by T. C. Edge
I turn around and find Ralph looking at me concernedly. "We, er, we couldn't do that, Mistress," he says, eyes darting about. "We'd be shot dead on the spot if we ran away. And if not, they'd come hunt us down for certain."
I sigh deeply, knowing exactly that would happen. It's a lazy thought, an unrealistic thought. Even if I were to help, it would hardly be possible, would it? And what life, really, could a simple band like this find out there? All it would take would be a small group of bandits, whether enhanced or not, to come across them and put an end to such flights of fancy. They'd steal all they had, kill the men and rape the women, burn down whatever fledgling community they might have managed to create.
It speaks volumes of my current frame of mind that I turn so quickly to such dark thoughts. Or maybe they're not so dark, just realistic. The best these Fringers can hope for, really, is for us to win this war as quickly as possible, get home to where they can continue their simple, uneventful lives.
"You seem like you need more rest, Mistress," Ralph says, furthering his diagnosis from the previous evening. "Did you manage to sleep much last night in the end?"
I shake my head. "There was a lot to do, Ralph," I say darkly. "We had men missing in the woods. I didn't get much chance to rest."
"Oh, right. You were one of those out lookin'? Ah, doesn't surprise me to hear that."
"We only found one," I say softly. "Just one..."
"Right, um...well, better than...no one, I guess?"
My head continues to dip, the quiet of the camp on this side beginning to allow my thoughts to slip and slide away, down into the darkness. I feel Ralph tentatively drawing near, as if ready to provide comfort when the tears inevitably begin to fall. I can see it all playing out, and know I'll regret feeling so weak. So I cough, and croak, and drive the emotion away, resetting my resolve.
"I hear all the workers are out there," I say, turning to another topic. This one is hardly likely to strengthen me, thinking of Jude, grafting away out there in the danger zone.
"Yep, just temporarily though, I'm guessing. Be back working in camp soon enough. He'll er, he'll be all right, Mistress."
Another pang of emotion swarms at Ralph's words. Somehow, his kindness and gentle nature is weakening me.
I need to leave.
I do so without a word, merely nodding and moving off, as though walking away from the tears that try to catch up with me as I go. I work quickly back into the hustle of the main camp, my senses drawn here and there, offering distraction for my mind.
I pass the proper infirmary, and decide to quickly check in on Krun. The place remains busy, though not quite so bad as before. By now, many of the more minor wounds have been patched up, their owners put back into service. Others will have seen their fighting days done, now of little use to the army at all.
I find Krun under the attention of Lady Eloise in the back, though don't interrupt her as she works. The giant fills one of the larger beds, the healer working, it would seem, to heal his burnt airways, try to lessen, perhaps, the inevitable scarring down one side of his face. He was never the most attractive man, but like many now, he will have to live with those markings for the rest of his life. If, that is, he survives.
I recognise another in the back, another who has been badly burned and scarred by the attack. His face is hard to recognise now, his breathing laboured as he lies there, hooked up to some machinery that, I suppose, is working hard to bring him back to health. My instincts tell me, however, that he's unlikely to get there quickly, if ever, going by how he looks and the specialist attention he's getting.
He's another great loss to the army if that is the case, the Chosen Skymaster, Master Taranus. Along with a number of his subordinates, he was caught in the heart of the firestorm last night, evidently unable to use his powers to hold it back. I imagine that he had an important purpose here, helping to shield us, conceal us, when we finally made our approach. Now, without him, we have only a few of his kind to rely on, those who I doubt come close to his power.
I depart the infirmary, plodding away and as the skies just start to cloud over. I see no sign of rain on the horizon, just a fluttering of white clouds to help blot out the sun. I wander towards the front of the camp, moving towards the external shield that surrounds it. By now, the pillars have been set in place all around it, each connecting to the next with a shield that hums and buzzes with a light film of blue energy.
The pillars themselves are dug deep, thickly proportioned and all but impossible to destroy by the looks of things. At certain intervals, I notice soldiers on guard, little command units set up under the cover of a tent. I move forward to get more information, and am told that these areas are, essentially, gates, the command unit operating them and capable of shutting the shield off between particular pillars, thus allowing soldier movement in and out without being harmed.
I ask, too, about the shield's capabilities, and am informed that it's quite capable of repelling bullets, missiles, and other forms of projectile. Apparently, work is being quickly done on the enemy energy rifle we discovered in the woods, which are also considered to be ineffective against the tech used to protect the camp from intrusion.
"We're perfectly safe here," I'm told, happy at least to see that my procurement of that enemy rifle has already provided some benefit. Now we just need to ensure that we're suited in appropriate armour to help deflect its powerful charge.
I find myself interested, too, in the weapons the men have with them. They're likely the ones Hestia told me about, larger and less easy to manoeuvre, and yet a lot more powerful than the standard rifles and handguns that our soldiers use. They are used again, mainly in defense, usually in fixed positions given their size. The Titans, however, are quite capable of utilising them on the move, forging them into mobile assault units of sorts, able to cut through large numbers of soldiers with devastating consequences.
The weapon tech, I discover, is similar to that of the shields, and therefore similar, I imagine, to the energy rifles used by the enemy. Firing highly concentrated blasts of subatomic particles, they're able to cut through flesh and bone as if they're nothing, doing the same with most armour.
When hitting much thicker, tougher surfaces, they explode on impact, doing significant damage depending on the surface. For a regular building, that means blasting apart walls. When it comes to the likes of an external palisade or fortress wall, its impact will be less effective, depending upon the structure of the fortification.
I have to say, I'm impressed and enthused by what I hear. By what we've heard, Haven operates via a greater commitment to what you might call 'modern' technology. Olympus, from what I've seen and experienced, tends to adopt a more archaic approach, certainly in its architectures and the layout of the city, as well as the carriages themselves that brought us here. Yet behind the facade, there's evidently an inner lining, so to speak, of advanced tech that's really running the show.
And here, now, I'm beginning to see it.
Ahead, though it's hard to see around the slight curve of the hillside, I can just about make out the tops of the wall being erected. It looks high, fashioned from compacted pieces of earth, drawn up by the Forgers as they do what they do best. Built of great blocks, it rises high and stretches far to the left and right, a great barrier between our own camp, and the city of Haven off in the distance.
"I'd like to go and see it," I tell the men operating the gate.
They agree to the order without me having to argue at all, something that comes as a slight surprise. It seems my authority isn't to be questioned now, my movement around the camp and beyond less constrained as it was under Perses.
With the shield deactivated to allow me through, I wander off upon the churned up grasslands, badly cut up by the movement of the carriages as they've come and gone, most latterly those sent out to unpack their ordnance and artillery guns. It takes me a few minutes before I begin to round the hill, the wall coming into greater view. Though I've seen many gran
d structures these last few months, it still serves to take my breath away, so quickly built as its been.
It isn't, as I'd thought, merely built from compacted earth, but shines against the dying sun, appearing almost silver as it reflects the light. I see, as I get near, that each block has been wrapped up in some sort of metal sheath, further protection, perhaps, should the wall itself come under fire, or merely as a means to offer additional support as it continues to climb skyward.
At its base, I see stairs cut into the side, or otherwise added to the rear to allow soldiers and lookouts to reach the top. At various intervals are walkways, where I see Forgers still at work, making the structure more solid, or else adding further useful embellishments. There appear to be looser blocks at the bottom, able to be moved aside to allow our men to get through, gates to the plains beyond.
And at the bottom, I note that a number of artillery cannons have now been unpacked and are hastily being erected, their barrels pointing through holes cut into the wall's extremity. They angle upwards quite steeply, suggesting that they're all set to launch their projectiles beyond the walls, and right into the city's heart.
It's a staggering show, really, that helps to remind me just how powerful, how inventive, the Children of the Prime truly are. Here, in their element, they are quickly creating an intimidating base and defensive perimeter from which to launch their assault. A well oiled machine, not used to wars of such scale, maybe, but certainly used to building structures and bases of grand scope.
I approach the wall, and see that Atlas and Herald Avon are there, helping to direct matters. Avon turns his eyes on me in surprise, not expecting to see me there.
"Oh, Herald Amber, come to see the wall up close, have you?" he asks.
I nod, my neck still arched upwards, eyes tilting towards the top, dizzyingly far away.
"Can you see into the city from up there?" I ask.
"A little bit, perhaps," he says softly, his facade as untarnished as ever. While everyone else involved in the attack last night seems to have suffered at least some injury, Herald Avon appears entirely unblemished. "Would you like to take a look?"
I nod, still staring. "Er, yeah...sure."
"Well, go on ahead. Just be aware that things are still being finalised here. Use those steps there, and head right above me. Don't go along the top either way."
I go as directed, heading for the stairway built to the size of the wall itself. It zigzags upwards quite steeply, though the stairs are wide enough to allow quick movement without having to be concerned about falling down. After a half dozen about turns, I'm reaching the summit over a hundred feet high, giving a tremendous, panoramic view of the world around me.
To the left and right, the wall stretches along this gap between the hills that provide a natural fortification of their own. I notice that they're littered with thickets and groups of trees, though work is already being done to change that. In the distance, Titans uproot them, hauling them from the ground, making the lands clearer for our sentries to see through. I see that some are being brought down to the wall itself, perhaps used to help provide some additional ballast.
Behind, the camp itself stretches away around the corner, well protected by the shield that now surrounds it. And here and there, I can see little groups of workers continuing to offer their hard-worked muscle, directed by soldiers as they see to the fashioning of dugouts and shelters.
More work, by the looks of things, needs to be done, the operation speedily under way but still requiring some time to complete. The wall itself is only partially finished, at its full height here in the centre, perhaps, but still being added to further to my flanks. Down below, I hear Avon calling orders, Atlas marching about as he does the same, adding his own brand of supersized intimidation.
But, most striking of all, is what lies ahead. Though lacking detail due to distance, and with my eyes hardly capable of peering forward like a Farsight, I'm still struck by the first sight of Haven I get. Not in its grandeur, perhaps - though it is grand - but simply in the fact that, finally, I'm laying eyes on it.
I stand there, for quite some time, letting the world buzz below me, just staring out at the city away in the distance, far from here. Its walls appear to be of similar height to this one; not on the same scale as those of Olympus, but gigantic all the same. They spread beyond the field of my vision, concealing the vast city that lies within, a city I can barely glimpse from here, filled with a network of buildings just visible above its battlements.
Some areas appear less developed, the buildings either smaller, and beyond my vision, or simply not there at all. Then I begin to realise that they're probably regions of the city that saw particular damage during the fighting with the Cure, yet to be brought back to health. It's all I can see, really; an idea of a city, indistinct and hard to properly make out.
Yet the overriding feeling I get is that, simply, this is a city. A huge city, resting after recent trials, now set upon by an altogether different beast. A city that houses thousands, maybe tens, even hundreds of thousands. Innocents who have seen such strife, once more forced to face a siege. How must they feel, now, hearing the alarms wail, the words ring out that war has come, marching upon them once again.
I look on, my expression sombre, feeling vicariously sorry for them all. I find myself hoping, as was suggested in the meeting, that they have fled to the inner sanctum of their city, that the outer reaches aren't heavily populated, or populated at all. I find it hard to believe, given what I'm seeing. The outer portion of the city, by the looks of things, is much, much larger than the inner portion. How can they not have citizens living outside those inner walls? It doesn't seem plausible to me.
I lose track of time as I stand there, only coming to when I hear my name being called down from below. I turn my eyes down the wall to find Herald Avon there, beckoning me to descend. I take a final look at the city before doing so, the fires within me still yet to fully re-ignite. Maybe, when they do, I'll cast off this gloomy shroud, stop feeling so sorry for the people we're here to conquer.
It'll be a relief if that's the case. To see my humanity abandon me again, see the insatiable fire rise up in its place. Isn't that how soldiers are? Don't they often question the reasoning behind the orders of their superiors? Wouldn't they prefer not to kill, but do so anyway in the name of their country, in the protection of their own liberty?
And that, I think, is just why Kovas is effective; he fosters hate towards the enemy among the troops, he gives them a reason to fight without mercy when it comes time for them to act. Do I like the man? Not by a long shot. But perhaps that method of rule is effective.
Perhaps, in the end, it's necessary.
I reach the bottom of the wall once again, and find myself next to Avon. Above, the clouds have fully gathered now, the night coming on fast. He notes the change, and turns towards the cannons.
"It'll be a long night out here," he says. "No need for you to stay, though. Best get some rest, Herald Amber."
I nod, though don't yet move. I turn to him with a question.
"Herald Avon."
He looks down at me. "Yes, Amber."
"How...how do you do it?" I ask.
He frowns. "Do what?"
I shrug. "Spend your life killing. Even...even when you know they're not bad people."
His eyes lift, the question quite direct, almost innocent and childlike. For a moment he considers it, suddenly turning contemplative. No platitudes here, no quick answer to shoo me off. No, he gives it his due thought, before nodding and turning to me with an answer.
"Because the Prime wills it," he tells me. Then he smiles, his clean and handsome face lighting up. "All I have to do, is think of Mother and Father, and I know I am on the right path."
His answer, one I'd have previously thought to be foolish, one of nothing more than a brainwashed man, doesn't have that affect on me anymore. No, mention of the Prime helps soothe me now, bringing their light into my mind, their radiance to
my heart.
I feel a smile working onto my face, just like him, one to banish that darkness that starts to fester and brew.
"You see," he says, seeing the change in me. "It works every time."
I nod, feeling altogether lighter, and turn back towards the camp.
And as I do, with the light fading now as night begins to fall, I feel a strange energy in the air, buzzing and humming and building to a crescendo. I turn, my eyes falling upon the wall again, and the great cannons there at its base. Each glows at its core, a pale silver light building and building in intensity before, suddenly, shooting up through the barrel.
I hear a great rip tear through the air as the cannon unloads its charge, a great ball of energy flung towards the city. My heart leaps, but the smile remains. I hold the image of the Prime in my mind as I listen to the projectile hurtle towards the city, before somewhere off in the distance, the sound of an explosion rings out.
And then another. And then another.
The bombardment of Haven has begun.
94
I sleep a little better that night, Avon's words and advice helping to sooth me. Though the power of the Prime, that ability to inspire joy in all who look upon them, is weakened this far from home, it still manages to send me off to sleep, a little less burdened by the grief of seeing Perses pass on, a little less conflicted about this siege and the potential loss of innocent life it will bring.
It all starts in earnest that night, the artillery guns hurling their fizzing projectiles into, and over, the city walls. I hear the faint sounds of bombing from inside Black Thunder, its walls sturdily built to help block out the noise. Hour upon hour the cannons charge up and discharge, utilising the same technology as the defensive guns set around the camp perimeter and held, in combat, by the Titans and half-Titans, those burly and strong enough to wield them.
I wake, then, to what I feel to be the faint sound of distant thunder, before realising that the bombing hasn't yet ceased. It only grows louder as I step out into the sunny morning, turning my eyes towards the direction of the city, not visible from within the camp, with the hillside and protective wall blocking our view. Yet, the plumes of smoke are visible, the sky in the distance, above the city, beginning to fill with a general smog of ash and smoke.