Warriors of Poseidon 03 - Atlantis Unleashed

touchstone for him during the worst of the torture. He‟d leave his body and imagine walking through the paths of the palace gardens, and nothing they did to his body could reach him.
    “You with us, Alexios?” Christophe‟s sarcastic voice snapped him out of memories he had no desire to revisit, and he realized that he still held the sheet-clad, bruised human woman in his arms.
    Alaric stood, face grim, one hand held out toward Brennan, who floated unmoving beside him. Christophe smirked at the six portal guards, who crouched slightly, swords held at battle ready, awaiting command.
    “You may stand down,” Alaric said, voice quiet but resonating with authority. “Lord Brennan has been temporarily . . . incapacitated.”
    The more senior of the guards bowed to the priest. “As you say, then. Shall we notify the prince?”
    Alaric gazed into the distance for a moment and then made a slight motion with his shoulders that may have been a shrug. “Prince Conlan is on his way with the Lord Vengeance.” He turned his glowing green gaze to the captive warrior beside him. “Perhaps now, on the soil of Atlantis, Brennan will regain his faculties.”
    Alexios stepped back two quick paces, still holding Tiernan, as Alaric moved his hand in a small semicircle and spoke a word under his breath. Brennan‟s eyes snapped open, and he also dropped into a stance of battle readiness, scanning the area as if for danger.
    “Atlantis? How am I here? Xinon—the humans—the woman—”
    Alaric smoothly stepped between Brennan and Alexios. “Yes, Atlantis. Perhaps you would care to explain your actions in regard to the human female?”
    Brennan slowly shook his head. “I know not to what you refer. There were many human females among the Apostates. Was there one in particular that required my assistance?”
    Alexios stepped out from behind Alaric, but remained at a safe distance from Brennan.
    Tiernan was beginning to rouse from unconsciousness, shifting restlessly in his arms. “Yeah, you could say that, Brennan. This one in particular. The one you claimed for yourself and threatened to kill us over? Ringing any bells?”
    Christophe casually rolled a green sphere of pure energy from palm to palm and shot a glare at Brennan. “Bells, hells. It should be ringing a big freaking gong in that tiny emotionless brain of yours, Brennan. Let‟s not forget the humans you tried to kill for no reason. Not that I‟m not down with that; the only good human is a dead human and all that. Bunch of damn sheep. But, oh, yeah, sacred mission, duty as warriors, blah, blah, blah. Right?”
    Before Alexios could snarl a reprimand at Christophe‟s insolence, Tiernan opened her eyes and stared up at him. “What—Oh. Right.” She took a deep breath, which did interesting things to the curves concealed by the sheet, and then she spoke again, rather calmly, considering the situation. “Will you please put me down? I think I‟m going to be sick.”
    Alexios hastily lowered her to her feet, and she took a shaky step and then crouched down, resting one hand on the grass and clutching the sheet to her breasts with the other. She drew in several deep, shuddering breaths, but apparently managed to calm her unsettled stomach.
    Finally, she looked up and stared around at the ring of warriors who watched her. Slowly, she rose, shaking her head at the hand Alexios held out to assist her. Her chin lifted as she stared up and up and up, and her mouth dropped open in an expression of utter awe.
    Alexios followed her gaze and realized she was staring at the nearly transparent, faintly glowing dome that surrounded Atlantis. Or beyond it, at the deep, dark currents of the ocean under which the Seven Isles rested.
    Finally, she spoke, her voice husky and richly compelling. “Holy Pulitzer, Batman. This is the story of a lifetime.”
    The priest‟s eyes narrowed. “It is a story you may not yet live to tell—” he began, before he was interrupted by a deep, almost animalistic growling sound.
    “Harm her and die, Priest!” Brennan shouted, even as he sprang forward toward Alaric, unsheathed daggers in his hands. “She is mine.”
    In the space measured by Brennan‟s leap, three things occurred simultaneously. First, Tiernan fell back onto the ground, dark eyes gone enormous in her white face. Second, Alaric held up a hand and again captured Brennan, freezing him in place. Third, and most unexpected, a portal that was not the portal, but more like a