Codex Basileia

by Alsvid Wotansdottir

  “It shall not fall! Not while Queen Arthoria sits in Londinium, may the Basilissa save her!” Sir Ector roared. The elderly knight seemed to burn with the intensity of his fervor. “We will follow her into the teeth of the hundredfold Hells themselves if she asks us to, and we ask for nothing in return. To follow her is its own reward enough. I thank the Basilissa every day that she gave me to the Queen’s companions.”

  Alsvid nodded her head slowly, pressing her lips together and furrowing her brows thoughtfully. “Aye, it’s so, Sir Ector. Your Queen has inspired them so! I’m sure there is nothing your people would not do for her.”

  “They have done all they can. I pray now that the Basilissa will help us in this most desperate hour. We are trapped in the jaws of an awful attack; the Pretender Queen ravages our lands and people, stirring chaos and unrest in her wake, forcing innocent families from their homes, taking all that they hold dear, abducting their children and raising them to be impure creatures, and the Reich monstrously slaughters the innocent Albion folk as though they were sheep, showing no mercy, leaving hills of dead bodies in their wake. Enough of Albion’s blood has been spilled; more of this, and we shall be utterly undone. When can the Basilissa send us aid? If we continue our campaign I am sore afraid of what may happen to them. What would happen to us?” Queen Arthoria said, tears starting in her eyes.

  Alsvid grew pensive and looked away. She was quiet for a long time.

  “I hope I haven’t upset you,” Queen Arthoria began.

  “No. Look. We’ve been watching your struggle against the Reich and the Pretender Queen of the Iceni for a while. There are many different peoples outside of the reach of the Basilissa, all caught in different struggles with each other, and we are not likely to intervene, because if we overextend ourselves, we’re likely to be called a cruel, invasionary empire that forces itself on others and makes its will known via force of arms. Only when the Basileia is directly confronted do we then give battle. Furthermore, we enjoy a peaceful and prosperous life in our borders, and foreign military adventures are like to destroy the fragile balance. Even now we are straining under the effort of maintaining our sovereign nature and our happiness across the Galaxy.”

  Alsvid stood up, facing the Queen.

  “You’ve heard what the Iceni Queen said, haven’t you?”

  Queen Arthoria grew nervous and blushed.

  “That’s all I need to know. Let me guess.” Alsvid began to count on her fingers. “One: the Basileia makes slaves of those it invites. Two: we are decadent and degenerate, perverse, even. Three: your people will lose their identity and culture in the wake of our arrival.”

  She turned to Sir Ector. “Good sir knight, riddle me this. How many of Her Majesty’s household knights protested this action?”

  “Well…”

  “Never mind. How about this? How many tried to stop her from meeting us here?”

  She raised a hand. “Don’t answer that. With the Reich’s Bruder Grimm Fleet standing in your way, and the detachments of their Wehrmacht standing guard over all but some of your shipyards, you have found it impossible to leave this planet, so for now the dissenters have had their way. But now that’s changed.”

  Alsvid drew closer to the Queen. “Take us back to your citadel and make arrangements to travel to that starbase south of here.”

  “Portus Dubris? But the Wehrmacht is in control there!”

  “We will smash through them with your aid and regain control of your Flagship. I won’t have you sailing to the Capitol with a small gunboat. I want your people to see that you came to the Basilissa as an equal and a fellow monarch, issuing your call to aid on even footing. We will cast aside the Reich’s talons on your household fleet and have you combine your force with hers. You will be escorted by some of the finest of our Imperial Warships. Truly, it shall be a convoy fit for a noble Queen like you. We must leave immediately, because the Imperial Senate must convene and find the votes necessary to authorize the Imperial Fleet and the Imperial Legion to issue orders for an expeditionary force to be fitted out and deployed to your star system.”

  Alsvid waited a moment. The others looked at her, holding breaths they didn’t even know they were holding.

  “However…”

  “Yes?” Sir Ector said, nearly bursting with anticipation, gripping his reins so hard they were tautly stretched in his hoary hands.

  “You must swear fealty to the Basilissa and agree to an alliance with the Basileia. You will become a Client Monarchy of the Basileia and take on the Griffon Banner as your standard. You will submit to the authority of the Basileia and allow passage of the Basilissa and her people upon your soil.”

  Sir Ector frowned, his lined, careworn face grim. “My Queen, I wonder that your subjects will agree to such terms.”

  “You worry too much, good sir. You’ve probably heard that the Basilissa does not leave her Imperial Palace, perhaps at all. As long as I’ve been alive I’ve not known her to do so. Legend has it that if the integrity of the Empire is at risk of collapse she will, but she mostly remains in her Inner Sanctum in repose upon the Throne of Soul, sleeping until the Griffon Gate rises and shrieks out in warning of the approaching foe. We cannot afford to long post guards on your territory, either. You must look to your own defenses once we have sent you aid and helped throw back the Reich. Ours is a military alliance. The Basilissa does not believe in messing about with the affairs of others and prefers minding her own business, which is the care of her Basileia.”

  Alsvid spread wide her arms, smiling carelessly, her green eyes alight like eerie swamp candles in the dark.

  “So. Will you not take up your sword and follow me? We can be ready to make sail within the hour.”

  “An hour?” Queen Arthoria was shocked, her beautiful, rosy lips open. “But...my knights...my court…”

  “My queen, you shall have to issue the command at your Round Table and send word to your vasssals. I shall stay here and mind the castle,” Sir Ector declared.

  “No, Sir, you must repair to my ship with me forthwith. This is my command.”

  Sir Ector looked profoundly uncertain, and ground his jaws, like two boulders crashing together. “Space is so dangerous…”

  “What, is the big, heroic knight in shining armor afraid of a little boat trip?” Leo said, mockingly, a sardonic grin upon his lips.

  “Of course not, good man,” Sir Ector growled, looking anything but happy about it. “I would follow her Majesty into the teeth of hell itself.”

  “You must really hate space if you think it’s like hell,” Leo said.

  “Never mind, Sir Ector, Sir Bedivere can mind the castle. It will be good for her. Similarly, a little journeying would do you some good. It can’t be healthy for an old man like you to be penned up within those dusty stone walls, supping on bread parritch and bacon and salt beef all the livelong day,” Queen Arthoria said, with a small smile. “Wouldn’t you like to see the Basilissa face to face? It will make a great tale for your children. They will never believe it.”

  “You’ll have to get them lots of souvenirs,” Kimmy said, encouragingly.

  “I haven’t a lot of money,” Sir Ector mumbled, looking downcast.

  “Oh, that’s not really a thing anymore in the Basileia. Besides, it’s customary to give visitors lots of gifts. Did you think this would be a one-sided exchange? Both of you will be given citizenship in the Basileia the moment you set foot upon our world. It’s a matter of basic policy. Everyone who lands on our worlds is instantly given a citizenship without condition and given all the privileges a born citizen is granted, along with access to all the services and perks that the Basileia offers. You may not only enjoy it, but you may actually want us to bring our way of life to your lands.”

  Alsvid made to say something else, but two other knights charged into the grass, horses foaming and snapping.

  “Queen Arthoria! The Iceni!” one shouted.

  “No!” Queen Arthoria cried.

  �
�They must have seen our warship above and decided to attack while the chance appeared,” Alsvid said. “Leo, Kimmy, close up.”

  “Damn it!” Sir Ector bellowed. “Riders! At the double! Quickly! Protect the Queen!”

  Hundreds of knights in shiny plate armor stormed out of the nearby trees. Their horses were snorting and frothing with white foam, eyes bulging and rolling as their hooves hammered the ground, the thunder of their galloping filling the air, the jangling and clattering of armor ringing out, the ground shaking under them, a whirlwind of dust rising in their wake. One of them held aloft a blue banner with a yellow cross on it.

  “Gather to the Royal Standard of Albion!” Sir Ector ordered. “Draw your swords! We’ll give these bastard tribesfolk a taste of steel if they hunger so much for it!”

  “We’re with you! You can count on us!” Leo shouted.

  “Stay with me!” Queen Arthoria shouted at her guests, drawing her sword. It was a pitiless length of cold steel, with a golden hilt.

  “What’s happening? What’s happening?” Kimmy cried, stamping her feet nervously.

  “Look!” the Queen commanded.

  A gaggle of screaming, blue-painted, wild-eyed warriors came running towards them, weapons drawn. They were nearly naked except for leather vests, tartan breeks, and leather boots, their naked white skin gleaming with sweat.

  Their unearthly screeching was like that of vengeful ghosts. As they neared, Kimmy saw that their faces were twisted into masks of pure hatred, their eyes wide, starting from their sockets, their mouths open and teeth bared as if to sink their jaws into her flesh and tear it from her bones, muscles standing out from under their skin like steel cords, gripping their weapons with white knuckled fists, pounding the grassy ground under their feet madly.

  She was certain that they were frothing at the mouth with rage, such was their anger. She could feel it pouring from them like heat from a wildfire.

  Fear twisted her stomach, but only for a moment. Suddenly, the Queen of Albion was next to her. “Stand fast,” Queen Arthoria whispered, clasping one slender armored hand to Kimmy’s shoulder.

  Then she rode to the head of her knights ahead, stopping her horse before them, facing the enemy, her mouth tight and stern, her cheeks pale, her bright green eyes flashing with cold, unyielding fury. She looked down on the tribespeople, seemed to tower over them, like an embodiment of the land of Albion itself, her bright armor dazzling them, her blue cloak like wings before her shoulders.

  Queen Arthoria looked back at her knights, at the envoys from the Basileia, and spoke.

  “For Albion.”

  She dug her heels into the sides of her horse, making her shoot forwards at a frenzied, screaming gallop, tossing her head maniacally, her silvery mane flowing like water.

  The cries of the knights rang out as they charged behind her. Leo stared in brief shock as the masses of shiny steel, powerful horses, and bright swords thundered towards the tribal warriors, all in a blur and cloud of dust, the ground heaving up and down under his feet from the sheer force of their gallop.

  The knights met them with a tremendous clash of horses charging into human bodies. Some of the blue-painted fighters actually flew into the air, yowling with pain, bloodied and broken.

  The Queen’s knights fought like wild dogs, slashing and stabbing at the warriors with their swords left and right, blood soaking their armor and weapons.

  “Come on! Give them some cover! Messalina, go!” Leo shouted, raising his left arm. Red armor shimmered into existence around his arm, a terrifying display of tough, thick plate with sharp red spikes, spinning turbofans set here and there into the machinery underneath. A red gem flared at his chest, over his heart.

  He ran towards the enemy.

  “Confirmed. Establishing perimeter.” Messalina produced a long anti-material rifle, squatting down on one knee as Leo threw himself at the enemy.

  Kimmy dashed towards the warriors, teeth bared in a snarl. She spun, lifting one of her heavy, strong legs at an almost right angle to her body, turning on her left foot, and slamming it into the chest of one of the warriors, felling him like a sack of flour. “How dare you!” she screamed, stunning another warrior with a sharp reverse back kick, her leg pistoning at his head and meeting with a terrific crack.

  “The battle is turning in our favor!” Sir Ector called, as Messalina opened fire. She blew a hole straight through one warrior’s leg, and then shot the hand off another one, her rifle howling like a wounded beast, spitting golden rays.

  Kimmy drew her axe, sinking it into the brow of one howling tribeswoman, and then tossed it into the face of a tribesman striving to thrust his sword at her. As he fell forwards, she pulled it free from his skull.

  Leo sprang into the air, driving his boots squarely into the face of one tribesman, shattering the man’s features and sending him to the ground. There was a flash of red light, his gauntlet blazing with red light, the gem at his breast aglow with power.

  He struck one tribeswoman full in her chest. She was propelled backwards with a loud, ear-shattering BANG, screaming as she flew towards the ground, smoke filling the air from the impact.

  Leo dropped to the ground in a crouch, staring up at the tribesfolk charging towards him.

  “Come on. Come on!” he snarled, baring his teeth, jaw clenched with rage, eyes blazing.

  They came all at once, a wave of sweat-slicked, howling, bloody, spitting bodies, their weapons raised.

  Leo grinned to himself, and spun on his heel, serving them all a long roundhouse punch, the turbofans in his gauntlet whirring, the fins extending like flaps on an aeroplane’s wing to increase the speed of his blow, red light pouring forth.

  Screams and howls of pain rose as the tribesmen were scattered like dust before a broom, soaring into the air, describing great arcs through the sky.

  Cursing and screaming, the warriors threw down their weapons and fled as quickly as they came.

  “You’ll pay for this, you pot-wearing scum!” one yelled. “Wait until Queen Voadicia hears of this!”

  The knights drew back to Queen, reining in their panting, blood-flecked, screaming mounts.

  “Have we won the day?” Queen Arthoria asked.

  “Yes,” one knight said. “But…”

  She pointed weakly at the middle of their ranks, where several knights were lying dead where they were struck down.

  Queen Arthoria practically tore herself free from her saddle, running towards one motherly-looking woman in armor, lying helplessly on the ground next to her fellow knights, her body bruised and broken, her face cruelly slashed, her armor bent up. She was wheezing for breath.

  Upon seeing the Queen’s face, the lady raised her head weakly. “Y...your Majesty...something’s w-wrong….” She sucked in a few labored breaths, coughing weakly. “I...can’t breathe…”

  “Branwen, shhhhh,” the Queen said, her voice thick with choked sobs. “Don’t talk. Just keep breathing.”

  “I’m....trying…” Branwen coughed. “My chest...something pressing down…”

  She shook her head. “So cold,” she murmured, in a soft, sad voice. “Want to sleep…”

  “No! No, don’t sleep! You can’t! Wait until we get to the castle…” the Queen cried, rubbing Branwen’s cheeks with shaking hands.

  Branwen’s eyes closed, her head falling back loosely on the Queen's arm.

  "Branwen!"

  There was nothing but silence in answer.

  O CLOUDS UNFOLD!

  The dead knights were laid to rest in coffins of pine, draped with the flag of the Kingdom of Albion. They died defending the royal castle, Caer Valora, and so the Queen commanded that they be laid to rest under its stones like all the others who went before them, falling in battle defending the walls of the castle.