Schism of Blood and Stone (The Starfield Theory Book 1) (25 page)

Lord Damien Sten

Duke of Hidelborg, Defender of the Border, The Gray Knight

Magdeborg
,
Magdeborg Commonwealth

______________

Damien tried to relax on the shuttle as it powered through Magdeborg's atmosphere. For the first time in eleven years, Damien was returning home. He watched through the shuttle's windows as the terrain rushed by below him. Bright blues arced overhead, while dense forests stretched out into the plains and farmlands. Large oceans of turquoise water roared over three-fourths of the planet's surface, and Damien lamented that he had never actually visited them. Magdeborg was teeming with life, resources and energy. It was the gem in the crown of the Commonwealth, one of the rare Class-A worlds that empires slaughtered each other wholesale to take.

Most worlds were barely capable of supporting life, orbiting either too close or too far from their host stars. Only extensive terraforming had allowed some of them to become suitable for human life. Damien's own fief of Hidelborg was a Class-C, upgraded from Class-D after a century of ecological tinkering.

Unlike his siblings, Damien was born on Magdeborg, rather than Anarrk, the wintry ancestral home of House Sten. In that manner he couldn't claim to have been “Born in the White” a sort of privilege and title that most Sten royalty had accorded them due to the location of their birth. He grew up in the Sten palace and at an early age, was exposed to the intricacies and nuances of diplomacy and politics. Even as a child and young adult, his time was spent in the cities, making connections and attending high level political meetings. He was often found in the Conclave building, talking to the representatives of major houses. For some reason they felt comfortable talking to the child, unwilling or unable to accept that he was gathering intelligence. He was his father's spy, a role he very much enjoyed. He fell in love with the gritty, dirty wars of words, but his training as a politician stopped early. He had shown a propensity towards leadership and an acute ability to manage resources on a large scale so Haakon had ordered him to war college and he'd gone without complaint. The nobles, despite their wealth and power, were slaves to the system. Service was demanded of him so he gave it. There was no other alternative. His assignments saw him banished to the violent Commonwealth borders, far away from the political haranguing he'd actually enjoyed so much. Despite his semi-exile, he still applied what he'd learned in the Conclave to the practice of war with great success.

As the shuttle raced over the open plains on the planet's largest continent, he considered the implications of his visit. He was attending his brother's funeral, which was sure to be a politically and emotionally awkward scene by itself would only be compounded by Salena's insistence on Damien delivering the eulogy. Delivering such a speech was a tradition that had been determined vain – what great king needed someone to point out their accomplishments? - and done away with centuries ago. Damien couldn't begin to guess why Salena had revived the tradition. On the trip, he'd actually had to conduct research on speeches for the dead and had tried to begin writing one, but found the activity awkward and pointless. He'd barely even seen his brother in the last forty years so what could he possibly say about him beyond his political and military triumphs? He'd read that eulogies were supposed to humanize the subject and reflect on touching personal moments. Damien blanched. Their few personal moments together were private affairs and always colored by politics. Sovereigns were not supposed to be humanized. They occupied the space between human and Azuren, owing their power to Amrah and their authority to the Azuren. Peter was as close to a living holy figure as any human could get. Eulogies were for lowborns. He was beginning to suspect Salena put hi up to it to embarrass him.

As much as he tried to subdue his personal emotions, his thoughts reflected back on the limited time he had spent with his brother outside of politics. They had spent many hours romping around the palace as children, getting into mischief, before maturing on the road to adulthood. They struggled to balance their lives as the upright Commonwealth royalty that was always under observation by the media and as young men eager to begin their lives. Until their mid twenties, Archduke Haakon had not declared an heir. When his father skipped over him in favor of his younger brother he could not help, but sulk for years in the Goteborg Duchy, angry and bitter towards Haakon and Peter. He had no official duties until Peter took the throne and even then he was only de facto heir until Peter produced offspring.

He could still remember the day their father died. Archduke Haakon Sten's ship was leaving Magdeborg, jumping out of the zenith Azuren Station, never to be seen again. After months of searching, House Sørensen declared Haakon dead, and proclaimed Peter as Archduke. Because Peter was childless at the time, Damien was the heir to the throne again.

The two brothers were placed in an awkward situation when Arthur Sten was born and Damien was squeezed out of the picture entirely. He felt as if his banishment was not longer only physical, but personal as well. However, Arthur only lived for six years, killed by a bullet meant for his father during a parade. The killing brought the Sten siblings together for the first time in a decade, but no announcement towards Damien's status was ever made. He and Salena had supported Peter, even in his most dire of circumstances, oblivious to rank and propriety for at least a little while. Some tragedies were so horrible, the bickering of politics was put aside temporarily. There was still a bond between them then, something that linked them together as family that trumped politics. Where would that go?

Eleven years ago they were brought together again, Salena massively pregnant at the time with her youngest daughter, when Ciara, Peter's wife, the Archduchess, distraught over the loss of their son, took her own life on Anarrk. Peter had seen both of his closest family taken from him. Every family gathering on Magdeborg had been in the wake of a tragedy. That was the last time Damien saw his brother alive.

Now, once again, he had been called back home to oversee the death of a family member. He'd heard some whisperings that his branch of the Sten family tree was cursed. Haakon's disappearance, Ciara's suicide and Arthur and Peter both falling victim to an assassin.

But Peter wasn't done yet, apparently. Even beyond the grave, he still influenced the course of the Commonwealth. The twins had been kept secret from the Commonwealth people, and from his siblings. He wondered how Peter had managed such a feat. Damien shook his head, softly. The twins. His orders had been clear. Aaron was to apprehend the duo wherever they had gone and keep them under guard until further notice. He had to protect them from Salena who, he was sure, would try to have them murdered.

The other reason for his inability to focus stemmed from the possibility Salena would have him arrested as soon as he stepped off the ship. In his mind's eye he could see her agents tightening a bag over his head and dragging him off to some remote location, possibly to be tortured before finally being executed. He had stared for many hours into the fire in his stateroom on the
Crimson Lady
during the two week to Magdeborg
,
considering all the possible scenarios. The flickering flame had jumped and hissed unpredictably, allowing him to focus on the infinite possibilities of fate that awaited him on Magdeborg. He watched until the fire burned itself to nothing and the flames, struggling to resist its inevitable fate just like any human being, finally succumbed and died. The Theorists had equations for predicting the future. He didn't believe their accuracy, but he didn't need to be a Theorist to know his was bleak. Was it wise to return?

Damien stroked his chin thoughtfully. If Salena didn't have him killed, he had to use this time to gather intelligence, to test the water and find Salena's weak points. The Conclave was the logical place to start, but his presence there would raise red flags. He wondered just how tightly she had the Sten's vassals wrapped around her finger.

Is the Conclave afraid that Salena could crush them as she crushed the Sørensens?

He'd seen the reports. The Sørensens had been slaughtered almost to the man. Only a few had escaped and set up a resistance movement. It might be possible to feel them out and determine their strength. If they were powerful enough they might be useful allies. If they were weak and Magnus Teton-Sten had them in hand they might doom him instead.

The shuttle slowed and veered as it neared the spaceport. He could see the spiderweb of landing platforms, access tunnels and power conduits below. In the distance he could just make out the Magdeborg palace and the city that surrounded it. The shuttle slipped below the limits of the spaceport and the pilots expertly set it on a pad. Damien stepped quickly to the ramp that would discharge him. He carefully and precisely straightened his uniform. His own personal retinue's dress uniform was colored medium gray with yellow piping along the collar, wrists and ankles. His general's insignia was freshly polished and clipped to his collar. On his left bicep was the Commonwealth's sword and book sigil set on a white circular field. He also wore the his sword at his left hip tied in place by a sash colored white and blue. He was determined to play the part of the loyal Commonwealth general, even if all that awaited him was Salena's firing squad. He would die a warrior.

He steeled himself for the worst.

The shuttle's two doors slid open and a wave of cheering and brass band music nearly overwhelmed him. He stiffened instantly in pure shock. Slowly, his eyes scanned the sight before him. Thousands, no tens of thousands of people packed the spaceport. They were all cheering and yelling, waving flags and waving at
him
. The pure sound of it hit him like a shock wave. Directly in front of him was a platform. Two rows of smartly arrayed soldiers flanked a great blue carpet adorned with the Sten crest. Three other figured stood at the end of the rows, facing him, apparently waiting for him to approach. Off to the side, a band was playing the Commonwealth national anthem.

Oh, Salena. You have once again caught me unaware.

As Damien stepped onto the platform, the rows of soldiers saluted, as did the three figures at the end. Immediately, he recognized Richard Teton, Salena's husband. He stood a few centimeters taller than Damien, dressed in the colors of House Teton. On either side were two of Salena's three children. Magnus, the eldest, and Cassandra, the middle child. Each wore the primary gray and blue with white trim typical of House Sten, but with a splash of Teton gold indicating their mixed ancestry.

Once Damien had closed the distance, Richard Teton extended a hand and shook warmly. He was smiling broadly and so convincingly that Damien wondered if it was genuine.

“This is quite a reception,” he shouted over the crowd

“These are tough times. Sometimes we must satisfy the public's need to cheer something. Welcome home, brother!” Richard shouted back.

The Teton duke had never called him brother before. They were Salena's twisted words coming from his own mouth.

Richard stepped aside and took in the crowd with his arm. It roared, more loudly, and frighteningly than any guns Damien had ever faced.
Salena had been working quickly to wrap them around her finger. A hero's welcome. She is far more dangerous than I ever imagined. This is not the Salena of old.

Damien waved, trying to appear as if he had prepared for this occasion. He was the Commonwealth's general, the hero staving off the Dominion despite the death of his Archduke and brother. At least that was the role Salena had chosen for him for today. The crowd was meant to empathize with him, he realized suddenly. He mouthed “thank you” to the crowds and the cameras which huddled like a tiny herd of metal pack rats, trying to show his appreciation for their welcome.

Quickly, the Teton-Sten children flanked him and gently guided him to the platform's stairs. He looked away from the crowd to the waiting limousine. At the foot of the stairs was pure evil in flesh. Dmitri Filipov, Salena's minion and demented mastermind, waited patiently while watching Damien's reaction. He knew instantly that he had engineered this entire event which probably explained Salena's recent new tactics. He probably had his secret police cruising the crowds, stirring up excitement and urging participation. He ignored Filipov as best as he was able as he passed by. Any sour looks in his direction would give him cause to report the incident to Salena and create unnecessary suspicion. Damien would not allow him the pleasure.

Damien and Richard stepped into the limousine, while the two Teton-Sten children found another vehicle. Richard signaled the driver and the the convoy began rolling through the crowds. Damien shifted uncomfortably, his formal uniform not quite suited for the leisure of royalty. He would have preferred a military transport.

“It's been some time since we last saw you, Damien,” Richard began by way of pleasantries.

Damien nodded. “Not since Ciara's passing.”

Keep it light
, he reminded himself.
Learn Richard's agenda.

“I noticed your youngest was not present. Remind me where she's been,” Damien suggested.

Richard seemed to brighten, eager to speak of the exploits of his royal children. “Isarla is training to be an Averion on Johans, researching Precursor ruins and studying the Akora. She's taken quite an interest in the subject, perhaps to an unusual extent for nobility, but we encourage her curiosity. Azuren friendship is is a powerful ally and proof that our path is one with Amrah.”