“Azin!”
Gita stood over her body, determined to protect her friend. Her eyes were drawn to weak spots in her attackers, including the one who had left his spear in Azin's chest and was in the process of trying to retrieve it. There. A grey cloud hovered over the man's left knee. An old injury? She could almost taste it. There. Weak.
'Who do you hate, Gita?'
If there was one thing Gita understood, it was how to evade a bully. She pushed back that admonition her mother had told her all those years ago, that she must never act in anger, and focused on that strange, dark gift which thrummed through her veins.
"I'm invisible!" Gita hissed her protective mantra.
Leaping at him like a lioness springing out of tall grass at a gazelle, she executed a low crescent kick to take out the knee cap which the dim spot in his spirit-light screamed was weak. The man's leg collapsed, knocking him down on one knee. The man acted surprised, as though he could not see her. She yanked the spear out of Azin's body.
'The secret to a good throw is to put every ounce of your being into it. Every ounce of resentment. Every ounce of hatred. Picture someone you are angry at and pretend you throw the spear at -them.-'
She pictured one of the Amorites who had thrown the stones used to kill her mother. Without hesitation, she ran the second attacker through the heart with his own spear, the one he had just used to kill her friend.
The third attacker stood there stupidly, as though he could not see her.
"Bastard!"
She stabbed the man in the throat. Gore splashed onto her face as she shoved the spear up through his windpipe into his brainpan, where it got stuck and she could not remove it.
The fourth man's mind was not so weak. He circled around her, wary of the tiny woman who dared fight men.
Gita circled the man, backing up to stand over her friend. Until she was certain Azin was dead, she would not abandon her to their enemies. Three more Halifians broke through the wedge. These men all had spears, while she was now unarmed.
Not quite…
She pulled her obsidian blade.
Leaping as she had seen Pareesa do to avoid a spear-thrust during practice, she held her blade out in front of her to cut at the aggressor's hand. Her blade cut through knuckle until it hit bone.
"K'ats!" the man shrieked.
A fifth enemy came out of nowhere and stabbed at her. One of the Assurian warriors holding the back of the wedge turned from where he was pushing back against his comrades and stabbed the fifth attacker who had just broken through.
“Thanks Shepsin,” Gita shouted.
The wedge faltered where Shepsin had just diverted his attention to help her out.
"Watch out!" Gita warned him.
"Fire!" Immanu shouted from the wall.
The arrows flew overhead, but the shot pattern had changed. The shots were now carefully selected, aimed down at whatever enemies had broken through the line and were overwhelming their men, or towards the far fringes of the wedge where their foe still tried to get around.
With a shriek, one of the enemies that was dogging her went down, shot through his neck.
"Thanks!" Gita shouted at whichever archer had shot the man. She had no idea who her savior was. The archers had already ducked down to avoid the return-volley from the Halifian archers.
"Shore up that wedge!" Siamek shouted.
Shepsin gave her a weak grin before turning his attention back to holding the line, trusting her to deal with the other three mercenaries. The enemy wasn’t laughing at her anymore. They needed to take her out so they could have unimpeded access to the back of the wedge.
He said she was a sorceress…
Gita's father had been passed over as shaman because he bore no trace of Lugalbanda's powerful gift, the one which had been handed down to Immanu and then to Ninsianna. Gita's echo of the gift was unreliable, not blessed by the goddess as Ninsianna's was, but it was an edge, however small, and she was motivated to stay alive.
The Amorites had handed her father a final stone, larger this time, the size of a man's head, and demanded that he prove his fealty by killing his sorceress wife himself.
It dawned on her. She was trying to see what she needed to feel. She had been feeling the enemy weaknesses all along and not recognized them for what they were. The pain in her shoulder was not her own. Yes, now that she knew to feel first, and then look, she could see it. The man circling her used an underhanded stab because he had an old shoulder injury. He could not lift his left arm any higher than his torso. He was vulnerable from above.
'He wants to kill you. Is that what your mother would really want?'
A lifetime of avoiding her drunken father's rages had taught her how to move so it deceived the eye…
'They called her a Whore of Ki…'
She rolled over to where friend's body had fallen and picked up the blade which had fallen out of Azin's belt.
"I'm invisible," Gita whispered a prayer to the ancient goddess of primordial chaos who nobody ever bothered praying to anymore because the Amorites had wiped all trace of her temples from their planet. Ki … please … don't … let … me … die.
She leaped at him, stabbing down with the both blades at once and sinking the both of them into his neck. Her instincts had been right. The man had expected her to attempt to get away, not to leap closer where he could not maneuver as well. He went down with a shriek. Blood spurted out of the jugular veins she had pierced. She yanked out the blades and spat out his blood, turning to the other two men, a frightful black-eyed wraith wielding two knives as though they were claws, her clothing smeared with gore.
'Who do you hate, Gita?'
"That's for Azin!"
Chapter 75
November – 3,390 BC
Earth: plain outside Assur
Angelic Special Forces Colonel Mikhail Mannuki'ili
Mikhail
Cool air rustled through Mikhail's feathers. The ground seethed with enemies as mercenaries climbed over the bodies of the lines who had perished before them and ran straight into the teeth of the wedge. Tracer arrows lit up pieces of the battle like a strobe light, granting vision and then expiring it as an enemy either stomped it out or the arrow became buried in flesh.
Death screams filled the air. The wedge was a brutal maneuver designed to take advantage of a flaw of human nature. When launching an attack, the lines behind the first one were always so eager in their blood lust that they would push their compatriots to their deaths, only to be shoved to their own deaths in turn as the lines behind them committed the same mistake. Numbers were only an advantage if you were disciplined enough to take direction from a chain of command.
The air was filled with the scent of blood, ruptured bowels, sweat and fear. He had taught the Assurians this brutal tactic, but Mikhail felt no emotion while in the grip of the killing dance. No satisfaction. No pride. No remorse. No pity. No guilt. Only calculations of weaknesses and estimations of body counts. Had it been him leading the enemy, the moment he'd encountered resistance he would have fallen back, divided his forces, and assigned just enough men to harass the wedge while he sent a larger force around them to flank the defenders from the rear.
Lucky for Assur, he was on their side…
The wind shifted. He flapped to gain altitude, shifting to fight against tiny cross-currents of wind which had been stirred up like ripples of the goddess' blood lust. From this height he could see Ninsianna perched upon the temple rooftop, bow drawn, her red cape flowing around her shoulders like the robe of an empress. It was a small gift he bestowed upon himself, to allow himself to feel how proud he was of his beautiful huntress at this moment. That dark hunger echoed his pride, urging him to hurry up and smite his enemies so he could make love to her whilst he still carried the heady taste of blood lust and adrenaline.
The Cherubim battle meditations whispered into his brain, reminding him to remain focused, fight fairly, kill quickly and grant mercy when appropriate. That dark
urge receded, leaving only the brilliant, cool logic which dispassionately calculated the odds of winning.
Banking his wings to land, Mikhail dropped down onto the rooftop beside the Chief.
"Mikhail," Chief Kiyan relaxed his bowstring and stepped forward to shake his hand, forearm to forearm, in a warriors gesture of empty handedness. "I take it you took care of the problem at our north gate?"
"Varshab had it under control when I left," Mikhail recited the debriefing without emotion. "I delayed to dispatch a group which had set fire to a roof."
Behind them, said rooftop was engulfed in flames. The second one had been gotten under control by Pareesa's little brother.
"Your brilliant maneuver appears to be working," Chief Kiyan gestured to the battlefield before them. "But we don't have enough arrows left to hold this position much longer. You need to order your men to retreat."
The wedge had inflicted breathtaking carnage. Each step the Assurians took backwards only invited the enemy to climb over the wall of their own dead and send a fresh line of men into the points of Ubaid spears. He could see this because he had a birds-eye view, but to people at the back of the line, the situation must appear desperate.
"The wedge has weakened and there are too many enemies behind it to retreat," Mikhail said. "The minute you open the gate, the enemy will rally and push through."
"Our people are dying," Chief Kiyan pointed down at a female skirmisher who died at the point of an enemy spear even as they watched. His voice rose with the edge of desperation. "These are my people. We can't just leave them outside the walls to die."
"I will fly into their midst and even the odds," Mikhail said. "If it is me the enemy wants as your son once claimed, then let them come and get me. It should distract the enemy long enough for your people to get behind the gate."
The Chief winced at the mention of his son. Surely the Chief had the same suspicion as him? This raid was too well-planned, too targeted, too cognizant of Assurian weaknesses. Only someone with intimate knowledge could have passed along such current information.
Chief Kiyan wiped soot out of his eyes, smearing it down his cheek like a tear. "No man can fight those odds."
"Two opponents against one is never easy," Mikhail said. "But whenever your enemy comes at you with more than a single man, they must be mindful of not injuring each other, not just smiting you. I have trained for this and I am capable of it."
He hoped. That cool, rational voice which had taken up residence in his head chided him for slacking off in his own training. Had these been lizard soldiers, he would not be having such an easy time cutting through their swarths.
The Chief's eyes drifted down to where he had deployed women and children to dash behind the lines and start dragging back the bodies of their wounded. He was, quite literally, out of men.
"Where would you have the archers fire?"
"Harass the men on either side of me so they must remain too close to have room to maneuver," Mikhail said, "or too far away to come to the aid of their compatriots. As the wedge has just so aptly demonstrated, a close fight is one which disadvantages the less determined fighter."
Without another word, Mikhail took to the air, picked a spot within archer range where the bodies of the enemy would hamper their attempts to rush at him, and slipped down from the sky into their midst to begin once more his deadly killing kata.
"Anata no seishin wa kanojo - dare ga eien no yasuragi o manabu koto ga," Mikhail whispered the familiar prayer to the dead.
As he had hoped, the undisciplined fighters abandoned their assault upon the wedge and rushed at him to collect their bounty.
Chapter 76
November - 3,390 BC
Earth: Village of Assur
Ninsianna
Ninsianna waited on the rooftop with the other archers, bow drawn, ready to fire at any enemy who dared threaten the temple of the goddess.
No more enemies came...
Beyond their safe perch in the center of the village, the battle waged furiously at the south gate. Each volley fired off of the south wall whistled through the air like guilt. Ninsianna was one of the best shots in the village. She should be there. Not sitting uselessly here because the goddess didn't want her husband to fret.
"There's Mikhail!" Dima shouted.
"Shh!" Ghazal admonished her friend. "You're supposed to be inconspicuous."
Ninsianna's heart leaped as Mikhail flew overhead to join the battle to their south, visible against the sky because of a fire which had ignited a rooftop along the south wall. She waved, but he gave no sign that he had seen her. Whenever he retreated into the killing dance, she could not see him. She pushed a little harder, eager to get a response. That stern blue light which prevented her from seeing into his mind was hostile to her inquiry.
'Don’t distract him. You will get him killed…'
And just like that, Ninsianna was evicted from tracing that thread which allowed her to see her husband, the way one might toss out the family cat during supper because it was being a pest begging for table scraps.
How dare he!
Ninsianna traced the thread again. She hit a blue barrier, grown so thick she could no longer even see him. Whatever had tossed her out, it was not Mikhail.
Another god?
Mikhail claimed it was a god the Cherubim invoked whenever they went into battle, different than the Emperor he only vaguely remembered, though he had no memory of that god beyond the prayers he uttered to help him concentrate. Although she had always been able to sense that powerful blue energy which flowed through him like a mighty river, this was the first time she had gotten a sense it had a personality.
So now she was to be denied even the distraction of spying on her husband's spirit-light while he waded through the battle? While she sat here like a good little wife in the safest rooftop in the village? She stared to the east and fumed, waiting for the first light of dawn. Goddess! How she hated it when she could not see!
From the shouts and screams at the south gate, it sounded as though the tide had turned in Assur's favor.
The spongy roof of the granary flexed beneath her as she crawled closer to the southern edge to better see the battle with her mortal eyes. Sand fleas crawled out of the thatch and feasted upon her ankles and legs. Ugh! What was she doing here?
She watched flames lick the sky from the rooftop at the outer wall which had been set to fire. Thankfully, the enemy had only been able to ignite just one. All it took was one spark and an Ubaid house went up in flames, often taking the neighbors houses along with it. It was why they had sent warriors outside the gate to defend their village. Their walls were sound. It was the rooftops they stood upon to provide cover fire which were vulnerable.
Yadidatum crept across the roof to rejoin her, her head bowed low so she would not be visible from the ground. She crouched next to Ninsianna.
"There's a lot of wounded," Yadidatum spoke low so her voice would not carry. "Maybe we should send a few of these kids to see if they can help?"
With nothing to do but sit and wait, the curvaceous beauty had braided her hair and arranged it artfully around her head. From the look of Yadidatum's young charges peeking up one roof-level like nervous rabbits, she had braided their hair as well.
It was not the most productive use of resources …
The whistle of an enemy return volley and screams of wounded made her cringe. She could hear the cries of people dragging wounded through the streets of the outermost ring, lamenting the number of injured and dying. Why was she still here?
'Mother?' she asked the goddess. 'Would you like me to go help out someplace else?'
Silence. Ever since they had killed the men who had tried to set fire to the granary, She-who-is had been silent. Usually her connection with the goddess was akin to the half-ear a parent loaned a child who chattered about their play, but not tonight. The goddess was too busy to pay attention to her. It felt lonely, realizing how unimportant she was in the goddess' great s
cheme of things.
Yadidatum's brown eyes were filled with questions, looking to the Chosen One to give her guidance. How could she tell her the goddess hadn't spoken to her for hours? To her left, Ghazal chattered with Dima. If Ghazal could see in the dark using her own mortal senses, then she must use her own wits as well.
Where was the best use to put her talents? Archer? Or healer? That blue light had made it quite clear she was not to distract her husband. Instead she followed a thread to Papa.
Do you need a little extra help?
She got a feeling of intense concentration. Papa was too busy providing cover fire to answer her questions, but she did not get the impression he was in immediate danger.
Mama? Is everything okay?
Mama answered with a vague image. She was being inundated with wounded. Ninsianna's talents would best be used there.
"Yadidatum," Ninsianna faked an enigmatic smile, just like the carved goddess on the fresco below. "She-who-is wants me to go help my mother at the house of healing. Keep the archers ready to fire at anything that's not Ubaid."
"Really?" Yadidatum's lips curved up into a smile. "You're putting me in charge?"
Yadidatum was a lousy shot, but she was not stupid. If nothing happened, she would be fine. If something did happen, the junior archers would deal with it. The only reason many of them were here was because they were too young to put into battle.
"Ghazal … you stay," Ninsianna ordered. She wanted to make sure at least one archer was a solid shooter under fire. "You six … run to the south gate and help carry the wounded back to the house of healing. You three … go to the north gate and help with wounded there as well. Stick together and keep your bows drawn just in case you run into trouble."
Ninsianna sent Mama an image that help was on the way. Mama wasn't very good at this kind of communication, but Ninsianna got an image that Mama was out of bandages. She would stop at the house on her way down to the triage area.
"If Mikhail comes by," Ninsianna told Yadidatum, "tell him to meet me at Yalda and Zhila's house. Mama set up there because it is closer to the wounded."
Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 73