Waverider Expedition - Albirica Colony
Albirica’s harbor gleamed like a polished coin, white marble quays, crimson banners, and soldiers everywhere. The Empire’s pride showed in every clean street and every watchful pair of eyes.
The Waverider had come for supplies, not politics, but politics in Albirica clung to everything like dust.
Eira was haggling over barrels of salted pork when the patrol appeared, eight imperial guards in blue and silver, led by a man whose armor gleamed like coin freshly struck.
“You,” he said, pointing. “Your name and clan.”
Eira straightened, chin high. “Eira of Clan Braigh.”
The man’s smile turned sharp. “Braigh. Traitors. Spies. Your clan led the rebels in Caerduin.”
Before she could answer, they seized her arms.
“You’re mistaken,” she protested, but the captain just laughed. “We’ll have you spectacularly executed in front of a large crowd in the arena.”
They dragged her down the street, chains clinking against stone.
At the far end of the market, Ship’s Cook Brannick Tull, a round, red-faced man with a basket of onions and far too much curiosity, froze. Then, dropping his purchases, he bolted through the crowd.
He didn’t make it far before slamming into a wall of muscle.
“Ulfar!” Brannick gasped. “They’ve got Eira! The Imperials... They’re taking her to the arena to kill her!”
Ulfar’s expression turned to stone. “The arena?”
He didn’t wait for more.
By the time the patrol reached the gates, Ulfar was already there. The guards turned just in time to see an axe descending.
The first fell in two strokes. The second barely raised his spear before Ulfar’s boot crushed his chestplate. He tore through the line like a storm through dry brush.
“Behind you!” Eira shouted.
A sword flashed toward his back, but she was free, her bonds severed by his blade. She caught the falling weapon, turned, and drove it through its owner’s throat.
Back to back, they fought, Eira’s axe and Ulfar’s roar cutting through the chaos. Blood streaked the marble. Citizens fled, screaming. From the gates, more soldiers poured in.
“More guards!” she shouted.
“Good,” Ulfar growled. “I was starting to enjoy this.”
Then came the whistle, sharp, familiar.
The rest of the Waverider’s crew burst from the crowd like a tide breaking stone. Venera in the lead, sword drawn; Kethra’s curved blades flashing; Phaedros shouting orders no one followed; even Selene with a knife, her eyes cold.
“Go!” Virellus shouted. “To the ship!”
Gato appeared atop a wagon, cutting the reins. The horses panicked, bolting through the street and tipping the cart, spilling crates, barrels, and curses in every direction.
They ran. Guards shouted, horns blared, chaos swallowed the harbor. The crew clambered aboard, ropes flying, sails snapping in the wind.
On the quay, soldiers lined up too late. Arrows hissed harmlessly into the sea as the Waverider pulled free of the docks.
Eira leaned against Ulfar, breathing hard, blood on her cheek. Ulfar stood looking at the shore, axe resting on his shoulder.
She smiled faintly. “We make a good team.”
He nodded. “Aye. You swing hard.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I... Never mind.”
He grinned, oblivious.
When the city was a smear on the horizon, Solonex stood at the helm, Severin Valerius beside him, adjusting his bruised cravat.
“Think you can repair our reputation with the Empire?” the captain asked.
Severin sighed. “Given time, persuasion, and enough gold... perhaps in a decade.”
Virellus considered that, then shrugged. “I never liked the Empire anyway.”
The Waverider turned west, her sails catching the wind, while Albirica’s spires shrank behind them like fading guilt.