Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (116 page)

"What about him?" Katlego pointed at Qishtea.

Jamin knelt next to his unconscious enemy, the one he had not killed because a
ghost
had begged him not to.

"If he's going to
submit,
" Jamin hissed. "The first thing he needs to do is
look
like one of us."

With a few delft strokes of the beautiful, jeweled knife bequeathed upon him by Lucifer, Jamin scraped off Qishtea's pride and joy, the dark ringlets and beard which caused every woman in Ubaid territory to throw themselves into his bed. He did so ungently, and when he was done, Qishtea's face and scalp was riddled with scars in all the places Jamin had shaved him down to the bare flesh.

He rose and held the black locks and beard in his fist, still filled with gold and lapis beads. He held it out to the place where Shahla no longer stood, but she did not reappear to take his gift. He stood there, numb, as the lizard people made trip after trip into the village to deplete it of the food they needed to survive the remainder of the winter. Let Qishtea oversee the leadership of
that
and see how long he was favored by his people when they were starving?

Kuaya came out accompanied by Nineveh's shaman, hands held over his head. Jamin recognized Zartosht, the most ancient shaman in Ubaid territory. He was an old man, stooped with age, his eyes rheumy and clouded with cataracts, but the man possessed a mind as sharp as a well-crafted obsidian blade, and within that mind were many secrets, including stories about how their people had come to reside so far from Shay'tan's empire. Jamin gestured for the soldiers not to kill him.

"What do you want, shaman?" Jamin asked.

"Do you not understand what you do, son of Kiyan?" the old shaman asked. "This grain belongs to She-who-is."

"She-who-is must pay her tribute same as everybody else," Jamin stated flatly.

"You must not do this," Zartosht's voice warbled. "Our people will starve."

"As Qishtea left
me
to starve rather than speak up after I was banished for
his
crime?" Jamin said.

"If you steal this grain," Zartosht said. "She-who-is will no longer look upon you with favor."

"I am already damned," Jamin said, "and I stopped being
HER
favorite the day her Chosen One spurned me for the winged demon."

"Mikhail is stronger than you are," the ancient shaman said. "And someday he shall defeat you and your spawn of Hades. Just you see! Someday Mikhail will crush you beneath his boot!"

Jamin shrugged. "Perhaps. But that does not change the fact that
we
are taking all of your grain." He turned to two Sata'anic soldiers who had just deposited baskets of grain into the shuttle. "Take this one back into the village and lock him up inside his house so he doesn't do something stupid, like try to fight us."

"Aye, Sir," the two soldiers said. They grabbed Zartosht by the arm and hauled the old man away, still shouting that She-who-is would get him.

Jamin turned to Kuaya, whose eyes were filled with a combination of fury and terror. He pointed down at the unconscious Qishtea.

"Take him into the village and make sure he lives," Jamin said. He untangled the tiny little speaker from his collar and handed it to her. "When he decides to submit, use
this
to get in touch with the lizard people and tell them you are ready to barter back your labor for some food."

"And what if Qishtea tries to kill me?" Kuaya asked.

"Then use it to call down another lightning strike," Jamin said coldly. "If you die, I will flatten Nineveh to the ground and leave
no
survivors."

He signaled for three passing soldiers to haul the unconscious Nineveh chief back into his own bed. He stood there, unfeeling and numb, as carpetful after carpetful of precious grain was hauled out of the village, followed by jars containing fermented vegetables, beer, priceless olives, dried acorns and dates, and countless other goods that would solve the Sata'anic base's food problems for the next several months.

"Leave nothing behind," Jamin told the first lizard who came out and asked if they should take
everything.
"Not food, not gold, not trade goods they can use to resupply. If they cannot eat, the humans cannot fight us."

The first shuttle took off, laden down with grain, and the second shuttle took its place. At last Sergeant Dahaka came strolling out of the village, driving in front of himself a magic carpet carrying the mother lode of all grain tributes. He gave Jamin a pleased grin. The lizards hadn't
really
wanted to play nice with the Ubaid after all the trouble his people had given them.

"What are you going to do with
those,
" Sergeant Dahaka pointed to the double fistful of black hair still clenched in Jamin's fist.

Jamin straightened the hairs into a nice, neat bundle; that cold, numb feeling receding as his familiar guilt reasserted itself.

"Make an offering of it to an old friend," he said softly.

~ * ~ * ~

Late-January: 3,389 BC

Earth: Uruk Territory

Gita

"Gita?"

A hand touched her forearm shaking her awake.

"Gita. It's time to go."

Gita didn't need to open her eyes to know whose voice whispered to her in the dark.

"Dadbeh?"

She rolled over, reluctant to leave the wonderful dream where she lay, asleep, in Mikhail's wings, and that as she did he kissed her hair and called her
mo shaol maité.
The song faded, along with the warm sensation it always brought to her chest, leaving her feeling so barren it felt a though her ribcage might collapse inwards to fill the emptiness caused by his absence.

"The others are ready," Dadbeh whispered. "If we don't move now, we'll lose the element of surprise."

Gita pushed aside her borrowed blanket and sat upright. The moment she did, her stomach lurched. The blackness in her chest had receded, leaving her with a healing scar, but for the past few days, every time she went to move quickly, especially in the morning, it felt as though her stomach wished to turn itself inside out.

She took deep breaths until the sensation passed, and then fumbled in the dark for the robe the Kemet had loaned her, a man's cloak which had once belonged to Tiaa's husband. She reassured herself the little leather pouch still hung between her breasts, and then rose, waiting for the vertigo to clear.

Dadbeh and the two elderly Kemet men stood ready to go in the scant light of the now-waning moon, their breath visible in the winter cold.

"How many sentries?" Gita asked.

"Only one," Dadbeh said. "He has not moved for quite some time."

Gita was not familiar with the Kemet's beasts of burden, but Tiaa had hoped the scent which lingered in her husband's robe would set the animals at ease. They had little hope of winning against such numbers, sixteen Uruk to their paltry four, but they hoped to ride the beasts to safety before the Uruk could mount them to give them chase.

"Are you ready?" Dadbeh asked.

Gita glanced from Dadbeh to Kafra to Neby. Dadbeh might be a slender man, but he was fast and agile, an experienced warrior who had spent his entire lifetime training. The Kemet were much less agile due to their age, but Kafra was an experienced knife fighter, while Neby was talented in the art of slight-of-hand.

"You have the knife?" Kafra asked.

Gita pulled out the borrowed blade which, like her robe, had come from Tiaa's deceased husband.

"Remember the command words," Neby said. "They are well-trained animals. When they stole them, we did not tell the Uruk the words."

Gita held out her hands. "
Gee, haw, whoa
and
hut-hut."

  "They will startle when you try to crawl up to them," Kafra said, "but if you give them these, they will quickly quiet down."

The knife-fighter handed her a square of cloth tied around a several handfuls of dried, roasted locusts, something the camels considered to be a treat. Gita tucked the parcel into her satchel and stared off towards the east, where no sign of the dawn had yet begun to show.

"Let's do this," Gita said.

They crept silently through the shadows, around the ridge they had hidden behind last night after the raiders had set up camp, down into a shallow ravine which once upon a time must have carried water, but even in the rainy season, now only carried a trickle. They froze each time a clumsy foot dislodged a rock, and then moved when no one in the camp raised the alarm. They were well into Uruk territory. Out here, no one, not even the Halifians, dared attack the warlike Uruk tribe.

Dadbeh placed a hand on her shoulder, a silent signal. Good luck. Be careful. Come back alive. It was too dark to see his eyes, but she knew they were filled with concern for her well-being.

Whispering the prayer which had kept her alive her entire life, Gita dropped down and crawled on all four to the rear of the Uruk encampment. The rubble cut into her hands and knees, but she silenced her cries of discomfort.

'I'm invisible, I'm invisible, I'm invisible,' she chanted to herself.

This far out into the desert, it was common practice to set the camels loose at night to forage, their range limited by a hobble. She got within a few cubits of the camel Neby had said was the matriarch before the creature called out a startled tut-tut-tut of warning. Gita froze.

"Shhh!" she shushed the creature. She reached into her satchel and pulled out the parcel of dried, roasted locusts. "Here. It's just me."

The camels called to one another, passing along the alert. If she didn't get the matriarch to quiet down quickly, the confounded creatures would wake up the enemy! Gita held out the packet of locusts and prayed the scent would be familiar.

The matriarch snuffled, and then nosed closer, hopping on three legs as her front foot was tied up against her elbow joint to hobble her. Camels were well behaved creatures, but they tended to wander off in search of grass and brush. Gita picked up a handful of the locusts, a treat she wouldn't have minded herself if her stomach hadn't been so unsettled, and held them out for the matriarch to take from her fingers.

"There, mama camel," Gita spoke to her in a low, soothing voice. "Nobody is going to hurt your herd. I've come to take you home, that is all. Wouldn't you like to play with Bitaneth and Ineni?"

Soft, furry lips kissed her fingers, and then gently plucked the locusts, munching contentedly on the familiar treats. The other camels hopped towards her on three legs, a caravan's worth comprised of eleven adult camels and three juveniles. Gita prayed the Uruk wouldn't be alerted by the strange confluence of camels as she silently untied the hobbles, saving the matriarch for last as Neby had warned.

A curious juvenile nuzzled her cheek. Gita smiled. She had always watched the Kemet traders in awe, but had never dared approach the creatures, fearful they would accuse her of being a thief. She patted their necks and, in her mind, whispered reassuring things even though she did not dare whisper them aloud.

She glanced over at the camel's saddles which sat lined up in the moonlight just outside the ring of sleeping men. Without them, the Kemet would have no way to tie their wares to the camel's backs, but every moment she lingered increased the chances they would be caught. They would have to make new saddles, or walk. She had agreed to risk her life to retrieve the animals, but not for something which could be replaced.

"Come with me," she whispered to the matriarch. She grabbed its halter and dangled another locust in front of its nose, coaxing it to follow her out of the camp. Its soft paws stepped far more lightly than
her
clumsy feet, and as Neby had promised, the lesser camels and their young followed docilely behind them, all the way around the outer ring of the enemy camp. She led the camels to where their masters, Neby and Kafra, waited.

The matriarch called a tut-tut-tut-tut greeting the moment she caught the Kemet's scent, as did the other camels. They galloped forward with their awkward gait, nuzzling the two old men and vocalizing their joy at being reunited with their rightful owners.