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

by Brian Frederico

  But something is wrong, Magnus thought. Fatally wrong.

  Other nobles carefully parted ways as the Teton-Sten children glided past them arm in arm. Cassandra shared smiles with those who looked in their direction, but Magnus kept his face passively neutral. They are like dogs begging for treats. They deserve only a pat on the head and chew toy.

  The ballroom was a large chamber on the palace grounds. The floor was an intricately designed Sten insignia, with slivers of precious metals in blue and green outlining the cover of the book. Rougher stones in off-white and tan for the pages. Cool steel was set for the blade of the Sten sword and Magnus and Cassandra walked up from the tip. High glass ceilings were supported by a dozen massive marble pillars. A balconied second story ran around the perimeter where guests, tired of dancing would socialize and drink.

  They hid it well, Magnus realized, but the signs were there. The building used to be a destrier hanger. The outlines of the recesses for the machines were still vaguely visible and the walls of the place were still reinforced steel and concrete. It was a convert from the early days of the Sten family's occupation of Magdeborg when their grip on the world was still weak. As it is now, Magnus realized. Perhaps we ought to convert it again.

  Duke and Lady Mason were extremely wealthy, a result of their control of Sindal, a binary star system on the border of the their territory. Several of their worlds were rich in metals that the Harding Corporation mined for their production of military vehicles and weapons. Much of their house troops utilized Harding's technology, making them one of the more powerful houses. Despite her recent incidents, Mother hadn't lost the foresight of finding important alliances. In the coming war, the resources and technology would be critical.

  The Masons were both in their sixties, still young for nobles, and approaching obesity. They were obviously entrenched in the old ways that viewed gluttony as a symbol of power. In their case they would not be wrong, but Magnus looked on them with disdain. No self respecting individual would let themselves go like that. If they were his soldiers they would be drummed out faster then they could blink.

  Nevertheless, he gave them a forced smile and a curt bow, a custom which had apparently become popular again. Both the Masons bowed as far as their girth would allow.

  “Sir Magnus, Lady Cassandra, you honor us with your attention,” Duke Mason said his jowls quivering. He was dressed in a luxurious business suit, obviously emphasizing his economic ties to the Hardings. His house's crest, the world of Aarhus, was emblazoned on his left breast and his sash was in the Mason colors, purple and silver. His wife, an ugly, more-plastic-than-flesh thing which hung onto his elbow, smiled at him. She wore a massive purple and silver dress that revealed more bosom than was proper.

  Magnus cleared his throat. “We were quite pleased to learn that you would be joining us. Your reputation has proceeded you.”

  Frederick Mason smiled. “It's not often that we can gather like this. The war and the insurgency are a drain on us all.”

  Magnus felt color rising from the inside of his uniform and spreading to his cheeks. Cassandra's forceful pinch on the inside of his flesh arm kept his anger in check.

  “We shall have them rooted out soon enough,” Magnus said tersely.

  Frederick Mason nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, indeed. I understand my soldiers will be used in your upcoming offensive.”

  Magnus hid his shock behind a short cough. How did he know about that? We haven't even released the plan for final review amongst the other generals, yet!

  “House Mason will play a major role in the plan, yes. They will bring much glory to their name,” he said smiling, hiding his irritation.

  “Ah!” Mason said and smiled at his wife as if proving a point. “I am always happy to be service to House Teton-Sten. If there is anything more we can provide you, please do not hesitant to command.”

  Cassandra stepped in carefully steering the conversation away from military matters an on to more immediate concerns. “We have not yet had the pleasure of seeing your daughter tonight. We heard you brought her back from Aarhus and hoped to find her with you.”

  Lady Mason looked across the hall, “She's speaking with Lord Clarke. But we can bring her here immediately.” She snapped at one of her servants

  “Yes, I believe she was looking forward to getting acquainted with you more,” Frederick added with a knowing smile. “I understand these arranged marriages are difficult in these days. They were much simpler in my day.”

  Magnus turned to look, but could not see through the crowd. Dozens of noblemen were trying to be discrete by sneaking peaks in their direction. They were all wondering what the Commonwealth heir was discussing with the Masons. What alliances were forming? What knives were being plunged into backs? What secret deals were being made?

  Magnus hated them all.

  Frederick Mason smiled tightly as his servant returned with his daughter in tow. She was wearing a purple and silver gown, leaving no question that she was the heir to her father's dukedom. She was covered in more jewelery than Magnus had ever seen on any one person before. Kendra gave her father a hug and her mother a quick peck on the cheek then she took her betrothed by the arm.

  “I was frustrated when they sent me back to Aarhus after the invasion. I feared for you, my dear,” she told him.

  “It was quite dangerous then,” Magnus said.

  “Best to keep you safe,” Frederick added. “Too much rests on your shoulders. The both of you,” he added indicating Magnus with a fat finger. “Your mother is wise to keep you out of harm's way until the bloodline is secure.”

  “Of course,” Magnus said flatly.

  Kendra traced the fading wounds Thaddeus Sørensen had left him after their duel. “You were hurt.”

  “All warriors get hurt. It is now a healthy reminder that I need to be a better warrior.”

  “I could not have my prince too severely damaged before our wedding,” she said sweetly, her eyes lighting up. “Think of the weddings pictures that will be broadcast across the Commonwealth.”

  “Of course. Priorities.”

  He saw Cassandra gently leading the Mason parents away to a table filled with sweet Magdeborg desserts. How tactful. Mother has trained her well.

  “Perhaps we should retire outside,” Magnus said nervously, gesturing towards the balcony that lined the great hall.

  “Of course, my lord,” she said and slipped the crook of her arm through his flesh one, intentionally positioning herself there. As the doors closed behind them, the sound and noises of the party immediately silenced, replaced with the gentle gurgle of fountains below and the chirping and cawing of the night birds that lighted on the palace's roofs.

  Magnus wondered how the crowd would respond to see the prince lead a young noblewoman out of the public's eye. What would the Azuren think? What would his mother think? He tried to push those thoughts from his mind. Enough of what others think!

  Kendra leaned on the stone railing and looked over the lit city. Magdeborg was always busy, even with the curfews and checkpoints in place now. After the public had rebounded from Peter's funeral and the resulting chaos, they had resumed their routines, but it wasn't the sort of energy that existed before. An already tired city had become more sleepy. It was the resistance movements out in the country that were restless. The Teton-Stens could project power only throughout the city so they did just that. Cracking down on the areas already under control, Magnus groaned. A waste of resources and time, damaging relations with a populace that didn't need policing.

  He joined Kendra by the railing and said, “It's a nice night.”

  She laughed sweetly.

  “What?

  ` “Is that why you brought me out here? To speak about the weather?”

  Magnus made a face and surrendered to her point. “This isn't exactly my best moment. I didn't know I would be speaking with you tonight until just now. Apparently my mother has a sink or swim mentality when it comes to these things.”<
br />
  “Your mother is a very smart lady,” she said, trying to flatter him.

  “Most of the time, yes. She's been under a lot of stress lately.”

  “She will need time. She was right to bring us together. Arranged marriages are the norm, but they can be difficult.

  Magnus nodded. “I figured as much. Your family provides mine with military power, mine provides yours with political power. It's a simple balance. I'm sorry you got caught up in this,” he said with surprising sincerity. “We have not spent much time together. Your trip to Danvers to meet my family got a bit interrupted by the Sørensens.”

  “I was glad to see you off to battle. I know you're a general and you'll be required to fight. That is something I'll need to get used to. My father was not a fighter.”

  Magnus tried to imagine the fat duke fitting into a destrier cockpit and stifled a laugh.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Kendra laughed and playfully grabbed at his arm. “I've had the same thought.”

  She ran her hands down his arms, then paused at the prosthetic. “What's this?”

  He looked at his arm, immediately hating it. At first it embarrassed him, but all the other veterans had wounds and showed off their scars with pride. He had a sense his mother had ordered them to do it so he'd feel more comfortable. He was annoyed at her interference, but thankful for his fellow warriors' attempts to help him. That was when he truly felt he belonged. What he thought was an embarrassment became his biggest source of pride. Even with a fake arm he'd been a better fighter than anyone in his unit.

  This was a different battlefield, his words from his conversation with his mother a few days ago echoed in his mind. Kendra was not a warrior, she would not understand.

  “An accident – a war wound,” he said recovering. Always call it a war wound, his mother had told him. “They call me the Iron-Handed because of it.”

  Kendra laughed. “I wondered at the nickname. You don't seem like a dictator to me.”

  Kendra rolled up his sleeve and ran her hand over the smooth faux-skin. It didn't grow hair and there was still the seam between himself and the arm like a thin white armband.

  “Full articulation,” she said. “Even in the fingers.”

  “Reinforced electroactive polymers,” Magnus said. “The same used in destriers.”

  “I know, my family manufactures EAPs,” she said, massaging his fingers and testing the actuators. “It's incredible the sort of advances they've made. Can you pilot with it?”

  “Of course,” Magnus said defensively. “I still put up the best numbers in my unit.”

  “I believe it,” she said giving the arm a squeeze. “It's very powerful.”

  “The best money can buy,” he said awkwardly.

  They stood side by side at the balcony a while longer. Cassandra's revelation made him want to talk about anything other than families. Best to handle this as he would any discussion with his subordinates. Direct and to the point. Finally, he took a breath and exhaled sharply.

  “My mother wants the date of the wedding moved up.”

  Kendra raised her eyebrows. “I hadn't heard.”

  “She told me just the other day. In light of the funeral and my uncle, she wants to distract the people with a 'joyous occasion' I think she said.”

  “How soon?” She asked slowly.

  “Next month. The fifteenth.”

  Kendra nodded and scratched at the stone railing with her fingernail. “The Archduchess is worried about your legacy. If the violence continues and you die without an heir-”

  “The conflict begins anew.”

  “Cassandra-”

  “Is a lovely person, but she does not have the gravitas to be an Archduchess.”

  “She's become like a sister to me, so welcoming.”

  “I know. She is a great organizer, speaker and can navigate a ballroom like I maneuver on a battlefield. But she has no power. The next Archduke of the Commonwealth will be our child.”

  “I understand. It's just...so soon.”

  “We are expressions of our families' power, Magnus said. “We are their tools to shape and mold the future of the house until they are no more. Then the responsibility falls to us.”

  “You have such lovely gardens,” Kendra said suddenly. “They remind me of my homeworld. There is one park in the city and the only one reserved for the nobility. We are a business-minded people, you know. Towering buildings, industrial centers, factories, testing grounds. The Harding Corporation owns much of it, but there is this one park called the Garden of Everlasting Peace nestling, ironically, right next to the headquarters of the Combat Arms mercenary battalion.”

  Magnus laughed politely. Gardens did not interest him.

  “I spent a lot of my childhood there, so much that I insisted my tutors meet me there for my instruction. Classrooms bored me. I don't like being constrained by walls there's a lot you can learn by experiencing.”

  Oh great, a nature freak.

  “I don't think you care much about gardens?”

  Magnus shrugged helplessly. He'd been caught. “Sorry.”

  She laughed, apparently not offended. “I don't blame you. Few Mason nobles or their subjects do.”

  “I don't suspect you care much about warfare either,” he said.

  “We have a lot to learn about each other.”

  “And not a lot of time to do it,” Magnus added. “Tell me though. Will you try? I know love in arranged marriages is not a requirement, but we can either make this easy or we can make this very difficult.”

  “You're right,” she said. “We have to at least try. We owe that not to our parents, but to ourselves.”

  Magnus smiled and offered her his flesh arm. “Gardens you say? Would you like to take a stroll?”

  Kendra laughed. “By your lead, general.”

  Sir Aaron Mercer-Sten

  Knight Scion of House Mercer

  19 March, 23,423

  Verland, Goteborg, Magdeborg Commonwealth

  ______________

  Aaron Mercer-Sten rubbed his puffy eyes and felt his neck stiffen. The stress of the day had threatened to overwhelm him and now he was busy looking over repair reports that threatened to put him to sleep. His forces had suffered much more than he had initially thought. Reyna was right about House Evers. They had nearly been wiped out. Sir Ian Evers was dead, the Lady Evers was devastated and let the left flank cave in under Pershing's attack. And now her second daughter Diana was reported dead in the Vertoxx attack. The Goteborg militias were not accustomed to long campaigns and they just about broken, out of ammunition and fighters. At best, I can field thirty fully armed sections, maybe another dozen ones cobbled together. Amrah's will be done, Aaron thought.

  To make matters worse the command center was contaminated with Vertoxx, requiring the relocation of command and control functions to a backup field station. Tents had been provided for Aaron and his staff, most of whom had survived the attack on the compound, but seemed dubious about the security of the tent city. His personal tent was small, but afforded a private bed and bath. It was the only luxury he really afforded himself in the field.

  The soldiers stationed here were the remnants of the houses responsible for protecting the flanks. There were a few Evers knights and a number of others from the various supporting houses. No section had been left undamaged in the fighting, and many were barely functional.

  The worst of it was Kristoffer – he would never be a Sten – lay wounded in the medical tent when his combat suit was breached. Some Vertoxx had gotten inside before the suit could seal itself. Because the helmet was locked above the suit's throat, little of the agent entered his lungs. He would survive with burns to his body though he should have died.

  “You're worrying again,” Reyna said flatly.

  Aaron rolled his eyes. “You still think you can read me like a book.”

  “I can. You're an easy one to read when you wear your emotions on your sleeve. It's mostly a Sten tr
ait, but some hide it better than others. I can read Lord Damien the same way,” she said, proud of this fact.

  Aaron doubted that very much.

  He looked back at her, annoyed. She lay sprawled on her stomach on the bed, naked, with her feet gently waving in the air. It seemed more and more frequently that Aaron relied on her for military advice and in more and more advanced stages of undress. He shook his head.

  “Stop it. This is not the time.”

  “Not the time? What better time is it? You've given Morlan Pershing a bloody nose.”

  He bit the inside of his lip. “Hardly.”

  “Have some confiden-”

  “Stop saying that!” He shouted, knocking the chair back and confronting her. “My confidence nearly got us all killed. It is lucky that Pershing did not win the planet in one single battle. And it's because I listened to you. You wanted to blood the Mercer sections and put them in the battle. I listened to you and we ended up falling for Pershing's feint while the main thrust of his attack came at the weakened flank. I let my fury and impatience get the better of me. Never again.”

  Reyna had the good sense to look away, ashamed. At least he hoped that's what her face meant. Any other emotion would be inexcusable. He righted the chair and settled into it again heavily.

  “I saved you,” she said suddenly.

  “What?”

  “I saved you,” she repeated, standing and walking over to him slowly. “If you hadn't been out there, you'd have been at the command center. It would have been you leading the counterattack and you overtaken by the Vertoxx instead of Kristoffer. I saved your life and your house.”

  “Accidentally,” Aaron said. He paused, a sudden realization occurring. He turned to face her. “Unless you are implying you had some forewarning of Pershing's plan and you knew he would attack here in force and you led me away.”

  Aaron arced an eyebrow and waited patiently for her response. She looked away.

  “Reyna. Tell me this isn't true.”

  He let the pen drop on his desk with a rattle then closed his eyes. “How?”

  “There was a Starfield Theorist in Pershing's camp,” she admitted quietly.