by Gene Stiles
“I have already sent for transportation,” Willenheim said, having anticipated her wishes. The almost over-muscled Captain touched the hilt of the short sword beneath his robe, his sapphire eyes glittering as the Black Guard shifted nervously around them. “I do not believe we should parade through the city again. Knowing you, you left a bit of chaos behind you. I have no desire to fight my way out of Atlantis.”
“A good call,” Raet said, smiling as she lowered her Falcon helmet over her face. “I think Cronus might be a little upset at my ultimatum.”
In an elegant mansion on the outskirts of Nil, Set met with his commanders and lieutenants. Knowing his propensity for grandeur, Ra had provided him with an auspicious home to reside in while he was in the city. Gold-leaf tiles inlaid with intricate patterns covered the high, vaulted ceilings. Massive fluted pillars of marble were spaced around the edges of the mammoth central court. Niches filled with beautifully rendered statues lined the granite walls with artistic tapestries of forests and wildlife scattered throughout. The furniture was carved from a variety of stained woods and richly padded with soft, brocaded materials.
Set hated it. It was a gilded cage meant to appease him. Ra thought his allegiance could be bought and paid for. Even the fact that Osiris’ home was more austere and humble did not placate Set. His brother spent so much time exploring jungles and living in tents that any hovel would be enough for him. The only thing that would truly satisfy Set was the crown of Nil.
“Ra has become weak and complacent,” he said, his sharply chiseled features a mask of fury. He still boiled at the way Ra shamed him in the council. His men were tough, battle-hardened warriors. To lead them, Set needed to demand their fear and respect. Being so belittled by the Trinity in their presence not only insulted his ego but diminished his rule over them. He would not soon forget such an indignity.
“Atlantis attacks us with impunity and all he does is send an envoy to chastise them.” His body quaked as he strode in front of his officers. Black eyes blazing like a bonfire, Set almost shouted as he spoke. “Ra would allow our cities to be sacked before he took action! How many of us must die at the hands of Cronus before it is enough? How many fortresses must the Lord Father establish on our shores before we respond? We must react now before Atlantis brings an army to the very outskirts of Nil!”
“As much as I crave vengeance,” Captain Raspetus said after the shouting died down, “I have to agree with the Trinity in one thing. We do not have the power sources to energize our more advanced weaponry. We need them if we are to defeat Atlantis.”
“Another lie by the Trinity,” Set replied, his tone as sharp as a steel sword. “We do have a source…a source much stronger than anything Cronus has at his command. We just have to use it.”
“Do you mean the armor?” Raspetus asked, raising one dark eyebrow. “As Lord Ra mentioned, there are not enough suits to go around.”
“No,” Set said as he stopped before the long, mahogany table at the end of the room. He leaned back against it and gripped the edge as he looked at his men. “I mean the pyramid power that Ra is wasting on the foolish Message. It could be used to charge batteries which could energize all the armament we could ever need. With it, we could end Atlantis once and for all.”
“The Trinity will never allow that,” Commander Ullisean said sternly after the babble quieted. “Lord Ra believes drawing the Cydonian Empire to us will save all humanity and restore balance to the planet. He is sure their intervention will end all conflicts and that they will welcome us into their star-spanning society. The benefits to us would be incalculable.”
“Or they could reduce us to a mere colony,” Set told them grimly. “Ask yourselves. If they are as advanced as the old Nillians say, what use would such a primitive culture as ours have to offer? Saviors, maybe, but they could just as easily be invaders sent to rule over us with forces beyond comprehension. Do you really want to take that chance? I do not. This is our world.”
“And just what do you propose?” Captain Raspetus heard this argument before and he agreed heartily with Set. It is why he left Nil in the first place. Ra refused to accept what a dangerous game he was playing. “The only way the Trinity will give up their quest is to unseat them.”
“Then that is what we must do,” Set said harshly. “It is what we must do not only for the sake of Nil but for the survival of all humanity.”
“To do that,” he continued, seeing the concertation and sullen agreement on everyone in the court, “we must confiscate the remaining suits of armor. Only they have the power to match the Trinity.”
“Once that is done,” Set said, sternly, “we shall teach these Atlanteans what it means to assault our lands.” He slammed his fist on the table hard enough to crack the wood. “We will crush them into powder!”
Raspetus walked out into the warm, long autumn sunshine, his heart filled with turmoil. Most of what his Lord Set had said made sense to him. In the past, he, too, brought these same concerns to Ra and had been completely dismissed. Atlantis coveted the wealth and technology of Nil and he knew to his core Cronus would never stop until he possessed it. All the restraint the Trinity exercised was only giving the Atlanteans time to create weapons that may one day overcome the might of Nil. Nothing would stop them then.
The war with Zeus was the only thing keeping Cronus at bay. Raspetus firmly believed this, which is why he supported helping the Olympians by supplying them with arms, supplies and safe passage. He thought they should be doing more. Joining with Zeus would end the conflict in no time, but, again, Ra refused. It galled the warrior Captain to let others do his fighting for him.
The frighteningly real threat posed by the Message also gnawed at Raspetus. Set was right. What use would a galaxy-wide empire have with this pitiful planet? It was beyond foolish to think they would be regarded as anything other than a primitive outpost…if not as a source of slaves. Thousands of years passed since the Cydonian scout ship crashed on Terra and, if Apophus and his minions were any indication, they were war-like and arrogant even back then. How much might they have changed since? They could be worse. So why did Raspetus find himself so deeply troubled by what Set proposed?
From the top of the grassy hill where his sled was parked along with the others from the gathering, Raspetus could see the massive pyramid complex and the sprawling metropolis of Nil. Far to his right, the huge River Nil snaked its way across yellow-green plains dotted with bright-leafed forests. A pleasant breeze caused the veldts to sway like waves on the ocean and ruffled Raspetus’ shoulder-length, strawberry-blond hair. It felt good and refreshing on his copper-toned skin and cleared some of the fog from his mind.
As much as he loved the wild and untamed lands of his home in Irindia, Raspetus admired the astounding beauty and vibrancy of Nil. Though his opinions clashed with the Trinity on many fronts, he admitted Ra’s policies had created a peaceful haven for all the races of man. Izon, Cro-Mags, Nephilim and the People lived and worked together in harmony for the common good. It was truly amazing.
That, Raspetus realized suddenly, is why he felt so much disquiet. If Set acquired Cydonian armor and put his schemes in motion, war would be brought to these streets as surely as if Atlantis attacked the city. The Trinity would not give up their positions willingly nor easily. These streets would run with rivers of the blood of its own people.
He knew himself well. Like Set, Raspetus was brutal in warfare. He understood that to defeat an enemy, one must crush their will to fight. Destroy their spirit and warriors were lost. The thing that made Set’s legions so effective was that they all shared this same belief. Once a battle was joined, they killed violently and without mercy, swept away by the rabid animals that ruled their souls. Ra may be appalled by the thought of blood and guts on his flesh, but Set and his army – Raspetus included – bathed in it, allowing the stench of death to feed the demons inside them. However, Raspetus held no hatred for his opponents. He did want must be done to win decisively and permanentl
y. Set had other, deeper, more malicious and self-gratifying reasons.
The golden apex of the Great Pyramid caught the light and blazed above the city like a sun chained to a mountain of stone. Beneath is lay a power source so incredibly powerful it could reach the stars. Only the massive tonnage of the edifice above kept the beast contained. Raspetus shuddered to think what would happen if it was released upon the world. If Set miscalculated and let it free, there was a very real possibility it could end all life.
Raspetus could not let that happen. Coming to a difficult and terrifying decision, Raspetus mounted his sled, his face tormented and grim. He sped down the hillock and raced through the city streets. Despite his differences with Ra and his allegiance to Set, he knew he must inform the Trinity of the plot against them. Even if it branded him a traitor to both sides, he must defend the earth against such unholy carnage.
Chapter XV
The Sentinel sat in stationary orbit four hundred miles above the earth, its high-definition holo cameras trained on the thriving city hidden between two fingers of land that were like talons clawing their way into the deep, green ocean on the northern edge of Aseabea thousands of miles to the south of Atlantis. A massive bay three times larger than the cove that held the city was located to the northwest and cut a wide swath into gigantic mountain ranges. The incredibly detailed images it sent back to Cronus showed a huge port surrounded by vast farmlands and forests. Zooming in on the harbor, the last remaining satellite brought from ancient Atlan produced startlingly clear pictures of at least five hundred Olympian ships berthed at the docks and anchored in the green-black waters. This is what Cronus had been looking for.
“We believe this is the new city of Olympus,” Iapetus said, pointing at the monitor on the war room wall. “This is where Poseidon’s fleet has been hiding. An assault on this facility will cripple Zeus. Here,” he said, switching to a gigantic complex of stone buildings and elegant, wooden homes, “my analysts assure me, is the command center and where Zeus and his siblings live. Destroy this and we end this war.”
Cronus eyed the images thoughtfully. Something about the assessment bothered him and he could not quite tell what it was. He pursed his lips and tapped his fingers on his bearded chin, his broad brow furrowed in concentration. Even the evidence provided here felt suspect and somehow wrong. As detailed as the pictures were, there was an unreal quality to them he could not quite fathom. If he could only figure out what gnawed at the back of his mind, Cronus knew he would find the answer.
“I thought the Olympian fleet was far bigger,” he said finally, pulling out a chair and sitting down in front of his personal screens. “How could so few patrol such vast oceans and still continue to harry and engage our armada?”
“Perhaps the majority of them are out to sea,” Admiral Koskican replied cautiously. He, too, was troubled by the appraisal of the technicians. “Poseidon must also have other ports. He is far too smart of a Commander than to put all of his ships in one place.”
“Also,” the dark-skinned Admiral continued, “all of our other data suggests that the Olympian fleet moves northward and west of Afrikanikis after their battles toward the Sea of Sorrows, not to the south.”
A light clicked on in the Lord Father’s mind. That is exactly what he had been thinking. The stacks of data crystals he had reviewed led to the conclusion that Olympus was located somewhere near the ruins of their old stronghold. Moving their entire population and factories so far south made no sense. The undertaking would be massive and would take years to accomplish. Yet, there was barely a lull in Zeus’ assaults on Atlantean military outposts and their shipping lines. He struck cities on Prubrazia, beat them back on Heliseous and even attacked the shores of Atlantis. To do so while building a whole new city and support facilities seemed ludicrous and as well as impossible. It was the fact that the structures in the images looked far older than they first appeared is what had been nagging at Cronus.
“It may well be,” he said to Iapetus, “that this city is of major import, but I am not sure it is the capital. But instead of simply destroying it, let us send in our army and take it for our own. I will command our forces personally and,” Cronus said, his emerald eyes filled with anger, red flames, “if you are correct and my children reside there, I will see their bloody bodies laid out on the ground with my own eyes.”
Geralderan walked across his awakening fields, stopping occasionally to kneel on the damp, loamy soil. He smiled as he dug his thick fingers deep into the rich, almost black ground, glad to see the freeze of winter was finally loosening its icy grip on the landscape. Another month of warming and he would be ready for early planting. This cold season was an exceptionally long one and he was anxious to get back to work. He dusted off his big hands on his wool breeches and headed back to his house a mile away.
A small village had grown up around his sprawling farmhouse. Over a hundred workers and their families helped him tend his lands. They became friends, neighbors and even relatives over their long years together. Geralderan knew he owed them all for his success and he was more than happy to share his wealth with them.
“Hey, boss,” Imerid yelled out joyfully as Geralderan walked down the trail toward home, “how is the wife? Is she still berating you for tearing her kitchen apart again?”
“I did not tear it apart,” Geralderan replied with a grin and a wave. “I am simply expanding it. Our family continues to grow. By mid-spring, I will be a father once again.”
“That will make ten, will it not? You are truly blessed,” Imerid smiled. “Congratulations once again.”
“Thank you and where are your two boys?”
“They are out hiking and exploring the wilds as usual,” was the reply. “You know how they are. Young men of twenty looking for adventure just like we were at that age. There is little to do this time of year so they enjoy scouting the northern forests along the coast. I think they want to get a glimpse of the lights of Aborea Harbor. The allure of the city draws them as it once did us.”
“I am surprised you can remember that far back,” Geralderan chided in good humor. “Aborea is over two hundred miles away through some rough terrain. A long trek on foot. When do you expect them back? I would love to have you all over for dinner…as soon as I finish the kitchen.”
“They have been gone a week, old man,” Imerid said with a smile. “They should be out of food by now and you know they do not hunt well. I give them another three days at most.”
“Good. My house will be finished by then and my wife will be in a much better mood.” Geralderan waved again and continued his trek. “I shall see you soon. You know you are always welcome!”
But the boys would not be coming home ever again. Their lifeless bodies lay crumpled on a rocky mound of dirt at the edge of a dark forest near the coastal waters fifty miles to the north. They had seen something they were not intended to see.
The Atlantean flagship, Golomon, along with an armada of four hundred ships, was anchored in the shallow, azure sea behind the southern peninsula that cradled the enemy harbor. A steady surge of rolling waves kissed the endless sandy beaches that fronted the sparkling shoreline. To the southeast, an enormous, majestic lake backed by snowcapped mountains spewed a river of fresh icy water into the salty ocean tides.
A veritable city of tents and pavilions sprouted from the grasslands near the base of a spiny ridge of rocky crags that rose high above dense forests of pine, oak, mahogany and teak. Thousands of campfires sent pillars of smoke swirling into the turquoise sky, blown away by the stiff, chill inland winds. A corps of eighty-thousand troops sharpened their swords, checked their small arms and mentally prepared themselves for the coming battle.
In a clearing of trampled grass sat an impressive array of war machines and a squad of twenty deadly-looking warbirds. Cannons and small missile launchers were mounted on huge wheeled transports. Railguns lay like gigantic pointless spears on huge flatbeds, trailers of iron balls parked behind them. The four plasma c
annons the army brought with them were out in the field cutting a wide boulevard through the thick woodlands to accommodate the Atlantean legions. Soon all would be ready.
“Is Crius ready?” Cronus asked sharply, anxious to begin the assault. It had been far too long since he wetted his sword in battle and the beast inside of him fought like a caged Dire Wolf, enraged and howling to be free. He still seethed at the contempt of the Nillian ultimatum and yearned for an outlet for his fury. His warrior blood boiled in his veins, throbbing against his temples. If Zeus was actually within the city, Cronus would rip him apart with his bare hands.
“Admiral Koskican’s second fleet anchored on the northern shores six days ago,” Iapetus replied flatly. “Your brother’s battalions have cut a path through the forests and are on the plains within striking distance of Aborea. They only await your orders.”
“I still think to give Crius command of the other half of our forces was ill-advised,” the Second added, his black eyes narrowed as he studied the maps laid out on the table. “He is ruled by emotion, not logic. To crush the harbor between us will take perfect timing. If he is overcome by bloodlust and rushes in on his own, it will disrupt our strategy.”
Cronus gave Iapetus a withering stare. “And if you had not refused to leave my side, it would be you in command instead. You act as if you think I need a nursemaid. As if I am incapable of leading on my own.”
A strong gust of wind flapped the canvas sides of the pavilion as if to punctuate his ire. Iapetus let the rebuke roll off his wide shoulders like water. Inwardly, he was as concerned for the Lord Father’s temperament as he was for his younger brothers. He knew only too well how vengeance and fear could drive Cronus to madness.
“It is not that,” Iapetus said stiffly, keeping his worries to himself. An ominous whisper of wind slipped through the edges of the tent and sent a chill up his spine. “I have vowed to protect you, Lord Father,” he said formally. “I will not be derelict in my sworn duty.”
