Evan Currie - Heirs of Empire

Her draw was lightning quick, and the slim weapon in her hand parted smoothly to expose twin curved blades that swept across another foe’s armor, slicing through it like paper. Hot blood spattered the desert sand as she pivoted and swung around with the intent of making another charge.

Mira’s motion was checked by a familiar voice from behind her. “Hold!”

She swung around, eyes widening behind her helm as she recognized the speaker.

General Corian looked somewhat worse for wear, standing on one leg and leaning on an armored man-at-arms, as his other leg was clearly missing. His face was a mess, one eye completely obscured by dried blood. Perhaps most obvious of all, however, was the fact that he did not look happy with her.

“Cadrewoman Delsol,” he snarled, “you and I have a discussion to finish.”

Mira snorted, already calculating what she’d have to do to close the distance, eyes flicking to the men-at-arms standing behind him.

The treason runs deeper than anyone suspected, she thought.

“I think we covered the highlights, general ,” she said sarcastically. “Don’t you?”

He sneered, mostly on the left side of his face, as the right didn’t seem capable of much movement. “Indeed. I’ll have your weapon now.”

“My Elan dies with me,” she said firmly, shaking her head. She would part her own flesh and bleed out on the desert floor before she handed her Elan over to a traitor. Her blood tie to the weapon would ensure that it ended with her. Few others would go so far, she knew, but her Armati was the very soul of her being.

Despite his injuries, Corian laughed.

“A traditionalist to the end?” he asked rhetorically. “So be it. Men-at-arms!”

The entire squad snapped to attention as their armaments came up and locked onto her. Mira tracked all the weapons around her for a moment, calculating how many she could evade, block, and endure. The numbers didn’t come up in her favor.

She lowered the blades of her Armati, letting the tips gently trace tracks in the sand below her.

“Watch for cross fire,” Corian ordered.

Mira looked up and took a deep breath.

“Fire!”

The order was only halfway out of his mouth when Mira dropped her weapons, letting the points dig into the ground. The swords quivered in place as she threw her arms out to either side and overcharged her armor. The white flash exploded out even as men’s fingers started to close on the firing studs of their carbines, and for a moment the world turned white and echoed with the explosive sounds of bomb-pumped gamma bursts blasting across the desert.

Corian was yelling over the noise, even as he tried to clear his one good eye so he could see again.

“Check fire! Check fire! You’ll shoot each other, you fools!”

A few moments later silence finally reigned as men blinked the spots from their eyes and looked around them.

Where the defiant woman had stood, there was now nothing but desert sand. They scanned in all directions, but no trace of her was left.

General Corian swore under his breath but pushed off the fury he was feeling.

“Leave her be. We’re several weeks’ march to the closest civilization, and there’s neither food nor water for at least two of those in any direction.” He couldn’t afford revenge; he had an empire to claim.

That and, more importantly for the moment, medical attention to seek.

I can’t believe that bitch turned off the inertics, he thought angrily, though just a little admiringly.

It was practically something he would have done.

They cleaned the train of anything useful and were on their way in the waiting transports within fifteen minutes. Behind them the wreck of the transport engine and its cars were left, still cooling as the shadow of one of Nanna’s Great Islands passed over.

In the darkness of the shadow of night, a spot on the desert floor shifted as the sand bulged upward and then fell away.

Mira sat up from where she’d concealed herself and determinedly got to her feet.

Battle rage was a wonderful thing, but when it was over even a Cadrewoman felt everything she’d been able to ignore while in its embrace. Mira limped slowly to the train, taking stock of what had been left behind, which wasn’t a whole lot. The weapons from the armory were gone, of course, but so was all the water and food.

The only thing of value left by the traitors was apparent to her when she broke into the third troop car.

The body of Stephan was lying crumpled where he’d fallen, with over a dozen festering black holes burned through him.

The Imperial capital was a metropolis of thirty million people on an island barely large enough to tax an average citizen’s fitness if they were to cross it in a day. Once upon a time it had made sense. The wilds that were now civilization had been so untamed that even the hardest of men and women would consider carefully before venturing out. In the modern era of the empire, however, from wall to wall of the explored world, such things were no longer serious threats.

At the center of the island, the black palace of the Imperial family towered above even the tallest buildings around it. Royal legend had it that the castle predated the empire, even predating humans in the area.

The palace was built of metal plates, blacker than the darkest hues, and said to be impenetrable to assault from the outside—which was clearly legend, since no such attack had ever been attempted within living, or recorded, memory. Cut from shadow, the palace was a symbol of the empire’s might, absorbing heat and light from the sun to provide power for the city’s inhabitants. Despite the edifice’s height, there were no spires or towers, just a sharp, angular construction that seemed out of place in comparison to the smooth skyscrapers surrounding it.

But even with its reputation of being impervious, the palace was no stranger to blood, violence, and intrigue.

William Everett marched stiffly down the corridors of the palace, not glancing either right or left as he reached the end of the long hall and paused before pivoting on his left heel and rapping three times on the door.

“Enter, Will.”

The door swung open of its own accord, allowing William access. He stepped over the threshold and glowered at the young man standing at the far window looking out. Dressed in casual Imperial colors, the crown prince was a tall young man with sandy blond hair and the angular features of his father. Too young yet for much facial hair, he contented himself with a rough shoulder-length haircut that William suspected one of the palace maids had told him looked “manly.”

“Sire …,” William started, sighing audibly.

“Yes, yes,” Kayle Scourwind said. “I’m standing in the window, and there might be an assassination threat. Relax, Will. The armor is active, and there have been no threats reported for fifteen days.”

“A good assassin—”

“Is patient, yes.” Kayle turned, looking William over with a very slight smile that appraised the older man. “I often wonder, you know, how it is that you learned so much about ‘good’ assassins.”

“Ask me when you’re king and emperor, sire,” William countered mildly, “and I may just tell you.”

“May?” Kayle asked, amused but almost pouting. “Only that?”

“When the time comes”—William shrugged—“ask and see.”

“Of course.” Kayle sighed. “As always. I have classes shortly. What is it, then?”

“Classes will wait,” William said. “Your father wishes to speak with you.”

Kayle grimaced slightly but nodded without complaint.

One did not refuse a request from Emperor Scourwind, not even if you were his son.