by Gene Stiles
A long set of wharves stuck far out into the deeper waters of the bay like the boney fingers of an aged hand for the coast here was shallow and swampy. Two cargo ships were currently tied to the docks, though they were scheduled to leave within the next few days as tide and weather permitted. Traffic in and out of the small harbor was kept intentionally light and scattered so as not to draw too much attention should the Raven drones of Ra pass overhead as unlikely as that event might be.
“The Mescaline is a week overdue,” Spercaneous said as he checked his display pad. His green eyes were narrowed and more than a bit concerned. The Akastie had never arrived and was presumed lost at sea. For another ship to go missing in such a small span of time made the Harbormaster very uneasy.
“Her coms went dead a fortnight ago,” Ellikis said as he gazed out at the choppy waters, his meaty fists resting on his wide hips. The fort commander did not seem to be bothered by it as much as Spercaneous was. “They sent no distress call prior to that,” he said, dismissing the worry. “We both know storm season is upon us. A single lightning strike could disrupt communications.”
“Do you not think that odd since the Akastie went missing as well?” the Harbormaster asked, irritated the Commander was not taking him seriously. Spercaneous hated the arrogant, demeaning idiot of a man even more than being assigned to this remote wilderness outpost. The man never listened and disregarded his advice almost daily.
“We informed Atlantis of that,” Ellikis responded, waving off the words as if they were bothersome gnats and no more. “If they did not find it suspicious, why should we? It is not the first time a ship went down in a storm. The tract of ocean between here and Azmerizan is vast, mostly uncharted and prone to hurricanes. A violent squall could throw a ship off course for weeks.”
Commander Ellikis turned back toward the shabby settlement and beckoned the Harbormaster to follow. He had more important matters to attend to and would not be vexed by Spercaneous’ constant whining. The new weapons were unloaded and stored and had to be inventoried. The barracks were near completion and must be ready for the two brigades of soldiers being sent in a scant six months. The Lord Father would be furious if Ellikis was not prepared to house them.
“If the Mescaline has not arrived within another week, I will contact Atlantis,” the Commander said, hoping to relieve his second’s mind. “Until then, we have a war to prepare for.”
A steady stream of supplies and materials had been pouring into the fort for the last year. With only two hundred permanent residents, most of whom were engineers and support staff, the settlement was overworked and exhausted. Luckily, a village of Izon was found fifty miles inland a month ago. They were quickly enslaved and now provided most of the manual labor, easing the burden on his men.
“Once the first brigade arrives,” Spercaneous was saying as they walked the pebbled street leading up to the Main House, “our squad of Aam will have better things to do than play guard to those filthy Izon. Creator! Those creatures seem to be everywhere we go. How can there be so many pockets of them scattered throughout the world?”
“According to the legends,” Ellikis said with a snort, “they traveled the globe for millions of years before waking the People and they breed like rabbits. It is not surprising we would find their hovels occasionally. Just be glad we found this bunch,” he added, tossing a hand to where a chained group were trimming logs for a new storehouse. “Otherwise, it would be you over there.”
The two men stopped on the porch of the Main House, savoring the smoky aroma of brazing meats and vegetables wafting through the open doors. The gigantic gates were open and visible from here and they could see laborers hacking back the saplings and brush to widen the packed dirt road that led inland. At the end of the trail was the remnants of the destroyed Izon village that sat in the center of the almost barren plain the fort needed for a landing area. After the troops arrived this would be filled with warbirds.
“Just think, Spercaneous,” Commander Ellikis said as they found seats at one of the many near-empty, unfinished long tables. “Soon I will be Commander General of entire legions and you will be Vice Commander. We are to be the spearhead of the Atlantean forces against Nil.” His round, rugged face beamed with pride and his dark blue eyes sparkled beneath his bushy, blond eyebrows. “Do not concern yourself with a lost ship or two. Nothing could go wrong for us right now.”
The Harbormaster only nodded as he began his meal. He did not care if this outpost gave him a promotion if it meant he would have to stay here. Atlantis or any other civilized city is where he belonged. Though the Commander respected his skill as a Harbormaster, the pompous ass could care less about his opinions or concerns. To make things worse, Spercaneous could not shake the sense of impending doom that soured the taste of his ale. He ate only because his body required it and, no matter how much he chewed, the food dropped like rocks into his knotted stomach. Something was not right and he knew it. He would feel much better if Ellikis was as worried as he was.
By the time the Mescaline slipped into the port, the other ships had returned to Azmerizan. Spercaneous breathed a sigh of relief when the three-masted cargo vessel was spotted entering the bay, her sails raised. He hurried to the docks as she pulled up alongside and tossed ropes down to the waiting dockmen. Once secured, the ramp was lowered and the winches began to swing crates overboard. The Harbormaster smiled for the first time in weeks. All was well and the Commander was right. Or at least so he thought.
The sense of foreboding returned to Spercaneous as the tall, stately woman walked off the ramp with four female companions. She was dressed in crimson leather pants and matching vest, a white, billow-sleeved blouse and black leather, knee-high boots. Her outfit clung to every muscled curve of her sensuous, graceful body. A tooled, red-leather headband kept her golden-blond hair away from her amazingly beautiful face and sky-blue eyes. All of the men on the dock stopped and gapped open-mouth at her as she strode toward the Harbormaster, enthralled not only by her looks, but by the feline way she moved. So taken by her, few noticed the other, well-armed women with her.
Spercaneous noticed. Though incredibly lovely on their own, the women were outshined by their leader, but it was not their stunning looks that made the Harbormaster uneasy. They were all dressed in black leather from neck to toe with red silky blouses. Their gab reminded Spercaneous of the Black Guard of Atlantis and, like the Aam of Cronus, these women each had a pulse pistol bucked around their hips and long knives strapped to their waists and thighs.
“Greetings, Sir,” the leader said as she stopped before him. The smile she gave him was warm and genuine as she reached for his hand. “I am Captain Thalassa. It is great to be on land once again. The trip was long and hazardous. We barely escaped a vicious typhoon. That is why we were delayed.”
Spercaneous took the proffered arm and gripped the Captain’s strong forearm. Despite her calm voice and reasonable explanation, the Harbormaster felt the hairs raise on the nape of his neck. Once an Aam, himself, he noted how the women shifted to take in the men near them and how they seemed to be assessing the situation like warriors born.
“Where is Captain Zachariah?” he asked, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. “I thought this was his ship.”
“It still is,” Captain Thalassa replied smoothly. “Captain Zachariah was severely injured shortly before we were to leave Azmerizan. I was tasked to take his place for this trip only. You know how important this shipment is to our efforts,” she said convincingly. “It could not be delayed until he recovered.”
“Understood,” Spercaneous said as he walked alongside the Captain. Together with her escorts, they headed toward the Main House where the Commander awaited their report.
Thalassa kept up a light conversation as they went, asking questions about the fort that were simple and non-threatening. How was the weather here? How long had Spercaneous held his post? Was there plenty of game? She never asked about how many people were stationed here, what kind of a
rms they had, exactly what they were doing or how they were progressing. Thalassa could sense his disquiet and her comments and queries were meant to allay his suspicions. She turned her head away casually when she saw the captive Izon so he could not see her azure eyes shift to a dark sapphire-blue or the tightening of her full, red lips.
Commander Ellikis literally beamed as he held her wrist much longer than necessary. He beckoned her to sit with him on the long, L-shaped couch in his private offices in the Main House and sent for refreshments for her and her companions. He rebuffed the Harbormaster’s request for a moment of his time outside, ignoring the dark, leery look on his second’s face. Pushing the annoying man aside, he told him to save it for later. There were guests to attend to. Turning away, Ellikis chatted happily with the Captain. Of the few women among his contingent, none came close to any of these in charm, grace or beauty. The fact that they lavished praise upon him for his work here and his importance to Atlantis fed his already overblown ego. Ellikis ordered a feast prepared in their honor for the evening, hoping he could get them drunk enough to have his way with one or more of them.
The night did not go the way he planned. After consuming far more than he intended, Ellikis awoke disoriented with a massive headache. His vision blurred and sparks flashed behind his lids. It took the Commander several long moments before he was even aware he was no longer in his quarters. Struggling with the pain and fog, he finally got his eyes open. Looking around, Ellikis found himself leaning against one of the rough walls of the dining room of the Main House. The sunlight beaming in from the windows sent fiery needles into his brain. With an effort, he raised a hand to his furrowed brow and stared disbelieving at the chains manacled to his wrist.
“Do not worry,” a harsh female voice said, cutting through the dark haze that filled the Commander’s mind. “The ground Kava root we put in your drinks will wear off in a few hours. It will not kill you.”
Ellikis stared up at Captain Thalassa, his mouth dry and bitter. Gone was her generous smile and seductive demeanor. Her icy blue eyes surveyed him as if he were a bug about to be crushed underfoot. Behind her, huddled on the floor with their hands bound behind them, were his useless Aam looking ashamed, furious and dejected that they had been so easily disarmed and captured by a group of mere women.
“You will pay for this,” Ellikis growled menacingly as his mind slowly cleared. His blue eyes were dark, frozen pits in his purple-flushed face. “This is an Atlantean fortress established on direct orders of Cronus, the Lord Father. Legions of troops will soon arrive and you shall spend the rest of your days servicing every one of them.”
“Doubtful,” Captain Thalassa said with a barking laugh. Her fingers tickled the ornate hilt of the long-knife now strapped to her shapely hip as if she would draw it and slit his throat. “Your ‘fortress’ is not only a pathetic ruin of a place. It is on Nillian lands. You have no right to be here. In the eyes of Ra, I am sure you would be seen as invaders. Especially with the cache of weapons you have stored here. Should I tell him of this place?”
“You are not a Captain of Nil?” Ellikis asked, his mouth dropping open. The Commander was taken aback. Who else would dare an attack on an Atlantean outpost? In fact, how did they even know it was here?
“No, she is not,” came a booming voice from the threshold of the Main House. “The good Captain is with me.”
The man that stepped through the open doors caused the Atlanteans to gasp, their eyes wide and their faces turning pale. He was a powerfully muscled gargantuan who towered over the tall female Captain. The dark blue leathers he wore fought to constrain the sinews of the broad chest that fanned out above a thick waist and legs the girth of a foremast. His bare, bronzed arms looked like spars and were banded by gold-edged, blue rings at his bulging biceps. Matching guards covered his wrists up to his brawny forearms.
The most shocking this about this monster of a man was his face. His sharply angled jawline was covered by a flaming red beard that flowed in waves down to the rise of his huge pectorals. A helmet ornately crafted in the shape of a majestic dragon with a short, snarling, fang-filled snout hid his features starting at his chin, flowing over his head and down to the nape of his thick neck. The beast was artistically rendered in scales of black and gold with bright blue edging each tile with short, fanned-out wings covering his ears. Eyes of piercing jade emeralds shown through the mask and pinioned ever prisoner like the tip of a sword.
“I am Aegir,” the dragon said, his baritone voice echoing off the walls of the suddenly silenced hall. “Lord of the seas and I will not allow my oceans to be used to ship death and destruction around the world.”
“Well, that was a little over-dramatic, don’t you think?” Captain Thalassa said with a wry grin once they were back aboard the Mescaline. She lounged on the ex-owner’s lavish embroidered leather sofa, a tall tankard of ale in her hand and her long legs stretched out on a padded footstool.
“Hey, this was all your idea,” Poseidon replied with a laugh from the high-backed, brocade chair across from her. He sipped his steaming green tea, preferring it over Thalassa’s heady brew. “I did not want to wear that stupid helmet in the first place.”
“First of all, my lovely,” she kidded, “Your handsome face is too well known. You are the mirror image of Cronus. It would not take long before your real identity was discovered. Beyond that, we need to build a new legend around you to strike fear in our enemies and to give the resistance a figurehead.”
“But this is a bit much,” Poseidon smile, lifting the helmet that Ra had crafted for him. “I would call it gaudy.”
“You wanted to honor your lost ship, the Sea Dragon, so there you have it,” Thalassa said, enjoying the big man’s discomfort. She knew Poseidon was strong, kind and self-confident, but he was also modest and did not like the tapestry he was supposed to weave.
“You have seen Nillian armor,” Thalassa added, playfully kicking the toe of his black-booted foot. She waved her hand casually at the helmet and said, “This is plain and simple in comparison. It was your speech I thought was over the top. ‘Lord of the Seas’! You are too funny! Should I bow to you now?”
“You would if you were a woman who knew her place,” Poseidon quipped, his darkly tanned lips quirked up and his brilliant green eyes sparkling.
“I do know my place,” Thalassa responded, tossing her braid back over her shoulder. “It is to smack you alongside your pretty little face and kick your fat bottom when you get to think too much of yourself.”
“Now there is a tussle I think I could enjoy,” he grinned in reply. “We shall have to find out.”
“Only if you are very lucky,” she laughed loudly. Her face took on a slightly more serious demeanor and Thalassa sipped at her ale for a moment. “Now we have to decide what to do with our prisoners. Between the crew of the Mescaline and those in the fort, our ship is not big enough to transport them all and I would not leave them here once we destroy this place. They could be rescued by the next Atlantean vessel and then we would have to fight them all over again.”
“I would not call what happened here a fight,” Poseidon said, his eyes twinkling, “but you are right. Not to worry. The Akastie has been repaired and is inbound. We will use it to move most of these people far down the coast then let them fend for themselves as we did with the Akastie’s crew. A few we will leave here spread the story. The next Atlantean ship is still a month away so we have plenty of time. That is what my brother wants and I have no desire to simply kill them and I know you do not either.”
“Our goal is not to murder innocents,” Thalassa readily agreed. “Except for the Aam, these people are not warriors. Some have even asked to join us.”
“Maybe,” Poseidon responded, thinking for a minute. “We would not like to bring spies into our midst. Your new Midnight Star is also on route and we will use that to take all of these weapons to Olympus. I will comlink Zeus and see what he has to say about bringing passengers home.”
&nbs
p; When the Atlantean ship, Aronus, slipped into the bay six weeks later the captain found no wharves or docks awaiting her cargo. All that was left were the blackened stumps of what were once huge pylons. Through his farseers, he saw the ashen ruins of the fortress now reduced to cold, gray cinders and heaps of stone. Its impressive mammoth wall now looked like a broken and singed picket fence. Only one building still stood and it looked shabby and pathetic in the cold morning mist. The only reason the captain knew it was occupied was the wispy plume of black smoke rising from the stone chimney.
A group of bedraggled people ran from the porch of the building at the Aronus’ approach. Waving and shouting, they waded knee-deep into the swampy waters near the remnants of the pier to ensure they were seen by the ship. Once the vessel set anchor and sent a landing craft toward the white, sandy beach, the group hurried around to meet it.
“It is all gone,” Spercaneous muttered dejectedly as he sat in the captain’s chambers, a cup of steaming green tea held between his trembling hands. After relating his story to the man, the Harbormaster and the other nine people left behind were brought aboard and given a meal and a berth. “Aegir took all the weapons and supplies and left us only enough to live on until a ship like yours arrived. I do not know what he intends to do with his prisoners.”
“The Lord Father needs to hear of this immediately,” the captain replied, his face dark with rage. The Aronus was already heading back to sea, its holds still full of arms and supplies. “Cronus will be furious.”
Spercaneous shuddered at those words. As much as he wanted to be back in the city, it terrified him to think of the fate that awaited him. He was the only senior officer left from the fort and someone would have to shoulder the blame. The Harbormaster stared out of the windows, watching the churning sea in their wake. Jumping overboard into those cold, dark waters might well be preferable to going back to Atlantis. The Lord Father was not known for his forgiveness of failures.