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

by Brian Frederico

  Turning away, Damien studied the insignia of House Sten engraved just over the arched entryway of the mausoleum. The sword and the book, the signs of the philosopher kings, he thought. Of course, make no mistake, the sword always comes first. We are all warriors first and scholars second. The Starfield elements are so obvious to those who know what to look for. And the Azuren still have never suspect it.

  He felt an urge to be inside the mausoleum and out of the eye of the crowd, afraid they would judge him too soon. What he'd say here today would spark open conflict. War. Some of the people outside would not survive, incinerated by a laser or blown to bits by a stray missile. Conrad's military units sent to hit the funeral itself had strict orders only to fire if fired upon. It was no guarantee though.

  It was more dramatic than Damien wished, but it had to be. The population was largely complacent. The Azuren had gotten to them, made them ignorant and desiring security more than what was right. Salena's grip on power was strong thanks to a powerful army and fear amongst the population of the Dominion. They had to be shocked to their senses and Damien intended to give them that jolt, first with the revelation of the twins, then with the spectacular display of military prowess by springing the Sørensens from prison, taking the starport, and whisking himself, Conrad, Dietrich and the others away on a ship.

  Conrad had laughed when Damien complained it looked like something out of an action movie, but then assured him he'd seen far less competent warriors complete far greater feats. Damien wasn't sure of the veracity of the boast, but was comforted at least by Conrad's confidence. His unit was the most selective of any in the Commonwealth armed forces accepting only the best, most loyal, daring warriors House Sten could muster. If anyone could pull it off, it would be Conrad.

  Around the ring of the crowd and along the road up to the mausoleum were armored vehicles and destriers painted in House Teton-Sten colors. They all bore foreign insignia. There were several sections of them here and for a moment he worried that Conrad's troops might have trouble fending them off, but most of them were shut down, their pilots and crews standing near them at attention. They were not guards, but merely symbols of the power of House Teton-Sten, a reminder to the crowds who was in charge. But Salena was not stupid; there would be security forces here. The rumor was that she always carried a weapon hidden in her clothing. This would be no different.

  Damien checked his watch. By now, two other groups of Sten House Guardsmen would be on their way to the prison and the spaceport. At a signal determined by Damien himself they would launch their assaults. Sections consisting of both destriers and vehicles would be on scene in ten minutes exactly, which meant this would be a short eulogy. A declaration of war is what the media will call it. They will call me a traitor and condemn my own claim to the throne. But what will they think of Kristoffer? They might not support me, but would they support him? The Azuren will hate me, but I'm a Theorist, they already do.

  Damien banished the thought from his mind. He could not control their reaction, he could only state his case as best as he could. And as quickly as possible. As soon as he even appeared to be going off message, Salena's people would be on him. The timing would need to be exquisite.

  He leaned against one of the huge stone pillars inside the mausoleum and looked up. The interior was a massive atrium, extending up all ten stories to a glass dome. Each floor wrapped around the atrium and dozens of portraits of his ancestors looked down on him. What would they think of this mess? The Commonwealth has seen its fair share of internal conflict, rouge barons, uprisings and the likes, but a full blown civil war has never been recorded in Commonwealth history.

  Damien caught a flutter of movement at the entrance and turned to see the Conclave members begin to file in. At the passing of a royal leader each House would send a representative and the approaching mass was a rainbow of house colors and heraldry. Damien looked among them quickly for allies and saw few. The border houses sent emissaries rather than knights and nobles. In anticipation of Dominion attacks, they could spare no warriors. Many of the border house diplomats bowed their heads respectfully at Damien as they passed, affirming their understanding of his never ending dedication to protecting their homes. He had allies here, families that owed their freedom to him and his army.

  Houses Evers and Mercer were missing entirely as were some of the other smaller houses whose territory had been absorbed into the Dominion. House Evers was busy preparing its defenses and House Mercer was probably still burying its own dead, still reeling from the loss of Haberton and most of their house. Poor Aaron. He wishes to be with his surviving family, but I need him where he is.

  Conrad Sten entered after the Conclave members and Damien hurried to his side. Quietly, Damien asked, “Is it ready?”

  Conrad looked as if he'd aged another twenty years since the previous night. He was already old, but his mountain retreat allowed him to live his life at his pace. Out of his element, he seemed weaker. Damien felt a moment of panic.

  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 th
e 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

  9 March, 23,423

  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.
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br />   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.