St. Legier

by Blaze Ward

  Because it was Em, and because he had arrived without any warning or fanfare, she had dug out the red, Imperial day uniform, rather than the white and black she normally wore in semi-formal circumstances.

  And Em’s private message to her, once he got closer, had been specific. Certain names to be present. Nobody else, not even Marcelle or Willow. And no ceremony when the shuttle docked, other than Arott welcoming Em and about a score of sailors and marines, and escorting them down to whatever conference room where she waited.

  Jessica. Torsten. Arott. Denis. Casey.

  Robbie. Alber’. Kigali. Tamara. Enej.

  Moirrey had been the one name that stood out. That assured Jessica this was official business. What that might be, she had no clue, Em having outrun all news getting here, but it could not be good.

  Briefly, Jessica wondered if Karl VII had decided to act early and had found Casey a husband. Perhaps he had sent Em to finally rein the Princess in and bring her home. Jessica would argue almost as loudly as Casey did, but if this was official business, she would be overruled.

  Both of the women answered to Emmerich Wachturm, and he only answered to the throne.

  Moirrey and Casey both wore their best dress uniforms today, but more importantly, the maroon cloaks and swords that marked them special.

  The only two living, female, Ritters of the Household.

  Everyone else was also formal. Red, white, or black and green. Plus the maroon.

  The hatch opened and Arott entered, walking around the table to where Jessica sat and coming to attention. Something in his face as he walked had Jessica already halfway out of her chair, so Whughy’s next words did not catch her off guard.

  “All rise,” Whughy ordered in a sharp tone as Em appeared at the hatch. “His Excellency Emmerich Wachturm, Hereditary Duke of Eklionstic, Grand Admiral of Fribourg, Commander of the Fleet.”

  The rest rose quickly, chairs slamming back almost as fast as if an alert had sounded. A mixed group of other men had accompanied Em, including a Captain and several Commanders. They entered far enough to spread out along both walls, just inside the door.

  Em stopped at the far end of the table from Jessica and scanned the room with a face that might have been carved from a granite cliff face. He finally came to rest on Jessica, his eyes inscrutable.

  “Wildgraf Keller,” Em acknowledged, gesturing her closer, to stand at Casey’s side, off to his right. “Queen Jessica of Corynthe and Lady Moirrey of Ramsey, would you please join me?”

  The words were ritual. Rote. There was no emotion underneath them. But at the same time, none of the men accompanying Em were keyed up, or angry. Nervously calm, if anything.

  Jessica complied, taking up a station just behind Casey, where Marcelle frequently stood for her.

  Em cast his terrible visage across the room one last time, before it came to rest on the Princess. The Ritter. The Centurion drawn up almost defiantly before her uncle.

  Em drew a breath, swallowed.

  “Princess Kasimira, I come bearing news,” he continued in that hard voice. “Emperor Karl VII is dead. Crown Prince Ekkehard was killed in battle. Long live Emperor Karl VIII.”

  Jessica understood then why Em had asked her and Moirrey to stand close. Casey would have collapsed to the floor, had she not had the two of them there to catch her. Casey weighed almost nothing, but it felt like all the burden of Heaven rested on Jessica’s shoulders as Casey fell into her arms. Moirrey was there a moment later.

  Emmerich Wachturm stepped back and went to one knee. The rest of the Imperial officers did the same, followed a moment later by all of Jessica’s people. Only the six marines along the outer wall remained standing, besides the three women.

  “All hail the Emperor,” Em called, voice heavy with dread.

  “Hail,” came a ragged volley of voices.

  Jessica was bewildered, unprepared for this moment even in her worst nightmares.

  But she had also stood over Ian Zhao’s body, having wrested a crown from him in the process.

  She held Casey as the woman’s flesh went cold and clammy. Felt the taller woman’s tears spill on her hair and neck. Moirrey wrapped arms and cloak around them both.

  Jessica could feel the silent shudders inside the woman, suppressed, but more importantly, hidden by the maroon cloth covering them.

  The room had dropped five degrees in as many seconds, or perhaps all the blood had poured out of Jessica. Emmerich Wachturm had been there that day as well. Ian Zhao had been part of his plan, thwarted by Jessica.

  Before.

  Their eyes met now. Kneeling, Em was only slightly shorter than Jessica standing.

  She could see all the way to the bottom of the man’s soul in that moment. He had helped bury Karl VI. And now Karl VII. And was perhaps young enough to envision outliving yet another Emperor, one he had held as a newborn.

  The tears she could see in there would not be shed. Perhaps ever. But they were there. She could see them. Jessica could cry them for him. Something else Em had taught her along the way.

  How had the universe come to this point?

  Casey drew a breath to the tips of her toes and released it as Jessica held her. Jessica could feel the new Emperor force something to bay, almost physically.

  Casey rose back to her immense height, pausing for a moment to kiss Jessica on the cheek and whisper a thank you in her ear.

  Emperor Karl VIII turned to the room, rotating once on her heels to take them all in before she spoke.

  “I accept your charge,” she said in a quiet voice that was still hard enough to grind down mountains. “From this day forth, I will reign as Karl VIII, Emperor of Fribourg. Emmerich Wachturm, you will kneel.”

  Em looked up in confusion for a moment, before his face went white.

  “Your Majesty, no,” he pled.

  But the Emperor would not be brooked.

  “Kneel,” she commanded.

  Em sighed in defeat. He shifted his weight so that he was on both knees now. Casey drew her sword, studied it for a second, and then stepped close to her uncle.

  Lightly, she tapped his shoulders. Right. Left. Right.

  She stepped back, but still held the blade in one hand.

  “I proclaim you Emmerich Wachturm, Ritter of the Imperial Household,” Casey called in a heavy voice. “Arise, Lord Em, and be presented to this Court. You will speak with my name.”

  Em rose like a man walking to the gallows. Jessica suppressed the wildly-inappropriate grin that wanted to escape her soul. Em had resisted Joh wanting to do the same thing for the last twenty years, preferring to concentrate on his naval duties and avoid the politics that the other job brought with it.

  Lacking a cloak for her uncle, Casey scabbarded her sword, untied the knot at her neck with her free hand, and placed the cloth around his shoulders with her own hands.

  For a moment, Casey turned to Jessica with an enigmatic scowl, but she just nodded to herself and foreswore whatever thought had danced across her mind. Instead, she pointed to the Aquitaine marine closest to the main hatch.

  “Out in the corridor, go to the right, and enter the first chamber on your right,” she ordered. “Return with enough spare chairs for the officers that accompanied you.”

  She ignored the man as he moved, turning to face the rest of the room.

  “Be seated,” she ordered in a more gracious tone. “Em here. Moirrey next to Em. Jessica across from Em and Denis next to her. Admiral Wald, you will sit at the far end from me. The rest of you find space.”

  Casey sat. Collapsed mostly, into the chair at the head of the table and leaned forward, palms flat on the surface. She could have been cast in white bronze.

  The others found spaces or waited while more chairs arrived.

  Silence engulfed the room.

  Finally Casey spoke. With the voice of Emperor Karl VIII.

  “How bad?” she asked Em simply.

  “There was a major battle at St. Legier. Werder was destroy
ed by orbital bombardment,” the Grand Admiral responded quietly. The men and women in the room gasped. “Your brother was killed aboard IFV Firehawk in the fighting that preceded it. General zu Arlo is in charge of the planet until we get back.”

  “Vo?” Casey asked, shocked. “Will they follow him?”

  “Do you know any man that the people of St. Legier are more likely to listen to, if I’m not there, Your Majesty? He will hold until you return. Against all the hordes of Hell, if necessary.”

  Jessica felt like someone had punched her in the gut. Casey looked like it.

  Jessica reached out a hand and felt the Emperor take it. Only Jessica could feel the strain, the agony unseen under the remarkably calm demeanor.

  She could imagine Casey suddenly watching her entire future plans evaporate before her eyes, to fall into the worst possible outcome the young woman could have ever imagined. But for the accident that claimed her grandfather, Karl VI might still be alive, the family being naturally long-lived.

  They had spoken in private, she and Casey. Covered the next half decade with campaigns and plans before Casey expected to be brought to heel and forced into a political marriage of some sort. Ekke had been expected to get wed in a few years at most. Start a family. Relieve her of her duties as third in line by adding a passel of children who would inherit precedence.

  All that, gone.

  Karl VIII. Emperor of Fribourg.

  Casey turned to her. A split second had passed, but Casey had aged a decade.

  It wasn’t like watching her grow up in the coup. No, this was watching Moirrey transform into the woman that the Evil Engineering Gnome was born to become.

  Casey let go a breath.

  “I know that you have claimed the moral high ground in your war with Buran, Jessica,” the young Emperor said. “I will not demand that you sacrifice that. I will not demand retribution be cast down on Winterhome from the heavens until the planet is itself uninhabitable. But I will order Grand Admiral zu Wachturm to put all available forces under your command for the duration. Buran must be punished. If that task requires that I ask Aquitaine for more help, or Salonnia, Lincolnshire, or Corynthe, then so be it. If The Eldest has returned to the old ways, then that creature must be destroyed, root and branch. This will be a war for the future of the entire human race.”

  Jessica nodded but kept her peace. Buran would be expecting reprisals for this. Even a deathless, megalomaniac computer could not be so stupid as to expect that an attack like this one would cause Fribourg to surrender. He would have prepared.

  She expected that the Starbase at Samara, the thing known as Ural, was utterly impregnable right now. Probably reinforced by whatever force had attacked St. Legier.

  “It will be done, Your Majesty,” Jessica promised.

  They both turned to Em, who nodded in turn. Jessica could see him grinding his teeth by the way his jaw muscles bunched.

  “You say Werder was destroyed, Grand Admiral?” Casey asked in a cold, hard voice, steeling herself for the news.

  “Indeed, Your Majesty,” he replied slowly. “They engaged Grand Fleet all across our orbital defenses, and then dropped a bomb roughly the size of a battleship onto the shields, cracking them like an egg. The devastation is simply unfathomable. The city itself was flattened, as if by a giant heel driving it into the mud. The surrounding area was subject to shockwave, firestorm, and then groundquake.”

  “Casualties?” The Emperor requested.

  “We only remained in orbit for a few days,” Em said. “Best estimate at the time of our departure was twenty million killed in the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours. With perhaps two hundred million more at risk over the next twelve months.”

  The entire room gasped again, including the officers that had accompanied Em here.

  “The House of Dukes is in Werder,” Casey observed. “Was.”

  “Was,” Em agreed. “The explosion was centered on the palace, but the House of Dukes was close enough, as was the Army’s headquarters, to be flattened. I declared martial law across the entire system in your name. Admiral Tom Provst is commanding all naval forces in my name. zu Arlo is in command of the planet itself, until we can figure out how to handle things. There are rules and historical precedent for nearly everything, including this. At least Fleet Headquarters came out relatively unscathed. You can rule from there while we figure things out.”

  “No.”

  “Your Majesty?” Em was clearly surprised.

  “I said no,” Casey repeated. “I will be on the ground, with the people of St. Legier. I would rather reign from a squalid tent in the mud than watch from the safety of the heavens.”

  Jessica watched the wheels turn in Casey’s head as she transitioned from naval planning to Imperial law. Her eyes came to rest at the far end of the table.

  “Admiral Wald, I must demand a terrible thing of you,” Casey’s voice grew implacable.

  “Your Majesty has but to ask,” Torsten replied in a tight, angry voice.

  Jessica could practically taste the rage emanating off her dear love, at Buran’s assault on his capital. The eyes had hardened down to a rage Jessica knew lived within, but had never seen come to the surface.

  She was reminded of Old Man Winter on the Eastern Front, in one of the great land wars of the early industrial age. An ancient foe slow to rouse, and utterly unforgiving when it finally was.

  “Torsten, if Werder has been destroyed, my father’s government has been eliminated with it,” Casey began. “In addition, the House of Dukes will need to be reconstituted, possibly from scratch, a task that will take years. In the interim, I need a civilian government in place, handling day-to-day decisions. The Fleet might be the backbone of the government, but it cannot be its eyes nor its hands.”

  Jessica watched the man she loved take a deep breath, gulp once as the enormity of Casey’s plans became clear.

  “I will serve in whatever capacity you require, my Emperor,” he said in a quiet, firm voice.

  “You will retire in white, Admiral Wald,” Casey commanded. “And take up the role of Chief of Deputies of my government in extremis, until the House of Dukes and the House of the People can be reconstituted on St. Legier. Until I can release you from this duty.”

  Torsten nodded. Casey turned to Jessica and started to say something, but stopped when Jessica squeezed her hand and nodded.

  Sacrifice. Jessica’s would be tiny compared to Casey’s, and they both knew it. She might not see him again for years. But this was not the place to deal with that grief.

  Later, alone in her cabin. Perhaps with Moirrey. And several bottles of wine.

  Casey smiled wanly and mouthed Thank you.

  The new Emperor turned to Arott.

  “Fleet Centurion Whughy,” she began. “I must remove your Imperial commander and the legality that allowed you to serve here. Will you take up arms for the Empire of Fribourg in his stead?”

  “Your Majesty, I will,” Arott replied firmly.

  Casey nodded. She rose abruptly, causing the others to do the same. Quickly, everyone was standing.

  “My friends, I will never be able to repay you for the love and support you have shown me, both today, and in all the time leading up to this moment,” Casey intoned. “Now, I must ask the impossible of you, even as I go to face the impossible myself. Buran has chosen to impose what it thinks will be a telling, perhaps mortal blow on our will. It will not stand. It must not stand. I will ask for assistance from all of our old allies and enemies: Aquitaine, Lincolnshire, Salonnia, Corynthe, and others. We can no longer attempt to live in peace and harmony with The Eldest, but must cast him down from his throne. Jessica, Em, you will be my sword, to destroy him, utterly and irrevocably.”

  Jessica nodded grimly. Em looked fit to strangle the beast with his bare hands.

  She glanced down at Torsten. He had gone white, but she could already see the new man that would emerge from all this, starting to peek out from the corners. He would be mad
e of steel, with all the love and tenderness held deep inside, where perhaps only she would ever see it again. But she would be there to remind him.

  Always.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Casey commanded. “The Empire.”

  “The Empire!”

  Chapter XXII

  Imperial Founding: 179/12/07. Forward Base Delta

  Torsten clenched his teeth and fought to remain outwardly calm as he waited for the hatch to his suite to open. Jessica stood at his side, so he constrained the fidgeting that wanted to erupt.

  He had an hour until the shuttle for Indianapolis would be departing, possibly separating them forever. More than enough time to pack up what few things he would need to transport.

  Nowhere near enough time to deal with the outstanding emotional issues.

  And no time to handle the issue with the delicacy it demanded.

  They had made promises with kisses and fingertips, but rarely words. Partly, he knew himself to be a reticent man, casting silences into gaps rather than speaking up. Jessica was the same, content to watch things unfold, gaming away thousands of responses before she ever moved, and only then, decisively.

  The hatch cleared as though a glacier, deliberate and implacable. Torsten tossed propriety to the wind, grasping Jessica by the hand and tugging her into his cabin.

  Even their private lives had remained largely separate. He would not impose himself on the woman and she faced monumental challenges far beyond his. If they had spent the barest handful of nights together in the last year, those had been precious gems to savor, not something to presume.

  In an hour, he would depart. Torsten Wald had no doubts that the chances of him ever walking these decks again were rapidly approaching zero. If Arlo was holding St. Legier together by force of will, a task few other men could accomplish, Casey’s Chief of Deputies would have to weave back together the frayed ends of the Empire itself with his bare hands.

  There would be very little time for personal issues. Less so when he loved the woman who was about to take command of the entire war.