Schism: The Battle for Darracia (Book 1)

by Cash, Michael Phillip

  “Reminda, my lovely.” The king guided his wife up, taking her elegant webbed hand and kissing it. Drakko was almost twice her size, and V’sair felt dwarfed by him. While V’sair was tall and slim, the Darracians were huge, with beefy chests that filled their armor. They had thick legs and short muscular tails that could be deadly in a fight. “V’sair.” His father nodded, allowing him to stand straight. “Where is your navigator?”

  “My lady mother dismissed him for the day.”

  As Reminda rested her thin arm on the ropy surface of his, Drakko headed to the audience hall, the rest of the group following silently. Together they looked like platinum and gold. Drakko’s armor glittered in the light of the room, and Reminda’s dress sparkled as her many jewels reflected the light. The whiteness of her hair was the perfect foil to his father’s jet-black mane. The king acknowledged many of the clusters of men, while his mother proudly held her head high and smiled serenely. Here and there they stopped to speak with a group, laughter floating among the many diverse conversations. The music changed, becoming martial, a favorite of his father’s. It served to drown out the echoes of the booted footsteps of the Darracian guards marching in the adjacent hallways. Noble ladies walked in small groups, nodding demure greetings. V’sair spied his aunt, Countess Beatha, strolling with a small entourage, his four female cousins trailing dutifully behind her. There was bad blood between his mother and aunt, but V’sair didn’t know the source of it. Beatha was a cold woman and barely acknowledged him, bordering disrespect; V’sair never liked her. He caught his youngest cousin, Hilde, peeking up, her gaze resting on Zayden, who returned her look with a strange intensity. Oh, ho, he thought with amusement, so that’s the way the wind is blowing. V’sair smirked, knowing tonight he finally had a formidable weapon to tease his impervious, perfect sibling.

  Hilde let loose a nervous giggle that floated in the air. She was petite and undersized for her age. A tender flower in a garden of weeds. He liked her, she was always ready for a game of Imposters, where they would pretend to be famous Darracians. Only the countess’s baleful expression quieted her laugh. Hilde was not used to being in the company of adults. This was her first year at court and she brought fun to the stuffy atmosphere. They were preparing her for marriage and he hoped it wouldn’t change her gentle humor. V’sair noticed Emmicus’s entry to the room, but when he thought to approach him, his tutor turned to discuss something with one of his father’s many generals. He walked over to his half-brother with a smile playing on his thin lips.

  “Is something going on between you and Hilde?” he asked innocently.

  Zayden rested his hand on the young prince’s shoulder. “Hilde? No. How goes your lessons?”

  “I’d rather be out with you.”

  “Father will not allow it. He doesn’t want you polluted by the rabble I ride with.” Zayden smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek.

  “I probably would learn more about leadership with your rabble than I do being stuck in a classroom with Emmicus.”

  Zayden shrugged. “Someday you will long for lazy school days and miss the droning of history lessons.”

  They walked together toward the roaring wall of fire. Zayden took two glasses from a passing servant and handed one to V’sair. “Hide behind that pole, and drink it fast. Do not let the king see it.” He smiled at his younger brother’s eager face. “Do it quickly, V’sair. If I get caught, father will send me to watch over the shuttles for the rest of the year.”

  V’sair glanced at his parents, who were walking around the perimeter of the room, grinned, and gulped the fiery liquid in one shot. His eyes opened wide as he wheezed, his breath caught between his gullet and his chest. Zayden laughed as he thumped him mightily on the back. “Not that fast, you keewalla. Don’t blame me if you start weaving around the room!”

  ***

  “Reminda,” the king admonished his wife, still not finished discussing his son’s tutor, “you indulge him. He must continue his studies. If he is not to be a warrior, he must be able to lead with his mind.” He guided her toward the golden throne that sat on a dais under a blue-starred awning. The firelight illuminated her beautiful face, and Drakko’s breath caught in his throat. She was as lovely today as she was when he had stolen her from her watery home fifty years ago.

  “Tosh, tosh,” she said, dismissing Drakko’s guards. “He is the child of your noble loins, my liege. He can outwit the fiercest monster. He has my tensile strength just waiting to be unleashed.” Reminda smiled knowingly and swayed closer to him, her hair catching on the foil of his cloak. “It is time for him to go on an errand,” she confided softly.

  Drakko paused and raised one dark eyebrow, his eyes warm on her face. “An errand, my love? You would make our son and heir a servant?”

  “Hardly.” She teased him with the dual points of her tongue, her smile wide and inviting. “I am sending him with Tulani,” she said, nodding knowingly. “Not all lessons should be learned in the schoolroom. I will give her special instructions,” she added coyly.

  “It is late.” Drakko searched Reminda’s face. “Do you think this wise?”

  “I am not happy about sending him to the Desa at this hour, but he is restless, Drakko. If we don’t allow him some freedoms… Oh, look!” Her eyes caught V’sair and Zayden on the edge of the room. “If V’sair gets too drunk to ride, I will strangle Zayden.”

  Drakko’s eyes followed hers and rested on the antics of his sons. He shrugged. “I see what you are saying. Do you want me to stop them?”

  “Sometimes we must let nature do what it must.” Reminda faced him. “It is not easy, but we must let him find himself.”

  “He is young. I thought to introduce him to the delights of manhood sometime in the fourth moon phase.” Drakko frowned. “Should I send a detail to follow him?”

  Reminda raised her finely arched brows. “If he sees them, Tulani will never have a chance. V’sair is exceedingly private.” She saw her husband’s dark lips purse. He was struggling with the whole idea. “He wants to learn the Fireblade,” Reminda told him in a soft voice.

  “It will kill him.”

  “I agree, but he does not feel like a man.”

  Drakko grunted. “I was afraid of this. I cannot let him do it, Reminda. He is your only son. There are many who would take this opportunity—”

  “Tosh, tosh, my husband. You have made the kingdom safe. You have set the stage for a great future. V’sair will bring in a new age to this planet—one of peace and unity. Quyroos, Darracians, and Plantas will have an equal say in the Moon Council.”

  “In that order, my love?” he asked her with a charming smile. He was so rakishly handsome that her eyes never tired of drinking in his strength and masculine beauty.

  Drakko held her hands in his giant ones. “You are cold?” His face appeared concerned. He looked up and called to one of the many attendants, “A wrap for my lady!” Then he looked at the two Quyroos who fed the constant fire in the enormous fireplace. “Build up the fire!”

  They turned the lever that added fuel, and he watched the flames roar, the heat bathing Reminda’s face. Many of the Darracians hurriedly moved away from the warmth; Countess Beatha scowled and tossed off one of her jackets. She snapped for a servant to bring her fan, opened it, and made a great display of her growing discomfort with the heat. Drakko snorted and told the servants to make it hotter. He motioned for an attendant to bring a steaming cup of chay for his wife. When it was delivered to her, she sipped it with a satisfied smile.

  Reminda had worked hard to tame this wild race. Darracian men were quick to temper, and Drakko’s father had ruled this planet in a totalitarian way. Though she came from another world, Darracians did not take well to anyone who looked different. It was only after the birth of their child that she had seen a change in her husband. A smile touched her lips when she thought of the first time she had placed the soft, mewing newborn into his iron-like embrace. The steel had melted, replaced with a bond of love. That
day the great warrior king had changed forever.

  Drakko threw back his great head and roared with laughter. “So it is finally time?” he asked Reminda, his face full of mirth. “You know I would have arranged it.” He looked at the servant girl appreciatively. “It is late for him to be traveling to the Desa.”

  “I know, but we have to let him do something…Oh, I can’t believe this!”

  “What?” Drakko started to turn.

  “No, no. Don’t look at them.” She pulled his arm so that he faced her. “Zayden has just given him another a drink.” She laughed lightly. “Poor V’sair. He has such a stupid look on his face.”

  Drakko smiled. “Should I call Zayden?”

  “I need to speak to Tulani. He should be fine by then. Make sure this is his last one.”

  “Of course. Do you need me to talk to V’sair?”

  “There is no need. Mo’mo has it all handled. One moment, m’aore,” she said affectionately, as she caressed his rugged face. Reminda held up an elegant finger and motioned for Tulani to follow her to an alcove in the room.

  ***

  V’sair stood in the center of the room, nodding to various guests. He spied a group of unmarried daughters of noble birth gathered close to a water-filled structure with fish from around the planet. It was a globe, with colorful deep-sea specimens. Hands behind his back, the liquor giving him false courage, he wandered over, looking to engage in conversation but their remarks froze him in his tracks.

  “So, if you marry him, there’s a chance his mother’s fishy toes will grace your children’s feet.”

  “That white hair, even if it has a royal braid, is hard to stomach,” another said with a giggle.

  “I don’t mind Zayden, he’s gorgeous.”

  “You father would kill you and probably betroth you to Pacuto.”

  “Did you see how small Pacuto’s tail is?”

  “At least he has one!” came an amused reply.

  V’sair stalked off, disgusted with the conversation. He despised them and wondered whether he would put up with one of them as a wife someday.

  Chapter 4

  V’sair walked over to his father and dipped a knee.

  “Sire.”

  “Son.” Drakko looked at his V’sair’s flushed face and put his arm around the boy’s narrow shoulders. They were sturdy, he knew, but could they hold the weight of their world on them? He smiled conspiratorially at his older son and nodded toward a group of officers who were arguing in the corner. Zayden understood immediately, leaving to represent his father in the discussion. Drakko was proud of Zayden; he was a strong warrior, loyal, and one day would serve V’sair very well. He looked down at the frowning face of his younger son. This one had a special place in his formerly cold Darracian heart. He didn’t know he was capable of that kind of feeling until Reminda had entered his life. It was so simple but also so complicated now. He loved the boy, but would his people follow him?

  After so many years of strife, Drakko had forged a tentative peace that the citizens of the planet hadn’t shared for eons. Great Sradda willing, V’sair would be able to take Drakko’s foundation into the next generation. Their planet had been so close to total annihilation, with species killing species; it had been a brutal time. But the Elements had reached Drakko through his love for Reminda, and he had been able to turn the might of his armies to bring reason to all the warring factions. It was as difficult as riding a wild stallius. Although it was sometimes a thankless job, his work had paid off, and for the first time in many millennia, Darracia was enjoying a new awakening, and he was the driving force. Though many had tried to sabotage his plans, the planet was moving toward unity. Small outbreaks of violence still erupted, but he was working very closely with the Quyroos to bring about peace. Would V’sair be able to complete what Drakko had begun? He snapped to a servant to bring a drink to water down the liquor in his son’s stomach.

  V’sair took in the lowered brows of his father and asked, “Something troubles you, sire?”

  “Just the usual. How goes the studies, my son?”

  V’sair declined the glass, but his father insisted. “Drink it, V’sair.”

  He did so with little grace, feeling it wash away the dreaminess of the drinks Zayden had shared with him. He liked those better, he wanted to tell his father, but chose not to. Instead, feeling courageous, he decided to broach the subject that stood between them.

  “Father…” V’sair turned to look as his father. “When can I…I mean…studies are fine, but I must be tested by the Fireblade.”

  Drakko turned away abruptly. “No. You are not built for the Fireblade, V’sair. We will not discuss it.”

  “But Dado,” V’sair complained, “how can your people respect me if I don’t accept the challenge? I must. It’s a rite of passage. How can I lead if I cannot set an example?”

  “They are your people too, V’sair. Respect will come from what you do, not how you fight.”

  “You have held this land together with force.”

  “Only to bring peace.” He took his son by the arm and walked through the great room, waving away his guards. He nodded to Emmicus but did not call him over. “Those were different times. I have only you, V’sair. Things are changing. The Quyroos will not continue as they have before. I brought back Emmicus to ensure you had the best education. You are the future of this world.”

  “But the customs…” V’sair implored him.

  “We will circumvent this custom.”

  “Circumvent!” V’sair was shocked. “You cannot. Every king, every soldier, everyone—even Emmicus—has been tested by the Fireblade.”

  “I can circumvent whatever I want. I am the king!” His father pumped his gloved fist into the air, his voice booming.

  The room quieted; the music stopped; and V’sair noticed that everyone stared at them. His father glowered at the crowd and waved off the musicians, who gathered up their instruments and left. He stalked to the other side of the room, and V’sair knew the subject was closed. A cluster of advisors and top generals surrounded Drakko, and V’sair angrily stopped himself from following. Emmicus wandered over to the group, his shaggy gray head deep in thought.

  Night was falling, and the great hall was illuminated by bright lights that reflected off the polished red walls. Screens hung from four posts; the nightly news was on. A female Darracian newscaster was speaking, the image of a raging fire behind her. Concerned Darracians surrounded the screens, murmuring softly, watching the news unfold. Drakko was deep in discussion with several council members. One of them appeared quite angry; General Swart was arguing fiercely with the king. He was one of the older officers and was walking a fine line. V’sair wondered whether his father would erupt during General Swart’s tirade. The prince wandered over to one of the screens and caught only that the fires were in the eastern provinces, where lately there had been Quyroo unrest.

  “These are troubling times, Your Highness.” V’sair knew Emmicus was standing next to him before he spoke.

  “Why do they build on Aqin? It is foolhardy as well as against the law. That land is considered sacred.”

  “Think, sire. Why would the Bottom Dwellers tempt Darracian wrath?”

  “I don’t understand,” V’sair said. “The Quyroos finally desire peace. My father has met with them.”

  “Yes…”

  “The settlements only put off the peace talks. How can my father trust them if they can’t control their own…Oh, Emmicus! I understand!” Light dawned on V’sair’s face. “It’s a power play to keep the accord from happening.”

  “Just so, young master.” Emmicus beamed. “Our lesson continues after all. As long as the Bottom Dwellers continue to settle on the forbidden lands of Aqin, there will be no peace accord. Should their tampering with the holy land of Aqin awaken the wrath of the volcano, the whole of Darracia will be in danger. Just look at those fires,” Emmicus noted, clicking his tongue. The reporter on the giant screen continued to speak of a
growing rebellion in the eastern provinces.

  The newscast suddenly was drowned out by the blare of trumpets announcing V’sair’s uncle.

  Staf Nuen entered the room, his son—V’sair’s cousin, Pacuto—walking purposefully next to him. They wore flowing black capes, and the red dust of their planet covered their boots. They must have just come from the outdoors. They wore full armor, and while Staf’s braid was wound tightly, Pacuto’s looked slightly disheveled. Staf wore a neatly manicured beard that covered his pitted face. He was battle scarred and a pale imitation of his handsome twin brother. Staf brushed past V’sair without even a nod and approached the king, dipping his knee ever so slightly, almost an insult. His father never seemed to mind, but it bothered V’sair. His cousin, as usual, ignored him.

  “Highness,” Staf growled in a raspy, powdery baritone, rudely interrupting General Swart.

  Drakko inclined his head as he smiled benignly. “Staf. I can see by your impatience that you have news for me,” he added indulgently.

  Staf bristled, and Pacuto’s face was an impassive mask.

  V’sair wandered over to find out what was going on, but the group blatantly ignored his presence.

  “The Quyroos in the eastern quadrant have dammed the River Stevin. Our supplies are at the halfway point. They demand a seat in the Darracian Moon Council.”

  “Childish pranks that were put down by General Swart before dusk,” the king answered curtly, his gray face impassive. General Swart bowed deeply, a sneer on his granite face.

  Staf was outraged. “I saw the fires!”

  “A diversion. The supplies were released, the youngsters sent on their way,” General Swart responded smugly. He hated Staf Nuen, thought him a bully. Even though Swart argued with the king, he was loyal unto death and never would let Staf know he disagreed with any of Drakko’s policies. He had wanted to destroy the Quyroo village. It was his suggestion that they torch the settlement to teach them a lesson, but this new era of peace and understanding was interfering. Swart stared hard at the crown prince and fervently prayed for the good health of the king, Great Sradda willing. What would happen if the boy reigned? He shuddered with distaste. World order was in jeopardy; the entire planet was upside down. Bottom Dwellers were building on the sides of the great volcano, tempting the Elements. Quyroos considered themselves equal to the population of the clouds. They wanted to control the export of the randam crystals. In his 150 years, Swart never thought he’d see such nonsense. Yet the king refused to act as his father had before him. The Planta woman had made him soft, he thought with disgust. But Swart was the king’s liege and knew his duty. Staf Nuen’s roar interrupted his thoughts.