by T. C. Edge
Her name, I know, is Amber. Like her hair. Like her eyes. Like her radiant skin. A Fire-Blood of remarkable destructive potential, yet someone, I sense, with a good heart.
It is she we must target, I think. If we are to have an impact here, we must try to cede some doubts into her mind...
The enemy continue to come, and my eyes fall to the man who leads them. I didn't search long enough in the mind of Perses to find much detail on these leaders, these Heralds and Chosen. Yet this one, I do know. Squat of figure, grim of face, and ugly in his aura and presence, I know his name is Kovas, Herald of War, newly anointed leader of their army. A man of direct purpose, who will stop at nothing to see his task fulfilled.
I look at him and feel a wicked smile building behind my lips. Oh, how glorious it will be to see him fail.
There are several others, all holding their own distinct images, colours, auras. A woman, fine looking, her skin almost translucent, hair white and eyes green, walks near by to him. She holds a magnificent grace about her, the sort of lady who you'd expect to be hosting banquets, not engaging in war. I look at her closely and sense her gift.
A Dasher, I think, nodding to myself. This woman is the Chosen Dasher. Or, what they call 'Phaser'.
To the flanks, I see two other men, one with eyes suggestive of a powerful Hawk, the other less easy to identify. I try to scan them both but find their signatures varied. It would appear both are hybrids, with multiple gifts. If I'm not mistaken, that would make them Heralds, and not Chosen. The Chosen, as far as I've been able to work out, only harbour single gifts.
The final member of their retinue is rather different from the rest. Dressed in outlandishly colourful robes, and much, much older, he sweeps along with a regal grace, quite the opposite of the stamping, squat figure of Kovas to his side. As they near, I find my attention ending with him, the old man gently drawing to the end of the line on front of me.
He looks me directly in the eye as I try to sense his own gifts, imagining that he could well be an advisor, a wise Savant and little else. Yet, it quickly becomes apparent that he's much more than that. With a twinkle sparkling in his eyes, emerald in the centre and tinted with gold around the edges, he looks at me with a gentle smile.
And in my head, I hear his voice.
Good morning, Brie, he says to me, his voice smooth and pleasantly alluring. I've been dying to meet you for some time.
I hold my form, and don't react. So this is their leading telepath...I think.
He smiles, clearly able to read the thought in my head. Yes, he whispers, I am.
A Chosen? I ask him, curious, glancing across as the others move into position.
He continues to maintain that relaxed, calm expression. Elsewhere, eyes stare, stern and circumspect, the remainder of our party and theirs eyeing one another up. But not him. His eyes grin wide, sparkling under the morning sunshine.
No, I am not Chosen, Brie, he says. My title is merely Overseer. I have a...special purpose in Olympus.
My attention is taken from our telepathic conversation, the words of my grandmother suddenly lifting into the air as the shuffling of feet ends, and the two groups settle into position.
"There will be no use of powers here," our President says, doing so with her direct, firm style, that Savant side of her always so useful in these sorts of negotiations and meetings. Not that we've ever had to endure anything quite like this, but still. "Is that to be agreed?" she goes on.
I see her looking off to the side, setting her gaze upon the two young Fire-Bloods as she speaks, their armour perhaps glowing a little too brightly for her taste. It's a more overtly threatening thing, really, akin to how an animal might change colour when enraged. The fact that we know the intention of these two now also serves to make her more guarded.
And therein lies a possible problem, as I notice the Overseer glancing across at her, and sending his eyes upon the others as well. If he reads their minds, he might find out that we know their intention. Or, worse still, might discover our counter-plan, and thus enable them to develop a plan to, well, counter our counter-plan.
It could all get rather complicated.
We spoke about it beforehand; the chances of there being a telepath among them. Now that I can confirm there is, I quickly send a message out to each of my allies, slipping into their minds simultaneously, without the Overseer knowing.
The man ahead of me, I whisper to them all. He's a telepath. Do not look at him. Do not let him in.
I sense them all nodding internally. It is, perhaps, the first piece of polite communication Adryan and I have shared in days...
Answering my grandmother, Herald Kovas now speaks, his voice throaty and grim as his appearance. "Agreed, Lady Orlando," he says, using her old title, and evidently unaware that she is now president.
He flicks his eyes towards Amber and the other Fire-Blood, who set about dousing the vibrant colours of their armour, and the vaguely threatening flames that dance and zip around their fingers.
"Thank you," my grandmother says. "I see that you know who I am. Might I have your name, sir."
The enemy leader nods, lifting his chin a little. I see that he has a scar there, running from ear to ear across his neck. It doesn't surprise me that someone tried to hack his head off before...
"My name is Kovas, Chief Herald of War, hammer of the Prime," he says, trying to sound magnificent. I look at him with a glare, hating him already.
My grandmother, too, barely reacts. After all, I've already told her this man's name. She is fully aware of who he is.
"Quite a...mouthful," she says, managing to suppress her smile. "Yes, we have heard of this Prime before. And of these Heralds." She glances over to me, and I see several of the enemy doing the same. They look at me with a simmering distrust, as though they know precisely who and what I am.
My eyes switch from them, back to the old man ahead of me.
You know who I am, I say.
He lifts an interested smile as he looks at me. We do, Brie, he says. Your experience with Herald Nestor is well known to us. You and the other girl, Kira. We understand she's the reigning Champion of Neorome. Quite impressive. He frowns, looking past me to the city. Is she not in attendance today?
You'd never know until she comes up behind you with a knife to your neck, I say, speaking into his head without great malice or threat, but trying to keep things light.
He smiles, blinking slowly. Yes, a fine assassin, we hear. And you... I'm seeing how special you are already. I suspect you had something to do with the escape of the wild men several nights back?
I shrug lightly.
Of course you did, he continues. You covered your tracks awfully well. Highly impressive, young one.
Thank you, I whisper back to him, genuinely grateful. That is quite the compliment coming from a man like you.
Well, you flatter me, child. But...I sense you do not get enough praise here, he whispers solemnly. Are you abilities not...appreciated?
I feel a slight flinch inside me as he speaks, cutting through to something real, an insecurity that settles somewhere deep.
I turn away from him, severing the connection, and find my eyes wandering across the others. I pass by Kovas, and see him looking upon me with a narrow gaze. "Do not attempt to get into our heads, girl," he growls at me. "No powers are to be used here, as agreed."
I find myself scowling at the man in response, so put off by his ugly, unpleasant manner. My eyes move away, and I catch the Fire-Blood, Amber, trying to suppress a grin. We link eyes for a moment, and it gives me a quick sense of her feelings towards Herald Kovas.
She...hates him, I think, hardly surprised, but intrigued all the same. Truly detests him.
"Brie," I hear the President say. I flick my eyes towards her. "We spoke about this."
I nod, showing some reluctance, as Kovas speaks once more.
"Now tell us, Lady Orlando," he grunts. "What is it that you wish to talk about? You come bearing the white flag. Yo
u clearly have something on your mind."
My grandmother delays in her response for a moment, evidently seeking to display a calm, controlled, and undaunted front. She does rather well at that, rarely finding herself flustered in matters of high importance. "We have something to say," comes her eventual response, "as a collective people, united against those like you." Her eyes intensify as they bore into him. "Leave these lands immediately. Go back to where you came from, and never, ever, return."
I find myself smiling defiantly as a flow of adrenaline rolls through my blood, unleashed by the delivery of her words. That smile morphs again into one of total disdain as I look upon Herald Kovas, his ugly visage coiling into a smirk, his teeth poorly kept and arranged, several of them missing.
He is the opposite of our own President, my grandmother, who I've rarely been more proud of as she stands, unflustered by the powerful group before her. Her eyes show only contempt for them, glancing from one to the next, lifting even to the mighty Titan towering above her without a flicker of fear.
"Oh," crackles Kovas's voice, "and here was me thinking you'd wish to surrender. I'm glad that isn't the case. I will enjoy the alternative."
He laughs through his nose, letting out a derisive, graceless snort. I turn my eyes back across their group, and see Amber all but shaking her head.
Is this the sort of leader you follow? I ask the Overseer, turning again to look at him, reforging our telepathic link. This is the man who represents you?
His eyes show some measure of understanding at my query. He wasn't intended to lead us, he tells me. There was...another who held that post.
I feel a flicker of pain run through him, his thoughts turning to Herald Perses. His eyes drop a moment, before rising back up to meet mine.
I react, turning my gaze away.
He cannot know we have Perses. If he does, the game might well be up...
I sense him frowning, trying to dig through my defences, sifting through the information I'm allowing him to see. I hold all knowledge of Perses at bay, behind my mental armour. Across from me, the taught words between our leaders continue.
"Your answer doesn't surprise me," President Orlando says, nice and calm, as she looks directly at Kovas. "We have had dealings with fanatics before, and know how the brainwashed mind works. You," she says, looking from one to the next, "are nothing but slaves to the rule of another. This Prime, this false deity you seem to worship, is nothing but a product of ancient genetic engineering. This is a cult and nothing more."
Her words are particularly inflammatory, goading Kovas into a reaction. I watch, priming myself should he react, his robustly stocky body seeming to stiffen at the insult.
"A cult?" he growls. "No, my Lady, we are the liberators of these lands. We are..."
"A scourge," rips my grandmother's tongue, eviscerating his attempt to respond, "A virus. We have faced such a thing not long ago, and find ourselves still standing. There is nothing here to suggest the outcome will be any different."
"Is that so?" Kovas says, turning his eyes left and right along the line of Heralds and Chosen. "This," he goes on, "is but a hint of the true power we possess. Nothing but the tip of an iceberg you cannot fathom. We know you are frightened behind your walls. Your insults only serve to strengthen us, make clear our purpose. You have no chance, Lady Orlando, and you know it full well."
The President's response is swift and incisive. "All I know, Herald Kovas," she says, "is that you flatter to deceive. I see you and your army and do not quiver. I see these Heralds and so-called Chosen to your flanks, and see nothing but slaves, serving someone else's purpose. No," she says, flicking her eyes towards the Fire-Blood girl, "there are doubts among you, I can see. Cracks that will open into fissures, in time..."
Kovas hauls a breath, trying to keep up. "Words, my Lady," he says, "nothing but words." He takes a second to himself, seeming to think of something, as his eyes work up towards the towering form of the Chosen Titan to his side. "You wish to see strength?" he says, looking up at the mighty Brute. "Then how about a demonstration."
My grandmother continues to make me proud in her reaction, displaying no concern at all as she arches her head up towards the gigantic face of the Brute above her.
"This Brute?" she asks, her voice taking on a clear note of contempt. "He exemplifies my point perfectly. A lumbering giant, nothing more. All brawn, and no brain."
The giant's body appears to shiver with anger at the provocation, his armour so tight to his skin, clearly displaying the dense mountains of muscle plastered upon his frame. He growls from that huge chest of his, the noise rumbling across the air as he looks upon our group threateningly.
I turn my eyes once more to the Overseer, finding it hard not to roll them. And, in response, he finds it hard not to smile.
"You think you have someone to match his strength?" Kovas continues, a smug smile lifting upon his grotesque face. A smile of hubris. "Then please, bring him forward."
Before my grandmother even reacts, I feel my pulse beginning to rise at the challenge. A simmering smile burns onto my lips as she lazily turns her eyes to one side, finding Ares there in his wondrous armour and robes, a great sword sheathed on his hip. The Neoroman commander responds, turning his eyes to the President, maintaining that relaxed demeanour that rarely seems to leave him, his eyes harbouring no concern at all.
"Ares, would you mind?" my grandmother says, as though asking him to do nothing more difficult than take her coat.
Ares responds with similar ease, stepping forward from the line. "If you ladyship wishes it," he rumbles with that endless voice of his, "then I will be happy to oblige."
My grandmother, for the first time, unshackles her smile.
"No weapons," says Kovas, eying Ares's sword. He sounds slightly concerned by the Neoroman's relaxed manner. "First to draw blood wins?"
Ares, under the direction of my grandmother, begins removing his weapons, as his giant opponent does the same. As the two men step off to one side, I feel my energy beginning to buzz and fizz, so excited to see Ares in action again. So excited to see that smug smile wiped clean off Herald Kovas's face.
I fear Atlas has no chance at all, I hear in my mind, as I flick my eyes back to the Overseer.
That's his name? I ask. Atlas.
Yes. A stronger man you'll never meet, but it would seem to me that the Neoroman has the upper hand in this contest.
You know of the Neoromans? I query.
Of course, child, he tells me, still smiling faintly as he looks at me. Unlike yourselves, our society is knowledgeable about what lies beyond our borders.
We know what's out there, I respond quickly, snapping a little. I know more about you than you think...
He frowns, his eyes boring into me, attempting to penetrate my barriers. And how is that? he asks. Where would you get such knowledge, young telepath?
Once more, I make sure to keep all I know of Perses hidden in my mind. I delay a moment in my answer, before shrugging lightly. I learned the other night, I say. When I infiltrated your camp with such...ease. Your soldiers need better mental defences, Overseer. It didn't take me long to get inside, find out all about your city of Olympus, the lands of the Fringe, the dreadful society you've cultivated up there.
He watches me closely, nodding as he does. Across from us, the soldiers on our side and theirs have made an arena of sorts for Ares and Atlas to fight in, the two men now standing facing one another, ready to begin their bout. All the others stare across with interest. I find my own now torn between the impending bout, and the conversation with this fascinating man.
You seem to have even more potential than we thought, the Overseer continues. Yes, your grandfather speaks very highly of you. His lips work into a knowing grin. Yet, I think even he sells you short...
My expression flattens out, narrowing dangerously.
Oh, not to worry, the Overseer says. He's perfectly safe for now. It's been a pleasure speaking with him, and what a storied past
he's had. So different, though, from what we expected. The legendary Savant ruler of Haven was meant to be as cold as ice. Oh, no. He's thawed somehow, hasn't he? And...you care for him, don't you?
I feel my chest beginning to tighten. Down the line, I hear the voice of Kovas call out, "Ready?" I glance over and see the two combatants nodding. "Then fight!" Kovas goes on.
Atlas immediately rushes onwards, drawing my interest from the Overseer for a second. I watch the bout, brooding on his words, as Ares quickly performs as I'd have expected, using his speed and skill to outpace and outthink the Brute, all but disappearing from sight as Atlas comes crashing towards him. He speeds with staggering pace towards the other side of the arena, stops, and waits for the lumbering giant to turn around.
Oh dear, I hear the Overseer say, his voice still weakly whispering in my head, despite the fact I'm not looking towards him. This won't last long...
I look back to him, and our connection strengthens once more, the links opening back up, permitted by us both.
You have no need for Artemis, I say, looking a those green-gold eyes. He is an exile from this city, and knows nothing that will help your cause. Let him go, Overseer. Let. Him. Go.
I try to put the order into his head, circumvent his natural defences. I quickly find that there's no way through.
Nice try, child, he responds, repelling my attack. But you'll have to do better than that.
I slip back behind my barriers, my thoughts back here impossible for him to read. At least, I hope...
My mind turns to Zander. Help me, brother, I think. Help me get through.
His voice whispers in the shadows. I can't, Brie. Not here. There's nothing we can do...
My attention once more hurries towards the fight. It only seems to have lasted a moment, my eyes just catching the finishing blow as Ares ducks and weaves, slipping behind the back of Atlas, before leaping off the ground and flashing a lightning fist across the Brute's face as he turns. The gigantic man, towering above even Ares, falls off to one side, his nose bursting with a gushing flow of blood. As he hits the ground, the parched earth reddening with the flow, Ares merely walks casually back towards my grandmother, wiping his hand clean with a cloth as he goes.
