd eaten off of and rummage through the bathroom waste can looking for … eew! I didn't even want to -think- about the disgusting little packages she wrapped up in toilet paper five days every year when she would grow moody and bite my head off. Father sent -me- to fish for samples of her DNA because Mama refused to let -him- experiment on her and fishing through the garbage cans was beneath him, though I had no doubt that, if he had no choice, he would.

  Now that was a funny thought. Father… Stepping down from his throne to rummage through the waste cans. I chortled a laugh and clapped my hand over my mouth to prevent myself from betraying my location. I made the mistake of leaning back into one of the cages. A sharp little claw jabbed at my wing and I nearly yelped. I'd backed up into the little bear-mammal cage. The creature snarled and chewed on a pawful of white feathers.

  "She's so close to completion," Father touched the hologram. "Why -not- complete her? She is everything the Seraphim were trying to achieve when they splintered off into their own colony."

  "You let them splinter off so they would stop polluting your armies with their genetic defects," Dephar said. "Mated pairs!" He pointed at my sample of DNA, or more precisely, the third strand. "You should focus on the task She-who-is assigned you to do … figure out how a genetic lineage which has been extinct for millions of years suddenly reappeared in the universe with no warning or explanation. Not go chasing after the boy's mother. She is not interested!"

  "Recessive genes," Father said. "It's the only explanation I've been able to come up with."

  "Across species?" Dephar shook his head.

  There was a ruckus at the door. A thin, yellow-skinned Grine came rushing in, one of Father's laboratory assistants. I crept to the side of the room, ignoring the growl from a small bear-like creature and tucked my wings tighter so they would not see me.

  "Your Majesty! You've got to watch this!" From the way the Grine shook as he turned on the monitor located on one wall, it was bad news.

  "Another transmission?" Father asked.

  "Yes! This time he has seized control of every broadcast network in the Alliance."

  Ooh! News! Father -never- let me watch television. He'd removed them from the palace after he'd caught me sneaking into the maid's quarters one day to watch something called a 'soap opera' and given me a stern lecture about not rotting out my brain. A brutish face, pockmarked with battle scars came onto the screen. Chills caused my feathers to rustle … the man in the dream. What was most remarkable was not his white-blonde hair and wings, for I had discovered nearly -all- Angelics, except for Mama, had coloring closer to -mine- than to hers, but that his eyes were the same color as mine.

  Silver…

  The air crackled with electricity as Father dropped the illusion of a kindly, elderly man and transformed into that person I had seen the day I was shot, the one that had simply pushed me aside to go after the man who had shot me.

  "Shemijaza," Father snarled.

  "He's on all the channels, Sir," the Grine trembled. "Even the data lines that feed directly into people's computers. Every citizen in the Alliance can see this message right now."

  I watched, fascinated, as the man I had seen in the land between came to life on Father's television screen. He was a hard man, judging by the square, determined set of his jaw, his features even more brutal and terrifying than some of the Leonid generals or General Abaddon, and when he spoke his voice rumbled with power. I crept closer so I could hear what he said.

  "Fifteen years ago," the man said, "my wife disappeared with neither explanation nor even a hint of marital distress. I searched for her, but was told she had committed suicide. I was … devastated."

  His face softened. The screen flashed a picture of Mama, standing next to the man wearing white, not black as she always wore, and smiling, an expression I had never seen her wear. The screen flashed back to the silver-eyed man.

  "Three weeks ago," the man said, "My wife contacted me and informed me that not only had she borne me a son, but that she's been held prisoner in the Eternal Emperor's palace for the last fifteen years. And that wasn't all! She said our son had been shot! Collateral damage in an assassination attempt on the Eternal Emperor's life! The Emperor's response was not to help the boy who had just taken a bullet for him, but to push him to the ground and disappear!"

  Powerful images came into my mind. Images about -me!- Images of the man carrying me bleeding out of a dark place. But those images were not on the television screen. But … how? I had always assumed I had gotten the power of persuasion from my Mama, but now I realized I'd inherited it from -both- sides of the family! Could other people see these images besides me? Or did they see them subconsciously, the way I always coaxed Mama to not be sad?

  "The Third Empire is a peaceful republic," the silver-eyed man said. "We try to resolve our disputes by using the law. Immediately upon hearing from my wife, we attempted that avenue by filing a request to make my case before your Alliance courts as to why the Eternal Emperor should not return custody to me of my wife and son."

  The camera flashed to an official-looking court document, stamped with an Alliance seal. It then flashed to a second document issued by the court with the words 'Writ of Habeas Corpus' written across it with both -my- and Mama's names.

  "Yesterday afternoon, I received -this.-"

  The Writ of Habeas Corpus came back on the screen, but this time it had scrawled across it in Father's own hand 'Go to Hades.'

  Go to Hades?

  It was -his- signature. There was no denying Father's signature. -Everybody- knew what the Eternal Emperor's signature looked like!

  "For fifteen years, the Eternal Emperor has held my son captive inside the Eternal Palace and told everyone he is the bastard child of a servant!" The man's eyes glittered so silvery-pale they were nearly white with fury, and it -was- fury, for I could -feel- that fury with every word he spoke.

  A bastard? I remembered what Father had told Ba'al Zebub when he'd spotted me so I wouldn't be in trouble.

  "An unwanted bastard," the man repeated. "I received confirmation of this by two emissaries of the Sata'an Empire."

  Those words shivered through my body. Father hadn't meant it to be taken that way! He only wanted what was best for me. Right?

  "My son is no bastard!" the man pounded down his fist. "He is a prince. A Prince of Tyre. I demand his safe return to Tyre -immediately- so he can take his rightful place at my side as ruler of the Third Empire."

  Me? A prince? Well of course I was a prince. Didn't the Cherubim always call me little prince? Of course, I had never heard Father call me that. But he always -did- say that someday he would retire to the ascended realms with Mama and I could rule in his stead.

  "This time," Shemijaza's voice was an ominously deep rumble, "the Emperor has pushed us too far. The Third Empire has only ever fought back against Alliance aggression when they targeted a planet that petitioned to join us. We wish to simply exist and be left alone, free of the intrigues of both great empires. But now I find out your emperor holds prisoner my wife
and son!"

  Prisoner? Well … um … no … um … they … maybe? There -were- two Cherubim guard stationed outside our wing of the palace at all times, and never once had I been allowed any further than the garden, which sat at the center of the palace, and not outside. Until three weeks ago, nobody had even been allowed to see me.

  "Until the citizens of the Alliance tell the Eternal Emperor that your laws -do- apply to everyone, including -him-, the Alliance and the Third Empire will be at war!"

  "We shall blow up one planet each day, starting with lightly inhabited resource planets, and moving up to more densely inhabited ones, until your courts -give- me a fair hearing to make my case and -prove- my son would be better off in my hands than in the hands of the Eternal Emperor. Starting … right … now."

  The screen queued to an image of a small mining colony. Sirens could be heard in the background, along with a computerized voice giving a countdown. Miners rushed to shuttlecraft and took off into the atmosphere, the countdown reciting numbers backwards the entire time. I watched with morbid fascination as the rocky landscape grew peaceful, with no sign of life except for a far-distant sun and the computer calling out the numbers backwards of the countdown.

  "Five … four … three … two … one…"

  There was a flash before the screen went to static.

  The camera shifted to a view taken from space. In the background, the planet developed a penumbra like the ring of a gas giant, and then exploded, splitting neatly in half.

  "He's got a planet-killer," Dephar hissed.

  "How in Hades did the Third Empire get their hands on a planet killer!" Father shrieked. He slammed his fist upon the table.

  Sparks flew, illuminating the laboratory like a bolt of lightning. Illuminating my hiding place. Static electricity made my feathers stand on end. I cringed back into that little bear-like mammal cage and managed to not cry out as sharp claws tore out another handful of feathers. And still I watched that horrible image on the television, the image of the horrible man, the one Mama had said was my -real- father.

  The camera shifted to a spaceship which took the smallest shuttlecraft on board, the ones not equipped with hyperdrives capable of transporting people to another planet. It shifted to inside the launch bay. Miners trudged out of the shuttles and were taken into custody. Alive. Not mistreated. But now they were prisoners of war.

  The camera shifted back to the scarred face of the silver-eyed man.

  "As you can see, we are not murderers," Shemijaza spoke, his brutal jaw clenched with determination. "But the most fundamental right of any sentient creature is to perpetuate their bloodline. Your Emperor has committed a heinous offense no sentient creature will let stand, and I -will- not let it stand."

  Lucifer watched the screen, captivated. How many times had he watched Father give speeches, all mumbly-spoken and boring? The silver-eyed man masterfully created that perfect balance of righteous indignation and terror.

  "If the Alliance does not return my wife and son," the silver-eyed man said. "I will annihilate one planet each day, moving from less populated ones to Haven-1 itself if necessary, until your courts give me back custody of my son."

  The camera shifted again. It showed a massive fleet of strange-looking ships surging at the Alliance border. The implication was clear. The Third Empire had grown powerful enough that it would invade, if necessary, to get the silver-eyed man what he wanted.

  The message repeated.

  It repeated again.

  It repeated again.

  "Can't somebody jam that signal?" Father shouted.

  "Our communication specialists are working on it, Your Majesty," the Grine said. "But he has equipment we have never seen before. It is so sophisticated we don't know -how- to block it."

  "Where was that planet located?" Dephar asked.

  "R-r-right here," the Grine stuttered. "Haven cluster. It was a small mining planetoid located in the outer solar system. He loaded the miners and disappeared without a trace."

  "Here?!" The electricity in the room grew to a critical mass. Father screamed into the air. "Goddess!!!"

  And then he shimmered and disappeared.

  I hid until Dephar and the Grine had left the room, and then walked up to the video monitor, watching it replay again, and again, and again, and again. A message to the citizens of the Alliance that the silver-eyed man wanted back the son who had been stolen from him.

  It felt as though a hole had just opened up in the pit of my stomach as I watched the brutal man blow up the planet, again and again and again.

  He was coming after -me-?

  Chapter 47

  Galactic Standard Date: 152,324.01 AE

  Hades-6

  Emperor Shay’tan

  Shay'tan

  "As you can see, Your Eminence, Styx has the stronger claim to the asteroid," the Styxian emissary said. He was a squat man, with the typical greyish hide of his species and two eyestalks that could rotate to watch what was happening behind his back. He did so now, watching his emperor and god out of one eyestalk, while watching his opposing delegate with the other. It was a trait which made the species valuable as part of Shay'tan's armies.

  "It is one parsec closer to Malebolge!" the Malbogian delegate argued, a creature that looked like a fish on legs. "The Asmodel Fields asteroid has an orbit which is elliptical. It is only closer to Styx three months out of the year! The other nine it is closest to us." The Malebolge were a hard-working aquacultural species, but what use was iron on a water world where iron rusted?

  "But right now it is closer to us," the Styxian delegate said. "And this case is being heard now."

  Shay'tan tried not to yawn in their faces, but oh, how tedious it was to arbitrate these petty disputes. He shifted his massive girth, grown portlier the longer he lingered in these realms to play these mortal games, and rubbed his back. His appearance had grown soft over the years to reflect his soft duties, but that had not always been the case. He daydreamed of a time when he had still worn the visage of a true dragon.

  The two emissaries continued their fight. Shay'tan pretended to listen to them argue to give the impression of making a reasoned decision, but he'd already made up his mind. Asmodel Fields was an iron-rich asteroid, a metal they always had in short supply. It behooved him to give it to the world which would use it to further the glory of his Empire.

  Budayl, his elderly scribe, came into the throne room and tucked his tail up alongside his right side, waiting for him to notice him. The lizard-man had been trained not to disturb him when he had affairs of state going on, but from the way he fiddled with the buttons of his uniform, he needed to speak to him sooner rather than later. Shay'tan cut the two delegates off.

  "I have made my decision," Shay'tan rumbled. "Since Styx filed this action before Malebolge did, the distance to the Asmodel Fields Asteroid should be determined as of today. At the moment, since the asteroid is closest to Styx, Styx shall be awarded dominion over it.

  "But Your Eminence," the Malebolge delegate protested. "Most of the year the asteroid lays closer to Malebolge."

  Shay'tan growled just enough to convince the Malebolgian delegate he was annoyed, and in a way he was, but it was no fun being annoyed when you had already anticipated in advance their reaction, as well as your own annoyance, and figured out exactly how to respond to it.

  "Are you implying my judgment is fallible?"

  "N-n-no, Your Majesty," the Malebolge delegate stammered.

  Shay'tan waited until the guards had cleared the room before raising his snout to signal the scribe. The lizard-man was normally unflappable, but ever since news had broken that Lucifer had been arrested, with no explanation as to why, they had all been a little jumpy.

  "What news do you have for me?"

  "Your Majesty," the scribe bowed. "We were unable to make contact with Lord Zebub."

  Shay'tan drummed his claws against his throne.

  "You are certain he left the Alliance before this trouble star
ted with the Prime Minister?" Shay'tan asked.

  "Yes, Your Eminence."

  "What rumors have our spies intercepted about the charges against the Alliance Prime Minister?"

  "The rumors are unconfirmed, Sir," the scribe said. "But we've heard whispers the Prime Minister has been charged with the negligent homicide of a protected seed-world species."

  "Murder?"

  Shay'tan's drumming stopped. He remembered the frail, ebony-skinned female who had fainted at the sight of him. She had been an experiment into how badly genetic drift may have impaired their worth as potential breeding stock. He began to drum his claws once more. So she had died?

  He stretched a crick out of his long, serpentine neck. Hashem was predictably overreacting, the same mistake he had made with Shemijaza and, before him, the fifth species. The man did not learn. He heaved his girth off his gilded throne and waddled to the door that led to his game room. Budayl followed. He had enough common sense to stay out of the way when Shay'tan flared his leathery wings to get the blood flowing back into them.

  "What was Ba'al Zebub's last known position?"

  Shay'tan touched the enormous galactic chessboard which hummed on its axis, caressing those squares lit up in a reassuring red, his solar systems, resources and planets. On the opposite side, Hashem's squares glowed brilliant blue, the color he had engineered into his Angelic's eyes so that Shay'tan would be perpetually reminded they were his species.

  "Here, Sir," Budayl pointed to the volatile buffer zone between the two great empires. "Lord Zebub indicated he would be making a diplomatic call on King Barabas to feel out his intentions on the Tokoloshe annexation of Gamygen-6."

  Shay'tan noted the ship he'd placed on the chessboard to track the location of Lucifer's flagship, the Prince of Tyre, still positioned at the juncture of four converging hotspots. Hashem had not seized it as would have make sense if Lucifer had housed the human female there that had passed away, presumably from the strain of carrying a genetically incompatible Angelic child. She must have died someplace else where someone reported the death.