Down In Flames

The storm blew up from nowhere. The Imperial Ballista Vigilant rushed its landing, scrapping its hull on the mooring loops below. The Vigilant’s Captain, Hastings, gritted his teeth and steadied the wheel. Putting down before the storm landed the airship for them was an imperative. The first drops of water found the Vigilant and her Captain looking nervously at the sky as her crew hurried to batten down the velocators that kept them in the sky.

Men leaped over the sides of the airship, swinging down on the fist-thick ropes that would be used to mooring the airship to the dock. The captain watched as his guns were properly battened and the rest of the Vigilant’s outboard fittings tightly packed away from the impending storm.

The landing circ was completely silent. It would be another day before he would be relieved of his cargo. Atway was too small a town to have a permanent tower watchman on duty. What need had the denizens of Atway for a permanent watch? The town lay in the center of an empire that had expanded to twenty times its original size in the past forty years.

The Karrath Empire was a juggernaut; an unstoppable ever expanding war machine that ran on the corpses of countries. Even her allies would agree that the only safe place to live in the known world was within Karrath borders. Atway was as central as one got. Victus Tacticus A’Karrath was said to have been birthed in the verdant forests and lush farmland beyond Atway as his father before him. Rain darkened the Brooding Mountains, fitting and appropriate to the Leader of Karrath’s serious mien and countenance.

The Emperor Victus Himself had dispatched the Vigilant and its crew to Atway. The quick set down had more to do with the safety of the Emperor's cargo than anything else. Hastings couldn't take the chance of a mishap while they were in the air. Even if he didn't survive, he would die knowing that his wife and child’s life would be ruined by his failure.

"Tell them we have landed safely and that his majesty should wait until we receive word from Atway in the morning." The cabin boy scuttled off towards the stern of the airship and the single stateroom suite. The boy scratched gently at the doorway, which opened on its own into the darkened suite.



"We've landed safely in Atway. Unfortunately, it seems that the escort that was planned is not here. There is no way to get to Ryndhart until the morning." The cabin boy peered into the dark room. The figure laying prone on the steamer bed hadn't been seen for the entire flight. It had been hustled pass the crew in a hooded cloak. The only thing that came out of the stateroom for the past few days were bloody bandages and empty plates. The figure on the bed groaned. Frightened, the cabin boy turned and fled.

The torches flickered to life as the long-limbed, platinum-plated servitor stepped towards the bed. The servitor prodded at the lump which groaned, squirmed under the covers then was still. The servitor's oculi irised tight in a display of artfully programmed annoyance. The machine calculated approximately where the sleeper's ear would be under the blankets, then turned its vocals to max power.

"PRINCE LIAM!"

 

The drowsing imperial scion jerked up as if on strings, showering a blistering stream of imprecations. All of which bounced harmlessly off the servitor's platinum hide.

 

"I'll have you dismantled and your rust bucket hide tossed in the scrap heap!" The Prince bellowed. The sudden motion ripped at his wounds, he spasmed and curled up into the fetal position. The welts on his back had split. His blood stained the bandages in spots.

 

"Forgive me, Your Imperial Highness." The servitor spoke at a lowered volume as he redressed the bandages. His tone did not beg forgiveness in particular.

 

"As wonderful a rest as being dismantled sounds like, we've arrived at our destination." The servitor's warmed digits cleaned and eased fresh bandages on. The servitor suffered Liam's squirming and curses like only a machine could.

 

"Who cares anyway? Why didn't that bastard let Osbourne kill me?" The Younger Prince of Karrath moaned into his pillow.

 

"His Glorious Imperial Highness Victus's parentage is well known, and he realized that exiling you here would sting more than another twenty lashes from the Executor."

"And where is here exactly, Jas?" Liam punched his pillows then slouched back against the state bed head, then ignored his servitor's request for him to get his sulky behind out of bed and put on a pair of pants.

 

"We're currently moored in Atway." Jas the Servitor accessed the communications console near the bed then projected a map of the area onto the airship bulkhead.

 

"We're here at the Atway Landing Circ. Atway is the northern most township in the HomeFarms. Our destination,  Ryndhart Castle, is located here next to the farming community of Ryndhart Cote, Carstway in the center of the HomeFarms."

 

The servitor marked the ground route they'd use. Liam yawned then grabbed a pair of fresh underpants offered by the servitor grimacing at the abundance of plain white cotton. There was not a spot of color or swatch of silk in the set. He was out of the military, and, still, not one stitch of civilian clothes managed to make it from his rooms to this wretched ship. Exile sucked more and more every minute.

 

"Ryndhart? That's grandfather's home town."

 

The servitor nodded on its silent ball roller joints. The action was too fluid to be human. Sometimes Liam forgot that his metal friend was as much a device as his favorite tank or the airship in which they traveled, a billion times more complicated and programmed to act as sentient as possible. It truly was a miracle of goblin technomancy, a gift from the Underhills to the Emperor of Karrath that Liam gleefully appropriated. Liam prized anything that could unnerve his father by its sheer presence.  The metal man was completely loyal. There was no thought in his head that Liam hadn't put there.

"So why aren't we landing in Ryndhart instead of this goddess-forsaken place?"

 

Dressed only in his small clothes, Liam looked out onto the sleepy town beyond the airstrip.

 

"Unfortunately, Majesty, beyond this point the HomeFarms are a no fly zone."

 

"As in we'll be shot at if we fly over?" Liam asked suspiciously.

 

"Not quite, your Highness. Nothing flies over the Home Farms. It looks like much about the restriction is classified. It seems like there is some danger posed by the inability for airship altimeters and other aircraft instrumentation to perform. There is no other information available that's not classified."

 

Liam tried his voice codes with Jas to access the files. He was similarly stymied.

"Denied."

 

Liam wasn't surprised. His father had probably had his access revoked while he was being beaten to within an inch of his life.

Military discipline?

 

What a joke.

 

It did burn though, the thought that he'd fallen so far from grace that information that could be vital to the preservation of a Heir of the Empire was denied him.

 

"Curiouser and curiouser." Liam murmured then turned to pull on a pair of pants. It was time to get off this tub. But looking on the bright side, this would be a great time and place to try the tank! The forested lands between here and Ryndhart would be the perfect proving ground for it.  Liam brightened thinking about the fun of unpacking the military vehicle and testing its limitations.

Jas slump with a noise that was as much long-suffering irritation as metal gears grinding.

 

"Can we try not hitting every pothole and tree on the way this time? Please?"

 

***

Captain Hastings was a loyal man and a loyal soldier. Everything good in his life was a direct result of unwavering belief and pride in his empire and the Emperor. It saddened him that the younger prince was so lacking. The boy's instability was obvious as he watched Liam unpack the monstrous contraption in the pounding rain. The scuttlebutt said that his mother was half Ruëen. The boy looked like a damn fey. Translucent skin and the stormy blue grey eyes that seemed to synthesize whatever shade of blue or green he looked at. They were Tacticus Blue in some lights, a proper color that proved the boy was indeed the get of emperor himself. Prince Liam had been trained as a fighter as was mandatory for Karrathi princes. However the boy retained a willowy grace more suited for dance and song. The second-in-line for the greatest empire ever to unfurl it banners on this round world should not look like he could float away on a cloud. He wasn't fey thought; else those machines he surrounded himself with would cause Liam unutterable pain. Thought it was said that his fascination with machines was more to appease his father and brother.

Prince Malcolm held the promise of another Emperor Victus. The strapping lad was everything a nation could hope for in a son and heir to the throne. Malcolm distinguished himself in battle often over the years, plotting out strategy after strategy with an efficiency that proved devastating to Karrath's enemies. Emperor Victus' oldest child had proven that he was worthy to hold the name of Tacticus.

Liam however seemed to have picked up only his father's glib tongue. Rumors of his activities abounded. The stories of his deviant behavior and court-martial had found its way to Hasting's ears. Still the lad had been somewhat helpful aboard ship. Liam had sent his servitor to assist in the repair of the Vigilant's engines and he himself had made light work of several of the Vigilant's outboard guns.

Rumors notwithstanding, Hastings hadn't seen much about the boy's behavior that would recommend the exile proscribed. Still Hastings kept his more vulnerable crew away from the aft stateroom and its lone occupant. The lad kept to himself in the cabin and the trip had gone smoothly. The Imperial Guardsmen traveling with the prince packed his things quickly and off-loaded the mountain of bags and boxes into a couple of carts. Hastings decided he would ask the young prince not to chance the storm.

"Sire, perhaps it would be best to remain until the rain lets up." Hastings bellowed over the roar of the tank’s engines. Liam looked up from where he bent mucking around under one of the heavily cast metal plates and pointed back towards Hastings’ airship. Gratefully Hastings followed him into his thankfully dry captain's cabin.

The princes mechanical security servitor Jas followed along behind.

"Please consider waiting for the local escort , Your Highness? There is much danger in an unfamiliar wood at night. Especially with the rain coming down so hard."

The captain frowned, trying to convey his concern as fatherly advice. It would be a blow to his career to lose an imperial heir, disgraced or not. The lad smiled at Hastings; the rainwater clumped his lashes together and the damp stuck the core of engineering worker’s garment to the prince's supple frame. He leaned onto the porthole wall and smiled.

 

Hastings' face slackened and he shivered. The smile whispered dirty secrets; spoke boldly of taught sweat filled nights, limbs entangled in the midst of heated passion. Goddess protect a man from that smile. He scrambled to remember his wife and his four children.

 

Hastings knew then, without a doubt, which one of the many rumors swirling about the prince's exit from the military was true. With a smile like that, the things he promised just with his eyes and the curvature of his hips the tilt of his head...

His mouth...

 

There would be few that could resist this Imperial if he wanted them, male, female or indifferent and certainly despite their preference. He was a magnificent, magnetic, hypnotic.

Hastings realized his mouth was open and shut it with a snap. He got the message. A royal with a smile like that wasn't denied anything. Seducing an admiral of the fleet must have seemed like a good way to liven up a boring campaign. Hastings shoved the paperwork towards the young prince.

 

"Ryndhart Castle is currently closed. Word has been sent of your arrival, but you'll need the deed and keys to gain access to the castle. The current caretaker is Bernard Wrexler. You may find him at the gardener's house. Here are your discharge papers." Hastings shoved the envelope at the boy and hastened out of his office. Fey nothing, the boy was half incubus if anything at all! Hastings was glad to see the back of him.

***

"You really ought to stop doing that Prince Liam. It's already gotten you into a heap of trouble."  Jas spoke after the Captain left.

"What? Smile at people? The old man needed to learn his place. He ain't my father...He's got no right being fatherly. The prude couldn't even handle it. Froze up like a damn statue. Army people are all the same. Violent, war-mongering, sexual repressives...I'm glad to be shot of the lot of them." Liam strode out of the ship, more than ready to be on his way.

***

"You seemed to like them well enough while seducing your way through their ranks." Jas rekindled the discussion.

Liam stuck his tongue out at the servitor. The mechanized twit was on the cart with the luggage as was the rest of his retinue and the twelve man squadron of Imperial Guard assigned to protect him. Jas's communicator patched directly into the tank’s internal audio system. The servitor was the only one who Liam spoke to while working on his assault vehicle. It was his habit. Jas had no ulterior motives to puzzle through, no agendas that Liam had to understand before responding. He could concentrate completely on the machine he was riding in and still speak to someone.

Yeah, Liam thought. Yeah, he'd seduced his way up the chain of command. It was his father's fault. The spiteful old curmudgeon dragged him to the front at the height of the social season in Ida. In fact, the imperial soldiers had dragged him right out of Amara and Dara's bed, in the midst of swiving them both. Malcolm was to blame just as much as father was. It was most likely Malcolm's whiny voice in his majesty's ear  that decided the Emperor that his second son should really be doing more for the country than putting his cock where it didn't belong. Malcolm had clued their father into just what kind of party Liam was having at court. Liam changed bed partners like the maids changed bed sheets. Gender and gender preference didn't matter. The Stallion of Rorrick was unstoppable.

So Liam'd had a bit of naked fun with the high court while his father and brother brought terror and fire to the Hinterlands and its innocuous, hut-dwelling natives. Everyone had to have a hobby, yet his father had seen it fit to force Liam to give up his.

Trying to make the best of his forced enlistment, Liam had requested the Engineering Corp. Request Denied. He requested the Physician's Corp. Request Denied. He requested the fucking infantry. Denied. He'd asked for anything besides officer stripes. The stripes were drying on his armour before his signature dried on the enlistment papers.

Liam refused to break. He simply kept on doing what he wanted in the midst of the largest armed force in the world. Unfortunately seducing his superior officers had put a real bug up his father's ass. Fraternization was punishable by death in the Karrathi Imperial Forces. Instead of death, Liam had received excruciating pain, forty lashes that stripped the skin from his back. The ugly tree carved into his flesh would be a constant reminder of his time under his brother's command. Instead of a triumphant return to Ida, he was as far to the east as he'd ever wanted to be, driving through this miserable forest in the rain headed to a place no sane city dweller would go unless coerced. Exiled to the Home Farms for two whole years? Goddess help me, Liam thought.



The storm intensified making it impossible to see much past the tree line. The blackness beyond was deep and complete, even the tank's headlamps could only pierce so far into the night. The map Jas uploaded showed a river running alongside the road with a bridge shortly ahead. The only thing that could be heard was rain, no rushing water or anything else but the drumming of heavy raindrops on the roof of his tank, punctuated by the occasional crack of lightening and roll of thunder.

 

"We're camping for the night your majesty. Visibility is too poor to continue. Please turn around now."

 

"Just a little bit further. The maps say there's a bridge up a head. The river is supposed to be incredible."

Jas' silence let Liam know just how bad the servitor thought the idea was.

 

"Two minutes Jas. Then I'll be right back."

 

"Be careful, your highness."

 

Liam rolled on. He turned a corner and broke out of the tree line and into a full view of the choppy, white foam-capped waves the Deone. Impressed by the magnitude of the drop and the power of the river during a storm, he watched for a few moments then pulled the wheel back to turn around.

 

Blinding light enveloped the tank, savagely flinging the tank airborne. The world spun crazily out of control as the tank bounced down the side of the cliff. Liam was tossed about like a bean in a can. Only the safety harness kept him from being flung into the sides of the tank. One viciously hard bounce preceded a sickening crunch then pain so intense, he could only hope that in the next few moments he would be dead.

 

Officer Training?

Whippings?

 

Exile?

 

A be-damned bolt of lightening?

 

His last conscious thought was the strong protest he would lodge with the council of elder gods. Whichever god had decided that a person of his stature would make a fine punching bag was going to get an earful.