Children of the Prime Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  The members of the carriage nod, all in agreement, none with any words of dissent. It's possible we could stay here for the night, lick our wounds, continue the following day, but no one raises the idea. Only the Overseer, never one to hold his tongue, makes a suggestion.

  "Herald Kovas," he says, bowing. "A fine speech, and you have all of our support. However, what do you say about those still out there? We have soldiers still unaccounted for. If we leave now, what will happen with them, should they return to this location and find us...absent?"

  Kovas nods, considering the question. "A reasonable concern, Master Overseer," he says haughtily. "We will continue to send small search parties out to scour the woods. The flames scattered us, and some may be lost, even if unhurt. I'll leave a small unit of soldiers here to await any stragglers. They shall stay until morning with a single carriage, should we have injuries. After that, they will have to leave."

  I frown, thinking it all a little cruel. What if someone arrives later than morning? What then?

  "Of course," says the Overseer. "And...should someone find their way back once the final party has left?"

  I nod at him, grateful, as he poses my very thought.

  "Then they will, I'm sure, be sensible enough to follow our tracks. The woods may be scorched black, but our trail will be clear enough. The same will be true on the other side. If you're so concerned about it, Master Overseer, we may be able to send some Phasers back to check in a day or two. However, we have more pressing concerns to be focused on."

  "Yes, of course."

  "Now, anything else?" asks Kovas, stern eyes looking around the group. He asks it in a manner that doesn't exactly compel anyone to speak.

  No one does. It seems that they all just wish to be alone for a few moments, hoping for this meeting to end.

  "Right, well, in that case, we shall adjourn. I will inform you all when we need to gather again. We may require your input when we get a better look at Haven. As yet, we haven't been able to commit to any offensive strategy until we scout the city more thoroughly. However, this cowardly ambush does teach us one thing - these Havenites are frightened. They caught us unawares, and then scuttled away when we began to reform and fight back. They are desperate actions, I assure you. They have played their trick, and will now hide behind their walls, hoping we run off home." He looks around, eyes burning with black fire. "We won't."

  Again, faces show a mixture of determination, exhaustion, and continued mournfulness as he speaks, his final words an attempt to rouse us, but managing little more than a whimper. He grunts for the soldiers outside to open the door, and calls an end of the meeting.

  I step outside into the cold, my body still unable to light up, the blanket draped around my shoulders helping to fight off the bitter chill. It billows against the bitter wind, smelling of smoke and death, the temporary camp still being packed up and readied to leave. I take a few paces from Worldshaker, my eyes lifting up to Black Thunder nearby. That hollow space inside me echoes with a bellow of anguish as I look at it, knowing I'll never again sit in there with Perses, hear his wisdom, enjoy his paternal presence.

  I feel a hand come down on my back, resting on my shoulder, and turn to find Herald Kovas behind me. His grim face attempts to light up with something sympathetic, though he gets it all wrong. Unlike Perses, whom I had to arch my neck high to properly see, Kovas stands not far above me, stocky and squat, thickly muscled. And, as with Perses, wreathed in black armour.

  "You must be tired, Amber," he says, nodding. "It sounds like you've been through a great deal?"

  I breath out silently, my eyes glancing past him. The light of Worldshaker's interior blooms. Inside, I see Elian still there, still sitting in the shadowed corner, still locked away in a world of dark thoughts.

  And deeds...

  "You'd best get some rest," Kovas goes on, drawing my eyes back to his, all murky and dark. "You can, of course, keep using Black Thunder. I think...I think Perses would have wanted you to have it."

  I turn to look at it, black and grand and almost gothic in its appointments. It doesn't suit me at all, not in appearance or colour. I shake my head. "I haven't earned it yet," I say.

  "Ah, but you're young. You will, I'm sure." He rubs me on the shoulder. Is it supposed to be consoling? "Anyway, you'll be staying there for now. We can look into a redesign to suit you, when the times comes. You'll have to think of a name, of course..."

  "Firestorm," I say instantly, though my voice carries no enthusiasm. The word comes to mind as I think again of the deadly, flaming flood. The devastation it caused. It seems...grimly appropriate somehow.

  "Firestorm?" repeats Kovas. He nods, pursing his lips. "Yes, yes, I like that."

  I shake my head slowly, dropping my eyes, not caring one bit. I know I can't take Perses's chariot. I know I'd never want to take it, reshape it, use it for myself. This is just some way to appease me, to keep me onside. He wants to make sure my power, when property utilised, is pointed in the right direction.

  "Well then," he says. "Get some rest, you've done plenty tonight. I've already heard of your excellent work with the other Fire-Bloods in protecting the convoy. Without you, many more would have died."

  "And Hestia," I say. I hadn't thought of her yet. I turn my eyes up. "Is she OK?"

  "She's looking for survivors with Herald Gailen," Kovas says. "Hestia isn't likely to stop until all have been retrieved."

  "She's a good soldier," I say dully.

  "One of the best."

  "And...Captain Krun?"

  Kovas frowns soberly. "Unaccounted for, as yet," he says. "But don't worry about that right now. Just get your rest. Have some food. Sleep. We all need to recover after what we've been through."

  He slips his hand off my back, finally allowing me to wriggle free, smiles in an attempt at warmth with his gap-toothed grin, and steps away. I watch him move off into the camp, issuing orders, taking charge. There's an energy about him that sets my nerves on edge. He just...seems to like it. He doesn't really seem to care.

  A chill runs through me as I stand there, caught among all the noise and activity. My eyes turn to the woods again, still hidden under a blanket of smoke and ash, the ground still breathing heavily with fumes. I stand, and stare, feeling so very lost, until another presence, warm and comforting, appears by my side.

  "He cared for you, Amber," whispers the voice of the Overseer. I turn, surprised, and look up to him. His eyes stare off too, drowned in sadness, his face looking older than ever before. "He was the best of us, really. And he saw the best in you, too. Don't let his death weigh too heavy on you. You must listen to me now, Amber. And listen carefully." He crouches down a little, and turns me towards his. "None of this...none of it...is your fault."

  The words...break me. Away from the Heralds, away from the Chosen, I feel the tears weeping from my eyes anew. The Overseer pulls me into a hug, my arms wrapping around his robes, his slim frame within.

  "Shhh," he says softly, stroking my hair. "It'll all be fine soon. It will all be just fine."

  His voice soothes me, helps to comfort me. For a while, he just holds me there, only letting go when I'm ready, when I want him to. I draw back, needing the release, though feeling foolish for doing it in public. My eyes flash to the left and right, embarrassed that someone might have seen.

  "No one saw you," the Overseer assures me, knowing. "And if they did, no one would blame you. There are few here who are half the person you are, my dear Amber. So few have to carry such weight."

  He smiles, a look so different to Kovas, an expression that helps to warm me, and begins leading me over towards Black Thunder, coaxing me there to get some rest. I find myself stopping, however, at the steps, my eyes suddenly turning to the left, where the carriages spread out to the distance.

  "What is it?" the Overseer asks.

  I look up at him. So far, I haven't confronted him on this, have decided just to trust him, like I did with Perses. "Jude is here," I tell him, the words
spilling from my mouth.

  "He...he is? Jude, your friend from home? Well, how could that be?"

  "It's a long story," I say. "You...you didn't know?"

  "No, of course not. I'd have told you, Amber. The last I heard of Jude was when I gave the order for him to be returned to Pine Lake. How in the name of the Prime has he found himself all the way out here?"

  There seems no lie in his eyes, no falsity in his voice. Though the Overseer is a master of the mind, I sense no dishonesty here, no reason for such deceit.

  "Like...like I say, long story." I turn again, tying to remember just where the infirmary carriage is. "I have to go," I say, stepping off into camp.

  "Amber, can it not wait? You really ought to rest."

  "No," I say, already on my way. "I need to make sure he's safe."

  Without another word, and without turning back, I march off down the convoy.

  Filled, all of a sudden, with a renewed sense of purpose.

  87

  The outside of the infirmary is a rush of activity, soldiers carrying supplies and helping injured men in, and even out. The turnover, by the looks of things, is quick here. Already, soldiers caught up and wounded in the attack have been patched up, loaded with painkillers, and sent back on their way.

  I stop outside as the doors fling open again, a soldier stepping out with his right hand and the right side of his face covered in bandaging. His body is wrapped up in the fire-resistant armour that many soldiers wear, scorched in places and covered in soot, though otherwise OK. He looks like a Farsight to me by those eyes, perhaps keeping watch somewhere when the flood of fire rolled and churned towards him. He'd have been far enough out from the source for the armour to protect against the flames, likely ducking away to one side looking at the damage done to that right hand and cheek.

  Serious burns, probably, I think, watching as he descends, quickly moving back off to rejoin ranks without a moment's hesitation. Perhaps he'll be scarred for life, perhaps not. I don't yet know what Lady Eloise's capabilities are, nor the sorts of ointments and healing lotions she uses. Then again, are her team of medics as skilled? Are they mere doctors and nurses, or those with a divine touch?

  I move towards the door, eager to find out, refusing to allow the continued sense of exhaustion inside me to retake charge. Blinking heavily, I reach the steps and climb, not bothering to knock as I move right inside.

  The interior, which I glimpsed the previous day, has been entirely transformed. What was a sparklingly clean and white space, set with perfect beds and counters filled with utensils, cream cupboards and other storage areas painted with similarly light and neutral colours, has become a place of utter carnage.

  The entire space is now filled to bursting, every bed occupied, dark grey and black stains everywhere, blood dripping to the floor.

  Medics rush about, moving from one soldier to the next. Most are suffering from burns; several have been shot, stabbed or pierced by other means. I see one, his leg blown off at the knee, his armour fused to the skin and ragged flesh. I know, just by looking at the morbid wound, that it was inflicted by one of those energy-based weapons, firing their red and blue balls of burning light.

  A couple of others have been similarly afflicted, lying grabbing at the stumps of lost limbs, grimacing in pain as they're hastily treated. One calms immediately as a nurse administers a painkiller, his eyes suddenly relaxing, body going still as he drops down onto the bed.

  Others, yet to be seen to, or provided with relief, grunt and grimace and howl in pain as they wait their turn. It adds to the noise of the shuffling feet and disorderly voices, the air set with a distressing din. I move inside, wincing at the noise and smell and sights before me. A number of these soldiers, for obvious reasons, will never fight again. Aside from the fatalities the army has suffered, it seems many more have been taken out of action.

  I stop a medic as they rush past, doing so at tremendous speed. I'm surprised to see that the young woman's a Phaser, though it makes sense when I think about it. After all, being able to administer painkillers, wrap and bandage wounds, stitch up gashes, and perform other tasks at speed is a great benefit at times like this. All of a sudden, the speedy turnover here begins to make more sense.

  Her body hums as I grab hold of her arm, eyes flicking quickly to mine. There's an intensity in them that clearly displays the stress of her job, the chaos of the moment.

  "Yes, what? Are you injured?" Her eyes flash up and down, scanning me in a split second.

  "No...I..."

  "No time to stop, then. I have patients to see to."

  She tries to move off, flutter away like a hummingbird, but I keep hold of her arm. She turns back to me, her brows knitting inwards threateningly.

  "Look," I say. "I'm just looking for a patient. I just want to..."

  "No visitors!" she shouts. "Do you not see what we're dealing with here?" She shakes her head, huffs, and hauls her arm from my grip, speeding off to her next patient.

  As with the Titan outside Worldshaker, she clearly doesn't recognise me. Then again, why should I get special treatment if she did. My title shouldn't matter here.

  I turn my eyes around again, vainly looking for Jude. The place seems much larger than it does from outside, at least ten times bigger than Ralph's grubby clinic, fitted with well over fifty beds by my eyes. Down the central corridor I go, trying to avoid the eyes of the young medic as she sees to her latest patient. She catches me sneaking off and shakes her head, huffing, unable to do anything with her hands full as they are.

  Towards the far end, a curtain hangs, creating a partition between another section of the sprawling carriage. I move towards it, reaching out and pulling the drapes apart at the middle. Beyond, I see a smaller area, separated from the main section. There are a number of stations with top of the line equipment, machines and tools used in more dangerous and complicated procedures.

  It appears to be an area for those with more serious wounds, those who need more careful attention. Inside, a few soldiers lie, torn up and burned, one so badly melted along one side I wonder just how he's still breathing. At the back, with her hands gently hovering across the seared, melted flesh of a soldier's chest, I see Lady Eloise working her magic. She hums lightly to herself, hands moving over the torn, burnt, jagged flesh, another wound inflicted by those devastating light-rifles. And as her hands move, I see the flesh begin to knit together, flatten out, scar over, leaving behind ugly, misshapen tissue. But tissue that no longer leaks blood, no longer looks vulnerable to infection.

  I step towards her, somewhat entranced, though not wanting to provide interruption. She seems to be in her own little world, humming a sweet tune as though to combat the chaos. After a few moments, she finally stops, nods down at her work in satisfaction, and pulls back.

  Her eyes lift to mine. And unlike the others, she takes only a second to recognise me.

  "H-Herald Amber?" she says, peering forward. She moves in quickly and, like the other medic, immediately looks me up and down in concern.

  "I'm fine, Lady Eloise. Just fine," I assure her. "I'm just here to see about Jude?" My eyes look about. "Is...is he here?"

  She gulps, as though about to give me foul news, wiping her brow as she shakes her head.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mistress. He departed soon after the attack. I tried to stop him, told him he could stay in my office, but he wasn't having any of it. I'm so sorry."

  "It's...it's fine, Eloise." I look around again at the gruesome wounds and imperilled soldiers, some hanging on for dear life. "You have your hands full here. There would be no space for him anyway."

  I begin to walk out, moving back into the main chamber. She seems to think I'm angry with her, shuffling after me as I go.

  "I managed to do some work on his arm before he left," she says. "It should be just fine. His facial scar...well, I didn't get much of a chance to..."

  "Eloise, really, it's OK," I say, turning to her in the middle of the corridor. "I'm very gratef
ul for what you've done, honestly. But I can see that you're extremely busy. The last thing I want to do is hold you up at a time like this."

  "No...no, of course. It's just, well, I'd never want to leave a task unfulfilled, especially one requested by a Herald. Or, well, two I should say. Perses told me to make sure that the young man was cared for. He was quite adamant about it, really."

  She smiles, innocent and kind, an expression that seems so out of place right here, right now, amid the howls of pain, the rushing bodies, the ash and soot and blood stains all around us. She seems the sort who'll crumble at the news of Perses's death, yet she needs to hear it. Everyone needs to know.

  I reach out and take her shoulder. Somehow, spreading the news helps me spread the pain, lessens the burden on me. Is that selfish? Am I only doing this for myself?

  "I have something you need to hear," I say.

  She frowns at me, at the tone of my voice, though the rest of her face continues to twinkle with that odd innocence, that sweet kind-heartedness that makes her so endearing.

  "It's...it's about..." I start.

  My eyes glance to the side, where a soldier starts convulsing, falling into a fit of some kind. A medic rushes over. Eloise turns, though hesitates before moving off, seeing that the other medic is handling the situation.

  "Go," I say. "Shouldn't you go?"

  "What was it you had to tell me, Mistress Herald?" she asks.

  "Nothing, nothing, it can wait," I say. "Don't worry. Just do your job, focus on that."

  She bows to me before hurrying away, lending her calming, magical touch to proceedings. I watch on for a moment, knowing she needs no distraction, that it'll only cause harm at a time like this.

  I walk off, moving towards the door, and turning to step out. As I do so, another two solders come bustling up the stairs. Neither of them looks injured or in need of care. I stop, intrigued, as they hurry past me and rush inside. And then, I hear them shouting together.