by T. C. Edge
"I'd mind how you speak about her, Ceres," the Overseer warns. "You may regret it later on. You remember what happened with Herald Amber?"
The man nods, his facial expression changing. Mention of Amber shows that he isn't as detached as I first thought, a shudder of anxiety spreading across his face. It makes me smile.
"What happened with Amber?" I ask, looking between them.
"Oh, never you mind that, Brie," says the Overseer lightly. "Ceres was just the local Collector for Amber's village of Pine Lake, that's all. It was he, in fact, who first spotted the signs of her prophesy. He should be congratulated for the part he played in bringing her to Olympus."
"But?" I say. "Clearly Amber hated you, right?" I say to him. "I can't say I blame her. I've known you for about thirty seconds and I already want to see you dead."
His eyes widen at that in shock. "How...how dare you, heathen!" he growls.
"Calm, calm, Ceres," says the Overseer smoothly. "Brie has limited control of her tongue, and a hot temper to boot. You'd best not test her."
"Test her?" Ceres says, blinking wildly. "And just who is she?"
"Someone...you shouldn't test," the Overseer says slowly. "She is not someone whose bad side you want to be on. Now, continue your report."
Ceres, remaining confused and insulted, clears his throat and does as ordered.
"We...we are just completing the final supply runs," he says. "It's labour intensive, as you can imagine. We've had reports of some opposition in certain towns and settlements. It seems that Alberta's influence has spread a little. The people haven't been going down easily everywhere. It has...led to casualties."
"What the hell do you expect when you take their food," I grunt. "You expect them to just bend over?"
"They are well accustomed to it," snarls Ceres. "We collect tribute from them each month. This time, we're just taking a little more."
"I can understand your reservations, Brie," the Overseer nods. "It isn't particularly palatable as a concept, but it is necessary, and a common strategy when preparing against an invasion."
"To starve your own people?" I ask, deadpan. "And who's going to supply you when your food runs out? Aren't they the ones who, you know, farm and grow the food?"
"They will be just fine," the Overseer says. "We are fully aware that the people of the Fringe will come to no harm at the hands of your own forces. This war will be over long before the supplies run out, I'm sure. And then everything will go back to normal."
"Right," I say. "So, the Fringers should be more afraid of their own rulers, than the invaders? Do you see how screwed up that is? Do you see why my people are marching here to destroy you?"
"What...did happen to the south, Master Overseer?" Ceres asks, his voice creeping back in. "I heard reports that we were soundly defeated? Is that true?"
"The truth is always distorted when passed on from tongue to tongue," the Overseer says. "We were defeated, yes, but by poor fortune more than anything else."
"That's what you're calling it?" I ask, almost laughing. "Poor fortune?" I shake my head with, I'm not ashamed to say, an almost smug grin. "Your army is weak, Overseer. Your best warriors are nothing compared to ours. Oh, you've got big walls to hide behind, but they won't keep us out forever. You're facing the combined might of New Haven and Neorome. You, and everyone loyal to the Prime," I say, pointedly looking at Ceres, "will soon be dead."
The Overseer, as always, shows little reaction to my words. He watches me and smiles, presenting an expression that, as before, I find a little disconcerting. "Well, if that happens, so be it," he says lightly. "I've enjoyed a good enough run. Better than most, I'd say. Again, you and your grand speculations, child. They are awfully dramatic, aren't they? You try to come off so serious, but I just find it all rather amusing."
He turns again, perhaps symbolically, and looks upon the simply enormous city walls. They look completely impregnable to me, the outer surface slick as a sea snake, and impossible to scale. The gate itself is mighty, and only reachable across a long drawbridge, which will no doubt be raised when our people arrive. And all around the walls, a deep moat offers further protection, making it impossible to even reach any breach in the walls, should it be made.
I don't, of course, know what sort of siege weaponry the Neoromans might have, but it appears to me as though the only realistic way in is by battering down the gate itself. And, now, I can see that there's more beyond it, a tunnel leading to a second gate further in. That tunnel, even should the main gate be breached, would be an absolute deathtrap for our soldiers.
The impossibility of the task evidently shows on my face. And when I look at the Overseer again, he is smiling. And nodding.
"You see," he whispers. "Not so easy, after all."
He turns to Ceres at that, clearly growing bored of his presence, and dismisses him with a flick of the hand. Nearby, towards the front of our gathered convoy, I see the despicable form of Herald Kovas marching about, ordering his soldiers to help in the transfer of the provisions into the city. He looks over towards us, and gestures for us to join him.
"Off you go, Ceres," the Overseer says, waving him away as he leads me on. "You're doing a fine job. I'll hear a full update from you soon."
I present the detestable man with a final snarl of my own before I leave him, turning my attention towards another who, frankly, is even more despicable. A man who makes my blood veritably boil as I look at him. Who gives me plenty of ammunition for glorious dreams in which I end his miserable life in a multitude of creative ways. How he's lasted this long without someone putting a knife in his back, I'll never, ever know.
"Master Overseer," crawls Kovas's horrible voice, rising over the din, "isn't it time we return to the city?" He coughs, showing something resembling nerves, as he glances towards the walls, and the hill, hidden within the clouds, beyond. "The Prime will want an immediate debrief from us all."
The Overseer nods. "They will," he says, as Kovas takes a sharp, anxious breath. The failure of the army, no doubt, will fall on him. He probably believes it's better to get it over with, rather than delaying things down here. "They will wish for all remaining Heralds and Chosen to attend. Plus, a guest or two," he adds, looking down to me with a smile.
Now, it's my turn to be nervous. "I'm...not to be taken to the dungeons too?" I ask.
"Oh no, child. I told you already, that isn't your path."
"And your certain we should bring the girl right now, Overseer?" grunts Kovas, looking at me. "She's hardly worthy to enter the city, let along climb the Sacred Stairs. Shouldn't you get permission from the Prime first?"
"Oh no, Herald Kovas," the Overseer says. "That won't be necessary. I can assure you, the Prime will wish to greet Brie more than any of us."
Kovas stiffens at the words. "I...I can't believe that," he coughs, indignant. "She is a foreigner. A heretic...
""Believe it, Herald Kovas," the Overseer says impatiently. "These are my orders. Don't stand in my way."
Kovas dips his eyes at that, suddenly meek, and then turns away to look upon the grand carriages nearby. I see the other Heralds there, Avon and Gailen, as well as the only other remaining Chosen who marched to war, Lady Dianna. It's quite damning how few have returned. Some lost. Some...turned?
We begin stepping towards the carriages once more, Kovas calling for the others to assemble and return to the city. I see them hurrying off, speeding towards their transports and stepping aboard.
"Which is yours?" I ask the Overseer as we go.
He gestures towards the carriage that Lady Dianna is now climbing aboard, rather less ugly and gothic in appearance as the others. "I have been travelling with Lady Dianna, our Chosen Phaser," he says. "But, we won't bother her right now." He looks towards the largest, and most intimidating of the chariots.
"Black Thunder," I whisper, looking right at it.
"Ah, you know's it name?"
"I...Dozer told us," I say.
"Yes, Dozer does like to talk
sometimes," the Overseer smiles. "You know it's previous owner was Perses, then? He...won't be needing it anymore." He looks to me as he speaks, something hidden behind his eyes. I've suspected already that he knows Perses is still alive, that we are currently holding him captive. I wonder if that's true or not. I wonder, with everything that's happened, if it even matters anymore.
I look again to Black Thunder, remembering now who I last saw climb aboard it. I stop in my tracks and stare.
"What is the matter, child?" the Overseer asks.
I turn my eyes on him. "He's in there, isn't he?" I ask.
"Who? Oh...of course, yes, I forget to mention it."
I stare at him, eyes flat, lips drawn into a line. "This is all just one big game to you, isn't it?" I ask. "You revel in torturing others."
"If that is your read of me, what would I possibly say to change your mind?" he asks.
"You don't have to say anything," I respond flatly.
"No, I don't," he says. "I could get into your head, alter your feeling towards me. But, child, that isn't how I work. You may believe that everyone here is manipulated by me, by the Prime, but that isn't true. I recently went through all this with Amber. She was given a choice, as you will be, as all others are. I don't actively change your thoughts, or your mind. I am merely a humble servant here, and a guide. That is all."
"Then answer me this, Overseer," I say. "If people brought here are given a choice, how many decide to leave? How many end up not agreeing with you, not following the Prime?"
A grin rises on his lips. "Wouldn't you know," he says, "we have quite an impressive success rate. When people see the light, they don't tend to turn back to the darkness. We are the light, Brie. We burn so bright, perhaps, that we can be hard to see at first. But when your eyes adjust, you will see it. Just as everyone else does."
He turns at that, stepping towards Black Thunder, as I trail slowly behind him. And opening the door, he ushers me up the steps, and into the grand interior.
Where Director Artemis Cromwell sits.
26
Kira
Well, I think, staring at the walls in the distance, that's slightly bigger than the last one...
The last time I helped save Brie, she was being kept in a fort by Nestor. A fort with high walls and watchtowers, a thick gate at its centre. This is something else entirely. The bastions before me are much grander than I've ever seen, almost twice the height of the walls of New Haven, and probably twice as thick too.
Beside me, staring forward from cover, Ares looks on. His eyes are narrow, scanning, staring. I wouldn't exactly call his expression awe-struck, but it's as close as a man like him is ever going to get.
"So, this is Olympus," he whispers thoughtfully, looking upon the city in the distance.
We're just beyond the strange mist, staring towards the city from a slightly raised portion of earth on its eastern side. Further away down the south-facing outer wall, and congregating around the main gate, we can see the Olympian convoy now parked outside. There are dozens, perhaps hundreds of other wagons and carts there too, rolling into the city as they deliver their supplies and provisions. Thousands of soldiers and workers mill about, moving in and out, across the bridge and through the gate, as they stock up the city for the weeks and months ahead.
To Ares's other side, staring with those freakishly effective eyes of his, Killian crouches behind the bended knee of a large statue. There are many of them around here, providing plenty of cover, along with numerous rocky outcropping too. The plains may be wide and mostly flat, but there are some places to hide if you're quick enough to move between them without being seen.
"How many sentries can you see, Killian?" Ares asks.
"Thirty eight, Commander," Killian says. "Two in each of the four watchtowers. An additional thirty scattered across the walkways."
I scan as he speaks. The watchtowers are well spread out, two either side of the gate, another two further down the main walls to the east. There will be others further away, built around the main wall at regular intervals, but those aren't of concern. We only need to consider the ones that might spot us right now.
Above, the sun is beginning to fall, preparing to give us some further cover. Hawks can see in the dark, of course, but spotting the likes of us, moving at speed, is always going to be more difficult under the cover of night. It may give us an opportunity to move in further.
Ares turns to Killian again. "Fetch Jared," he orders. "He may have more insight we could use."
Killian nods and creeps backwards, before turning and flashing away. Not far away, parked in a small depression in the earth, is the jeep. We ended up getting much closer than we'd anticipated without having to abandon it, ably directed by Jared who, as yet, hasn't put a foot wrong in helping to guide us on.
Ares's regular, and not-so-subtle, threats to his life, should he betray us, have probably played their part.
They return a few moments later, joining us behind the statue. The eastern wall of the city must be a six or seven hundred metres away still, the strange mists seeming to hover around that distance from the outer palisade. It was quite a striking experience, moving beyond that fog and entering into this pure pocket of air in which the city lies, bordered by gardens and magnificent statues, the skies above so stunningly blue. Though now, with the daylight fading, a little less vivid and dazzling.
I turn my eyes again to the main gate. Brie is close, I know. I can hear the distant whisperings of Zander's voice in my mind, trying to tell me something. I think he's saying she's been taken into the city, but can't be sure.
Yet, it makes sense. If she were still with the convoy outside the gate - which must be well over a mile away from us right now, much further down the wall as they are - his voice would be clearer and easier for me to detect. She must have been taken beyond the wall, and further towards the heart of the city, for Zander's connection to me to have been weakened. I just hope that I'll be able to hear him properly as I sneak closer to the walls.
Right now, with all the sentries about, that doesn't seem like an easy task.
"There is a moat surrounding the city," Ares says. "I...I can hear running water." He turns his head slightly, shutting his eyes to focus. Then he opens them, nods, and looks to me. "Anything, Kira?"
I do as he did, focusing on my hearing, listening for the distinctive sound of flowing liquid. Slowly, filtering through the shroud of noise, I hear it. Flowing. Splashing. There is running water in the moat.
"Yeah," I say. "I hear it."
Ares turns to Jared, so small and feeble by his side. "The moat is flooded?" he asks.
Jared nods. "There's water there, yes," he says. "And...worse."
"Drainage?" I say suddenly. "Drainage from the city?"
Jared nods. "The sewers and pipes flow into the moat," he tells us. "You...you can't get in that way, if that's what you're thinking. The pipes aren't big enough there."
"There?" Ares asks. "Are they big enough elsewhere, Jared?" He grips the young man's shoulder with his muscular hand, and turns him to face him. "The water must flow out of the moat as well," he says. "Somewhere out beyond the city onto the plains. Is that correct?"
Jared dips his head into a nod.
"And those sewers and pipes are larger," Ares goes on, nodding to himself. "They would have to be, in case there was a blockade that needed to be accessed."
"So why wouldn't the pipes in the main walls be larger too?" I ask, vaguely interested.
"They will, but only behind the wall itself," Ares explains. "The sewers within the city will be easily accessible, but the outflow pipes that extend through the wall itself are necessarily small, to prevent anyone being able to climb through them. That isn't such a concern for the water draining out of the moat, and onto the plains."
"OK. So, what does this all mean?" I ask, trying to keep up but finding my interest in the city's plumping rather dull.
"It means that there should be a place where we can access the
sewers here, outside of the city. It will allow us to travel out of sight towards the outer wall of the moat, beyond the view of the sentries in the towers and on the wall. We won't be able to get any closer than that, Kira. If you can't communicate with Zander from there, then you won't be able to anywhere." He looks to Jared again. "Do you know where we can access the sewers, Jared?" he asks.
The Olympian Phaser hesitates. Then, with an almost resigned expression, he begins to nod. "There's...an access point not far away," he sighs. "I'll...take you there."
He tries to move away, but Ares keeps a firm grip on his shoulder. He draws the soldier's eyes back to him. "You're not betraying your countrymen, but helping to serve them, Jared," he says. "Do not feel guilty for helping us. You're doing the right thing."
Jared dips his eyes. "I'm not sure my superiors will see it like that," he says.
"Then don't tell them," Ares says. "No one needs to know we've been here, or that you've helped us in any way. When we are done here, I will let you go. If that is what you want?"
"You...will?" he asks.
"You have done your part, and I am a man of my word," says Ares. "Return to your mother and your sister. Spend time with your family while you can."
The young soldier looks across to me, and then to Killian. He finds compassion in both of our eyes.
"Now come, Jared," Ares says. "Show us the way, one final time."
The young man draws a breath, stiffens his posture, and turns to lead us through the growing darkness.
27
Brie
I stare into the face of my old enemy, his eyes cold and distant, his expression placid. The warmth, the grandfatherly kindness, that he'd developed over the last year has been stripped away. Now, the callous man beneath has resumed control, his emotions stunted once more, his memories altered.
"Well, Artemis," the Overseer says, sitting beside me. "What do you think of our fair city?"
Cromwell turns his eyes out of the window of the carriage. We have crossed the drawbridge now, and passed down the tunnel through the wall, moving through the portcullis gate and into the grand square beyond. The floor is tiled with colour and life, the square positively bustling with activity. It isn't only soldiers who mill about, nor workers in their drab grey robes, but the residents of the city itself, dressed in a wide variety of colours and patterns.
