by T. C. Edge
We don't, none of us do. We are doing this for our own people, not his. It would be wise for Decimus to remember that.
"The city is now clear enough to see," Decimus goes on. He looks to the table, set out with a small model of Olympus, and placements of our camps around it. I see that a portion of the main Neoroman force has been set aside from the southern base. A number of the siege weapons have gone too. "Reports suggest that the damage to the walls has been limited, primarily cosmetic. I sent out scouts earlier this morning to get a more detailed look. They have reported that the walls are holding up strongly against our attacks. We do not know exactly how much damage has been done beyond."
He turns his eyes down towards the table. "We will gather our strength here," he says. "Part of my initial strategy was to bombard from multiple angles in an attempt to spread their focus and attention. I must say, I underestimated the strength of their defences. We will centre our focus on the southern walls alone. The siege weapons are being brought here from the other camps as we speak."
"It may not be enough." The words shake the room, rumbling from Perses's great chest. "The artillery has been unable to do much as yet, General Decimus. Will bringing them from the other camps not merely replace those that were destroyed last night?"
Decimus's lip curls up on one side, a brief expression, showing teeth before falling back down. "No, Perses," he says. "We lost four cannons, but have an additional eight being brought from the other camps. I cannot judge whether it will be enough, but we are more limited now in our options."
He speaks with a measured and practiced calm, though I can hear the strain within.
"And the blockade?" asks my grandmother. "It's been several days only, General, and you're abandoning your strategy already?"
"I am abandoning nothing, Alberta, merely adjusting it." A further crack appears on his facade, his face like sun-baked earth, breaking apart during a long drought. "The blockade was intended to stop more commoners reaching the city. That is no longer of concern. Reports over the previous couple of days have told us only a handful are brave enough to make the trip. Those numbers are irrelevant to me."
"And the Olympian army? If the other gates are not being watched, they can march right out without resistance. They could have us surrounded within a day."
"And if they do, we will defeat them," the General says boldly, the strain building in his voice, seeping like water up through irrigated soil. "They have used their Skymasters, and used them well, but that is no longer an option. They meet us in the open field and we will destroy them. We still have two and a half thousand Neoroman troops, and a thousand City Guards to call upon..."
"And how many do they have?" grandma says, going head to head with Decimus once again. "We do not know, do we? They may have double or triple that number, perhaps even more. We were told you were a strategic genius, but it seems that the Overseer has out-thought you."
A hand slams down hard on the table, as Decimus stares my grandmother in the eye. She doesn't quell. She doesn't relent. Without Burns here to mediate, she is given free reign to call the man on his faults, even if they are a little unfair.
The General doesn't let his anger spread, drawing it back, sucking it in like a breath. The short silence allows my grandmother time to consult with herself and consider her words. She realises an apology might be in order.
"Forgive me, General Decimus," she says, as the dust reaches its apex, and begins to settle. "I am strained and weary, as I'm sure we all are. I spoke out of turn. I know you are doing your best."
The General takes the apology, but only because he must. He offers acceptance of it by way of a clipped nod. It helps clear the air. For now.
"Setbacks happen in war," he goes on eventually. "Things rarely go according to plan. But Neoromans never fail. I never fail. We will break through the walls, and we will destroy the Prime. If it takes a legion to redden the earth, we will do it."
His words bark belligerently, and set a throb of concern to my heart. I wonder if he's ever faced anything quite like this, if he's ever come up against a foe this powerful. He says setbacks happen, but does he truly know how to deal with them? He is used to commanding Neoromans only, to have his word followed, his decisions counted as law. But here, there is dissent and discord, various powerful individuals with their own agendas.
It seems more than he anticipated. More, perhaps, than he can handle. Yet by the Neoroman way, I know he won't back down. He will bring his full force to bear now, and cast aside all thoughts of mercy and care. How many will suffer for it? How many soldiers? How many civilians?
Several sets of apprehensive eyes move around the room. My grandmother. Perses. Elian. Adryan. All fear for people both within those walls and without, whether individuals or entire communities. All fear the General's most ruthless streak will finally be brought to bear.
The arrival of Secretary Burns, however, is a calming balm to the growing tension. He steps inside, weary but typically unruffled, and moves to the table to join us, stepping in by Adryan's side. He has the General's ear, I know. He will help to draw back his worst impulses, should he be required to offer calming council.
"And where have you been?" Decimus questions, as if Burns is a subject for him to command.
Burns looks over, unflustered, though raises an eye at the General's curt manner. "I was seeing the Fringers off with some aid. They are returning to Hunter's Station to ascertain the situation there."
"Aid? What aid?" The General leans in.
"A small contingent of City Guards," Burns explains. "They will offer protection on the road."
"You sent off good fighting men?" Decimus barks. "On what, a pointless errand."
"Hardly pointless, General, given what we know. Is it not sensible to seek insight on the goings on around us?"
Decimus takes a moment, and begrudgingly concedes the point, though still doesn't seem best pleased. It looks as though he wishes to have all usable fighting men ready and waiting. It would suggest to me he is planning a much larger assault. The thought makes me nervous.
"And where is Ares?" Burns asks, turning his eyes around. "And Kira?"
Decimus grunts. "Another wild excursion that will likely bear no fruit."
Burns frowns, working it out. I listen carefully, eager to know. "She has returned to try to communicate with Zander?" he asks. He nods to himself, thinking. "Yes, good." His voice is a personal whisper. "Very good."
"That is your domain, Leyton," Decimus says. "I prefer to be pragmatic. Steel and swords and tangible things. That will win us this war." His eyes find me, standing beside Elian. It is that look again, that look of interest. He raises his bearded chin. The request is finally coming. "How powerful are your fires, when combined?" he asks.
The question isn't one I can answer. Elian might know better.
"We...haven't had that tested, General," he answers.
"But hot enough to melt steel, to make lumps of tar of men," the General says. "I have seen the result of it, and I have heard more besides." He looks to Perses. "Was their intention not to destroy New Haven from within? When under your previous charge, Perses, was that not the plan?"
Perses offers a begrudging nod. "It was a terrible intention," he says. "But not one I can deny."
"Then clearly your fires are powerful enough to cause an inferno," Decimus says, his voice eager, hungry at the thought. "To destroy an entire city the size of New Haven? That is a quite unimaginable feat. Surely, then, the walls here will be no trouble?"
Or the city within. Is that what he's thinking?
I've expected this, almost wanted it, in part. But something about his manner makes me nervous still. Recollections come to mind, memories of my dark purpose. A weapon, I think. That's all I am to him, just as I was to Kovas...
"I don't believe it would be that simple, General," Elian says. He has grown again into the man he was, confident, not cowed among such company. "The walls here are thick, designed to withstand the flame.
If the combined might of your artillery cannot get through, I do not believe we could."
The General leans back, as though suddenly wondering why he needs us. For all the good we've done, we're to be waved away as defunct machinery, swept up like those broken siege weapons.
Pointless, then, his silver eyes glint. What good are you to me, if you cannot get me into the city...
I feel a palpable sense of indignation at the look on his face, those cold eyes looking upon us, so detached.
"Elian and Amber cannot be relied upon for any such purpose," Perses says, thunder in his voice, protective of the both of us. "As your scouts have discovered when venturing near the walls, there are snipers and defensive arms stationed all across the battlements. Getting that close would be extremely dangerous."
"It was a thought, only," Decimus says, waving it away as if entirely inconsequential. "We will break through yet with our artillery, it will just take longer. With the smog now gone," he says, looking down at the model of the city, "our phalanxes will be able to offer their own support. That amount of fire will be impossible to repel." His finger points to the southern walls and beyond. "We will strike hard, at the walls, and what lies beyond. The falling rubble from the buildings may take out some of their Forgers." He nods to Max, who moves a few pieces forward from the southern encampment towards the gates, representing the legion and its phalanx formations. "The phalanxes will approach, adding their fire. The walls will soon relent under such an assault. When they do, we have mobile bridges to cross the moat, should the falling rubble not do the job. We will launch soon, and when they least expect it. It will cost us lives but we will prevail."
It sounds like his endgame, the fallback plan when nothing else works. Several pairs of eyes show that realisation. "So this is it?" asks Burns, frowning a little. "This is what you intend to do?"
"If nothing else works," the General nods. "Then yes. We will combine our strength here and pray a breach is made. If not, we cannot sit back and delay while they concoct another ploy to weaken us. This girl, Brie, has altered the course of things. Her unnatural powers are giving them an edge." He looks around the room, displaying some tact, though doesn't look into Adryan's eyes. "I understand she means a lot to some of you here, but her threat cannot be denied or ignored. What she has done has led to the deaths of hundreds, Neoromans and Fringers alike. I didn't know Commander Hendricks well, but he too has fallen on account of it. We are beyond the point of trying to turn her. She is a target, just like the Prime."
The rooms silences. Most eyes move towards Burns and Adryan, the latter staring forward, maintaining his composure. I cannot imagine what it feels like for him, to have the fate of his wife discussed in such a manner. I expect him to speak out, but he does nothing. He has no power to alter the General's mind, even should he want to. And something in his face tells me he knows. He knows what Brie has become. Whether her fault or not, the things she's doing are crippling this cause.
Secretary Burns, however, does raise his voice. "It cannot be denied that Brie's actions have caused great strife, but I will repeat what I have said before - it isn't her doing it. Her powers are being used, only. If we can free her, she will be able to turn them back to our cause. In the end, that may be the only way we win. She might be the only one capable of overcoming the Prime."
"Then we find ourselves in a quandary, do we not?" comes the smooth voice of the Emperor, silent so far, which doesn't seem normal for him. Without Kira here to offer her own protestations, fiercely loyal to Brie as she is, perhaps he feels he needs to speak on her behalf. "But we are getting a little ahead of ourselves, it would seem. Breaching the city is one thing, but getting to its heart? That is another. There will be thousands of soldiers between the walls and the top of the hill. How are we supposed to get through them?"
"With our soldiers, Emperor Domitian," says Decimus, quite abruptly. "We will engage them in battle among the city streets, and use the distraction to send assassins in to eliminate our targets."
"And these assassins?" asks Burns.
"Ares will see to this," Decimus says. "He will be best suited to such a mission."
"Ares will not be enough," grandma says swiftly. "Was he not under the controls of your mother, Emperor Domitian, for many years? His mind will be conditioned as such, an easy target for the Overseer, or Brie."
"And...isn't that a bigger problem?" I ask, thinking it needs to be said. "How could we even get close to Brie? If she can awaken hundreds of people at once, and put orders in their heads, why can't she do the same with the soldiers. She could turn us against one another, couldn't she?"
"Our soldiers are trained to withstand mental intrusion," Decimus counters. "Yes, she may be able to manipulate some, but not most. And you speak of Ares, Alberta, as if you know what he's been through. Polus himself rid him of Empress Vesper's controls. He has grown hardened to it. He will not be so easily turned as you think."
Grandma looks on. "And who is Polus?" she asks.
"A great telepath," Domitian says, his voice taking on a fond note. "With similar gifts as Brie of mass control. He was the only man my mother ever truly feared. If only he was here."
"And why isn't he?" grandma asks.
"He is his own man," Domitian explains. "Not bound by military duty. He lives a quiet life, mostly, outside of Neorome."
"Polus cannot help us, lest we wait weeks for him to arrive," grunts Decimus. "And even so, he wouldn't come. My point is very simple, however. Our soldiers can withstand telepathic intrusion. It isn't something to burden us with concern. The question of getting to the heart of the city, however, and eliminating the Prime, remains a matter for us to consider."
He looks around the group, as though bored now of our presence. "I will think more on all of this," he goes on. "But we will not be effective without sufficient rest. Return to your lodgings and duties. The coming hours will test their walls, and further clarify our path. We will return to this when we know more."
His words bring the meeting to a rather abrupt conclusion, though I imagine he's probably right that most of us need to rest. Taking some time to let things brew is sensible. I hope it gives him time, at least, to truly consider the cost and risk of what he's proposing.
As we leave, however, he calls for Perses to remain, likely wishing to pick his brains over the city structure some more, and the best ways of getting to the hill. It seems a mighty task, the odds very much against us. I step back out into the light, the others feeling similarly despondent.
"Shouldn't we feel more upbeat after a meeting like that?" I say idly, posing the question to Elian and my grandmother, as the rest file away. "Why do I feel so...numb."
"Because he's suggesting something that will get half this army killed, probably more," grandma mutters, shaking her head. "It's a risky strategy that might obliterate us all. He's had one bad beat and he's reacting. Easy enough for him, perhaps. If he fails, he will return to the safety of Neorome. But us?" She shakes her head. "It's all or nothing now, and we're having our fates decided by a foreign general."
"Do you...have any better ideas, Alberta?" Elian poses the question gently, but it's a fair one.
She sighs and shakes her head. "Currently, no. But let's see what the coming hours bring."
I don't know it yet, but it turns out, they bring quite a lot.
193
KIRA
The bombardment has grown stronger, the combined siege power of the legion regathering. I see them in the far distance, flinging their deadly charges at the wall, now hidden in a faint mist only. They connect, one after another, slamming into the ramparts nearby to the main gate.
I watch, hopeful, as they explode, fires swirling, smoke churning. "Will it work, Ares?" I ask. "Do you reckon they'll get through?"
His answer is equivocal, a fine example of fence-sitting. "Perhaps, perhaps not," he says. "General Decimus has been surprised by the durability of the Olympian walls, as I have. Without their Forgers, we would knock the
m through in time, there is no doubt about that. But with them?" He shakes his head. "I am not so sure."
We step on, as we did only the day before, returning to this place so much sooner than I'd have expected. The night's exertions haven't unduly weakened my ankle as they might, Silvius's work plenty to set me back in order. He wishes to do another session to finalise the treatment - like all good doctors and medics, he likes to be thorough, to leave no stone unturned - though I don't feel it's necessary.
Despite the long, sleepless night, I feel strong, and agile, and prepared for what may come my way. Yet as I step towards those sewers, and climb down into the stink, I cannot press back the nerves that begin to flood my way. Once more, I shall attempt to make contact with Zander, and perhaps even Brie. It may now be her only salvation, should I be able to to get through. A final, desperate attempt to see her mind, learn the truth of what she's been doing.
And if I should fail, there may be no other choice. To take her out, as we must the Prime. To put her down if we get the chance.
I hate the thought, and let it fuel me, give me the extra push I need to try to save her.
I pace quickly down the tunnel, ignoring the stench, the rush of the excrement-filled water, the deep rumbling of the bombardment far off. I centre my mind as we go, Ares falling silent to let me concentrate. Even before we reach the end, I know the fume won't be a factor this time. Around the walls, it has grown thin. At the end of this tunnel, it will be the same.
We arrive at the bars to find the fog only gentle, puffing in lightly from the moat outside. The walls are visible now, across the gap, looming tall and almost out of sight above. They look impenetrable to the sight, the stone wrought with metal, thick and smooth, impossible to scale. They are battlements designed to stand against anything. The previous days have proven their worth.
"Is the fog bothering you, Kira?" Ares asks. He looks at me, perhaps wondering why I delay. It is nerves, pure and simple. A fear that I will hear nothing, just as I did before.
