Schism of Blood and Stone (The Starfield Theory Book 1) (36 page)

Conrad nodded. “At your signal. Remember, ten minutes, and not a second more.” Conrad continued, his voice now a bit louder to appear more conversational rather than conspiratorial, “It's a good day for a burial. I think Archduke Peter would have been most satisfied.”

“He would have, yes,” Damien mused. “Though perhaps embarrassed by the number of observers. Despite being Archduke, he never much liked undue attention.”

“All great leaders have their quirks,” Conrad said.

Damien resisted an urge to snort, remembering the castle Conrad had built for himself in the mountains.
Most interesting coming from you, uncle.
But Conrad had seen the passing of many dukes and duchesses. He'd been in command of the Guard when his brother, Archduke Haakon Sten, and his entire ship vanished. He saw his grand nephew Arthur murdered in a parade and his nephew Peter assassinated.
He's seen enough loss on his watch and he's probably caused Salena enough grief as she tried to coax him out of the mountains.

“Indeed, and we will remember Archduke Peter Sten fondly, and we shall execute his will as he-”

Conrad looked up as Damien paused in mid-sentence. Quizzically, he followed Damien's gaze to the arched entrance and a mask of steel settled over his face.

Archduchess Salena Teton-Sten and her family swept into the atrium which caused a low murmur followed by hushed silence. Salena had discarded the Commonwealth uniform and instead wore a white and blue dress trailed by a cape held by two servants. She wore the Sten coat of arms over her torso, and kept a sword tucked at her side, a curious thing for she possessed no military training. There was no question about her appearance. She was here to claim the throne, not simply to mourn the death of her brother. Everything was carefully choreographed.

To her right was Richard Teton, wearing the Teton coat of arms and wearing his own sword in a scabbard at his hip. Behind them, two of their three children carried themselves with a grace that had likely been drilled into them their entire lives, daughter dressed like mother and son like father, though they both wore a strange coat of arms combining elements of Sten and Teton themes. Though mixed heraldry was common among the houses, it typically died out after the families had merged sufficiently with their new house. In cases in which a noble married into House Sten, the old heraldry was always dropped. Never before had Damien seen his own crest mixed with another.
It borders on blasphemy.

His face hardened instantly as he felt a strange fire flare through his body. He could almost hear the ghosts of the men and women in the portraits above hollering out to him.
How dare she reject her own house? Why does she insist on making such a statement?

Then a thought occurred to him, as the flame flickered.
She's trying to point out a new direction for the Commonwealth, away from House Sten and towards the new reign of House Teton-Sten. She's trying to make anything related to House Sten seem old, outdated and wanting, while her new vision would lead the Commonwealth to greatness. Damien Sten, and even Kristoffer Sten were a threat to a return to the old way. And what better time to do so than at a funeral to bury the figurehead of the entire old order? What better way to announce a new beginning and a new vision for a state wracked by war and turmoil?

He had to give his sister credit. She was so often overly aggressive and frequently moved faster than she had planned out, but her brusque style would work here. Then his thoughts strayed to his welcome party's encounter with the protestors. He remembered the man begging for his help and the silence when he and Richard stepped into the crowd to rescue his children in the overturned car.
Would they see that action as my tacit support for Salena's new order?

Well, let this speech leave no unanswered questions.

Salena saw the two Sten men watching her and politely excused herself from the company of her immediate family. Even her two servants abandoned holding the cape and found other ways to occupy themselves. Damien tensed. Salena's face had the calm, peaceful look of a ruler completely comfortable in her surroundings, but her Sten blue eyes raged with a fire that startled even him. Conrad seemed to shift uncomfortably next to him. Treachery was written on their faces.

“Brother, uncle, I regret we haven't had time to really speak before today. How are you?” she asked by way of introduction.

While Salena meant the statement to seem as though she genuinely regretted being busy, Damien had no doubt she had no intention of meeting with either of them before she absolutely had to. She probably felt annoyed that Conrad had sought out Damien before her and the two of them standing alone probably added to her suspicions.

Damien felt a momentary urge to click the button on his watch that would activate the Guard's assault, but resisted.

“Indeed, sister,” he jumped in when Conrad didn't seem about to offer any words. “It's unfortunate we had to meet under these circumstances, but we all have our duties.”

“Yes, we do,” she said, pointedly looking at Conrad. “Now would be a horrible time to neglect them.”

Conrad narrowed his brow and seemed about to speak, but Damien leaped to his defense. “It is a trying time for us all. It is important to understand everyone will react to Peter's passing differently. Now is not the time for division.”

Conrad grunted an agreement. “I have served many generations of leaders before you. I would not worry about my service record.”

“Of course, uncle. I did not intend to ruffle any feathers,” she said then turned her attention back to Damien. “I'm eager to hear your eulogy for our brother. I was sad that I did not get to review a copy before its delivery.”

Meaning: I know you're probably planning on saying things you shouldn't,
Damien mentally translated in his head. He stiffened. “I was planning on speaking off the cuff. I found it difficult summing up the life of Peter as I'm sure you know.”

“Peter was never a fan of pre-written speeches,” Salena said. “In that light, your approach seems appropriate. We'll begin in ten minutes, Damien. Please be ready,” she said, then turned quickly to rejoin her family.

Conrad glanced quickly at Damien. “She knows.”

“She thinks she does,” Damien said. “It's just her paranoia.”

Conrad said quietly, “Paranoia is not a bad trait for a monarch. I think Peter would have been served better had he had that inclination.”

“Princes should be feared, not fearful. I think someone once wrote a book about that,” Damien said.

“He did. It's probably buried in this building somewhere. And extremely illegal according to the Azuren,” Conrad said.

Damien cleared his throat lightly. “What about Anna? I haven't been able to reach her.”

“I sent a car and driver and a civilian vehicle loaded with armed troopers. They should have no problem picking her up and meeting us at the spaceport. Things will be fine, they'll take care of her,” he said confidently.

I wish I shared your optimism,
he thought, but did not say.

Outside, the stage was being set. Representatives were being lined up according to the day of their commendation ceremony and official entrance to the Commonwealth as a noble house. Each stood under their house's coat of arms which flapped lazily in the light breeze.

“If you'll excuse me,” Conrad said, “I think I ought to be at my assigned position.”

Damien nodded absently. Most of the atrium had been cleared out except for a handful of guards and servants. He noted, with relief, that some of them wore the Sten House Guard insignia. They were likely his ticket out of here. Silent allies in a sea of danger.

A podium had been set up at the edge of the bridge that spanned the moat. One-by-one, house dignitaries spoke about his brother, but Damien found it hard to listen. His mind was going over the plan, each phase being executed and the final rendezvous at the starport
No mistakes today,
Damien pleaded.

Suddenly, one of the servants pointed at Damien sharply. It was time to go on.

Damien nodded and held up a finger asking for a moment. He turned to face the atrium and the dozens of portraits that reached high above him. “Forgive me,” he pleaded as he tripped the watch's trigger.

As he approached the bridge there was a flurry of movement to his right. A big man wearing white robes and his milky white hair in a braid draped over his shoulder. It took Damien only a moment to recognize him. Alos gripped Damien's elbow tightly.

“My Lord Damien,” he said, “you are a hard man to find.”

Kristoffer

Captain of the
MacCleod

Goteborg, Magdeborg Commonwealth

______________

Chris squinted as he was led off the Commonwealth shuttle craft in Goteborg's bright light. He took a deep breath then another as if he were exhaling the stench, sweat, and stress of space travel. His skin had not felt the sun's power in nearly five years and it nearly prickled as if in anticipation.

Two sergeants in House Mercer colors kept a close eye on Chris, Claire and Nick as they were led off the heavy transport. They refused any offer at conversation and snapped only instructions at them. At no point were they bound, which Chris found odd, even though they were prisoners. Kerali and Proda were moved to the
MacCleod
and initially Sir Aaron refused to allow Nick to join them on the surface until Chris made enough of an angry tirade that exhausted Aaron's patience.

One of the Mercer guards prodded Chris with his elbow and pointed to a camouflaged military tent off to the side of the tarmac. Around them the heavy transports were landing and disgorging soldiers, vehicles and the destriers that the knights rode into battle. Chris admired them as they roared past. Seven or eight meters tall in most cases, they towered over soldiers and tanks alike. They were painted in the bright colors of their respective houses, sometimes quartered sometimes in camouflage. One was painted in the bright red with a green and yellow dragon snaked across the legs and torso of House Grayson. Another in a checkered blue and white pattern of House Skarlsbjørn. Across the tarmac and arrayed in a loose formation was House Evers to which Chris and Nick were subjects. They were painted in a quartered burnished copper and dull red, the same colors and manner as the house's shield and hawk crest. One near the front was trimmed in white, marking it as the personal destrier of a member of the royal family. He wondered if it was Sir Ian's mount.

Chris, Nick and Claire were pushed into the tent. The two guards waited outside. Lined around a center electronic table map were men and women all in military uniforms. Despite the garish colors painted on their military units, they all wore drab green or brown. Their SESE tattoos glowed brightly. At the head of the table was Lady Evers herself, pointing out the locations of the Dominion landing zones and instructing the gathered knights where to move their forces. She was a powerful figure who had led her house for over thirty years after taking over in her twenties from her father. She kept her auburn hair short and her eyes seemed to glow a fiery red enhanced by the SESE tattoos she used to link with her destrier. The Evers did not bother to hide their tattoos as so many other nobles did.

Sir Aaron saw them and waved them over. He wasted no time. “Your ship and its crew are being pressed into service to fight in the defense of Goteborg. Claire, you will serve with the medical battalion. Nickalaus you will join the Goteborg militia. I assume your SESE will allow you interaction with the unit's tank force?”

“They should.”

“Fine. Kristoffer you will act as my squire for the duration of the battle. Are you aware of what you will be doing for me?”

“I have no military experience, sir and I don't know much about destrier maintenance either,” he said uneasily.

“Hardly. You will be nowhere near the battle. Instead you will be running messages and handling various odds and ends. Don't go out of earshot of me unless I give you permission. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Chris said, annoyed at the patronizing.

“Fine. Nickalaus and Claire, go outside. The guards will escort you to your posts. You,” he said, pointing at Chris, “Will stay here. Memorize the battle plans and be able to report to the other knights here as I require.”

“I don't want to be separated from my crew,” Chris said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Anger flashed in Aaron's eyes. “I don't care. You will do as I instruct you or I will have you all shot starting with her,” Aaron snapped indicating Claire. “Do you understand?”

Nick gripped Chris' elbow tightly. “It's fine. He can do it and he will. Be safe.”

Claire followed Nick out of the tent glancing forlornly at her brother. “You, too,” Chris said at their retreating backs.

Chris glanced at Aaron. “They will be safe, right?”

“Your sister will be fine. I don't care about your friend,” the knight said turning back to the conversation.

Chris stepped up to the table. A map of Goteborg’s major continent was laid out before them. Bright red lights were scattered several hundred kilometers to the West. The Dominion forces had been harassed on the way in by Commonwealth aerospace fighters, but most of their troops landed undamaged. They were beginning to deploy in a defensive arc around their ships. Groups of red dots were tagged with labels as scouts and spies identified the various houses they belonged to.

Lady Evers was pointing at a raised section of the map, the mountains that crossed from one edge of the continent to the other. “This is the line of last resistance,” she said. “They must not be allowed to cross this point. The civilian centers are all concentrated East of there and we cannot allow them access to the industrial sectors for supply and refit. My house will hold the center, Houses Boesch and Braxton will hold the right, Houses Odronik and Vogeler will control the left. The remaining houses will be used to fill the gaps and form a strategic reserve as necessary.”

Lady Evers paused, leaning against the table, her hands supporting her muscled body and she lowered the tone of her voice so low Chris had to lean in to hear it. “Our intelligence services have discovered that Lord Morlan Pershing has been sprung and he is personally at the head of this army. He is the best general they have, maybe the best since Lord General Herad himself. He is intelligent, he is daring and he is dangerous. Do not underestimate him.”

Chris felt his guts twist into a knot and his swam in sudden dizziness. He knew Pershing was dangerous, he knew he'd be coming for Goteborg and he knew he would take it.
I just didn't plan on being here when it happened!

He dared to glance at Sir Aaron who was studying the map and ignored return the look. At least he didn't know the
Cleod's
involvement in Pershing's release.

“We have spent the last several months preparing the defenses, traps, hidden supply depots and training the local militias. We must make no mistakes, no failures. We must stop Pershing here,” she said slapping her hand on the table.

“Sir Aaron, when will Lord General Damien be landing on Goteborg?”

Aaron looked up and hesitated. “He is on Magdeborg attending the funeral of his brother.”

Lady Evers face faltered. “He is not here?”

“No. The Lord General left me in charge of his army in his absence. I'm sure he will return as soon as he can.”

There was a long awkward pause in the tent as the other lords and knights looked between Aaron and Lady Evers.

“I don't understand why Lord Damien would leave us in our great hour of need,” Lady Evers said.

She apparently was waiting for an answer.

“Lady Evers,” Aaron began, “I am sure you are aware of the events on Magdeborg. The Lord General has other obligations.”

When Aaron would not elaborate, Lady Evers turned back to the map, clearly distraught. “Then we fight alone. My lords, this is the moment we have been waiting for. This is our time to bury Lord Pershing and his army on Goteborg. Good hunting.”

Aaron's face began to glow slightly a throbbing red like a pumping heart. Chris studied it carefully then realized the Mercer knight had SESE tattoos. They were faint, indicative of neglect for some time. Aaron had not been in combat in months and as a result his tattoos faded almost into obscurity, but now they seemed to sense the coming battle.

The other knights and lords began to file out of the tent, chatting quietly to each other. Lady Evers speared Aaron with an ugly look of disgust. “Damien has left Goteborg to die.”

“My Lady, Damien has not left Goteborg to die. The defense is in perfectly capable hands-”

“Whose? Yours?” She picked up Aaron's hand and ran her fingers across it. “Smooth, without calluses. You are a child, hardly any older than my eldest son and we expect you to lead the defense of my world?”

Aaron snapped his head around to look at the Duchess of Goteborg. “I can take my army elsewhere if you do not find it to your satisfaction,” he growled at her.

“Threats will get you nowhere.”

“Nor will insults, my Lady. Come, squire!” Aaron snapped at Chris as he stalked from the tent. Chris followed at his heels.

Chris blinked his eyes in the bright light. “I'm sure the Lady Evers will appreciate your help, she is a good person-”

“Shut up, squire.”

Aaron and Reyna spoke quietly as they watched the units disembark from the ships, assemble and then head out to their assigned locations. Chris stood a ways back, not wishing to interfere again. The rebuke Lady Evers have given the knight was embarrassing. The fact that Chris had observed it made it even worse.

Out of one of the ships nearby a destrier roared out and sprinted across the tarmac, disrupting units assembling and sending infantrymen scattering. Chris' blood went cold when he identified the unit. It was painted in red and black flames starting at the shins and crawling up the torso. The muzzle of its arm mounted autocannon was painted in black and gray smoke. For a second it looked like the autocannon activated and lined up with him in its sights. Chris took a half step back for all the good it would do him.

The destrier's cockpit head snapped open and a huge figure clambered out. He climbed down the ladder set into the destrier's armor and jumped the last meter to the ground. He took off his helmet which allowed him to link with his machine through the SESE tattoos better like the webbing helmets did on the
Cleod.

He tossed the helmet to Reyna. “Hold that a moment.”

“Slader. I was not expecting to see you,” Aaron said coldly.

Slader breathed deeply and stretched, his joints popping with the effort. Perhaps he had stiffened during his time in the prison cell, but he seemed no worse for the wear. He smiled in a way that suggested he had outsmarted someone. The more likely scenario was that he had threatened enough jailers on the ship that they found it in their best interest to release him

“I thought not. Your prison wasn't going to hold me, cousin. I wouldn't miss this party for all the azure in the Tri-Sphere.” Slader sized up Chris. “You brought the whelp.”

“He will serve as my squire.”

“A squire more useless than you were. That's fresh,” Slader laughed without mirth. “See you on the field, cousin.”

Chris could almost hear Aaron's teeth grinding together. “One of the days, I swear, I will kill that man,” he muttered.

“Chris!”

Chris stopped at the call and looked for the speaker. A man with sandy brown hair and clothed in the burgundy and mustard of House Evers jogged over to him.

“Sir Ian!” Chris smiled for the first time in weeks.

The Evers royal hugged him tightly.

“I wasn't sure if I saw you in the command tent. It couldn't have been you, yet, here you are.”

Sir Aaron interjected. “You know this man?”

“He got me through my classes and then some. I'm a soldier, not a student. I like swords, not books.” Sir Ian said. “I owe him quite a lot though.”

“You bought me a ship,” Chris protested.

“My mother would have killed me if I'd failed. Wouldn't have wanted to deny Morlan Pershing the opportunity, eh? What are you doing here?”

Chris glanced at Sir Aaron, looking for guidance.

Aaron hesitated, seemed to wrestle with an answer then said, “I must prepare my troops. Kristoffer, I expect you to find me when you are through here.”

Aaron nodded his respects toward Sir Ian then walked away.

“You're not with him are you?” Ian asked, jerking his head at Aaron's retreating form.

“We were conscripted. We ran into some pirate trouble and Sir Aaron's ship was drawn into the fight. We owe him our service,” Chris explained, omitting careful details.

“You're all right though?”

“Yeah. Nick was with us, but he was sent to the militia. Claire was assigned to a medical unit.”

“Claire's here?” Ian's eyebrows shot up at her name.

Chris smiled and gave a friendly roll of his eyes. “I'm sure she'd be happy to see you.”

“You think? She didn't seem to warm to me when I saw her on Garda.”

Chris made a face. “I know. She's been gone for a long time and I guess she became pretty independent. She's different now.”

“She holds a grudge? I meant for the
Cleod
to be for both of you. You were always inseparable.”

“If you can find her, you should try talking to her. Maybe she'll be more open if you were alone,” he suggested helpfully. “It shouldn't have ended the way it did between you two.”

Ian relaxed his stance a bit and rubbed his chin. “I should try to see her. Not now of course. Maybe when this is all over. It's different being nobility, you know? My mother shouldn't have confronted her like that.”

Chris nodded. “It definitely left a bad taste.”