Children of the Prime Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  "I see. Very good, General," says Dom.

  "When are the militia likely to come?" Decimus goes on, his voice like a trampling rhino, dominating proceedings. He turns to Burns and Hendricks, the latter turning particularly meek in the esteemed General's presence.

  "Not long at all, I would suspect," says Burns, who appears to be one of the few men Decimus has any real respect for.

  I wonder if the General is a Savant, given his detached nature. Those silver eyes would suggest he has fine eyesight too - certainly, he doesn't seem to have any trouble seeing the fume-covered city from here - though I'm not sure he was ever a combatant of the likes of Ares, Hendricks, or Perses' calibre. A leader, perhaps, groomed from birth. A man to steer the ship, rather than hoist the sails or scrub the decks.

  "And how long is not long?" he asks, looking at Burns. To someone else the question might have been delivered with a little more venom.

  "Hard to be exact, General," says Burns, always so calm. "Alberta suggested she'd have her militia mustered and ready to leave at daybreak. If so, within the next hour, assuming they have travelled at reasonable speed."

  "Right, thank you. In the meantime, we shall begin right here." He turns to look at one of his aids, and nods. The man spins around and dashes off into the sprawling base behind, a sea of red-roofed tents of various sizes spreading out across the Sacred Plains, now cleared of the smog that once choked them.

  In the centre, are several more prominent marquees, grouped together and as finely made as one would expect when dealing with Neoroman embroiderers. I didn't have much time to inspect them closely last night - by the time the camp was fully raised, it was very much time to get some sleep - but I have spotted some fine detailing, depicting previous conquests and wars, the grandeur and greatness of Neoroman brought along to any new battle or siege.

  I, of course, am staying in the royal marquee with Dom, an unnecessarily large place to house just the two of us. It comes replete with servants and aids, people to cook and clean and tend to our every need. I think Dom knows how ridiculous it is, but it appears to be a function of his title and position that he cannot just wave away.

  "The soldiers need to see me like this," he told me last night, as we climbed into the plush bed with silk covered cushions and bedding, four posters and drapes. "It is expected that their Emperor live in luxury. They wouldn't want it any other way."

  "That's absurd," I told him, as I slipped rather guiltily under the fabulously comfortable covers. "They want to see you live in luxury, while they lie crammed into simple tents and sleeping bags?"

  "I know it seems counterintuitive, but it's true. It isn't common for an Emperor or Empress to attend a siege. My being here will inspire them. Seeing the wealth and glory of Neorome, which I'm meant to personify, helps achieve that."

  I mused on it for a little while into the night, and eventually began to understand. The Emperor, the marquee he lives in, the servants and aids; it's Neorome in a nutshell, luxury and greatness circled by soldiers and war. They care about that, the Neoroman troops. They live off the idea that they are contributing, in any small part they can, to the greatness of the city they all serve and love.

  But...still. It does make me a little uncomfortable. I can stomach living in such conditions back in Neorome itself, but right now, it makes me feel far too haughty. I'd be happy enough just bedding down in the barracks, or at least in one of the senior commanders' tents, rather than living in the midst of such jarring opulence.

  It's only about a minute later that the air begins to sound with the fizzing and pounding of artillery shells, spat from the gigantic Neoroman ballistas positioned at the front of the camp. They are nothing like the Olympian energy based cannons, flinging those burning balls of blue energy at the fort. No, these are much bigger, designed to resemble the older catapults and trebuchets used in ancient warfare, yet with a much, much higher range and degree of destructive potential.

  Lined up outside the camp, they fling their projectiles for mile upon mile, sending explosive shells right at the walls. Those shells, I know, are self producing, created within the mechanism of the siege weapons themselves. It's science I don't understand, and will never even try to. All I know, is that they have toppled city walls and military targets before, and done so at a staggering range. I can only hope they do the same here.

  The first connections hit with heavy, resounding explosions, lighting the dusty fume temporarily red and orange. Even from here, the tremors shake the earth, the plains trembling at its heart, its great city, is besieged by a half dozen cannons at once. They fire rapidly, over and over again. It is the sort of relentless attitude that characterises the Neoroman war effort.

  For a moment, General Decimus stands there, just watching on. Then he nods, as though in approval of the initial exchanges, and turns and begins marching back towards the base, his Brute guards and Ares moving right behind him.

  The rest of us remain where we are, Max also alongside us, and acting once more as Dom's chief protector. With his arm pretty much back in full working order, he can assume his original mantle with alacrity once more.

  "We should return to the camp as well, my Emperor," he says. "The sentries will watch the walls, let us know what they see."

  "What they see," repeats Dom, staring forward. He squints. "What do you see?"

  The question seems to be aimed at anyone willing to answer. I suppose he's trying to find out if any damage is being done.

  I take on the challenge, zooming in as much as I can. It's not easy doing so, especially with the smog always flowing and moving about. It's extremely difficult to know what I'm looking at, really, a suggestion of the outer walls occasionally coming into view, the shells bursting into flames with each pounding connecting.

  I draw back and shrug. "Can't see much," I say. "We need those Skymasters gone, really."

  I look to Perses at that, and find him rigid as a statue, his neck fixed and eyes blankly staring. I recognise the pose. The more still you are, the easier it is to focus on any particular area or element you're trying to investigate from a distance.

  Eventually, he relaxes, just a little, and then pulls back, turning to us. He's seen something, I quickly realise.

  "What?" I say. "What is it."

  "A hunch," he says. "Something that already concerned me."

  "And?" asks Dom, peering at him.

  "You know of our Forgers, Emperor Domitian?"

  Dom nods. "I've been told."

  "They are uniquely gifted at creating structures with their telekinesis. Even someone so powerful as Maximus wouldn't be able to match them in that regard." He turns to look to the distance again. "They are rebuilding the walls as they're hit," he says. "I thought it might be the case. The walls are half a dozen metres thick. It will take a monumental, and concerted effort, on a particular spot, to break through. That will give them time to reforge the walls as sections of it are damaged. I already fear that this tactic will not work."

  His words are grave, and quite concerning. "You didn't mention this to General Decimus?" Max asks. "Or any of us?"

  "I did not know of your capabilities. I only mention it now because it is relevant. I will be happy to reiterate it to the General."

  "Perhaps don't," says Secretary Burns. "At least, not yet." He looks to Dom. "If you'll allow it, Emperor Domitian, of course. I would not cause undue friction. Let us see how things play out for now. Perses, perhaps you could aid the sentries and scouts in understanding what to look for, with regards to the Skymasters, as you said before. If we can take out at least a few of those, then we'll have a much better idea of what is going on."

  "Well spoken as always, Leyton," says Perses. "I will need to be directed to these specific sentries?"

  "Max, go ahead," says Dom. "You know who they are."

  "But, my Emperor. I am not to leave your side..."

  "I'm perfectly safe here, Max, don't worry. We have an entire Neoroman legion to help defend me should the need
arise. I think I can do without you for a little while at least." He smiles and pats the Imperial Guard commander on the flank, his silver armour clanking lightly against a bracelet on Dom's wrist. "Go ahead, my friend. I'll return to my tent. I believe my fiancé is due some therapy on her ankle."

  "I am?" I say. "You didn't tell me that. I already had some done this morning. It feels a lot better, honest..."

  He looks at me with a suggestive smile, my words cut off and trailing to silence.

  Ah, so this is about that, I think. Dom's been hankering to get me alone ever since he arrived yesterday afternoon...

  "Come along, darling," he says, grinning at me. "We shall convene with the others later."

  He takes my hand and leads me to the camp, my crutch hardly required anymore. My ankle is sore, yes, and doesn't have full motion, but it's strong enough to walk on now at least.

  We reach the tent, set aside from the main marquee used by General Decimus, fitted with a large central space for the use of war meetings. I wonder how often it's going to be needed. So far, Decimus has shown himself interested to meet with us, but usually to get information, rather than hear opinion. He doesn't seem to like his authority being challenged. Yes, perhaps that is just what we need, but when you're dealing with influential people from various city states, you need to be little more tactful.

  "Does the General have any experience working with others?" I ask Dom, as we pass by the guards outside our tent, and step into the luxurious interior. There's a table of food laid out on one side, cushions and comfortable chaise longues in the style I've seen popular in Neorome on another. The main living space gives access to the bedroom on the right, and portable toilet facilities on the left. All food preparation is done elsewhere, brought in by the servants who tend us. There are a couple inside as we step into the living quarters. Dom smiles at them, waving them away.

  "Take a break," he says. "We'll call if we need you."

  They bow and step off, leaving us alone.

  "Well," says Dom, leading me towards one of those comfortable, crimson sofas. He settles down, as if wanting to get comfy before answering my question. "General Decimus has led countless campaigns, Kira. Of course he's worked with others, darling."

  "That's not what I meant," I say, sitting down next to him. "I just mean...this is a unique situation. We have Burns and Hendricks leading the Havenites. We have Perses and Elian representing the Olympians - the ones we're trying to save, at least. And we've got Alberta and Amber doing the same with all the Fringers. That's a lot of balls to juggle. To be honest, he doesn't seem like he's going to try to hear anyone's council."

  "Oh, come on, that's not fair," Dom says, relaxing sideways onto the coach and laying his arm around me. I sit upright, rather more rigid. I think he has ideas that aren't in my head right now. "Decimus has sought advice from Perses, Burns, and Alberta, hasn't he?"

  "Well, sort of," I say, as his hand begins stroking my back. "He gets what he needs from them, but takes all decisions on his own..."

  "As all leaders should," Dom says, casually. "That's how it works, Kira, you know that. He compiles the relevant information, and the people he needs to get the job done, and then formulates the plan himself. Then he gives his orders. There's nothing out of the ordinary going on here, darling. You seem to have a personal issue with him, that's all."

  I don't deny it, knowing he can sense it anyway. He may not read my mind without permission, but his powers still give him a natural intuition that others don't have. "I'm just worried about the decisions he might make," I admit. "I know he's a great war general, but this situation is different. The way he speaks, Olympus is a prize to be won. What if he gets people killed trying to take it?"

  "Gets people killed? This is war, Kira. Is there any other way."

  "You know what I mean. Gets them killed unnecessarily, recklessly. He seems the sort who'd sacrifice a lot of soldiers to break through those walls and take out the Prime."

  "Take out the Prime or take out Brie?" The question takes me off guard. I lean away from him, his fingers cast from my back. "This is what it's all about, isn't it?" he says to me. "You're worried that he's going to get Brie killed. Or even have her killed. Right?"

  "Well..."

  "He won't," he says. "I'd never allow him to sanction a hit on Brie. I remain his Emperor, darling. I have some sway over him still."

  I slowly turn my eyes away.

  "You don't believe me?" he asks.

  I shake my head. "No, it's not that," I say. "It's...it's just." I draw a sharp breath, and blow out a weary sigh. "I just don't know how it will happen," I say. "Any of it. You heard what Perses said out there. How are we going to get into the city, let alone to the hill at the core? And even if we do, we've got the Prime to deal with, the Overseer, and I don't know how many thousands of soldiers. And...maybe even Brie as well." I fix my eyes on his. "What if she really has turned, Dom? She's more powerful than any of us now. She could get in our heads, and crush us all. Cause us to implode from the inside out." My body slumps, deflating like a popped balloon. "I'm just...I'm just not seeing a way right now."

  "It'll come," he says softly. He sits up and takes me into his arms. "It'll come. We've come all this way haven't we? You don't think we've done it for nothing?" He draws a smile to his face, helping to ease me from of my troubles. "And since when were you so negative?" he says. "This isn't the Kira Blackstone I know. This isn't the Red Warrior."

  My eyes dip at the mention of my title, yet I don't let them stay down. "Alberta's been saying the same," I say, my lips becoming a wry smile. "She's as positive as you are, Dom. I guess it's no surprise that you're the two saying I'm being negative."

  "Well she's right. And I don't like to see it." He stands to his feet, and draws me up to mine. "Snap out of it, OK? I know you've been struggling recently. I know you've been having doubts. But forget all that for now, leave it aside. If you choose to leave this life behind when it's all done, then great. But don't think ahead right now. Think about Brie, and getting her out. That's your job, Kira. And you know what, it's the most important job of all." He pulls me into a kiss, warm and smooth and hastily given. "Now enough of this nonsense, OK? It isn't the Neoroman way."

  "But being cruel to be kind is?" I ask, my eyes glinting green in the firelight of the tent.

  "When the occasion calls," he grins. "Now come here, and stop your fretting. I haven't seen you in weeks, and that is the most unacceptable thing of all."

  He grabs my hand and leads me into the bedroom.

  We don't return for quite some time.

  178

  AMBER

  "Did you learn anything about that preacher, Amber?" asks my grandmother, as the militia convoy, now joined by the City Guards and several Neoroman cohorts, begins moving around the city. "I forgot to ask."

  She poses the question in a vaguely interested manner, her eyes mostly diverting out of the window in the direction of Olympus. Right now, it's hidden in a great, dusty fume, little but a smoky blur from this distance. I doubt it's the great homecoming she wanted. Having left from there so many decades ago, I suppose she'd have liked to have gotten a clearer view of the city on her long-awaited return.

  "So?" she asks, turning to look at me. "Nothing?"

  I shake my head. "Not much," I say. "You're probably right. It isn't something for us to worry about. The militia will take care of it if it becomes a problem."

  "Indeed. You were absent for quite some time, though." She raises an eye at me. "What were you doing? Jude tells me you didn't return to the base until fairly late."

  "Oh...nothing much," I say, choosing to keep my evening spent drinking wine, and chatting with the old lady in the bakery, to myself. It was an evening I needed, a temporary haven from my troubles. I don't want it spoiled by having it questioned. "I just...walked about a bit, looking for the preacher. Lost track of time, I guess."

  "I see. And you didn't go and say goodbye to your mother?"

  I shake
my head. "I didn't think it would help, to be honest," I tell her. "She'd only worry more."

  She nods quietly at that. I sense she's considering reprimanding me for it, but decides not to. She isn't exactly the authority on stable family relations.

  "Right, well we have three stops to make," she says. "General Decimus wants us blockading the city from all sides, essentially. The bulk of his forces are covering the main gate in the south, so we're going to be partitioned off to watch from the west, north, and east."

  I quickly do the math. With the militiamen and women Keith mustered, and the City Guards, we'll have over a thousand troops stationed at each of the three locations, with the addition of a Neoroman cohort - comprising three hundred soldiers each - to offer support.

  "So, less than fifteen hundred on each side," I say. "What if the Olympian army chooses to attack? Does it make sense to spread our numbers like that?"

  "At this point, yes," says grandma. "Decimus wishes to siege at multiple angles, and the camps will all be many miles from the city. Any attack will be seen from a way off. It will provide time for a retreat if necessary."

  "OK," I shrug. "I mean, I guess he knows best, right?'

  "He certainly should," grandma says. "They've been sieging the southern gate for a couple of hours already. It'll take a day or so, probably, to see if the strategy bears fruit."

  "Right, and us?" I say. "Where are we going to make camp?"

  "I suppose it’ll be here and there," she says. "Burton and Keith will manage our forces at two of the bases. I will run the third, though will move between the others as well. And the main camp, of course."

  "Of course," I say. "You wouldn't want to miss out now, would you?"

  "Not if it can be avoided," she grins. "Our forces will be under the command, however, of the City Guards and Neoromans overall. They have their own commanders who will give them orders if needed. But mostly, our men are there to make up numbers, and bolster the blockade so it appears more imposing. The Neoromans and Havenites will run the front lines. Ours will remain to the rear, and make sure that no further Fringers pass through to the city. That is our simple remit now."