Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (36 page)

Pareesa's head buzzed as she stepped carefully to reach the cushion next to Siamek. She almost tripped on the plush wool carpet. Wouldn't that be impressive, to land flat on her face in front of the village elders? The room grew quiet, waiting for her to take her place at the gathering.

"First we must figure out which tribes allied with the lizard demons to help them orchestrate the attack," Chief Kiyan said.

"There were Halifians," Pareesa wracked her memory. "Uruk. Anatolians. And a few other tribes whose clothing I did not recognize. Most of them wore dress like the slavers did, only coarser."

"Mercenaries," Varshab said with disgust.

"Not necessarily," Behnam said. He leaned forward and took her hand. "Think, child. Was there any group that seemed to be in charge?"

"
After
the lizard demons?" Pareesa said. "I would say the Amorites."

"If I had to hazard a guess," Chief Kiyan said, "I'd say the lizard demons hired
them,
and then the Amorites used the promise of lizard gold to rile up mercenaries from wherever they could find them."

The tribunal nodded and all took another sip of their chai.

"So what shall we do about this insult to our dignity?" Siamek asked. "The Amorites didn't just attack
our
village, but
every
village when they sent their sky canoes against the tents of the gathered chiefs."

"Not all villages see it this way," Chief Kiyan said. He grimaced as he reached for his chai and rubbed his shoulder, temporarily out of its sling. "Some see this as an Assurian problem. We sheltered him, so it's our problem to avenge his injuries."

"We …
sheltered
him!" Pareesa sputtered. She forgot momentarily where she was. "How could you
say
something like that after all Mikhail has done for us?!"

"Peace, child," Yalda touched her arm. Her rheumy brown eyes were filled with sorrow. "The Chief is only repeating what the runners brought back for news."

"So all his work was for
nothing?"
Pareesa cried out. "Training the other villages to use a bow? Going to Gasur to help them fend off an attack?"

"Gasur is with us on this," Behnam said. "But…"

"The other villages do not
know
him," Immanu said. "He had just begun to make progress at the regional gathering of chiefs when he sensed the danger to Ninsianna."

Pareesa noted how haggard Immanu looked, how weary. She pitied the shaman who'd lost his only child.
She
had lost a friend in Ninsianna, but of the two, she'd always felt closer to Mikhail.

"We need somebody the warriors
know
to go to them and appeal to them directly," Chief Kiyan said. "Someone who trained with them when they came
here
to learn archery."

"We need
you
to remind them if not for Mikhail, each of their villages would have been overrun by men wielding bows," Immanu said.

"Why can't
you
do it?" Pareesa turned to Siamek.

"Because I was not
there,"
Siamek said. "
You
took on the Evil One and won. Not me. Not any of us."

"It doesn't
feel
like a victory," Pareesa said. "Mikhail … he's … he's…" Her throat closed, unable to give voice to the terrible truth,
'he's dying…'

"Whether you are ready to assume the responsibility or not, child," Yalda took her hand, "the warriors who were there, who saw what you did to save him, and the warriors who've come
here
in the past,
to train with him, to train with
you,
a mere child who used what he taught her to hold the line against an overwhelming force, see you as his prodigy."

"
You
can shame them into remembering how much they owe him," Behnam said.

"We are ready to render our decision," Yalda said. The room grew silent. As the oldest living person in the village, it was her right to speak for the Tribunal in any major decision. "How votes the tribunal on the matter of appointing Pareesa to enforce the treaty Mikhail negotiated at the regional gathering of chiefs?"

Treaty? What treaty?

"Agreed," Behnam said.

"Agreed," Rakshan said.

"The judgment of the Tribunal is unanimous," Yalda said. "I cast my vote in favor of Pareesa."

Pareesa sat there, her mouth agape, stunned.
She
was being sent to enforce a treaty with not just one village, but
all
of them.

"Varshab will accompany you," the Chief said, "along with a contingent of warriors." His face waxed serious. "Although technically
you
are in charge
,
I advise you to follow his lead."

Pareesa nodded, too tongue-tied to reply. How had
she
ended up in charge of this mission? She? A thirteen-summer girl?

"You'll need this," Immanu reached behind him and pulled a long, slender object wrapped in a leather skin.

Pareesa immediately recognized the shape.

"I will
not
take away Mikhail's sword!"

Immanu lay down the bundle and carefully unwrapped it. It was not Mikhail's sword, but one they'd confiscated from the dead lizard demons. Pareesa exhaled relief. As much as she'd always coveted Mikhail's sword, she'd be
damned
if she took it from him when he lay on his deathbed.

"Which village should I go to first?" Pareesa asked.

"Most villages sent warriors to pick through the battlefield for clues…"

"More like plunder the bodies," Behnam snorted with disgust.

"Chief Sinmushtal was killed by the sky canoes," Chief Kiyan said. "Qishtea will be there representing Nineveh. He is young to ascend to the rank of Chief, no older than Jamin." The Chief's eyes misted up. "He … I don't know
how
he'll react when you show up demanding he enforce his father's treaty. He told our emissary to go to hell, but you? You forced him to act honorably and send warriors to escort Mikhail to Assur. Maybe …"

"Qishtea needs a boot in the fanny," Yalda said. She patted Pareesa on the arm. "And you, my dear, are just the person to do it."

"I … I … I," Pareesa stammered.

"Not literally," Chief Kiyan said. He gave her a wry grin. "I hope." He turned to the other people assembled in the room. "Do we have any other order of business here today?"

"No," the other esteemed guests replied.

"Good," Chief Kiyan said. "If you don't mind, I'm not quite up to standards myself. Varshab will meet Pareesa at the north gate of the village in an hour."

* * * * *

How very different the sparse yellow landscape looked in the daylight, scrubbed clear of vegetation by the unrelenting sun and sandstorms which frequented this land even now that it was the rainy season. The lead runner called back word that the battlefield had come into view.

"Let's slow down," Varshab said. "It's best to walk off our sweat before we enter the presence of the other tribes."

"I'm fine," Pareesa said, eager to get there.

"
You're
fine," Varshab grunted. "Some of us aren't so young."

Varshab was in his mid-forties, just a bit older than the Chief and the same age as Immanu's older brother. While not handsome, he wasn't ugly, either; a typical hawk-nosed Ubaid. The only trait which made Varshab
really
stand out was his prowess as a warrior and his unflinching loyalty to the Chief. Even at a walk, the pace he set was aggressive. The other warriors fell into formation behind him in a marching maneuver taught to them by Mikhail.

Aha! Pareesa realized what Varshab was doing! She called out the first cadence of the silly marching song they'd made up based on Mikhail's fuzzy memory.

We're the Assurians

We fight as one

Engage the enemy

Watch them run

We're the Assurians

Meet our might

We will beat you

Watch us fight

One by one the warriors began to grin, chins up, backs straights, their soft-soled leather pampooties
slapping against the soil like a drum. Spears clanked against shields to keep the rhythm. Mikhail had taught them how to fight as one. Now it was up to
her
to finish what he'd started, to convince the other villages to honor the mutual aid agreement Mikhail had coaxed out of their chiefs. Varshab fell into step beside her, his expression grave.

"I'm not
really
in charge here," Pareesa said. "Am I?"

Varshab's eyes crinkled in a wistful smile. There'd been a perpetual sadness about the man ever since his wife of twenty-six years had passed away from a coughing sickness last fall. The man plowed on, stoic in a way that reminded her a bit of Mikhail.

"What do you suggest?" Pareesa asked, relieved her responsibilities were limited. She was always eager to take on a challenge, but
not
when she had no idea about what she was supposed to do.

"You're already doing it," Varshab gestured to the men who marched around them, now making up verses ad lib. "The one to impress will be Qishtea, Nineveh's brand new chief. What Nineveh does, the other northern villages usually follow."

"He's a loudmouth and a bully," Pareesa snorted. "Ipquidad told me what a goat's behind he was to him and the other volunteers we tried to embed into his village to help him."

"He just lost his father and got handed far more power than he knows how to handle," Varshab reminded her. "And he's a hothead and he wants revenge. We must encourage him to choose a
sensible
method of winning … not a reckless one."

Pareesa fell silent, listening to the sound of the chanting warriors. She was suddenly painfully aware of the fact she'd sprouted a pair of breasts. What could
she
do? A girl? Amongst a tribe who viewed women as little more than brood goats? She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders to keep the offending body parts out of view. To respect her, the other villages needed to think of her as a
man
.

"What
would
be sensible in this situation?" Pareesa asked.

"The Amorite stronghold lies far beyond the western desert," Varshab said, "beyond the banks of the Buranuna River. If a single village sent a large enough force there to quell their aggressive nature, it would leave that village vulnerable to attack. It is why, we suspect, the Amorites send their raiding parties so far to capture slaves."

"But until now they've used Halifian intermediaries," Pareesa said, repeating something she'd overheard Mikhail discuss with Immanu.

"The Halifians are tools," Varshab said. "Little more. It's easy to stir up old hostilities with the promise of trade goods or lizard gold."

They crested the rise and began their descent down into the battlefield where numerous tribes moved sifting through the bodies. What would Mikhail say?

"If we banded together," Pareesa said, "each village could send a few warriors to send the Amorites a message. Perhaps not conquer them, for what would we do with land that lay three weeks march from our fields? But teach them that the People of the River hit back?"

Varshab grunted and looked pleased. She might be young, but she was no sniveling idiot. All she had to do now was
prove
it.

The wind shifted and blew the stench of rotting carcasses in their direction. The Ubaid had gone back to retrieve their dead as soon as the sun had risen the next day, but unfortunately the enemy had not been so mindful of their
own
dead. If left unburied, the dead returned to haunt the living. It was necessary to give the enemy a decent burial … even when they didn't deserve it.

She saw one of the Assurians had gotten there before the others. They filed silently past the skinny young man who, once upon a time, had wanted to marry Shahla before she'd gone insane. Pareesa
knew
she should speak to Dadbeh, say something to console him, to reassure the elite warrior that she knew it wasn't his fault and nobody blamed him for Shahla's actions, but she was so angry at Shahla that she said nothing, not even when she noted Dadbeh's mismatched eyes were wet with tears. There would be no death ceremonies said for Shahla. Immanu had already decreed that when they found her body he would desecrate it and curse her to bar her forever from entrance to the dreamtime.

Pareesa averted her eyes. So did the rest of the warriors. Not a single one of them consoled Dadbeh as he grieved.

She spied Qishtea, his locks no longer oiled and his black beard devoid of gold beads, standing over the bloated body of one of the enemy dead. The men had their shawls draped around their faces to filter the stench of three-day old rotting flesh. All around them, men stripped the enemy of anything which might turn out to be valuable.