Sands of the Solar Empire (The Belmont Saga)

by Ren Garcia

  “That big, funny star over there. The yellow one with the red cloud swirling around it, plain as can be. Right over there! Don’t you see it?”

  Stenstrom and Lyra looked to the north-west and saw nothing but the afternoon sky.

  “You see a large yellow star over there?” Stenstrom asked, shading his eyes, seeing nothing.

  “Yes,” Virginia replied.

  “How is it you see a large yellow star to the north-west?” Lyra asked.

  “How is it you do not?” she replied. She shook her hands, and her dagger vanished.

  11 The NTH

  Stenstrom the Older was home for the holidays. It was always a happy time when father was home—Mother had a rare light in her eye as she hung on his arm like a school girl. The family together at last.

  * * * * *

  Father pulled the old wooden chest off the shelf in his private study. He held it happily for a moment, and then set it down on the desktop.

  Stenstrom the Younger sat in the chair opposite him. His sister Lyra sat in another chair nearby. She was in a lovely Belmont gown—that’s all she wore anymore.

  “Do you know what’s in this chest, Bel?” Father asked.

  He looked at the chest. “No, Father, I don’t.”

  “A bit of your heritage,” he said.

  Stenstrom the Older opened the lid. Inside the felt-lined chest were two rather ancient-looking flint-lock pistols. Bel and Lyra leaned forward to get a better look.

  The two pistols were mostly made of smooth wood, stained an old reddish-brown and curved in a gentle fashion, like a lazy “j.” The stocks were pitted with age, dotted with imperfections. The bases of the grips were capped with ornate brass bulbs, inlaid with fine filigree of gold, silver and lapis. The barrel was, apparently, a simple iron tube that was banded at regular lengths with gold, holding it fast on the stock. It had a large and elaborate hammer mechanism. The hammer was shaped like a large steel “S.” The base of the “S” was attached to the pistol via a large, button-like black screw. The top of the “S” held a cherry-red stone of some kind locked in place with a screw vise.

  “I think it’s time I gave you these, Bel. I’ve been meaning to for some time, but didn’t have the occasion. The NTH pistols have been a Belmont family tradition since the time of the Elders. This set once belonged to Haveral, your grandfather, a great man of Zenon. Now, they belong to you.”

  Stenstrom sat there and looked at them. Lyra reached into the chest and pulled one out. She held it out to him. “Go ahead, Bel, take it.”

  He took the pistol and was surprised how heavy it was. He thought about his sister sitting there in her gown. “Father—Lyra is elder; she should have these.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “I can’t use these, Bel.” She pulled the other one out of the chest and cocked the hammer with a fussy, springy-sounding click. She aimed at the far wall and pulled the trigger. The large hammer swung around in a dramatic fashion and clanked into the breach.

  Nothing happened.

  “The NTH pistol only works for men, Bel,” Stenstrom the Older said. “There are a number of LosCapricos weapons that are gender-specific one way or the other—the NTH is one of them. Our family being an old Zenon line, the ladies were traditionally expected to be rather demure and above such things as brandishing a firearm—thus the classical image of a Zenon-girl.”

  Lyra smiled. “It’s fine, Bel—take them. None of the elder sisters wanted them. I once had hopes of offering these to my son one day, but these are yours by right.”

  Bel took the second NTH, the two of them heavy and solid.

  “What can you tell me about the NTHs, Bel? What do you know about them?”

  He thought a moment. “They are able to destroy nearly anything they hit. They do a great deal of damage, if my reading is correct.”

  Lord Stenstrom laughed. “That’s called a ‘Rumalore’—a ruse. Every LosCapricos weapon has to be registered with the Sisterhood of Light, and the Sisters have an exact description of what the weapon does. A Rumalore is a false description that has been registered and is made generally known to the League, though the Sisters know it to be false. The Rumalore for the NTHs is the amount of damage they do—the NTHs actually do no damage to objects such as walls and furniture and so forth because the NTH shot actually passes right through them. I will stress that you take extreme care with these weapons, Bel, though I know you shall use them in a responsible manner. These pistols might look rather quaint and nostalgic, but know you this—they can slay anything set against them. They are sometimes known as “Ghost-Slayers,” and they live up to their name. They function to the Nth degree. They may slay any, alive or dead, real, unreal, intangible, or incorporeal, and no matter how huge and powerful. They also work against robotic and mechanical foes. Do not expect any large hole or damage to be created, and there is no wounding either—hit a target and they simply fall over and die. The range of this weapon is roughly three hundred yards.”

  Stenstrom the Older pointed at the red stone held in the hammer’s vice. “There is some maintenance that goes along with these. The red stone there—that is a cinnabar. You must have a sharpened bit of cinnabar to enter the chamber; otherwise, the NTH will not fire. Cinnabar, as you might know from your studies, is rather toxic and creates mercury if crushed, so, handle it as infrequently as possible. Occasionally, the cinnabar will crack with use and will be rendered useless. It shall then have to be replaced. I have a whole case full of replacement loads, so you shan’t have to worry about that for some time to come. As long as you have a whole piece of cinnabar, the NTH shall fire.”

  Stenstrom the Older smiled. “I’ve always found it odd that the NTH requires a red stone to fire, yet creates a glowing green blast—rather interesting I might say.”

  Stenstrom sat with the pistols. He was troubled.

  “Why the long face, Bel?” Lyra asked.

  “I still feel you have been slighted.”

  She laughed. “You’ve always been such a thoughtful young fellow.”

  Stenstrom slid the two NTHs into his sash. He was struck with inspiration. “I know. Father, will you promise that, when the time comes, you will give your set to Lyra, so that she may in turn offer them to her future son as she wanted to.”

  Stenstrom the Older leaned back in his chair. “Would that arrangement please you, Lyra?”

  She blushed. “Yes, Father. My brother is always thinking of me.”

  She pinched his cheek and gave him a hug.

  “Then it’s settled, Lyra. You shall have my set of NTHs to present to my grandson when the time is right. As for now, Bel, let these NTHs keep you safe from any that might wish to harm you.”

  12 The Death of the Mad Lord

  Stenstrom was looking all over for his sisters. Lyra was nowhere to be found, and neither was Virginia. Virginia usually wasn’t too hard to find—she could usually be found in or near the kitchens, either eating or making something to eat. She was actually a pretty decent cook.

  But, today, she wasn’t there. He roamed the manor, all their usual haunts empty.

  On a lark, he went to the other side of the manor, in parts where he and his sisters rarely went.

  He thought he heard something.

  “How could they? How could they?” he heard his sister’s voice.

  He went into the library. Virginia and Lyra were sitting by an open holo-terminal. Lyra was in tears, Virginia was comforting her.

  “What’s wrong?” Stenstrom asked walking into the library. “I’ve been looking all over for you two.”

  Lyra didn’t respond; she continued weeping. Virginia looked back. “Sorry, Bel,” she said.

  Stenstrom came to their side and put his hand on Lyra’s shoulder. “You’re sobbing like they cancelled Nether Day,” he said cheerfully.

  Floating in front of them was a posting. “Are you crying about the news?” he said knocking her in the shoulder again.

  The Posting read:

  VIGI
LANT FROM THE EAST SLAIN BY THE SISTERHOOD OF LIGHT

  RUSTAM (Synthnet)—Terrance, Lord of Walther, also known as the “Mad Lord of Walther” was killed by the Sisterhood of Light Sunday evening. Declared a public menace after engaging in a horrific and damaging battle in Rustam with Sedgwick, Lord of Kold, the self-styled “Pirate of Remnath”, the Sisters presided over the evacuation of Rustam and were instrumental in ensuring the safety of the citizenry. In said battle, Lord Walther allegedly killed Lord Kold and was wanted for immediate questioning by the local authorities. He refused to turn himself in, and the Remnath magistrate declared Prata-Envita, a writ granting unquestioned authority to the Sisterhood to handle the matter. The Sisterhood censured Lord Walther and seized his holdings, pending results of an investigation. After repeatedly being asked to surrender, Lord Walther refused, making his slow way south toward a heavily populated area. The Sisters then slew him outside of Rustam, as confirmed by local authorities. The Sisters had nothing further to add on the slaying.

  Although considered a vigilant and was openly censured by the Sisterhood on many occasions, Lord Walther was well-liked in the Green Sabre area of Esther for his repeated and well-documented acts of heroism and bravery. Lord Walther is best known across Kana for his uncovering of the “City of the Dead” in Remnath and his defeating of the Fiend of Calvert twenty years ago.

  A vigil has been organized at the site of Lord Walther’s former holdings in Rustam by the local citizenry, to both celebrate his life and decry the Sisterhood, whom they claim “murdered” Lord Walther.

  Stenstrom read the posting and couldn’t believe it. The Mad Lord, an object of his fascination since he was a child, dead …

  He recalled his handsome face in Rustam, at the Tyrol dinner, and his actions. He was a good man.

  He was a good man.

  Stenstrom joined his sister in sadness.

  13 Lillian of Gamboa

  “Father, we have discussed this,” Stenstrom the younger said as the two walked the south gardens. The Belmont-South Tyrol manor, once a Merian monastery, sat on a hillside in the distance. With its random placement of white, black and red bricks, its exterior often reminded Stenstrom of a vast gingerbread house covered with candies. Surrounding the manor were mystic walks lined with pergolas and primitive-looking observatories full of star-watching equipment. They were scattered about the hillside and gardens, some in ruin, others used as landscaping features. The Merians once used the equipment to gaze out at their mythical Star of Merian—a star that only they could see. Stenstrom and his sister sometimes tried to use the equipment to locate this mythical star, but could never see anything. Virginia said she could see it to the northwest, but he never saw anything but empty sky.

  It was a holiday across the League: St Porter’s Day, a holiday for family, friends and new loves. Many of his married older sisters were in attendance at the manor to celebrate. Stenstrom was incensed; Mother had trucked in yet another young lady for him to meet, an annoying habit she’d acquired.

  Lord Stenstrom the Older laughed as they walked the lovely paths. “I know we have; however, it means a great deal to your mother. And, besides, it’s St. Porter’s day—good things are supposed to happen on St. Porter’s Day.”

  “Happy coincidence—clever of her to arrange it that way. Mother has been trying to control every aspect of my life since before I can remember. Additionally, per her insistence and direction, I am to defy her wishes and make my own choices. Therefore, as before, I will not see this woman.”

  “Your mother might seem a bit overbearing, and in some aspects she certainly can be; even so, she does it because she loves you. And, as an added bonus, I think you might like this one—got spirit, I think.”

  Stenstrom the Younger shrugged. “So, who is it today, just out of curiosity?” he asked.

  “A lovely young lady from Esther, Lillian of Gamboa. I know what you’re thinking—many of the Gamboa ilk have made a name for themselves for being rather homely and uninteresting, but this one seems a tad different. I saw her get out of the coach myself as she arrived—she’s pretty and seems a vibrant young lady. Let’s take your mother out of the equation for a moment, shall we? She’s come all this way—the least you can do is spend a moment with her and determine for yourself if you wish to get to know her better or not. It’s not her fault you and your mother have this on-going contest to one-up the other.”

  Stenstrom shook his head. “True, but out of sheer principle, I’m not going in there. Mother has to learn that I am not interested in her continued efforts to locate me a bride.”

  “She’s done that for all the children. She’s paired off at least ten of your sisters and …”

  There was a crack of thunder. As they walked the garden path, the weather began to quickly turn. The clouds grew angry and a strong wind kicked up from the sea.

  “I wasn’t aware of any storms in the forecast for today.”

  The two Stenstroms held their hats. This was no usual spring up of bad weather. The clouds banged into each other like two opposing armies and were red-rimmed. The center of the conflagration seemed to be right over their heads.

  Sorcery was involved; Stenstrom knew it. Suddenly a thick, reaching fog sprang up.

  “Father?” Stenstrom said groping about. “Father!” No reply came.

  He whirled around in the fog. This was his mother’s doing, and he could expect anything to come running out of the mist, ready to put him to yet another dangerous trial. It was amazing to him how many times his mother mortgaged his soul to simply prove a point, sending a rotting host of minor demons after him, knowing full well he could get rid of them easily with his NTHs—weapons that could slay anything set before him.

  The problem today was that he didn’t have his NTHs—they had been missing from their felt-lined box that morning.

  Mother …

  He thought he could hear the babbling of a creek, and smell the stagnant odor of dirty water and drenched mud—odd, there was no creek in the area.

  A few feet distant in the thick fog, he saw it—the tepid banks of a creek that had appeared from nowhere. Something swam in it—something with red, beady eyes that watched him intently from the calm water’s surface.

  A huge, demonic creature in the form of a giant catfish came leaping out of the creek with a drenched roar. It leaned on its fins, clambering toward Stenstrom in a malevolent fashion. The demon fish was a skillet-full of clashing colors. Its scales were a mottled mixture of awful greens and dead ochres, stretched out over a backdrop of blazing, sun-burned red. Its fins were mostly the same shade of blazing red webbing over a scalloped rib-work of black, over-sized fish bones, ending in rather lethal-looking spines. Its reaching whiskers moved about, like a slimy moustache. Its catfish mouth was enormous and glowed slightly from the reddish tint within.

  “Morning, Lord Belmont!” it said. “I have been summoned to ensure you don’t forget to go see your lady friend today! Fail to keep your appointment, and I get to eat you! Isn’t that lovely?”

  * * * * *

  Lady Jubilee had, for many years, attempted to pair her son, Stenstrom the Younger, to various ladies of standing whom she deemed worthy. One of her favorite social functions was pairing her children off to the various offspring of Great Houses she favored. As Stenstrom was her only son, she threw herself into his pairing with unusual gusto. As per everything Lady Jubilee did, she was very exacting, and rather unflattering in her appraisals of potential candidates, having sullied and greatly angered various Houses with her blunt assessments and quick dismissals. She was looking for an impeccable pedigree, a comely bearing and a high degree of knowledge in the finer things and social graces. Most importantly, Lady Jubilee was looking for a grounded, mundane woman: no Gifts of the Mind, no telepathy and no knowledge of sorcery; she thought it important to counter-balance her son’s sorcerous training. As such she ruled out the heroic Vith with their Gifts and a good many of the Zenons. She wanted a nice safe Halagirl, or a trusty E
sther woman. She was no longer on speaking terms with several Great Houses whom she’d so insulted. She nearly touched off a disturbing social incident when she publically proclaimed that no Houses of Barrow stock were to be considered for her son: the Dares, Cottens and Tuks reacting strenuously with a fruitless letter-writing campaign to counter her position.

  Sorry—no Barrows, Vith, Zenons, Calverts or Remnaths. Nothing out of the ordinary for her son.

  It was quite a shame that she was mortal enemies with the Cones of Remnath (having suspected them of repeatedly trying to murder and abduct her son throughout his early youth), for they had several daughters of fine quality—truly regrettable.

  When a potential candidate did emerge who happened to pass all of Lady Jubilee’s standards, she would be invited to visit the Belmont-South Tyrol estate and be introduced to Lord Stenstrom the Younger. Normally, the lady would be given a fine breakfast, and then asked to wait in a large ballroom on the north manor grounds called the Chalk House for its white limestone walls. Then, Stenstrom the Younger would be summoned and entreated to go into the Chalk House and see if a rapport was struck.

  Stenstrom, however, was on a vendetta in this matter. He was bound and determined to show his mother up—as she fervently requested. She herself asked him to not be such a compliant young man—to thwart her will and set himself against her—though she never failed to get angry when he made a showing of such independence. Many times, he would not go into the Chalk House at all simply to annoy and embarrass his mother; many times he avoided it and allowed the poor lady within to sit all day unattended—she a victim of their ongoing struggle. Other times, he would take one look at the woman sitting there in her gown and walk right back out.

  As Stenstrom knew, Lillian of Gamboa, a fine Esther woman, had been asked to House Belmont several times. She was reputed to be a bright young lady, the tenth of fifteen Gamboa children. Usually attired in festive pastels, she was a tallish girl, blonde-headed and blue eyed. She was a noted painter and sculptress with a lovely eye for color and form. Some of her more ambitious works had sold for a fair amount of money, and she had a small but burgeoning gallery in Gamboa where her works were admired by all.