by T. C. Edge
He turns his eyes out once more, looking over the grasslands. Bathed in sunlight for most of the day, the lands now lie in a muted shadow, clouds gathering above, setting a gloom across the plains. He hauls a breath into his lungs, his voice almost distant when he next speaks.
"I fear for what news has been taken south," he says. "I fear for how these foreigners will view our world after what they saw of Nestor's methods. We may seem invulnerable here, but we are not. The city of Haven is mighty. They have become a very real threat."
My mind works ahead, thinking of a solution, a possible course of action.
"Then send out emissaries," I blurt out. "Make an alliance with them..."
"Oh, we had an alliance of sorts once," Perses says, thoughtful. "Precipitated by a mutual desire to leave one another alone. Haven has ever been ruled by those not dissimilar to us. Now, that regime has been toppled, and a new group has taken control. A group, we hear, who may have formed an alliance of their own."
"An alliance? With who?" I breathe, eyes searching the maps, as if expecting all the dots to connect.
Perses follows my gaze, his finger reaching out once more. It spreads south, down the eastern coast, and then right out across the ocean.
"The world is starting to grow smaller, Amber," he says. "As it once was. Great cities and peoples are becoming less secluded, stretching their borders, spreading their wings. Haven, we fear, might have befriended an even more powerful ally. A city of warriors and blood. A city with a frightening history of dominance and might."
I see his fists clench upon the small table, those thick fingers tightening, knuckles beginning to grow white. "Neorome," he growls, "is a city built for war. We have stayed hidden from her sight for a long time. Now, I fear, we have been exposed to her light."
He descends into darkness, sitting back once more, his eyes turning to the maps. I pose no further questions as I see him fall into thought, my own running wild with all I've heard.
All my life I've thought of Olympus as the centre of the world, a place unquestioned in its predominance. Yet here I am, looking at a god of a man, his eyes crafted in concern with what his city might face.
A city that harbours my sister. A land that harbours my family and dearest friends.
I narrow my eyes and stare out of the window, knowing that, should this threat manifest, I'll be facing it too.
55
The setting sun drenches colour upon the plains. Deep crimson, blood red like my armour, floods the sky, pressing back the hues of orange that burn like fire in the heavens. I watch from the window of the carriage as the lands descend into darkness, as the plains give way to larger clusters of woodland and hills, formations of rock to offer haven during the night for those passing through.
Somewhere in there, just across the loosely defined borders of the Fringe, our enemy are beginning to gather. A further dispatch of Phasers has revealed that, as yet, the party we hunt haven't moved. They are preparing to do so, to slip off under cover of darkness and raid the next village under their radar. And in the hours that have passed since we last heard of their proliferation, reports have spoken of a further enlargement of their numbers.
Two hundred have become three at least. The remains of an army that marched from west to east in pursuit of some great victory. A foolish errand that failed, in the end, from what I have now heard. A great war in the south, a huge army of raiders and bandits called the Cure amassing to seek conquest of a great city. A city called Haven, the centre of much drama, apparently, over the past year. A place that has undergone great change. A city that Perses now sees as a threat.
I look to the darkening skies, to the silhouettes and shapes now hiding upon the horizon, and think of war and battle. It is to be my calling here, now, among my people. Old animosities now flee in the face of it all. The resentment I've harboured all my life, already receding as I've slipped deeper into my new life and role, has now taken a further step back.
If we are to overcome our enemies, then there is no space for discord among us. The Fringe and Olympus are symbionts, each relying on the other to survive and thrive. Yes, I still have reservations about how my old brethren are treated. How could I ever forget seeing Raymond and his heretic allies be burned to death like that in front of the baying crowd?
Yet, on the other side of that coin, I am not so naive to think that such a large society as Olympus won't have inequality, even downright wickedness, within it. I know full well that the strong ever rise to the summit on the back of the weak. That cruelty and malice will always be a part of the world in which we live. I will, I hope, try to change that in time. Support the likes of Lady Felina and those who campaign for the rights of the Worthy. Make sure that the line that still divides the Children of the Prime, and the Devotees of the Fringe, begins to grow less pronounced, more fluid.
Those are the tasks I will take upon myself. But right now, there is one that has been assigned to me. I must help safeguard our borders. I must defend those who cannot defend themselves. I must protect all those souls who live within our lands, from those who might come to conquer us.
My mind turns to those dark gods, those devils, lurking in the woods. The remains of an army now seeking an easy meal. A group of bandits who will return to their ways having suffered a tremendous defeat. They are out there now, preparing to strike once more.
Before dawn, all will be dead or captured.
They have come to the wrong neck of the woods.
Fifty soldiers gather outside of the convoy of carriages. Wreathed in dark armour of green and black, they steel their eyes for the fight, preparing their weaponry that they unpack from the transports' rears. Firearms of sleek black are gathered and checked. Other blades are fixed to backs and flanks, evidently the preferred weapons among a number of the soldiers here, whose eyes glint and smiles lift as they tenderly and affectionately run fingers along the perfectly polished metal.
I watch in a state of suppressed fear and simmering excitement as the soldiers go about their preparations. Among them, I see Krun marching about, the Titan difficult to miss, performing his role as Captain of the guard, one of Perses's chief operators. He has a great blade on his back, shaped into an axe. It suits him nicely, though perhaps is only used in certain, close-range circumstances.
I see Hestia there too, her combat robes doused so that they're as dark as the soldiers around her. Being a beacon of red light in the dark isn't an effective way of infiltrating an enemy camp. I turn my eyes down to my own gear, noting the red hue it continues to carry. I shut my eyes and lock the fire deep within. When I open them, my armour has turned almost jet-black, so similar in look and design to the great Herald of War under whose wing I've fallen.
I see him now, gathering his own gear. To his flanks I see handheld firearms, custom made for his unique touch. He has knives on his belt as well, though I suspect no weapon, other than his brute strength and staggering speed, are truly required for most fights he enters.
Yet, this is no normal fight. A rare bout, if the whispers of the soldiers are to be believed. Odds of one against six are not in our favour. And the presence of a great number of genetically enhanced 'dark gods' among the ranks of the enemy is also cause for concern.
Still, we have no choice. Further reports have told of other villages being attacked within the vicinity. At least another across the Fringe has seen fatalities and pillaging. To wait would mean more loss of life of our own people. It isn't something that Perses will accept.
And nor, it seems, will any soldier among us.
The Herald walks over to me now, his mighty frame looming like a mountain before me. His eyes turn up and down, perusing me a moment. Then a frown falls over his eyes, accompanied by a question.
"You have no experience with our weaponry, do you Amber?" he asks.
I shake my head, looking over the assorted blades and firearms carried by the soldiers. I haven't seen them often before, let alone use them.
"No, of course
you haven't," Perses goes on. "We use them only in rare circumstances when dealing with external threats. They aren't always required. Today, they are." He turns his eyes to Black Thunder. "Follow me," he says, moving towards the carriage nearby.
We stop at the rear, and he opens up a compartment using a special code. Inside I see a number of weapons, both blade and gun and even a number of what look to be explosives. He reaches in and pulls out a handgun similar to those on his flanks. He holds it in his hands a moment, as if presenting it to me.
"This is a basic firearm," he says. "It is highly accurate and effective against unarmoured foes, but won't penetrate all armour." His eyes quickly take in my form. "Yours, for example, is capable of withstanding gunshots from a weapon like this. It should, however, be just fine against the patchwork armour our enemy are wearing."
He hands me the weapon, and I take it respectfully. I prepare for a heavier weight, but find it much lighter than expected, much like the armour that covers me.
"You can fix it to your flank," Perses goes on. "There is an inbuilt holster on your armour that will carry all forms of handgun we manufacture in Olympus. Just click here," he says, reaching out and showing me how. He presses the gun to my hip, clicking it easily into a series of small catches and fasteners that I'd hardly noticed until now. "See, you'd hardly recognise the extra weight, would you."
He waits a moment, before reaching out and taking the weapon back. For the next minute, he goes on to explain the basic skill of shooting straight, showing me how to hold it properly, how to aim, and how to make sure the weapon is in safety mode when not in use. It's a fairly speedy explanation but does the trick.
"Don't worry, we'll give you more in depth instruction on this, and other weapons, soon. Today, it is more precautionary. I'm not expecting you to engage, Amber."
"I...what?" I ask. "But I want to."
"You do?" he asks, raising a single eyebrow. "And you think that brave? Or, perhaps, foolhardy, now that you know what we're facing."
I lower my eyes, feeling both defiant and foolish at the same time. I shake my head and let out a sigh.
"Foolhardy, probably," I admit. "I'm just surprised that you're using guns at all. I kinda thought that..."
"That our powers would be enough?" questions Perses knowingly, as if he's dealt with the same query before. "Ah, perhaps they would be against a lesser foe, or those unendowed with such gifts. But even then, going up against three hundred armed men with only our powers for company would be foolish. Yes, we would overcome them without great trouble, but we'd place unnecessary risk on our lives doing so, and might well suffer fatalities." He shakes his head a single time, and centres his deep eyes on me. "We must be mindful, and careful, at all times, Amber. We must take any advantage we can. To enter a fight without firearms would lessen our power. Both guns and blades alike are merely aids to use in conjunction with our gifts. Most of us, you must remember, don't have the innate destructive power that you do."
He lifts a smile as he watches my reaction, then nods once more, setting a hand to my shoulder. "You are quick to learn and understand," he says. "That is a fine attribute for one so young. There will come a time, young Herald, when you will be able to unleash the full extent of your power. When you will soar higher than us all." He leans in a touch, turning his eyes down to the weapon now reattached to my flank. "I think them crude at times too," he says softly, his eyes diverting to the men. "But I must set a good example," he adds with a wink. "You should too, whether you actually choose to use them or not."
He pulls back, and takes his thick-fingered hand with him. His gaze sways over the crowd of battle-worn soldiers, many of whom will have seen much combat over the years. But, my mind wanders, how much have they really seen? Skirmishes, yes. Minor battles to hold, or even secure land, I'm sure. But war? Proper war against a formidable foe? I shake my head internally. No, not likely.
That final thought sets a dull throb of concern within me, despite the formidable powers these soldiers possess. Clearly, there are other great powers out there with warriors who have truly seen significant conflict. Perses spoke of a place called Neorome, a city built off the back of blood and battle. How would our own soldiers fare when facing up against such a mighty foe? Despite appearances, might Olympus be more vulnerable, more...soft than it at first appears?
My eyes turn over the soldiers once more, everything being bathed in a brand new light. I wonder, as I scan their faces, just how many soldiers Olympus has. Why are a force of bandits from the south able to ransack any part of the Fringe in such a manner? Why don't we have the forces to protect those who supply the city with much of what it needs to operate. And why, I wonder, my limbs tightening, were two single soldiers from Haven able to overcome a Herald and his entire protective guard?
That final thought sends a fresh quiver of alarm through me. We live here hidden from the world, thinking us above it all. Yet, perhaps the truth is far different. Perhaps others have grown battle-hardened and powerful, shaped into granite by the brutality of their worlds. Can we say the same? Has our seclusion given us the appearance of strength, but in reality made us weak?
A voice breaks my train of thought, rolling upon the air and addressing the men. I turn my eyes up and see Perses standing before them, each soldier under his charge now prepared and standing to attention.
"We go on foot from here," he says, turning his hand to the south, the now-darkened horizon showing the hint of woods and craggy hills. He seems to tense his body, a hum of energy spreading from his limbs. "Our enemy lie two miles only to the south. We move silently and into strike position. I will take an advanced party of Phasers ahead to make final preparations. Captain Krun will lead from here." His eyes flick to me, then to Krun. A silent order for me to go with the Titan and not do anything stupid.
He fixes his anvil of a jaw, and another throb of power seems to emanate from him. It spreads upon his troop, inspiring them, and I see a flutter of movement among them. Limbs firm up. Weapons are clutched tight. A few throaty growls of determination rise up into the air.
And I feel something too, some power build inside me, some thrill flood through my veins. I turn my eyes on Perses and wonder how I ever had any doubts at all. How could an army led by such a man ever be defeated? Who, exactly, could topple this titan?
"Not one of us will die tonight," the great Herald goes on. "Not one of us will ascend to the Eternal Halls. We will save those who have been stolen from our lands. We will send the culprits to the pits where they belong. In the name of the Prime, we fight. In the name of the Prime, we win."
A muted cheer rings out, though quiet so as to not be heard. Even here, miles away, there might be those among our enemy with the power to hear us.
The men, with a final thrust of their fists, gather up their weapons and begin to march off. And in my head, I feel a sudden calm spread, an unexpected relaxation and...happiness as I watch on from the side.
A smile rises on my lips, and a thrill rises in my heart. And within my mind's eye, I see two figures in white, radiant and perfect, calling for me to fulfil my destiny.
I join Krun's side and, smiling gormlessly up at him, and with the Prime for company, begin to march south.
56
The darkness ahead breaks, and the silence that accompanied our short march evaporates. I crouch low to the sodden earth, the skies above blocked by both distant cloud and far closer foliage, and send my eyes through the clutch of trees and down the slope of a short hill.
There, illuminated by a range of campfires in the throes of being put out or left to die away, I see a gathering of three hundred men and women, armed and armoured and setting themselves to march. They rustle about, no concern for the noise they make, speaking and laughing with little restraint.
I scan their positions, and find no conformity. They don't appear as a small army readying to march in unison. More the ragtag leftovers of a force that, once, might have worked as one. A band of raiders and pillagers that
, perhaps, has bolstered its forces by picking up fresh recruits along the way, their long journey north giving them ample opportunity to find others of questionable morals, open to acts of vile wickedness.
A cry rings out among the din, and my gaze diverts to the rear of the camp. Within the shadows of a close grouping of trees, tossed within a deeply dug ditch, I see a few dozen women and children, hunkered down and crouching low. Several cruel men stand around them, kicking in mud and throwing sticks. I feel a chill of rage run up my spine as one piece of wood strikes a young girl in the face. She lets out a yelp and several women gather her up, surrounding her, protecting her.
My people. These are my people of the Fringe.
A deep rumble of primal hate, a lust for revenge, floods my veins. Before I even know it, the familiar, glorious, sensation of heat glows within. I smile as it comes, hidden up there at the top of the hill, and see the slightest hint of my new armour begin to lighten in colour. My smile doesn't turn to concern. No, I'm in control. I flex my fingers and feel the fire press through my blood, but hold the sensation in. My armour doesn't lighten any further.
"Hold firm," comes a whisper to my side.
I turn to see Krun's gigantic face before me, his own body hanging low to the ground like a boulder. He nods at me, his eyes steely, and then turns his gaze back out.
Around us, a grouping of other soldiers lie in wait for the signal. A signal that I am not to follow or react to at all. I turn my eyes across the small valley and to the woodland on the other side. There, others have moved to set the trap. Slowly but surely, we're surrounding our enemy.
A slight rustle of movement calls my eyes left. I look, with the others, and see a Phaser materialise through the trees in near silence, coming right up towards Krun and me. He glances at me with a respectful nod, and then addresses the Titan.
