38.

Erak woke with a start and was face to snout with the floating spirit. The dragon blinked slowly and then smiled wide. So close to it, Erak could see the exquisite detail of the scales and the mathematical equations written into each one of them. Pomp swished through the air spinning around to face the rest of the group, all of them awake and alert.

“Erak’s awake and wondering why nobody woke him up!” the overly excited spirit shouted out. Its voice was high pitched as a child’s and it danced around the air in joy with every spoken word.

“You needed the sleep. We sent a runner and the engineer still hasn’t finished working on the door, but she’s close. By the time we get down there, she should have the door open,” Sammus said. Nevia grunted in confirmation and Erak was forced along as he rose to his feet and they all began to troop out of the bridge of the uncompleted research vessel.

Erak had to admit to himself that he had needed the rest. How ever many hours it had been, it felt like a full night's rest. He stretched his back, twisting this way and that to a series of thunderous pops as he groaned in relief. His neck cracked like an ancient tree and everyone stopped to stare at him.

“Are…are you alright?” Sammus asked.

“Yes! My pain has been reduced to manageable levels and now I seek foes so I may drench my blade in their blood and consume their strength!” Pomp delcared, perched on Erak’s shoulder. Erak glared at the dragon. That wasn’t what he was thinking.

“Oh…you lack any humor Erak. Erak says he’s fine and wishes to continue on…blah, blah, duty, honor, Queen. Oh….that’s interesting. No, of course not. I’ll keep that to myself!” the overjoyous dragon zoomed off Erak’s shoulder while everyone looked at him suspiciously. Erak shrugged and was glad for his helm that kept their peering eyes away from his scarred face.

“I think we may have been better served without the spirit,” Nevia muttered as they all watched the little bastard dart around in the air. He had a sheen to him, a light that emanated from his ethereal body that helped brighten the corridors.

“At least we have a light now,” one of the soldiers said and there was a general chuckle at that.

The rest of the journey through the floating docks was done in silence. The tension had been broken, the nap they had all taken soothing sore nerves. There was something to the dragon’s warning of strained souls that resonated with Erak. He could feel how much more he was in tune with his own body now. His strength seemed as familiar now as his old body had. Near the end, before he had fallen asleep, it had almost come as a surprise how fast he could move and strike.

The engineer was slumped on the ground, face streaked in a layer of grease and there were a small series of burns on her hands as she stared at the huge blast doors that kept the Sword of Empire apart from the interior of the floating docks. She looked over to them in the deep crescents beneath her eyes spoke of her exhaustion.

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“Oh, you’re here. It’s done. Just click the button and she opens up.” She pointed at a small button and Erak didn’t hesitate as he reached over and pressed the button down. The doors hissed open and then Erak was striding into the ancient war vessel.

Warning: Entering a Legendary Domain

Sword of Empire

Erak paused as he read that, but then he was moving again. Pomp floated behind him and Sammus’s steps echoed lightly from behind. Nevia was collecting her two soldiers who hadn’t found time to sleep yet, and hustled them inside. Rutledge was remarking about what a domain was while Julius scurried past them all and nearly ran to catch up to Erak.

“That woman terrifies me. Please don’t leave me alone with her,” Julius whispered to Sammus. The prince just laughed and clapped the older man on the shoulder.

“We are near the end of our goal. I have a feeling this might be the safest place in the entire capital right now.”

“It matters little how safe it is, if the danger is already in the ship with us,” Julius protested.

“Erak thinks you need to stand up for yourself and stop letting Rutledge bully you. You will always live in her shadow and be consumed by fear if you can’t stand firm!” Pomp said joyfully, perching himself on Erak’s shoulder and looking over at Julius.

Erak ignored it, heart beating with ferocity as he got closer to the bridge. The halls were polished steel, bare and uniform, designed for their lethal practicality. Everything about this ship reminded him of a drawn sword, naked steel poised to commit violence.

The central hall was wide enough for four people to walk abreast and lead to the heart of the great ship. Blast doors stood wide open and the empty feel of the ship made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Nothing came for them as they marched down the hall, Nevia’s squad behind them.

Entering the bridge, Erak looked about. It was a cavernous room, thrice the size of the bridge that they had pulled Pomp from. A throne like seat sat in the middle of the room, if seated one could see the entirety of the bridge and out through the thick glass of the viewports to the world beyond.

The pitch black night offered nothing besides the haze of the fires, the dull red gleam warming the night. Standing next to the viewport, looking down upon the fires, was an old woman. White hair that streamed down her back to pool at the floor. Straight back and broad shoulders, a short sword hung from her hip. Erak stepped into the bridge and the old woman turned to look at him.

Pomp screamed. Erak’s mind went blank and distantly he felt people bumping into him. He stared into the gunmetal gray eyes of the woman and felt himself being dragged away.

Images of the past flashed by him. Smoke choked skies filled with other warships. Cracked hulls belching fire as desperate warriors leapt free. A madness filled Erak as he stared at the falling foes. Pity and disgust at those too weak to face her in the skies.

The vision shattered like glass and the old woman had transformed. Gone was the ancient crone and a warrior queen in her prime stood there. A cloak of blood stained flags, stitched together with ugly black thread, hung from a shoulder and over the edge of her throne to the floor. A golden helm, gleaming in the light, hid most her features. A proud nose and a vicious white smile. Thick metal armor covered her from neck to toe, all of it pitted and scarred from hard use. Her gunmetal gray eyes hadn’t changed.

She sat there on a throne made of cracked hulls, her feet propped up on a pile of crowns, melted together in an ugly mass. A bloodcaked sword sat across her lap and one hand gently stroked the edge of the blade as she stared intently at them. She opened her mouth and the sounds of cannons came roaring out, barely decipherable as speech.

“I am Empire. Who dare walks my deck?