by M.C. O'Neill
***
Another equally-plush shelter was dug under the Circle of Finance. All morning, Centeo Mitlan and Glynna Reyliss had been monitoring the market for Thelemex as the news had broken that the lady’s daughter was about to stand trial for bombing the docks.
When the screens throughout that circle had switched from the usual financial reports to the rabid beating of the mogul’s daughter, Glynna was mortified to the absolute pinnacle of embarrassment. The view was blocked, for the most part, by an Aldebaran’s glimmering white wings, and she wondered if that was some sort of censorship by the channel to make the event more family-friendly, but it was quite obvious that blood and teeth were flying from the center of the fracas.
Quen’die had fallen rock bottom and her mother vowed in her mind to disown her in full. She wanted not to see the trial so that she wouldn’t have to judge the fiend that had become her daughter. Her fiancé just stood there with his eyes popped out, as helpless as an elf stuck in the path of a behemoth, while he saw his own daughter being thrashed. When he came to, he began barking on the phone to the ADF to send in limmers and armored combat wagons to save the maiden. Although the elder mogul seemed distant at many times, Glynna admired his dedication when it really mattered.
By the time Cadreth and Dalian had broadcast their momentous report, more jaws around the circle had dropped. The focus was no longer on Thelemex, but weapons. These lords and ladies of the Circle of Finance knew in milliseconds that this fateful exposé would start a war and, no matter where that war occurred, it meant brens.
War was what they got that afternoon. The oppressive banging alarms of the Atlantis Emergency Network arrived too late for many. Elves all over the city were casting out their homebrew videos of the carnage on the streets and they saturated the screen and the manacloud with them posthaste. Those beasts the Aldebarans rode were tremendous, and most of the mirrors only caught glimpses of their legs which were almost double the thickness of a redwood tree.
One brave amateur newsie recorded the attack from his rooftop and treated the public with a stunning view of the hellsteed. It was about a quarter of the height of those pyramids and reptilian in nature. Its bulky body was not unlike an elephant or mammoth, but it appeared to sprout feathers of the most beautiful rainbow instead of scales. The most horrifying feature of this alien beast was the seven heads crowning their long snakelike necks. The look on every one of its faces was not one of rage or hate (they must have been much too stupid to even feel hate) but one of pain and profound loss. No matter its motive, the monster had no compunction against devouring whole crowds of screaming elves in one gulp. This accidental newsie continued to record and upload until his screen went black as he too, was consumed by its wailing maw.
Centeo could not rip his eyes off the screens nor his body from the market floor. His mouth was begging broker after broker in constant, frantic calls to invest in the military goods needed to wage war against this hellish cohort. Only when ADF troops had escorted him at casterpoint did he at last agree to go below to safety.
There was no way that she could get through to him, as he would not get off the phone. His right hand was thrust out like an iron signpost in a gesture that implored Glynna to “wait a minute.” That minute turned to hours.
All the rage and despair toward her daughter that morning had turned over to deep worry for the maiden and the rest of her family. This was not a petty squabble between clans or even nations, this was an interdimensional war and the elves were losing the first battle of it. By the time she had mustered the nerve to call her husband, the Atlantis Emergency Network had blocked the civilian flow to official channels only.
Running into a posh bathroom down in the circle’s shelter, Glynna curled into herself like a cat on an ornate sofa. She was amazed that the city had designed such a place for the wheelers and dealers of the kingdom, and the notion that such luxury had even existed deep underground was somewhat surreal to her.
As she was all alone in that quiet gold-and-pink lavatory, she closed her dripping eyes and prayed to the Twelve for her family and for the earth. Venn’lith and Centeo Mitlan were not noted in those prayers.
