by Gene Stiles
The second Clearwater cargo ship arrived shortly after the dawn broke and took a berth at a pier just three docks away from her sister ship. The Harbormaster raised an eyebrow at two such vessels being in port at once, but the manifest showed it was carrying machine parts and lumber where the Verialline hauled food and luxury items, so he simply entered the information in the data banks, took the fees and approved the offload.
The man and woman who exited their pleasure craft late in the evening did receive more than one passing glance. Each wore long, hooded cloaks to protect themselves from the steady, warm rains, but the robes seemed to add an unusual bulk to their bodies which was strange for such mild weather. They stopped at a vendor, rented a small personal vehicle and asked where they might find food, drink and good music. The vendor pointed them toward the sparkling spires and bright lights of downtown and was surprised when they turned instead in the direction of the seedier parts of the city.
“Now there is something you do not see every day,” Zoloran said as the couple walked through a throng of miners milling around outside of the Raven’s Nest, the largest of the taverns along the harbor streets.
The Aam Lieutenant watched the crowd part like the sea before a prow, giving the man and woman a clear path between them. The man was tall and stocky and moved like someone used to command. He glided more than walked, his movements the deadly, graceful stride of a Dire Wolf stalking prey. The woman was short – only about six foot tall – and much thinner, yet, she matched his stride with the fluid motion of a Murcat. They were obviously highly trained warriors, but they were vastly outnumbered by the men surrounding them. Strangely, no one accosted them nor made lewd and lascivious comments as they passed.
The hairs on the back of the squad leader’s neck stood up, sending a shiver down his spine. Not only were the miners deferent toward the couple, but their laughter and boisterous conversations stopped instantly moment the two stepped into the bar. All the alarms in Zoloran’s head went off at once and he yelled into his coms. “We are under attack!”
The miners were on them instantly, surrounding the ten-man unit before Zoloran could say more, blades drawn and pulse pistols pointing at his startled, unprepared men. The Raven’s Nest erupted in a clash of steel and screaming that ended abruptly and turned into muted babble and piteous wailing. That is not what stunned Zoloran and caused him to drop to trembling knees along with the rest of his men. It was the amazing apparitions that stepped into the misty rain which made even the bravest among them soil themselves as their bladders loosened in terror.
The larger creature wore the face of a vicious, gold-beaked, metallic hawk with ebony brows drawn together on either side of its open maw. A cowl of gold stripped with purple bands fell over wide, flat shoulders and over the black and gold armor that covered his massive, muscled chest, strapped with black, flexible metal around his ribcage. Sheaths of gold trimmed with maroon covered his bulging forearms from wrist to elbow and banded his huge biceps. In the center of his chest hung a pulsing, yellow sun held in upraised horns that matched the smaller one that was inlaid in the crown encircling his head. A belt of blood-red edged in gold buckled a wrap of white linen to his broad hips. It spread downward in a wedged swath of tiles almost to the pointed top of his knee-high, crimson boots. Where his skin was visible, the flesh had an odd reddish cast to it.
The smaller of the two was clad in maroon and gold armor from head to toe, only her sinewy arms bare and exposed. Like her male counterpart, bands inlaid with strange runes covered her forearms and biceps. Her face was that of an ebony-feathered falcon of incredible, terrifying beauty with large crimson eyes edged with circles of gold. More feathers of black and yellow fell over her sloped shoulders and down to the wings of metal that sprouted from her back, each blood-red feather trimmed in onyx-black. Also, like the Hawk, a swirling disk lay upon her chest and in the crown around her forehead.
“I am Ra, Lord of Nil,” the man-hawk said, his voice rolling like thunder. “Disarm yourselves and flee the city or face my wrath.”
Zoloran raced through the streets as if a thousand rabid demons snapped at his heels. Battles broke out all around him and bedlam spread through the city. Still, he ran. Fires blazed at the docks behind him and screams echoed against stone walls. His pace never slowed. By the time Zoloran reached the outskirts and his legs gave way beneath him, Daedalia was torn in half.
Nothing could withstand the hellish onslaught of Ra and Raet, but that did not mean the city fell quickly or without high casualties. The moment the signal was given, the troops hidden in the cargo holds of the Clearwater ships spilled onto the docks, joining the miners that poured from the taverns and inns into the chaotic streets.
Ra limited their use of the full power of their armor to battlements, heavy artillery and the military targets. The mere sight of such majestic, terrifying beasts walking their streets turned many of the defenders into spineless jelly. The Hawk and Falcon strode before their legions, taking the brunt of the plasma cannons and condensed light rifles without faltering. Each carried a shimmering sword that slashed into shield and bone with equal ease. They smashed into their enemies with fists and feet of demonic fury, cutting a wedge through which their warriors followed.
The Atlantean city guard fought back ferociously, tearing into the Nillian soldiers from side streets, alleyways, rooftops and open windows. Black clouds of aeros filled the skies from armies now that Cronus had acquired his own bows, shifting the battle into skirmishes within buildings and beneath the cover of roofed enclosures.
The citizens of Daedalia split into three distinct groups, adding to the pandemonium. Most huddled in basements or back rooms, shivering in fear and seeking safety from the rivers of blood and agonized screaming that filled their city. However, armed militias joined the fray, some defending their homes against the invaders, others supporting the uprising. The line between friend and foe became blurred as brother fought brother and the casualties mounted.
The waters of the harbor glowed in the night, the sea filled with burning debris and floating corpses. As the attack began, forty Nillian ships raced into the harbor led by five sailless warships. Daedalia’s navy met them in the bay and the fury on the land spilled into the turbulent ocean currents.
Even with the power of the Hawk and Falcon arrayed against it, Daedalia refused to surrender. Hours became days and nights of unceasing, grizzly combat. By the time the city fell eight days later, almost half the buildings were in flames or nothing more than piles of steaming rubble. A nauseating stench filled the air from the decaying bodies that filled the crimson-soaked streets that even the warm inland winds could not easily dissipate. As with any war, there were no true victors.
Nestled at the headwaters of the Gaia and cradled behind the smaller continent of Delecrete, Lycus thought itself impervious to attack. Zeus proved it wrong. While Atlantis and Sirenum were being bombed and Ra took on Daedalia, Zeus smashed into the port city at the western end of the River Gaia. Three hundred Olympian ships converged upon the harbor, sweeping around the western coast of Delecrete like a blue-sailed tidal wave. The five thousand troops Zeus had previously transported to the rocky desert at the southern tip of Delecrete crossed the turbulent channel between the continents as the battle began. They struck Lycus from the northern veldts, dividing the city’s forces.
Zeus knew the fighting here would be some of the fiercest of the war, which is why, despite the objections of his commanders, he chose to lead the battle. Taking the port would give them control of the waterway that flowed directly behind the city of Atlantis, itself. However, it was also very close to the mammoth Valley Diefilli where the Pettit military complex lay, home to the single largest concentration of the Atlantean army. Keeping the city would not be an easy task, but Zeus did not wish to destroy the harbor. It would provide them with the perfect stronghold for the next stage of their plans.
Zeus spun on his heel, his sword whistling as it sliced through the soldier’s leg, se
vering it just above the kneecap. The man dropped his blade, howling as he hit the blood-slicked sidewalk, his hands gripped around the gushing stump. Zeus ducked under the steel swinging at his head and parried the blow with the flattened edge of his hand. He heard bones snap in the other man’s wrist and the scream that was replaced by a sickening gurgling as Zeus’ knife cut a gash across the fighter’s exposed throat. He ignored the sound as he ignored the shaft of an aero sticking out of his bulging thigh.
He knew he was in trouble and cursed himself for his stupidity. The alleyway was narrow with high, stone walls on both sides and no reachable windows. The few doorways were bolted and too thick for Zeus to smash his way through. Soldiers converged on him from either end, blotting out his escape routes. Even his great strength was beginning to wane and it was only a matter of time before he fell or was captured.
Two days into the fighting, Zeus and his men were within half a mile of the Main House in the center of Lycus. The huge, granite edifice rose three stories high, more fortress than administration building. Parapets lined the upper levels with towers rising from the four corners. Nothing but open ground of well-manicured lawns and wide, smooth-stone boulevards surrounded the structure, making it a formidable target. Ten-pound cannons mounted on swivel turrets roared in the towers, sending a deadly hail of iron balls into the Olympian forces. Archers loosened a rain of steel-tipped aeros into the ranks and left the streets filled with pinioned fighters from both sides of the conflict. The commanders of the Main House fired indiscriminately, seeming not to care if they hit their own men in the bombardment.
The battle split into vicious skirmishes in the side streets and alleys away from the direct sight of the cannons. Zeus knew they had to take the fortress soon before re-enforcements from Pettit could arrive. He called up a Juggernaut to blast through the Main House gates, but the Nephilim-powered railgun was bogged down in heavy combat four miles away. They had to hold this position until it arrived.
What he did not expect was the four hundred Black Guard from Atlantis that swarmed into the Lycus from the shores of the River Gaia. The MP air attack on the capitol should have driven the city into utter chaos and rendered much of the inland harbor inoperable. Something had gone wrong. Now Zeus and his tiring legion faced fresh, battle-hardened warriors pouring in on them from the south.
Whoever led the Atlantean contingent had power enough to order the Main House to cease fire. The Guard tore into the Olympian soldiers with the ferocity of a pack of rabid mountain cougars. In the melee, Zeus was separated from Lelantos and his bodyguards and driven into this dark, dingy alley.
The only thing that saved Zeus from being immediately overwhelmed was the very narrowness of the alley. Only two men at a time could attack from either side, giving Zeus a small advantage that was quickly shrinking. His body was slick with blood, much of it his own. His flesh and blue leathers were slashed in dozens of places. Crimson and sweat dripped into his golden eyes, blurring his vision. The tendons and corded muscle on his bulging, bare arms trembled with fatigue and his sword felt like a boulder in his fist. Curls of yellow-red hair clung to his head like a soggy helmet. His lips were tight and grim beneath a beard splattered with red and chunks of flesh. Zeus knew it would not be long before even his massive strength gave out. Until then, he fought like a demon possessed, the heaps of dead and dying at his feet closing the circle around him.
A searing pain ripped through his right shoulder, numbing his arm. Lightning exploded behind his eyes, blinding Zeus for precious seconds, his sword falling from his hand. They were on him in a heartbeat, smashing his head with the hilts of their swords until the sparks became darkness. The last thing Zeus heard as consciousness slipped away was a deep, rumbling voice shouting, “Do not kill him! Do not kill him! Cronus wants him alive!”
“Lord Zeus,” the flat, cold baritone voice said through the thick fog filling his head, “you awaken at last. I hope you are feeling somewhat refreshed from your long nap. We have much to talk about.”
Zeus felt anything but rejuvenated. He lay on a hard granite floor, his head pounding like a thunderstorm. Water filled his vision, limiting his sight to milky, shadowy images. Dried blood crusted his split lips and filled his parched throat. Every muscle in his body burned in fiery agony. It took all the will he could muster to pull himself to his knees, his head blazing with the effort.
The golden glow of Healing cocooned Zeus like an aura, but it was dimmed by the exhaustion that turned his muscles to stone. It was long moments before his eyes cleared enough for him to study his surroundings. During that time, his captor said nothing more, waiting silently until Zeus gathered his wits.
Iron shackles were locked around Zeus’ wrists, a length of heavy chain connecting them to the manacles on his ankles. The bruises and smaller lacerations on his arms were fading, telling him he must have been out for at least a couple of hours. The skin around the deeper wounds were closing much slower though they were no longer seeping blood. Zeus took a mental assessment of his body, grateful he found no bones broken.
Iapetus sat in a huge, richly padded armchair near a hearth filled with crackling logs. One tree-trunk leg was crossed over his knee as the pillar of a man leaned on his elbow, his square jaw resting on his closed fist. A long braid of raven hair fell from his broad shoulder and down his barrel chest. He stared at Zeus with flat, emotionless ebony eyes, appraising him with cool calculation.
The rows of polished oak tables that stretched the length of the room were pushed aside to leave a large, empty space in the middle where Zeus knelt. Black Guard surrounded him on three sides, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. He could see the pure, unadulterated hatred written across their furious faces along with the naked desire to kill him on the spot. Only the monstrous Iapetus and the knowledge of what would happen to them if they succumbed to their anger kept Zeus from being slaughtered like a fresh pig.
“Did you actually think you could invade Atlantis and get away with it?” Iapetus said with a growl. “The Lord Father hardened the entire city against MP attack long ago. All your pathetic raid did was dim a few lights on the outskirts. Sirenum still stands and your army there is nothing but dust. Warships are descending upon your fleet as we speak and will crush them before they can leave this harbor. You have lost.”
Zeus said nothing, keeping his face a blank mask. Iapetus had yet to mention Poseidon and his assault on Hebis at the eastern end of the Gaia or Ra in Daedalia. As if reading his thoughts, Iapetus shook his head.
“If you are thinking of your friend, Ra,” he said, an icy glitter coming to his midnight-black eyes, “he will be taken care of soon. He is trapped in the harbor and, even should he escape, Ra will have no home to return to. The Lord Father warned him. Now what happened to Olympia will happen to Nillian cities.”
“I should also tell you,” Iapetus said, his tone almost apologetic, “your sisters will also be dead shortly. We found your new Olympus on Irindia. Soon it, too, will be a barren, lifeless wasteland.”
Zeus was as baffled by the reference to Irinda as he was by the mixed emotions he was reading in the Second of Atlantis. He could see the anger radiating from the big man like a dark, swirling storm cloud even though Iapetus remained impassive and still in his chair. Yet, at the same time, there was a touch of horrified sorrow in his inflection as he spoke. Zeus understood the fury - Olympia and Nil had attacked his home – but the regret he sensed in Iapetus was difficult to comprehend.
Zeus forced his aching muscles to respond and slowly rose to his feet, the chains rattling around him. In the corner of his vision, he saw the guards shift nervously, several drawing a few inches of steel from their scabbards. He ignored them and kept his gaze steady on his captor. Iapetus made no move at all. He just studied Zeus as one would examine a newly discovered, but trapped and helpless predator.
“Your Lord gave us no choice but to invade Atlantis,” Zeus said calmly, deciding not to say anything about Irindia at the moment. �
��We have been repeatedly and relentlessly assaulted by my ‘father’,” he said, spitting out the title as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “We only sought to live in peace. Cronus would not let us. Now he threatens both Olympus and Nil with a ghastly, gruesome weapon. How would you respond?”
Iapetus nodded in understanding. He sat upright, his spine stiffening and a heavy sigh escaping his terse lips. “Yet all you did was present yourself to him and give him an excuse to use that weapon. You and your siblings could have simply surrendered. I would have seen to it that you lived out your days in the dungeons instead of being executed. Now you will be responsible for the deaths of untold thousands.”
“No,” Zeus replied, his face hardening and his words cutting like sharpened steel. “Cronus will be the one responsible…and so will you be if you allow him to commit such an atrocity. You have no idea of the forces you will loosen upon the world. Even if you do defeat Ra, you will have the rest of the Trinity and more to deal with. Nil has more power than you can even possibly imagine. They have simply not chosen to use it. Hit just one of their cities with your hellfire and you will unleash the wrath of the Creator upon Atlantis.”
“You speak callously of the deaths of thousands,” Zeus said, taking a step toward Iapetus. He could hear the guards move, but he did not care. He walked until he was within a few feet of the Atlantean and stopped. His golden eyes were like blazing suns set in a face of granite. Iapetus waved his hand and the men converging upon Zeus halted. “What of the millions that live on this continent? You have personally witnessed the destructiveness of just one suit of Nillian armor. Just think of what will happen to your cities if an entire legion of them descend upon you.”
