Schism of Blood and Stone (The Starfield Theory Book 1) (31 page)

The knights saluted then dropped to an at-ease stance. Damien returned the salute and waited, awkwardly, for direction. The knight guide quickly led Damien to the end of the table, to the seat at Conrad's right. Anna had followed and sat next to him. At a clap of Conrad's big hands, the knights marched from the room and the attending knight closed the doors behind him. Carefully Conrad drew out the chair and sat.

Damien was confused by the protocol and wondered if Anna had insisted on such formality when she was setting up this meeting. It seemed unlikely since she was unfazed by the grandiose displays of the nobility and certainly never used any indication of status when they were alone. She knew decades of fighting on the border had left Damien caring little for titles and arrogant nobles. It must have been Conrad's work then. He was still a player in the political games on Magdeborg.

“Lord Colonel Conrad, we thank you for taking us in at such short notice,” Damien said playing his hunch.

Conrad blinked and waved an arm in dismissal. “No bother at all. You are my only nephew now and it is my honor to host you this evening. Walk with Amrah,” he said in the traditional greeting.

“And you,” Damien replied automatically.

Damien shot a glance at Anna a glanced while Conrad turned his attention to a servant, apparently issuing some sort of silent order. During the distraction, Anna returned a
wasn't my idea
look then immediately became interested in the center piece, a design crafted in rare metals that seemed a stylized version of the Sten sigil.

“It has been some time since I saw you last. If I recall correctly, it was ten years ago and only briefly at Ciara's funeral. We really must stop only meeting under these sorts of circumstances. How have you been, nephew?”

“Busy, as you can imagine,” Damien said awkwardly, unsure how comfortable he should be with him. Though Damien had superior military rank, familial rules still ordered Conrad as his better due to his age. He had honored status and his service record had been impeccable as it should have been for the commander of the house guard. “Lord Pershing is ambitious as well as dangerous. We have lost several worlds already and Goteborg is hanging by a thread. The border is still dangerous and, as always, I need more knights to defend it.”

“I think you misunderstood me,” Conrad said, raising his eyebrows. “How are
you?”

Damien blinked. It was a personal question, not a professional one. Damien tried again. “I've had few restful nights. Even though I haven't seen him in years, Peter was a my brother. We shared a long and friendly relationship over the years. There are times I have expected to see him in the palace in the last few days. I can't help but feel as though I've let him down with the war going as it is. It has been painful,” he said truthfully. He was surprised to find he meant it.

He'd gotten used to death on the battlefields of the border worlds. Loyal knights and advisers who had attended him for years, even decades, would suddenly be taken away, killed in one battle or another. The worst were the ones who were too critically wounded to continue as warriors. They would go home, broken in mind and body. But Peter was his brother, his blood. Even if he was younger and even though Haakon stripped Damien of his rightful place as heir and put Peter in his stead, there was a hollow feeling Damien had done his best to ignore. He buried himself in reports, dealt with the matter of the twins and enemy intelligence more than he had in the past. The void was filled with work.

“He was my responsibility,” Conrad said, flexing his hands into and out of fists. “It was not you who failed him, but I. I was not careful enough.”

“How did he die?” Damien asked before he could stop himself. Anna glanced over, noticing his lapse in character.

Conrad looked down at his empty plate. “He was assassinated at night. While he was sleeping he was administered a poison via nano-needle though we know not how. Someone slipped in and out, avoiding the cameras and the security staff and-” he hesitated, “my own knights. It might bring you some comfort to know that he did not suffer.”

“It was assassination,” Damien said. “Can he identify the poison?”

“Peter's personal physician was Sir Karl Sørensen. He is dead, probably before he was able to run appropriate tests. He opposed Salena and was done away with, as were many others,” Conrad explained solemnly.

“Do you believe her? Were the Sørensens responsible?”

“There are many possible suspects, including yourself,” Conrad cautioned. “But, no.”

Damien pushed ahead regardless. “What do you think of Salena?”

Conrad eyed Damien carefully. “A moment,” he said raising his index finger. He motioned to a door off to his left that had opened a crack. Suddenly, several sharply dressed men and women entered carrying trays of food. They placed the plates gingerly in front of the three and withdrew from the room with not so much as a tinkle of silverware. Conrad placed his index and middle fingers against his forehead and murmured a short prayer to Amrah.

The plates were filled with steamed meats and vegetables and an array of exotic fruits and breads were stacked into rough pyramids. Damien took only a few seconds to admire the presentation then turned to await Conrad's reply. Perhaps the Guard colonel had used it as a distraction while he collected his thoughts.

“I wish to caution you, Damien,” Conrad began slowly helping himself to a steak. “I have no intention of picking sides in a confrontation between you and Salena. You both had equal claim to the throne and the Sørensens are required to confirm the heir the Archduke chooses or to select one if the Archduke has not done so. My duty is to protect the Archduke and his bloodline as declared by the Sørensens, not to start a civil war.”

Conrad chewed thoughtfully, apparently not willing to forgo a good meal for political conversation.

Damien chose his words very carefully. “Uncle, the Sørensens have declared nothing. Dietrich is jailed and awaiting execution. Salena put a puppet into the role of House Master. He is no more legitimate than Salena.”

Conrad chewed intently. “Peter's loss was tragic indeed. Especially after the death of Arthur. I'm ashamed to admit I failed to protect the Archduke and his line, but I am still the Guard's commanding officer, it is my duty to do as our creed instructs us. I must swear my allegiance to Salena,” Conrad said avoiding the subject.

“The usurper,” Damien muttered. “We must do something quickly. Once Magnus Teton-Sten and Kendra Mason marry she will be unstoppable. A union of two of the most powerful houses in the Commonwealth will seal the coup and lock her in place as Archduchess.”

Conrad stopped chewing and seemed close to losing his temper. His face reddened and his jaw clenched. “Damien, I have told you. I will not begin a civil war over legitimacy and if you've come here asking my sword to back your claim you've wasted your time.”

“I'm not asking you to back
my
claim,” Damien said, picking up his utensils on the table carefully. He took a section of meat, some sort of pork he thought, and placed it gingerly on his plate. Anna watched silently, perhaps the only one truly enjoying her meal.

“Then whose?” Conrad asked quietly.

Damien cast a glanced at the doors to the kitchens, making sure they were closed and none were waiting for commands from Conrad.

“Peter still has genetic heirs.”

Conrad swallowed hard. He narrowed his brow and paused in his reach for food. He was curious now, even shocked. “Explain,” he said finally.

“Before she died, Ciara gave birth to twins: Kristoffer and Claire. House Sørensen relocated them to Goteborg and put them under the protection of two of their agents. They were raised unaware of their heritage and claim. By law, Sørensen law which you know expertly, they have immediate claim that outweighs my own and Salena's combined.”

“Salena knew this?”

“Yes.”

Conrad leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his big chest. He considered the implications, then carefully: “And how am I to know these two actually exist? And where are they now? How do I know they're not some fiction you've created in a vain attempt to gain my allegiance?”

“Before I left Goteborg, I instructed Sir Aaron Mercer-Sten, my executive officer, to retrieve Kristoffer. I expect by now that he has done so successfully. Dietrich Sørensen can confirm what I've told you or you can test their blood in the same manner I intend,” Damien said taking a bite, finally savoring it. What he said was only partially true of course. He didn't know if Aaron had secured Kristoffer.

“But he is scheduled to be killed. That's a bit of a problem,” Conrad commented wryly.

“Indeed, that's where your knights come into play.”

Conrad barked a laugh. “You want my knights to break a condemned man out of prison?”

“He is a nobleman, a House Master who has been wrongfully imprisoned and condemned. His brother was killed in a duel with Sir Magnus. It is the only way, my lord. I have no military force at my disposal on Magdeborg.”

Conrad stroked his chin. “And then what, Damien? So begins the Commonwealth Civil War?”

“Not necessarily, Dietrich needs to make a plea to Salena to step down in favor of the rightful heir. She lied to the Conclave, the people and to you.”

“You ask much of me, nephew. What if I were simply to accept Salena's rule and avoid a war in the first place? It would make my life easier and more peaceful,” Conrad said, suddenly playing devil's advocate.

Anna stepped in before Damien could speak. “Then it is on your conscious, my lord. I know you've struggled between doing what is right and doing what is convenient. You wouldn't have stayed up in your mountain retreat during and after Salena's coup if it didn't bother you. You've seen the protests, my lord. The Commonwealth has longed for the noble rule Peter provided for so long. Your dedication to the law and to the right path is what the Commonwealth needs. The fact that you have avoided declaring your support for Salena betrays your feelings that she acted without cause. You must do your duty. Walk the path, my lord.”

Damien felt his heart go cold as he stared at her, mouth agape.
Foolish woman! I had this in hand and you've doomed me!

Conrad blinked, clearly surprised at being spoken to so sharply. Never had a commoner dared challenge him.

Damien finally worked his mouth and started to try to mend the situation, but Conrad cut him off. “Indeed, you are correct, my lady.” Conrad clapped a big hand against Damien's shoulder, startling him severely. “Why did you keep her quiet for so long? She has more brains and courage than you. All your beating about the bush and she lays it right on the table. Where are my manners? May I inquires as to your name?”

Conrad held out a hand, across Damien's view of vision. Damien watched, flabbergasted.

“Anna, my lord. I can't claim noble blood and am only here are Lord Damien's invitation,” she said, shaking, her hand lost in his own massive paw.

“You would be wise to let her do more of the talking from now on, Damien,” Conrad chastised. “Very well. Let's meet with my knights and hammer out the details. I take a great risk in helping you, but if your story is true, then I must follow Commonwealth tradition. You have my sword, Damien. For now.”

Anna flashed Damien a smile so disarmingly sweet that she could have halted an entire company of fully armed Dominion soldiers in their tracks. Damien turned back to his food, mustering only a meek, “Yes, of course.”

Kristoffer

Captain of the
MacCleod

Scarlet Light
, Goteborg, Magdeborg Commonwealth

______________

Nick looked up at Chris as he busily paced the room, one hand hooked under his chin, the other cradling his elbow. The crew had been separated according to their companies. Chris and the
MacCleod
crew were placed in one of the
Scarlet Light's
suites where they had access to beds, clothing, and entertainment. Claire had been denied her books and Chris fretted endlessly that they would be discovered. The
Cleod
would be searched by now but if Sir Aaron knew about her books he seemed to not care. Perhaps he didn't understand what they were exactly.

The Hronguards, both living and dead, were taken to the hangar for transport back to Garda. Chris hadn't even been given the opportunity to shake the hand of their sergeant, the one who had risked her life outside the bridge. He could never understand their willingness to die for money.

The suite was well appointed, probably intended for noble guests. A bank of windows along the hull of the ship allowed them a fantastic view of green and blue Goteborg looming so close Chris could see the cities on its surface. Most of his crew gathered around an oval table accompanied by uncomfortable looking chairs in the center of the main room. Proda leaned against one wall, staring at the floor, lost in his own thoughts. Nick and Claire took chairs next to each other and Nick had kicked his feet up on the table. Chris doubted the vessel's owners would be amused, but Nick didn't seem concerned. His SESE tattoos glowed a simmering auburn. Kerali had withdrawn after Chen's death. She sat in a corner, hugging her knees to her chest; her tattoos glowed softly in mourning as if crying themselves. She had refused any attempts at condolences and conversation and only murmured prayers to Amrah for her friend. Chris occasionally looked over in her direction, but she moved not an inch except to sleep and relieve herself in the week since they'd been detained.

“You're still thinking about those Hronguards,” Claire said, though it was more of a statement than a question.

Chris nodded and continued his pacing.

“They're contract soldiers, Chris. Mercenaries. They wouldn't care for your laments,” Nick said. “They get contracted to do a job and accept the risks that come with it. They've formed the backbone of some armies for thousands of years so they're used to it.”

“They're not any different from us. We get contracted to do jobs, and recently we've accepted considerable risk, the same they have,” Chris said, halting his pacing to lean on a chair. “But they fought and most of us didn't. It bothers me that they would sacrifice their lives to protect ours as if we were somehow more valuable.”

“You're thinking of getting out of the business? And do what? Subsistence farming?” Claire muttered sarcastically.

Chris shrugged. “I don't know. We could always go relic hunting for the Azuren. None of us signed up for the kind of danger Drayton seems willing to put us in.” He held up his hands as Nick seemed to be about to interject. “I know, I know, I agreed to it over your objections.”

“So where does that leave us?” She asked. He could feel the apprehension and confusion in her mind.

“I think a lot of that depends on Sir Aaron here,” Chris responded, halting his pacing and facing Nick and Claire.

“We did pretty much commit treason, Chris,” Nick pointed out, leaning back in a chair and scratching at his stubble. “They have every right to execute us.”

“Sir Aaron won't do that,” Claire protested, her voice taking on a panicky note. “We saved his life. He owes us something. Right?”

“Looking the other way to smuggling is an offense he might suffer for later,” Chris said.

“Our best option now is to remain silent. They have nothing on us,” Nick said.

Kerali still sat alone, distracted and forlorn. Chris glanced at Claire, looking for an opinion. She offered none.

Their discussion was cut short by a series of shouts from down the hall, muffled by the room's locked door. A few seconds later it crashed open and in its frame stood a huge man. His face was chiseled as a warrior's and contorted in anger. He was dressed in an unfamiliar black military uniform and his hair was dyed to match. Nick stood up instantly, knocking his chair back. The man hesitated, his gaze flicking from several individuals before settling on Chris. It took the young captain only a moment to remember him as the huge knight who had attacked him at Garda station as the young mechanic child fled.

He moved quickly, crossing the room and barreling towards him. “Come here, little whelp. Today I'll be your executioner.”

Before the huge man had crossed half the room, Nick leaped into action. He clambered onto the table and got a short running start before jumping into the charging nightmare. They both collapsed to the ground, Nick pummeling the assailant several times before a heavy fist connected with the left side of his face. Nick crumpled to the ground, rolling onto his side, obviously dazed. Claire began to back into the corner where Kerali watched the violence in shocked horror and screamed for Amrah's protection.

Proda had reacted instinctively and actually moved to attack the big man, but lacked Nick's quicker reactions and abilities. Before he could throw a punch, Slader tossed him like a rag doll. Slader bored down on him like a man possessed. Chris tried to dodge, but the blow clipped the side of his head, causing his ears to ring, but he wheeled quickly and swung wildly. He backed away, searching for a weapon. He picked up one of the chairs and tried to heave it at Slader. The big man waved an arm to cast the projectile out of the way as he closed on Chris, his fist cocked. Chris ducked underneath the blow and tried to land one of his own in the man's gut, but the attack felt like punching steel.

Desperate, he swung wildly at Slader's head. His own attack hit the big knight square in the jaw, jerking his head around and sending blood flying, momentarily stunning his opponent.

Slader managed to recover before Chris could launch another swing and grabbed him by the shoulders sending him flying back and over a chair. His face stung horribly and he felt blood trickle down his cheek. Nick had regained his feet and launched himself at Slader, landing several more blows before being thrown on the table and knocked out cold by a vicious right hook.

Chris rolled onto his back and looked up in helpless terror as Slader bore down on him.

Before the black and red death could reach him, there was a huge bang amplified by the small room. Chris instinctively covered his ears as all commotion in the room ground to halt. His head buzzed and he scooted away from Slader until his back hit the wall.

Sir Aaron Mercer-Sten stood in the doorway holding a gun. The shot went into the ceiling, but Aaron then leveled the weapon at his cousin. “Back off, Slader.”

Slader spat blood and an epithet that sounded like “half-blood” in Aaron's direction.

Slader cast a glanced at Chris, then back at Aaron, who pointed the gun at the ceiling and fired again. “Now!”

Aaron stepped into the room driving Slader back several arm lengths. In the corner Kerali screamed, momentarily distracting Sir Aaron. When he turned to look, Slader rushed him. He wrapped the Mercer knight in a bear hug and dragged him to the floor. As Slader raised one fist, a thick boot connected with his chin.

Chris recognized Aaron's savior as Reyna, the officer from the bridge who had argued with Aaron. She glared at Slader, who had apparently lost consciousness and slumped over Sir Aaron. Blood began to pool under his head.

Chris shook his head which still stung painfully.

Aaron motioned for several security guards behind him. “Get him out of here and into the brig. I want a double detachment of security here immediately.”

Claire was already helping a shaking, unsteady Proda to his feet. Nick's eyes were open, but cringing as he gently touched the wounds on his face. He rolled into a sitting position on the table and regarded the downed assailant with a mixture of hatred and curiosity.

“That's the same one from Garda?”

Aaron nodded. “The very same. That's two you owe me, Kristoffer.”

“That man is a murderer,” Nick growled rubbing his wounded face.

Sir Aaron holstered his weapon and stepped over Slader's unconscious form, taking no precautions to avoid stepping on his outstretched fingers.

“That's twice now,” Chris grunted, gingerly touching his fresh wounds. “What did he want?” Chris asked him. “Seems like a lot of people are after me these days. He's not a Lotus member is he?”

“He's far too stupid for that,” Aaron said. “He claims he knows what you were up to in Dominion space and came to deliver some vigilante justice. I think now might be a good time to tell me what you've been doing.”

Chris shook his head. “No. I won't say anything that might put my crew in danger.”

Aaron sighed. “I can't protect you if you don't cooperate with me.”

“We'll sit here and await our trial. I won't reveal anything to a Commonwealth knight that will result in a military tribunal,” Chris said.

“Please don't make me organize an interrogation session. You might be willing to hold your own, but I'm not sure about the rest of your crew,” Aaron nearly growled at him and indicated Kerali cowering in a corner. “I don't like resorting to threats, but you're beginning to test my patience. If it comes to interrogation,” Aaron warned, pointing down at Slader, “it's him that's going to do it.”

Chris glanced down at Slader who groaned, but didn't get up. He shook his head again. “I can't do that and I won't let you harm my crew.”

“So be it. You had your chance, Captain. I can't help you any more.”

Without another word, Aaron stomped out of the suite, while security team members hefted Slader's mass onto a gurney and wheeled him out.