by Blaze Ward
He could only imagine what Casey and Moirrey might come up with for him, to say nothing of Nina Vanek’s no-doubt-devious contributions if they got to that point. It was a good thing he liked them all. He would have to warn his future wife.
Jessica’s outfit was identical to the other women in cut and style, but even from here Denis could tell that retired First Rate Spacer Vibol Harmaajärvi had gone over and above himself. Rumor had it that he had hand-embroidered the tunic, rather than using a machine. Punched the seams of the pants with a knife rather than an awl. Just to get it as traditionally perfect as possible.
Over her heart, the Auberon badge that had been her flag for a decade. White and blue thistle on red, with a gold and black edge. As Queen of the Pirates, she had worn the Kali-ma logo with two swords, a head, and a planet held in those deadly, blue hands, but this was an Aquitaine statement. Her clan was the Republic of Aquitaine Navy, marrying Torsten’s clan: the Walds of Skuodas, newly ennobled by Karl VIII in the form of Gerhardt, Landgraf Wald, on the end.
Landgraf was an archaic title, rarely used anymore in the Empire, where Dukes held the planet, and Burggrafs had fiefs of major cities or regions.
But this made Skuodas itself part of the wedding, with the Duke of Skuodas and his family seated in the second row, behind the Grand Admiral himself, and near the rest of the Walds that had traveled so far. And it put Torsten on a social level with Jessica, Wildgraf Keller of Petron.
Not that any fool in the Empire would dare get pissy with the man. Casey would probably have his or her head for it. But it put them in a place where the upper echelons of the Empire could probably cope.
Denis felt his breath catch as he studied the red lines of makeup that the bride wore. They emerged from the collar on both sides of her neck, about where her arteries were, and then climbed up her jaw to the outside of her eye, before turning in and thickening, like a crimson raccoon. From the inner part of her eye, they went up like thin horns, nearly to her hairline, with a third line between them from the bridge of her nose. With her eyebrows darkened and her lips white, she looked like a primal goddess of war, especially with her graying hair pulled back into a loose ponytail with bangs brushed to either side of her face.
Paladin. Defender of the Faithful. The swords she wore today were not the lighter blades the other women had, but the saber and main-gauche she had trained with for three decades.
The blades of the Sword Waltz.
A statement that she was a killer, worthy of a man of Skuodas, himself wearing a tunic and bracers that made him look like a Viking, at the head of a small raiding force comprised of four Wardens for the men, and four more for the women.
Her green eyes were burning emeralds today as she approached them.
Miguel brought her up the three steps to the platform and stopped. He turned to Torsten and nodded his head.
“Torsten Wald, Son of Gerhardt,” he called the name for all to hear.
“Miguel Keller, Father of Jessica,” Torsten called back, according to a ritual older than the modern incarnation of spaceflight.
Miguel let Jessica’s arm go and placed her hand into Torsten’s as everybody watched. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and then stepped down to the ground and took his place next to Indira and across from Em.
Girisha Misra bonged his staff one last time and then ascended the stairs, walking with amazing dignity around the male side of the party to take his place facing out from the center, with the rest of them facing inward.
“Your Majesty, all hands are to stations,” he said quietly, with a boom mic somewhere picking it up and broadcasting it. “Your Court is at alert status.”
The words sounded so weird to Denis, with so many years as a naval officer, but the pirates had turned their Court into a naval affair, and their religion was the Warship and StarFighter.
The Herald paused to study the mob below with a critical eye before returning to the group before him.
“What business comes before this Court?” Misra asked formally.
“A joining of lives,” Denis replied, in his place as First Warden for the suitor.
And his friend.
“Wardens, how do you speak?” the Herald looked over both lines.
“Aye,” the group replied.
“I ask again,” Misra said. “You will pledge your honor to this thing, before all the Clans of Skuodas and all noble folk everywhere. How do you speak?”
“Aye,” the eight of them repeated, louder.
“So be it,” Misra nodded.
He turned his attention to the crowd now.
“Citizens of the galaxy, I would hear you speak,” he let his voice warm up.
Denis wondered if the original Homer, Moirrey’s second favorite bard and the most famous storyteller in history, might have sounded like this when he got going.
“You are gathered here today to join two lives and two clans,” Misra called. “To bring peace where none had existed before. To forge a new honor and new friends. How do you speak?”
Not everyone understood that they were supposed to answer here, in spite of the directions on the program, but there were enough sailors and soldiers in the audience to make up for the civilians.
“Aye,” they called, rolling like a peel of thunder.
“Your Majesty, the people of your Court have spoken, and determined that this is a good thing.” Misra turned his attention to Jessica. “You will name your Wardens.”
“Centurion Marcelle Augustine Travere. First Minister Desianna Indah-Rodriguez. Lady Moirrey zu Kermode-Wolanski of Ramsey. Centurion Casey zu Wiegand of St. Legier.”
Denis grinned, in spite of how serious and somber everything was supposed to be.
Centurion Casey Wiegand had been all that woman had ever wanted from life, other than to eventually turn into a Command Centurion under the training of some of the finest officers, warriors, and friends Denis had ever known. Kigali. Aeliaes. d'Maine.
And even Command Centurion Jež would have had a hand in there.
But the galaxy had changed.
“It is well,” Misra pronounced himself satisfied. “Torsten Wald, you will name your Wardens for all to know.”
“Gerhardt, Landgraf Wald of Skuodas. Vice Admiral David Rodriguez. General Vojciech zu Arlo. Fleet Centurion Denis Jež.”
“On your honor, Wardens,” Misra invoked the ancient laws on them. He thumped his staff once, another peel of thunder.
“Torsten Wald, you petition this Court for the hand of Jessica, Queen of the Pirates?” Misra continued, thoroughly enjoying himself in the ceremony he had gotten to write up, taking elements of Court culture, Republic and Imperial customs, and an antique book Vibol had originally borrowed from Emmerich’s personal library.
Skuodas: Rebirth and Empire.
Denis had gotten a chance to read an electronic copy. The history of Torsten’s homeworld, one of the few that had survived the fall of mankind and the thousand years of darkness, before wandering merchants and explorers had brought them from the iron age to space in a single generation, like so many other places that had survived.
And then, a century later, the Kingdom of Fribourg had arrived, not even yet the Empire. As conquests went, it had been quick and relatively painless. But Skuodas had retained the old clan laws in many places, and three hundred years of modernity wasn’t nearly enough to erase those traditions, now on display for the entire galaxy as Denis watched.
“I do,” Torsten replied simply.
“Your father is Gerhardt, Landgraf Wald?” Misra asked. “That is an Imperial title.”
“Yesterday I was an Imperial citizen,” Torsten answered. “From today, I will serve the Crown of Corynthe.”
“Your Majesty,” Misra turned to Jessica now. “A petitioner comes, seeking your favor. Will you grant it?”
“I will,” she replied in a voice that surprised Denis.
Jessica was always either coldly rational when she spoke, or firing up her sailors to storm the G
ates of Hell. Today she was on the verge of tears, but of joy, rather than sadness. Denis felt the emotions well up himself, to finally stand here and know that Jessica would be happy.
He had always expected that it would be her place in history to only be the bridesmaid, as the ancient saying went, and never the bride.
But they had made it.
“Citizens of the Court of Corynthe. Warriors from the Clans of Skuodas.” Girisha looked over the larger group again. “Would any challenge the rights of Jessica, Queen of the Pirates?”
Denis couldn’t help holding his breath right now. The Crown of Corynthe had never once passed by way of inheritance. Only by being taken from the still-warm body of the former King. Duels were still technically legal, if no longer socially acceptable.
A man with a grudge could take this moment to challenge Jessica for her throne, and at least half the audience would support his right to do so.
That they might tear him limb from limb afterwards was an entirely separate topic.
Cutlass Force might not leave identifiable, human pieces of such presumption when they were done.
Others sucked in their breath, a quiet gasp only audible up here as the room had fallen to silence.
Denis let the fear wash over him, even as he strove to master it. Until he looked over at Jessica’s face.
Kali-ma looked back at him from those eyes.
Very few people knew the truth, but Denis had been there with her. Had watched an ancient Goddess of War take root in that woman’s soul. Others only suspected, but Denis had met that being, incarnated in Jessica Keller’s flesh.
Someone challenging her today would stand about as much chance as a three-day-old kitten.
Girisha Misra let the moment hang, perhaps longer than he had originally planned, but he was also looking at Jessica.
Denis wondered if she would actually glow, had someone found a way to darken the auditorium right now.
“No challenger arises.”
Misra thumped his staff loudly, scowling at the audience to cow them.
Like that was possible.
“All hands, to your stations,” he called.
The noise subsided quickly as everyone found their chairs and settled in.
“Jessica Keller, Torsten Wald, you have chosen the ancient rites,” Misra continued. “Marriage before the Clans and the Court, a joining of two lives that will last until death and beyond. Are you prepared for such a pledge?”
“We are,” they said in unison.
“Wardens, you will pledge your honor on this marriage, that you will aid it and honor it. Will you hold unto death?”
“We will,” Denis replied with the others.
“I call upon the Witnesses gathered today,” Misra continued, raising his voice to carry to the whole galaxy, perhaps. “The Clans of Skuodas. The Empire. The Republic. The Kingdom. You are hereby tasked with honoring this marriage in word and deed. Torsten Wald, I will hear your Oath.”
Both sides turned fully inward now, facing the couple. The line was a shallow Vee, so that people could see around Casey and Vo.
Torsten took both of Jessica’s hands in his, and Denis watched silent tears drip down her face as she smiled.
“Jessica, I will honor you in love and marriage,” Torsten pledged, his own voice grown husky with emotion. “I will fight at your side, protecting you from any and all threats. I will serve you as a faithful mate, a boon companion, and a fellow traveler in life as we seek adventures together.”
Not quite the ancient formula, but Denis approved of the changes necessary for such a marriage. He could not envision a future where those two were not out doing something to stop evil and make the galaxy a better place.
No longer standing on a deck that Denis Jež commanded wouldn’t change that.
“Jessica Keller, I will hear your Oath,” Misra intoned into the silence.
“Torsten, I will honor you in love and marriage,” she replied, her voice growing stronger with each word. “I will fight at your side, protecting you from any and all threats. I will serve you as a faithful mate, a boon companion, and a fellow traveler in life as we seek adventures together.”
“Citizens of the galaxy, hear me,” Misra leaned his head back and called his words to eternity with the fire of a revival preacher. “You have heard the Wardens pledge. You have heard the Oaths. From this day forth, Jessica, Queen of the Pirates, and Torsten, Son of Gerhardt, are wed and will become as one, that none but Death herself can sunder. I present you the wedding party. Honor them.”
All ten of them turned outward now. The audience rose and began to applaud and cheer.
Misra let the noise go for nearly a minute before he made his way down and around the female side of the line, completing the circle of protections that the ancient druids supposedly cast on a wedding party.
He moved to the bottom of the steps, turned, and bowed to them, before facing outwards again. The thump of his staff was barely audible, but that didn’t matter now. Torsten and Jessica led, arm in arm, followed in pairs by Denis and Casey, Vo and Moirrey, David and Desianna, and Gerhardt and Marcelle.
They paused at the bottom of the stairs where Jessica was hugged by her mother, her father, and Em, as was Torsten. Supposedly, there was music playing, but the mob was too enthusiastic for Denis to hear it, so he just followed the leaders down the aisle and out into the antechamber, where Court ushers quickly directed them to one side and through a set of doors and corridors that eventually took them back to almost where they started.
Denis found a comfortable chair to relax in, as did most of the others, while Torsten and Jessica stood in the middle of the room and kissed. Necked. Something. He wasn’t sure his vocabulary was up to describing the display.
“Could you two at least put it on ice until the rest of us are gone, please?” Casey cat-called as she found a seat that put her between Denis and Vo.
Jessica broke the kiss long enough to turn to Casey with a triumphant smile.
“Your time is coming, young lady,” she said. “You’ll understand then.”
“Thank you for reminding me. I need a cold shower,” Casey said to general laughter.
Denis rose and made his way to the refrigerator tucked into the corner. He grabbed several cans of juice and handed them out as he went back to his seat.
“We’ve got an hour or so?” he asked the room as he cracked the can open and drank half of it.
“More or less,” Vo replied. “Cutlass is helping stack chairs and then deploying tables, so that it turns into a reception hall.”
“Fine.” Denis finished his can and set it on a handy table. “Someone wake me up then.”
It had been a long day, solving last minute problems and generally handling things, as was his usual job. He was tired. Worn out.
The reception would be an all-night kind of thing, filled with music, dancing, conversation, and whatever else craziness befit a pirate wedding. That part was acceptable.
Tomorrow, Denis Jež would have to wake up and decide what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
CHAPTER VIII
IMPERIAL FOUNDING: 183/03/15. CITY OF CORYNTHE, PETRON
VO HAD TAKEN two days off from running with the team. He hadn’t gotten nearly as drunk as some of the folks at the reception, but everyone on the planet, it seemed, had wanted a chance to say hello, or shake his hand, or ask some question Vo couldn’t answer.
Since he was off duty, there had been no reason to wake up after two hours of sleep and run twenty kilometers. A nice chunk of Cutlass had done so anyway, but they were like that. Once Victoria Ames decided to run, some of the men were unwilling to be shown up by a mere girl. Even one tougher than they were.
Because he could, Vo had slept in a second day as well. It had felt like lunchtime, to walk out of the shower and get dressed with the sun completely clear of the horizon. Even at only seven in the morning.
Today, the usual darkness. Habits in peacetime become habits in wa
r, so you train every day like someone’s going to start shooting. Thus, up at first hint of possible sunlight. Dressed and stretched quickly. Meet up with a mob of killers in the courtyard and move.
There was no cadence called. Some commanders demanded it, in order to keep their troops clean and polished. But Vo wanted Cutlass used to moving in utter silence save for the slap of shoes on pavement, and even that was a whisper, looking out over ALL of Cutlass this morning, vehicle crews as well as ground teams.
Victoria Ames was only identifiable this morning because she wore her rank tab on the collar of her undershirt, an inverted gold triangle marking her as an Optio. Technically, that put her in command as senior-most officer of Cutlass Force, behind her General.
Vo had actually pulled her out of classes for a year at the reborn Land Forces Institute to bring her here. Much of it was a formality, anyway, as Ames knew more about soldiering than half of her instructors did. And had killed more people.
But the rest of the Army needed to see her. Touch her. Know this magical creature that had taken a spot at the Institute that some of them no doubt privately demanded be saved for a man. As if a penis was what it took to be tough.
“Got a surprise for you this morning, sir,” Ames said as they jogged along.
Vo noted that they had deviated from their usual path, heading uptown and away from the river. Either it was going to be a thirty click run this morning, or his troops wanted to play games snarling the morning commute.
“Good thing I’m wearing armor, then,” Vo replied with a laughing rumble that others shared.
Surprises were never fun in the Army. According to the second law of thermodynamics, there was no such thing as good news. Only entropy. But it was Ames speaking. And no doubt Street and Danville had an opinion as well. Plus thirty or forty of the remaining shadows jogging around them.
Certainly, the ones at the front had turned right instead of straight and nobody had said a word. So they were all in on it.
