Evan Currie - Heirs of Empire

Those who did were dispatched swiftly.

Once they’d secured the control room, Lydia sat gingerly on the throne her father had used when overseeing Imperial military operations. She hesitantly opened the secure comm line to all Imperial ships, set it to repeat on all frequencies, and took a breath before speaking.

“This is Lydia Giselle Scourwind,” she said slowly, “seated empress of the empire. All ships, all warriors … cease fire. The battle is over, the palace secured. I will grant amnesty to those who cease all fighting as of right now . Anyone still fighting after this message will be arrested, tried, and … executed. I am Empress Scourwind. This is my command.”

William stepped up behind her, straightening as he took in a breath to speak. “So says the empress! So says the empire.”

Lydia was seated in the throne room of the empire, trying not to fidget uncomfortably as she remembered all the times she’d been in that very room trying to gain her father’s approval or his attention.

Brennan was standing off to the side, smiling in her direction. She supposed that he thought he was being comforting, but at the moment she didn’t think much of anything would comfort her. The fighting had all ended a week earlier, for what that was worth.

Repairs and funerals would take the rest of the cycle, at least, and it seemed that war wasn’t entirely behind them.

Corian had escaped, and his allies in the Senate, while likely not happy with him, had bound their future to his. She supposed that they were terrified that she would take her revenge on them, and honestly Lydia couldn’t say for sure that she wouldn’t if she got the chance.

Unfortunately, the result was what they’d all tried so hard to avoid.

Corian had split the empire; several senators had seceded their provinces and were already reportedly building up a military force to repulse “Imperial aggression.”

So she had no choice but to order her own military constructions to heighten their pace, which frustrated her to no end but seemed to please most of the remaining Senate. She supposed Imperial construction contracts would go a long way to please their base, but she also knew that she had to be careful where constructions were issued.

Not all of the remaining senators were entirely trustworthy, so she couldn’t pay them to build anything critical, but she also couldn’t ignore them for fear of driving them into the arms of Corian’s alliance.

The politics were dizzying and disgusting, but they were for another time.

Before her were the heroes of the loyalist revolution. A centurion who’d led his troops in a desperate bid to take the gates, a Cadreman who had rallied his fellows to provide support from within at a critical juncture in the battle, the captains of many of the destroyers and cruisers that had secured the city, and even her brother, who had, along with his gunner, personally downed four cruisers and destroyers in the battle.

One person was notably absent.

Mira Delsol had vanished immediately after the battle had ended, leaving only a record of the fight from her perspective and a “gift” of the plans of the Caleb Bar . Plans she apparently had had all along, which explained quite a lot.

Lydia had already ordered new constructions of that class of ship, and modified plans for new variations were in the works.

She had little doubt that Corian would do the same.

The actual ship that defined the class remained at large, in the hands of known pirates.

Lydia couldn’t help but smile ever so slightly at that.

Corian looked out over the shipyard bays, his expression as angry as it had been ever since the defeat at the capital.

In one fell swoop he’d lost everything he had sacrificed for and had likely caused more harm than if he’d done nothing in the first place.

He knew what was coming, and it wouldn’t be met with diplomatic words and patronizing smiles. It would be met with force, or it would meet them with death.

Looking over the six bays before him, Corian saw the only hope for the empire.

Six black ships sat there in various states of construction, warriors in the making for the hard times ahead.

The Caleb Bar and the Andros Pak sailed the second wind layer along the northern stretch of the empire, transferring materials and people as the captain of the black ship stood out on the deck and smiled, the wind blowing her hair around wildly. She looked over the crewmembers going about their business, securing the ties and prepping the ship for a prolonged flight. Across the deck, the two youngest of her crew caught her eye and she nodded to them as they waved.

The young Dusk and her brother, Mik, were skilled for their age in useful disciplines, and they’d shown themselves willing to work. It certainly didn’t hurt that neither of them were shy of hard labor either. She’d offered to let them off, of course, and to send a message to the empress to come pick them up. There was little doubt that they’d find a place in the capital, likely the palace itself, but they’d wanted to stay on the ship; the skies called to some people.

She herself had had her fill of civilization for a time, of orders and of rules. Authority set her teeth on edge, and she’d been burned too many times now to fully trust the empire, even under an empress she rather grudgingly liked. It was time to see some of the world hidden from them all.

Mira Delsol walked the large deck of the black strato-cruiser, nodding to Gaston, who was standing watch at the tiller wheel as she approached. He stepped clear as she took the wheel and took position just behind her.

“Supplies have been transferred from the Andros , skipper,” he told her.

She nodded. “Excellent. So we’re almost ready.”

Gaston nodded, almost hopping on his heels, he was so giddy. “We are. This is what I built her for.”

Mira grinned. He didn’t need to tell her that. He’d been regaling them all with the story of why he’d built the Caleb Bar ever since she’d met him. It was a good story.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, interrupting him before he could continue.

A good story, but one she knew by heart.

“Oh? About?”

“About the name of the ship,” she said. “I don’t think I want to sail the Caleb Bar , Gaston. Not after everything.”

Gaston frowned but nodded. “I suppose I can understand that. What do you want to name her?”

“What do you know about history?”

“Depends on how far back and what sort, I suppose.”

“Very far back and military history.”

Gaston shrugged. “Not much.”

“I would be very much surprised if you did,” Mira said. “In the days before the empire there were great warriors who had fought an unspeakable war … They were masters of their craft, which was death, but also masters of many other things.”

“I … see?”

Mira smiled, eyes out on the sky ahead of them and the God Wall to the north in the near distance.

“These warriors each constructed weapons, weapons that to this day bear their names,” she said, patting the weapon on her hip. “My Elan, the young Scourwind’s Bene, all of the Armati in fact.”

“I had no idea,” Gaston said honestly.

“No reason you should. Few do. It’s ancient history now.”

“You want to name the ship after your Elan?” he asked, thinking it sounded like a good idea.

Mira laughed cheerfully. “No, though that is a pleasing thought. I was actually thinking about Caleb Bar, one of the greatest warriors of his time … legend has it he was the lover of Elan.”