The Prophesy: Book 3 - The Hammer of Atlantis

 

Viola was surprised that his unit was assigned to the royal detail the next morning at prime. His centurion told him it was common practice as each Centurie rotated guard duty, even wolves, horses and other non-human units.

"Isn't this a privilege?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes and no. Yes, because it is then that we learn how to really be Atlanteans; the royals preach by example; no, because it is our duty."

"I would have thought only the best of the best would be assigned to this delicate task."

"It is not so. The royals do not actually require protection, as you certainly realize by now; in fact, it is us that gain additional protection. But there is more to this. Sitar once explained to me something which I found very informative on the reasons behind this."

"Would you tell me?"

"We will have all day to talk, Viola. For now, the army is on the move. It has begun moving south at prime and we are the last to leave the area. We are, with the royals, to insure rear guard from the orcs until tierce. Then we move to the middle of the army until nones, and finally to the front until vespers."

"That is strange. I would have thought we would be in the middle to gain as much protection as possible from the other units."

"I'll also explain that later. Here come the royals, and we are getting ready to mount."

"What will happen to this building? It looks strange standing there, alone, with nothing for miles around. I know they said something about it being of Atlantean origins and that it would be moved to a place named Thebes during the meeting with the duke yesterday morning, but they lost me."

"Another question best delayed answering. But this one will get its answer shortly. Stay with me at the rear of the column, we will move forward after it gets answered."

As the royals exited, Viola saw the mounting ritual that marked the arrival of the kings and princes into the courtyard. He mounted without much trouble, and waited to see what would happen. He observed a number of wolves take the lead, while hyenas waited behind. Then his unit framed the royals, which were already framed by six dogs and six warhorses. He looked at his Centurion and understood the sign indicating 'later'.

The centurie left the castle and made its way to the southern edge of the plaza. The horses stopped and did a full half turn, facing toward the towering and now silent castle. Viola wondered why this was happening. Just as he was going to open his mouth to ask the reason for this sudden and unexplained change of heading, he saw the most fantastic feat of magic he had yet to witness.

Harp walked in front of the column on foot, pointed a hand toward the structure and invoked magic. The boy literally glowed with it, so much so Viola had to squint his eyes because of the blinding light. Viola tried to deafen the loud rumble he heard by putting his hands on his ears, but it did not attenuate the noise in any way; at the same time, he felt a powerful wave of magical energy almost crush him. The entire castle and the encircling plaza rose off the ground, leaving a vertiginous hole less then ten feet ahead of Harp. Had he not been framed by other legionnaires, including the Centurion, he would have fallen off his horse. Viola watched as the entire mass began moving north and west while gaining altitude. It made a giant bang as it went ever faster, and vanished.

Viola understood that this astounding magic was not over since Harp was still glowing. It lasted for an hour, and then Harp slopped glowing and walked back within the unit as if nothing had happened. As Viola's eyes readjusted to the sudden diminution of light, he noticed the hole had been filled by what appeared to be severely weathered lava. Viola violently shook his head, trying to understand what he had seen, heard, and felt during the past hour.

The Centurion was talking, but Viola couldn't hear him, so he signalled the fact to the commanding officer, which looked perplexed. After a short hand exchange, Viola explained what he had seen, heard and felt for the duration. The Centurion took to guiding Viola back within the centurie as it began a quick run to catch up with the advancing army. It took only fifteen minutes to make the junction with the last unit of the Atlantean army and then things settled gradually.

***

Viola recovered his hearing, his eyes stopped burning and the impression of being pressed between two brick walls consecutive to the magical commotion vanished, giving his lungs space to expand. His commanding officer kept close watch on the prince, wondering what had actually happened. He sure wanted to understand. After further explanations, the Centurion finally understood what the young prince was saying, even if he personally did not see, hear, or feel magic to any significant extent.

"So, now you figured out what happened to the ducal palace?" asked the Centurion.

"I understand it got moved to Thebes. What I don't understand is how he knows where to put it?"

"You were looking at the castle; meanwhile three other princes ported to Thebes and guided the positioning of the castle within the framework of the city, then they came back. I saw one entire city moved there once, and it was both impressive and scary."

"Ok," answered Viola, pensive.

The trip continued at a leisurely pace until tierce, when the royal army gradually let the royal unit progress ever deeper within its ranks. Viola looked at the legionnaire, who understood the unspoken question.

"The royals have a motto, a rule of thumb if you wish. It is very simple. First in, last out. Let me explain. If you noticed when we took that fortified city, the first in battle were the royals, which literally walked in the city first. Today, they were the last out. This is a principle instigated by Legate Harold. To claim leadership, one must lead, not follow; if you want men to put their lives on the line, then you must be ready to do the same. He does not believe in behind the line generals or what he calls lead soldiers bureaucrats, which he considers no more then butchers. He is the first in a charge, the last to leave a battlefield. We would follow him to Hell if need be, because we are sure he would not only kick the doors open, but face the king of Hades himself. His actions are an inspiration to all. He leads by example; most politicians you probably met rule, and make sure these rules favour their closest friends; they ignore the reality of day-to-day life and couldn't care less. You have seen it at work today. When we evacuated Elvin Woods, the last to leave were the princes, who personally took to destroying the bridge as the Orcs were charging, gaining the evacuating Elves several days of respite as we made it to Eloise. The wolves caught up with us, and a messenger told us the prices were safe. I was in the rear guard, then, a simple foot soldier, four years ago. Four years of bloody war, an eternity, if you want to know."

"If I can ask, what age are you?"

"I turned eighteen last week."

"You were fourteen?"

"Yes. I am of the first legion." The perplexed look Viola gave him told the Centurion he needed to continue. "I had been in the legion since age seven. We had just elected, along with the caravan members, Harold as our king in the previous weeks. It seems so long ago. I rose in the ranks from the wars. Not that we lost many, we didn't, but our numbers have been exploding, and we need experienced officers. I proved myself first as scout, then scout leader, which comprises five men, then Decurion, and now, I'm a centurion. In time, if I survive, and show I can command effectively a Centurie, I will gain more, the rank of Legate, or Legion commander, or one thousand one hundred and eleven men. King Harold, as commander in chief could claim the title of Primus Prefectus²³²³ ("Primus Prefectus: In Latin, first prefect, commander in chief."), the highest ranking available in the army, but he does not give a damn about titles, and is content with the title he received by unanimous vote from the first legion, Legate. He goes by Legate during a campaign, but behind his back all call him Primus Legatus²⁴²⁴ ("Primus Legatus: In Latin, first legate, the commander of legates."). His wife, Queen Annabelle, has kept the title Centurion, but we all know she is in fact Secondus Legatus²⁵²⁵ (""Secondus Legatus: second legate, commander in second of legates.""), and could claim Secondus Prefectus²⁶²⁶ (""Secondus Legatus: second legate, commander in second of legates.""). She deserves it."

"Knowing how fine their hearing is I'm not sure it is actually unknown to them."

The day wore on, and the army halted at sext for lunch. Viola stayed with his unit, and took the time to enquire about his other nagging question. He brought it back as the legionnaire ate, gaining the attention of everyone. All knew part of the reason, but that the Centurion would be called to explain it to them in a formal manner piqued their interest.

"Well, Viola, the story starts well before our time. The royals seem to have a far deeper understanding of history then we do. According to them, the notion of elite unit dates to the Sumerians, a primitive people ruled by kings. They had elite foot soldiers, which were the best of the best, as they spent most of their time at war. The problem is that these elites, first sworn to loyalty to their king, quickly took control of the throne, making and deposing kings at will. The elite force also degenerated, as being a member became a question of status rather then quality. People bought and sold charges and the result was as expected. One day, the elite met its match and the king lost his kingdom. The entire process repeated itself numerous times over the history of mankind. The legions, which take their name from the Roman military Empire, were also organised at some point according to this elite guard principle, the praetorian guards. They too took over the role of kingmakers. Sitar is aware of this historical pattern and has decided to prevent it within the army by having the centurie change every day, according to a fixed rota. It is our turn today."

"Ok, I get it. No unit can snub the others because they are closer to the royal family."

"Exactly. There are no elites in this army, and no elitist attitude."

"What about prince Ian? I sense something there. He does not seem to have the same view as his dad on the question."

"The story there is very strange indeed. I was a Decurion then, and we were in a huge cave under Kantar. Prince Yamato decrypted hieroglyphs that addressed the present, and one of these translations was a specific prophecy concerning the Heir. It was stated that there would be six bipeds, six wolves, six dogs, six equines acting as protectors to the Heir. It told to which species each belonged. It named each and every member of the Protectors. This is what you observe. It may seem elitist, but I do not think this is how they see themselves. The status of protector was decided seventeen thousand years ago, by the Seers of Atlantis, not by the boys, wolves or equines."

"Seventeen thousand years ago, you say?"

"Facts are facts, Viola. What is happening today has been foreseen a very long time ago. And we cannot deny these prophecies are relatively exact. The presence of the dwarf, elf, and dragon are proof enough. They aren't telling us we will be stepping on a rolling stone, but they tell us what matters."

"I wonder where I fit in this."

"There are many prophecies yet to decipher, and probably one or more concerns you, if you have a pivotal role to play in the upcoming events. If not, you will simply pass unspoken of. I doubt my name will ever be registered in a Prophesy, prince Viola, but you stand a better chance then most. I live with my ears open, and I learned that prophecies are like drops of dew on the spider web of history; they point out to the one who knows how to look where the big decisions must be taken, where a pivotal event will occur. They bring to light nexuses, and give us an idea of what lies ahead given a decision or another. They are roadmaps, but it is us whom must decide which road to take."

"This is all so strange. I see Ian taking decision after decision I would be hard put to handle, and I see my two little brothers do the same. I feel lost, inadequate."

"First, Viola, trust yourself and your capacity at taking the right decision; second, trust your brothers like we do; they have proven themselves over and over without ever breaking a sweat. Yes we follow Harold, but we would as readily follow any of them. Be yourself. They do not try to prove themselves by overreacting; they prove themselves by being true to their intrinsic nature. Do the same."

"I'll try to remember that."

Just then the bugle marking the end of the sext meal was heard.

"Well, Viola, back to work. I'll talk to you later, I have to do some checks."

The Centurion got up, folded the tablecloth he had placed on the ground for lunch, and packed it in his backpack. Viola returned to his usual place in the centurie. He had a lot of thinking to do, and he figured the best time would be during the after-sext²⁷²⁷ ("After-sext: The afternoon.") ride.

***

The ride south and east, ever closer to the coast, resumed with the help of some magic that sliced another four day off the trip. As the light faded, Harp called for a halt.

"Tomorrow, at first light, we will be reaching the crest of the last mountain protecting us from the Breath of the Atom God. Currently, we have left the orcs seven days behind us, but they actually believe they are less then half a day off. I had some fires left burning, and they will certainly touch the ash to see if it is still hot. Tomorrow, too, is our first entry into one of those shelters. The wind blows from the sea, which corners the enemy within these bunkers. Over the night, Sitar, Paschal, Ian, Thorsten, Enron, Typhoon and I will create a powerful depression out at sea that will reverse the wind direction, in effect creating a category one hurricane. We will be creating more of those along the way south, and, hopefully, they will merge into the mother of all hurricanes as we move south."

"Won't that be problematic for us?"

"For us, certainly not, but for the orcs, that is an entirely different matter. Yes the wind will pull the radiation away, but they won't have it easy travelling from one bunker to the next! We are moving south, and the hurricanes travel north along the coast. When they meet earth they taper off rather quickly, but still can be a pain for those travelling on land. If we time things right, the orcs will be facing tropical storm after tropical storm, while we will be benefiting of the maximum cleaning effect of a hurricane."

"How long will we be inside that bunker?"

"A day, since it measures eighty-eight miles. We will exit the next day, travel the three miles separating it from the next, engage within the next pearl of this deadly necklace, and then it's a sixty-mile trip, and so forth. In a week, we travel six hundred miles, engage six units, and emerge right under the nose of their capital, less then ten miles from the bunker."

"That was one hell of a bunker."

"It was destined to lodge the population of York and something like everyone within a hundred miles, dad. But the population never got a chance to get to it so it is for all purposes and intents an empty shell. Tonight, too, I'm porting the centurie that will clean up and prepare our return in the fourth layer. I've selected dwarfs for this, since they are best suited for this. It's like an artificial mine. I've asked Ferriday to also dispatch fifty of the Mages. Magic will be heavily used to maintain light, repair what can be, and in effect give the Dwarfs logistics. "

"Ok. I have a last question. You say you plan to create a hurricane. That's nice but I don't actually understand what will happen."

"Oh, it's simple, really. See, the hurricane will be created a hundred miles off at sea, sucking the wind and vicious air to itself. A hurricane moves north and east, toward the coast, and loses force as it lashes at land and meets colder water. The idea is for us to be slightly ahead of landfall, to benefit of the maximum of land rather then sea wind. We will have dry feet, as the land air is noticeably dryer, and, more important for us, a lot less radioactive then air coming from the coast. Now, the orcs will be drenched in the aftermath of the hurricane, and will get simmered with radiation, just enough that it won't affect their ardour at the pursuit, but starting the cooking process. The rainwater will contain several millirads of radiation, just enough. By the time we are done with this place and move back north, the Orcs will be beginning to feel radiation sickness. When they try to make it back, no hurricane will be there to help them, and there will be a continuous string of Orcs dying from radiation burns."

"I get it, Harp. You guys will have a big load of work to do tonight. When do you plan to do it?"

"At lauds. That will give the hurricane time to do its work, and make landfall slightly north of here. We move half an hour before sunrise. That will put our units at the bunker's door at sunrise. At first light, we bust the entrance of the bunker and take it. We plan on making the hurricane progress at twenty-five miles per hour and we give ourselves half an hour to give it the proper spinning momentum. It should make landfall an hour and a half after prime, that is, exactly at first light. The watchmen won't have time to see the change in the alert flag's heading."

"What are the rules of engagement, Sitar?"

"Kill anyone who resists."

"That suits me. Will you boys be back for the initial engagement?"

"No dad, we will be busy maintaining control over a force one hurricane. You and Samson have enough power to send that door to the moon; refrain yourself from doing so, please."

"Ok. Eat up, you will be spending a lot of energy tonight."

"We have already dad. Only Ian and Typhoon need to hunt. We enjoyed a herd of elks as dragons a few hours ago."

***

The seven boys took dragon form half an hour before takeoff for their theatre of operation over the Atlantic. Viola was more then impressed by the dragon forms of his brothers and vowed to himself he would learn to do that. Takeoff was set at fifteen minutes to lauds, and all dragon lords took off in an impressive ballet. Their dark mass was invisible once they had taken flight, and those left on the ground lost sight of them very rapidly.

Upon arriving on their staging point, the dragons began flying in an ever-widening circle, creating an updraft. At first, the effect was modest, but the siphon that appeared out of the sea confirmed they were doing something right. The princes increased speed to well over seven hundred miles per hour. It took some time for the air to really take the hint, but, as each boy injected magic in the process, the whirlwind gained force and speed. As it reached a sustained speed of ninety miles per hour, sucking vast amounts of air from the coast, the boys left the area, content with maintaining it stable in rotary and linear velocity, and keeping it on trajectory.

«We were successful, dad. The depression is sucking air from the coast. The wind is shifting.»

«Yes, the smoke from the forest fires west of us is stinging our eyes, so it must have worked.»

The night was spent in expectations, and an hour before prime, the legions were awoken to get fed and ready for the upcoming battle.

«We are ready and awaiting the proper time. We should be moving within ten minutes, boys!»

«We are beginning to see the coast.»

Ten minutes later, the legions began walking over the last protection against the sea's wind, but they had the wind in their back. The view was both sad and breathtaking. Beyond the hill, the forest was made exclusively of leafless, pine-less trees, burned by radiation to the core, and, further out, one could see the sickly glow of the Atom God's lair, where once stood the proud city of the Ancients.

«We are almost making landfall!» Harp informed Harold and Samson.

«Good. The first rays of the sun are peeking over the horizon, and the flag resolutely points to the sea. We are charging down the last drop, we are three minutes to the entrance."

***

"Charge!" hollered Harold as he was less then fifty feet from the still closed doors.

As the horses galloped head first toward the thick steel doors, Harold let loose his Hammer, which resonated violently against the thick mass. Meanwhile, Samson used his Trident to send a triple beam of blinding light that heated the door to a temperature well beyond the melting point of the reinforced and tempered metal. Yet the door resisted! Harold threw his Hammer at the point where Samson focussed his energy, and just as the horses were about to collide with the door, the Unicorns beamed additional magic and energy. The door buckled, and violently exploded inward. As the legionnaires inside had been having their breakfast, none was caught in the fiery aftermath, but they all heard the door's complaints as it was suddenly torn to shreds by the combined magical power. The door was thrown back several hundred feet, slamming at the far end on the reinforced concrete that constituted the core of the building material of the bunker.

"Locate the defenders!" ordered Harold as he charged through the smouldering doorframe.

It did not take much for the Atlanteans to locate the defenders: the wolves smelled them right away and led the others to the rectory. The arrival of an overwhelming number of legionnaires and ferocious animals cut short any idea of resistance from most. Only the political appointees, those that spied on their fellow soldiers, resisted and found death to be the payment of their villainy.

«Let's get moving. Move south along the main passage," commanded Harold. "You know what to do if you meet resistance."

The long army quickly obeyed and began its run along the never-ending passage. An hour later, the last unit entered the dark, damp, and foreboding structure.

«Boys, release the hurricane and join us, we are in.»

A few minutes later, the seven boys ported to the entrance, climbed on their horses and began following the army in its progress to the exit at the other end. The freshly captured military units were ported to Thebes to receive an update on their new status, by the care of the mage centurie.

At the end of the day, twelve more centuries had been dispatched, as some were being moved north and met head first with the fast advancing Atlanteans; other units got caught from behind, and also ended up in Thebes after a quick clean up of their ranks. There was a cluster of four centuries at the exit, waiting for a favourable wind to make a dash for the next bunker. They too gladly accepted to be ported to Thebes after seeing the abhorred political representatives lose their life in quick and very dirty fights.

As the army settled for the night, Harold brought the boys together.

"Where are the orcs now?" asked Harold.

"Their elite units are six days from the bunker. The hurricane is now a tropical storm and is moving inland, drenching everything and creating floods. The orcs have found our rafts and taken them, which suits me well. The water level will rise shortly due to the major rainfall in the mountains caused by the tropical storm, and they will have a lot of trouble handling them, but they will gain in speed. By the time they manage to control them, quite a few rafts will have entered the last stretch of the river to the sea and their passengers won't be able to survive the Breath. The lucky ones will have made landfall before the bunker by crashing the rafts on either side of the river. They will gain three days, maybe four with this, but at what price! The river will split their elite units, and, hopefully, a substantial number will drown, or, worse, roast. Meanwhile the core of their army is still three days behind their advanced elite units. The forest fire has held them back more then we thought."

"I see."

"Do you plan to redo the hurricane thing tonight?" asked Annabelle.

"Mom, we do not want to take too much lead on the Orcs, and it is tiring to manipulate weather. Tomorrow, everyone rests. Then we redo the hurricane thing as you say. Anyway, we need a minimum of warm water and that takes time to supply."

"Harp's right mom. And then, the next shelter is less then three miles from here. It will take our advanced units less then half an hour to reach it. We should be in one end and out the other end by sext. Then the next bunker is six miles away, about an hour off. That will lead us to a branch. The western road leads to a small settlement, and the main south branch leads us to another bunker. This one leads to Washton, their capital. It's organised as a disjointed fork."

"What do you mean?" asked Diamondcutter.

"The bunker we will be coming from leads to their northern door. There is a southern door that gets to another bunker. The way the road is made, it is possible to go from one bunker to the other without passing into the capital. The southern bunker is slightly further off from the capital then the northern one. Ah yes, there is another door, the western door, that lets people travel along a river."

"The Tarmac²⁸²⁸ ("Tarmac: the Potomac River.")," replied Viola.

"What kind of traffic is there on the western road?"

"The first part is mostly farmers, but as the road progresses in the forest, it's lumber camps."

"OK. Harp, Sitar, Viola, plan to tackle both the capital and the western road. If I remember Harp's report of his interrogation of the Diviner, he sold two of your brothers to lumber camps. It is worth a check. And Viola, do me a favour: let your brothers deal with the issues. You have a lot of good will, but your training is dismal. It would be regretful that some inconvenience would tarnish the family reunion."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Your main objective, Viola, is to help us identify them. Neither Harp nor Sitar has a clear image of their face. Only you do."

"What is happening with the troops in the capital?"

"There is a lot of effervescence. It seems that the government is skimming everything that walks to buff up its army. There was even a centurie that got turned back as it was coming our way as its commanding officers were informed of the change of orders. The poor guys literally ran back into the bunker, but they are stuck in it presently. They would have been better advised to try and walk the forest behind the shield of the mountains. The fire cockroaches are probably in hibernation by now. We will probably pick the courier in the small bunker that is our next target. He made it there, but he hasn't left it yet to head north."

"So, he has finally learned of the destruction of Bam-Bam. When do you think they will be ready to go?"

"They are freaking, so they have already been sending troops south. The green units are leaving by legions as soon as the flag lets them a fair chance to reach the southern bunker. The only real units left is the Praetorian Guard and the military academy officers. Sandal Camp is manned by veterans too sick to fight."

"Sandal Camp?" asked Harold.

"That is where the new recruits and conscripts get broken into military lifestyle. It's the sandal camp because for many, it's the first time they wear the military sandals."

"It makes sense, Sir," commented Viola as he looked at his own shoes.

***

Everyone, rest being relative to each individual's view of it, welcomed the day of leisure. For Harp, it consisted in porting out at high altitude, convert to a dragon, and glide the hotspots, along the coast in company of Jormungandr. For Thorsten, it was the exploration of the second level of the bunker with Anbraxias. Sitar began training Viola in earnest with the help of Apalapa. Ian took his beloved wolf form and ported a group in the mountains to hunt down a few stray orcs that had descended from their sides in search of easier prey. He loved the crunchiness of the dried leaves under his paws, rendered brittle by the night's frost. The dense spruces pines and firs that gradually replace the deciduous forest cover offered numerous places to stalk the poor orcs. He had a big, thick white fur coat, which, given the black background of the trees, gave him the appearance of a ghost. His wolf friends had a variety of colouring from deep black to gray and were difficult to see on the backdrop. Paschal spent the day in deep meditation, his favourite relaxation activity, while others slept. By vespers, everyone felt ready for another bout of intense activity.

The hurricane triggered by the care of the royals was a bit less powerful then the previous, and did not actually need the same level of strength to achieve the goal. Precisely forty minutes before dawn, the Atlantean army opened the southern door of the bunker and came out on the road. The cavalry took the lead, intent on gaining control of the next safe heaven as soon as the sun was up. Behind the cavalry came the foot soldiers, on the run to stay as close as possible to the horses.

The sun peeked over the ocean and its rays lighted the flagpole, revealing that the wind was favourable. Seeing nothing out of ordinary, the watchmen stationed at the watch points signalled an all clear. The massive steel doors, measuring eight feet thick, swung open to let out the messenger, in a rush to carry his message to the other units. He had barely reached the bend in the road, out of sight of the bunker guards, that he collided head first with the Atlanteans, a scout centurie.

"Hey! Let me pass! I am a royal courier!" said the man, intent on his vital mission.

"Yes we know. We are here to save you the trouble of going further!" replied the centurion.

"What do you mean? You can't possibly know what the message is, since I'm the only messenger with the information!"

"You are here to tell the legions to move south as quickly as possible, right?"

"Yes, but how do you know?"

"I think the usurper uses blind couriers, Centurion," commented a Decurion.

"Check your language, or I'll report you to the king! I have contacts, I'll let you know!"

"Oh! A political! You are in luck!" replied the Centurion, grinning.

"What do you mean, I'm in luck?"

"We have orders to bring you to the Legate, alive. Had it not been for these strict instructions, your head would be rolling in the ditch!"

"The Legate said alive, Centurion, not intact!" commented the always helpful Decurion.

"You have a point. I wonder what part of his anatomy he could spare and still be useful?"

"It all depends on what the Legate wants from him. Were you informed of the goal of this undue restraint applied to the blood lust of my knives?"

"Unfortunately, the Legate did not deign inform me of this important fact."

"Nonetheless, I doubt he will be interested in his nuts, except as roasted delicacies, don't you think?"

"That is true, Decurion. I wonder why the Legate finds freshly roasted nuts such a delight. I have yet to try them myself. Maybe we should take those for our own enjoyment."

"The only issue I have with this is it might be considered pilfering the Legate, and remember what happened to the last pilferer!"

"Oh, yes, the poor sod! And it was not much, an apple! Getting fed alive to man-eating ants was not pleasant for the man. It took him three days to lose consciousness..."

"Or maybe the ants finally finished devouring his tongue?"

"Who knows? I think his nuts are safe... for now!"

The poor messenger had been turning ever more gray as the exchange progressed, and finally, his nerves gave out and he fainted, falling off his horse.

"You two! Get him back on his horse and bring him to the rear!" commended the Decurion, pointing at two cavalrymen.

"OK, let's get moving, we have three minutes to reach the door. Walk in order, no rush. They must not suspect a thing until it's too late," ordered the Centurion.

The centurie took the canter and headed for the door, still wide open. The watchmen saw the advancing unit and figured they were coming from the previous bunker, so did not even take a second look. The centurie entered, and two decades went to the room that held the manual control for the doors, a delicate weight and counterweight mechanism that used manpower to move the steel doors, whose mass was of several tons per pane. The doors secured after dispatching yet a couple of political ass-lickers, the other legionnaires explored the different watchtowers and recovered the bewildered legionnaires that had been playing card. Every survivor was regrouped in the mess hall, as the Atlantean army walked in the bunker and progressed rapidly to invest it from north to south.

At sext, having logged another sixty miles underground, The Atlantean cavalry exited the southern end, and continued at full run for the next bunker. The next bunker door was less then a mile and a half ahead of them and Harold wanted to take control of it to insure an easy entrance to the forty-two mile long affair, as quickly as possible. They caught up with a slow, and apparently tired centurie on foot returning post-haste to the capital, got rid of the undesirable elements, a few dozen at most, and ported the rest to Thebes. Then the rush resumed and they entered, unhindered, the northern entrance of the shelter. Harold called a halt, wanting to regroup his army, now spread across two bunkers.

«How long before the army makes its junction?» he asked.

«It shouldn't take long before you see the first units dad. We have been running behind you, and had covered forty-four miles by sext; I ordered a lunch break. We will be resuming our run in thirty minutes, and we will be two hours and fifteen minutes to merger when we do. By vespers, everyone will be safe inside the shelter.»

«Thank you for the information Sitar. When we are all in, we will have covered one hundred and fifty-three miles or thereabouts toward Washton. According to Annabelle we will be fifty-five miles off to our prime target. The last bunker, leading to the northern entrance is a mile from the exit, and runs under a hill for a short eight miles before surfacing less then two miles from the doors of the Capital. Strange, this, because I had the impression the distance was much more considerable when I did my apprenticeship!»

«I wonder why these bunkers are where they are. I know York's population was to be protected in them, but what are the others?» asked Typhoon.

«Philadelphia and Baltimore were two major urban centres, Typhoon. These bunkers too were never used. Remember these old maps we found? They showed the East coast before that idiocy started. Today, it's the bunkers that carry those names, in the form of Phil²⁹²⁹ ("Phil: Philadelphia") and Balt³⁰³⁰ ("Balt: Baltimore"). No major urban centre escaped, only backwater places protected from the blasts did. I tried to find Riverside, and it's not even on the map! In fact just about every settlement we now have is a non-entity. Washton, Boson, the others, they all have moved inland,» concluded Paschal. "I still haven't figured out why Ginia Beach³¹³¹ ("Ginia Beach: Virginia Beach.") managed to survive, being so close to what was considered a major naval base! Ginia is twelve miles from Norfolk and the base got hit bad. It should have had the sands converted to glass.»

«It's probably a question of dominant wind during the nuclear exchange, Paschal. We cannot guess what weather pattern was passing in the area when things turned sour.»

«Harp's right. This would be vein speculation. All we know is it survived, and now has a thriving shipyard, given the mountains behind it supply superb oaks,» Sitar added.

«I did an over-flight over there while you guys were taking a rest. The forest camps are still abandoned for now. I wonder where the loggers and lumberjacks have gone to?» questioned Ian. «The lower mountains are unsafe until the weather south cools down more. The fire cockroaches are still roaming the forest, from treetop to roots. It's probably what keeps the orcs in check as well. They know better then to come down the mountains while there has not been a freeze for at least a week. They aren't the only ones held up in the mountains. I saw a sabre-tooth snow leopard walking up in the rocks of the foothills. By the way, remind me to give thanks to Viola for the information on the behaviours of the animals. I wonder how he knew?»

«Ask him when you see him.»

«Too bad he isn't in full possession of his telepathy, Harp.»

«Give him time, he is already talking to his mare, and you know it. I don't give him a week he'll be burning our mind if not our ears with incessant questions!»

«It's time to finish the day's run, Harp. Blow the horns!»

«All right, Sitar; How is the wind?»

«Holding from the mountains but we should hurry up, it shows signs of weakening!»

The horns informed the column the sext lunch period was over. Fifteen minutes later, a second blast got everyone on the move.

«Dad, we are moving. It is an hour past sext, expect us at the door at fifteen past nones!»

«OK.» replied Harold.

***

The last unit, composed of hyenas, ran into the shelter at vespers. Everyone receives a perfunctory drenching to remove any radioactive dust from their coating, be it clothes or fur. Once the decontamination was completed, the army set in for the night.

Figure 6: A Sabre-tooth Leopard

"Tomorrow, we run the forty-two miles to the southern exit. Technically, the last few centuries should still be cornered. The wind is no longer favourable to exit at the moment since the earth is hotter then the sea and the wind reverted to seaside about ten minutes before the last unit made it inside. That is why we had everyone doused in water. The door is closed for now, but once we have left this place, Harp, Sitar and Thorsten will blow it up. By the way, boys, do you have enough of that marvellous product? These doors are thick."

"Five hundred pounds of explosives, enhanced by magic, will send them flying. The concussive blast should make sure of that. But we need to get out of the way, so I'll be using magic as trigger. We tested it at the other bunker today. The doors sliced through a thick clump of pines. It will never be usable as a shelter again."

"Ok, Technically, the legions will be holed up, since the probability of the wind reversing until well past sext tomorrow is minimal at best. If it wasn't for the Atom God, by matins, things would change and the wind would be earth-side."

"Thanks for the weather report, Viola. Boys, we will get to the other end, take it, and keep it closed. Everyone rests again after that," replied Harold.

"What if a centurie comes up from the south?"

"Let it come in, capture it, clean it up, and send the survivors to Thebes."

"I love cleanups!" said, grinning, Sitar.

"Yes, like a boy in a mud hole! But mom, I'm clean! I'm all wet! Dixit³²³² ("Dixit: Latin, meaning 'he said'.") Ian!" noted sententiously Annabelle.

***

The next day was short by comparison to the others. There were indeed a couple of centuries waiting for the doors to open when the Atlanteans came on them from behind. The result was as expected. Taken by surprise, the units surrendered without much will to fight, especially after their incompetent centurions ended up split in half and quartered by a tenacious five-year old. Ian was not too happy of being deprived of his fun, but he was given a nice consolation prize: rid the units of political appointees!

The sixteen men, all total devotees to the usurper, thought they had it easy when Ian told them he would deal with them together, and that, to be fair to them, they were to be given their weapons back. Had they listened to the snickers from the other boys, they would have asked to be executed right away, not that there was much delaying in the end result, just a lot more misery!

The butchery that unfolded during the engagement made the seasoned legionnaire of the usurper thank their lucky star they had chosen the right path. As members, bowels, guts and innards flew in all direction in a fountain of blood cries of terror and pain, many lost their lunch as well as their illusions. Meanwhile the children yelled their encouragement at Ian, even suggesting nastier ways to dispatch the completely panicky bootlickers. Viola, watching the fight beside Harp, had been worried for the diminutive Ian until the first knife strike. Seeing a man unzipped from the sternum to the pubis and hollering while trying to hold his bowels inside his body brought home that if anyone was in danger, it certainly was not the Royal Heir. As the battle progressed, he too released his diner, whiter then a sheet. He couldn't help hear the suggestions made by the boys and girls about the way to disable one or the other of the prince's opponents, and his eyes almost fell off when he saw Ian was implementing the most horrendous of them before dispatching the target to a more permanent rest.

"Hey, get over it Viola! These children have been killing since they could crawl. It's not rare to see them holding to a wolf's fur with a hand, racing around, blade in the other, and a spare between the teeth! They go hunt with the wolf packs, and the wolves have learned that carrying one of them is not a burden but an advantage in a hunt. First, they have colour vision, which the Wolves do not; second, they have the ability to throw a knife well ahead of the wolf, and rarely if ever miss. The second knife is more often then not unused. I've seen a one-year old tackle a wolverine. The wolverine never stood a chance: the knife sliced its head off. They breath to kill."

"What about childhood innocence?"

"Tell that to our little brothers and sisters the orcs ate alive, Viola. None of our children will ever face that and not be able to fight! They know how to kill, and will kill. And if they are unable to protect a child from an orc because they are too disabled, they will kill the child rather then let the orcs eat it alive."

That brought Viola out of his funk pretty quickly, and he watched with renewed interest Ian's performance. By then, the number of living opponents had been reduced to eight, most with at least one important leak.

"Don't they fear anything?"

"Yes. They have one single fear: not to be at our level. The rest is only adrenalin. If some people think they can win control through fear, they are way off with these kids. Pain makes for cold fury, not the uncoordinated and pitiful show we have here from Ian's opponents. Look at them: they are unable to mount a coordinated attack, six against one. They are too centred on protecting their own guts to think that faced with such a foe, some must be ready to sacrifice themselves so the others can survive. Three left! Ian must be getting bored."

"Bored? Tired, you mean?"

"No, bored. This bloodbath is getting too easy. Watch this. Ian's preparing to mop the floor with the last three survivors."

"How do you know? Telepathy?"

"No, he is herding them, running around the three guys, and thus forcing them to regroup. They have fear of facing him, and it's turning to Ian's advantage. They will be in each other's way."

Viola watched Ian's attack, and he had to admit Harp's analysis was holding. The prince was barefoot, feet gripping the uneven tiles at the slightest occasion, while the three survivors kept slipping in the blood and guts because of their boots. Suddenly, Ian did a dive for the three men, and before Viola could even understand what had happened the three men were gutless, falling on each other as the prince used his momentum to slip under the falling bodies and the blood and guts as lubricant on the pavement to keep his acquired speed.

Silence fell then, after a second a roar exploded! Ian had converted to his wolf form and howled his victory! Immediately, the entire canine task force took to answering the Alpha Wolf's call. The children then the adults Atlanteans took the hint and howled as well. The sound resonated across the deep and long bunker. Had anyone been listening at the northern exit, forty-two miles away, he or she would have heard the faint but unmistakable echo of the wolf call.

Ian reconverted to his human form, covered from head to foot with coalescing blood and cooling guts, eyes bright in the darkening mass, and a set of white teeth that would have sent shivers down the spine of any survivor of the fight, had there been one.

Harp pointed a finger to his little brother, and the boy was as clean as a whistle. The area got cleared of any traces of the still fresh events by a single snap of his fingers. Ian walked to join his brothers, grinning so widely one would have seen his wisdom teeth had he had them. Several children came to Ian to render homage to his skill, and the canines were also sniffing their Alpha to reinforce their bond to him by refreshing their memory of his body odour.

"When will the next hurricane be ready for our benefit Harp?" asked Harold.

"I'm waiting for the oceanic water to heat up again, dad. This one will be a level five hurricane since it needs to suck air from deeper inland. The northern entrance is one hundred and thirty miles from the sea. The entire hurricane will measure will over five hundred miles in diameter. I hope the guys in Ginia are ready for this; it's not going to be a piece of cake! To make it work I have to start it a thousand miles off the coast. Expect this mess to take a week to brew."

"We're stuck here a week?"

"Yes dad, not that we could not move some units to the last bunker, but I do not want the army split."

"There, I agree, son. Anyway, this campaign isn't too bad. We have been at it a month or so. We should be done within fifteen days."

"Yes, just in time to go back to Thebes and deal with the orcs when they get out of their lethargy," replied Sitar, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

***

The week passed, uneventful, as the princes took turn to prime up a tropical storm deep in the Atlantic, then build its fury to a level five hurricane and then some. By the time they let the monster start to move, its core sustained wind speed was in excess of five hundred miles per hour. Given the strength of the wind, and the tidal flux this would create in Ginia, the Atlanteans ported the entire village inside the bunker they occupied in the middle of the night. The result was as expected, a bundle of frayed nerves, some lost lives from the garrison, and a few heads lost from, mostly, a couple dozen slavers, shipwrights, and lumberjacks that tried to intimidate the Atlantean children. Ian, Harp, Thorsten, Paschal, Sitar, Typhoon and Enron took turns disposing of the undesirables.

"Hey, dad, we have to keep busy! Waiting is boring!" said Ian to explain why they did the dirty work themselves.

Another thing the Atlanteans did was monitoring the usurper's activity. He seemed cornered with most of his army in his capital, waiting for a favourable wind to let him access the southern branch of the string of bunkers.

Meanwhile Viola did a census of all that had been recuperated from Ginia, more in an effort to locate his two missing brothers. Unfortunately, they were not within the group. Desperate, he began interrogating those members of the loggers and lumberjacks that had survived the carnage. Finally, one man remembered the passage of a group of lumberjacks looking for fresh arms. The previous leader of his lumber camp had sold one boy to him in exchange for salt, and his name sounded strange, but he could not put his mind to it. Viola was desperate, so he called in Harp.

"Harp, you read minds, right?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Can you read long-lost memory?"

"Yes, easily."

"Read this man's mind! I think he knows what happened to at least one of our brothers, but he can't remember, or so he claims!"

Harp did as Viola asked, and quickly found the information.

"He does remember Cello, and another boy, named Banjo. Banjo was gained as payment from another lumber camp for a game debt. The two got sold a few months ago to another lumber gang, short on hackers that remove branches from fallen trees. The group was headed south, in the swamps of Florida. They probably are still travelling along the Arc, since it takes a considerable time to walk safely in the southern woods. The fire cockroaches do not hibernate further south. Another thing you might want to know, Viola, is that he wanted to extort some favour from you for the information. I suggest you gut him, or else I will."

Viola did not need a second invitation, and promptly pulled his sword out to deal with the recalcitrant informer. His handling of the sword was a lot less fluid then the other princes, but nonetheless, he managed to get his man. Harp cleaned up after him, and instructed Viola in the proper maintenance of a bloody sword. It took the legionnaire a couple of hard hours of work to get the approval by Harp to put his weapon back in its scabbard.

"I wish I could use magic!"

"You can, Viola, you doubt yourself. Doubt is your worst enemy. It is a question of Will and Verb."

"Why didn't Ian clean up himself?"

"He was too busy enjoying the adrenalin to bother about that. It might have taken him an hour to realise he needed to clean up the area. Were you willing to put up with the smell?"

"Not really!"

"Neither was I! Given my enhanced wolf smell, I can track him easily enough already. And you need to as well, Viola. Get a bath! The pig's guts stain your shoes. You have some time, we won't be moving out until tomorrow morning."

"Where can I get water?"

"The Ancients had organized this bunker relatively comfortably, probably to shelter their own collection of varmint better known as politicians. There is running water, and it's clean, since it comes from a source deep within the mountains and travels to this shelter underground. It's driven by gravity, so you won't be running short of water, but it's going to be cold. It's time you toughen up, Viola. Hot water we can generate, but we love swimming with icicles!"

Viola took the hint and left Harp to clean up, shivering in anticipation at the icy bath. As he was leaving the room he heard Harp say:

"Viola, heat is motion. What you need to do is get the constituents of water to move faster and it will feel hotter. Be careful, you can overdo it and end up in a steam bath! It's fun too, but not practical to wash in!"

What was Harp trying to tell him?

***

The hurricane hit the coast early the next morning, tearing giant trees from their anchors, creating a storm tide that reached deep within the estuary of the Tarmac, and in general sucking cold air from the mountains in gusts reaching sixty miles per hour at some narrow passages. The usurper's units left the capital at dawn, framing their king, and leaving next to nothing to defend the capital. As the last man left the city through the southern door to begin the two mile trek to the southern bunker, the Atlanteans were storming the Northern bunker, literally devastating the entrance with the Thunder of Thor and the Dwarf's Hammer. Samson used his Trident to burn holes in the concrete fit to let a legionnaire through, while Harp used Bata to cut the hinges of the door off. Once the bunker had been breached, a flood of Wolves, Elves, Dwarfs, Fairies, and Legionnaires stormed the construction. The assault had brought home to the occupants that a northern assault was a possibility, and they ran back from the southern exit to defend the other end. Albeit there were four centuries there, the violence of the shock was such it was overwhelmed in less then a quarter of an hour, their back pressed against the still closed southern exit. The presence of giant wolves and Fairies freaked them out completely, and they sought refuge in different subdivisions of the shelter, making the picking of the survivors both easier and much less straightforward.

A group of Diviners, which had been travelling to the capital, was also caught up behind closed doors with the units. The sole surviving Centurion asked a favour before being executed.

"What is it?" asked Ian, looking at the bulky man.

"Can I behead the Diviners? They should have known about this. An advancing army of this size should have stuck out like a black eye!"

"That is true. They are charlatans, and child slavers. May we compromise? I'll let you deal with the last one after we are done cleaning up your ranks of political informants. And you fought bravely, against overwhelming odds. You are graced, and will be ported with the surviving legionnaires and conscripts to our capital for retraining. You were brave, Centurion, but you owe your life more to our capacity at mind reading, which revealed that you were honest, and truly believed you were doing the right thing, then to your ability with the sword."

After watching, wide-eyed, how even the youngest boys and girls dispatched both Diviners and political crap, the centurion forfeited his request and left one little terror finish off the last survivor of the gang.

"How come we have not met a single priest?" asked a perplexed Sitar to the Centurion as he was readying himself to port them to Thebes.

"They never take the Arc. We do not know why."

"Ok. Off you go. We got an usurper to kick in the butt."

The Centurion disappeared, ported to Thebes. As the man vanished, Paschal showed the map he had done of the location for each bunker from his aerial survey.

"They look like a string of pearls along the coast," commented Enron.

"Yes, the Pearls of Death," replied Sitar.