Sands of the Solar Empire (The Belmont Saga) Read online

  Also by Ren Garcia

  The League of Elder Series:

  Sygillis of Metatron

  The Hazards of the Old Ones

  The Temple of the Exploding Head Trilogy:

  The Dead Held Hands

  The Machine

  The Temple of the Exploding Head

  The Belmont Saga:

  Sands of the Solar Empire

  Against the Druries (forthcoming)

  For more on The League of Elder, please visit:

  www.theleagueofelder.com

  www.loconeal.com

  Table of Contents

  Also by Ren Garcia

  List of Illustrations

  Prologue

  I-The Seeker

  II-The Appointment

  III-An Open Letter from the Fiend of Calvert to the Mad Lord of Walther

  IV-Twins

  Part 1 The Admiral’s Pleasure

  1 The Old Dream

  2 St. Porter’s Day

  3 Tyrol Sorcery

  4 Private Taara

  5 A-Ram

  6 The MOLLY

  7 Lt. Gwendolyn

  8 The Westminster

  9 Stop the Seeker

  Part 2 All That Resists Him

  1 A Remarkable Birth

  2 The House of Belmont-South Tyrol

  3 The Wirguild

  4 A Need for a Son

  5 The Ruins of Caroline

  6 The Blood Promise

  7 The Woman in Gray

  8 The Mad Lord of Walther

  9 The Black Maidens

  10 His Greatest Enemy

  11 The NTH

  12 The Death of the Mad Lord

  13 Lillian of Gamboa

  14 A Question of Occupation

  15 Favored of the Sisters

  16 The Astral Traveler

  17 The Bones Club

  18 The Paymaster Solution

  19 Flight from Bern

  20 Calvert

  21 Stenstrom’s Baggage

  22 The Quest for IBBAANA

  23 The Sandwich

  24 A Stain on His Soul

  25 Calling on the Eryne

  26 The HRN

  27 An Incident at Terrabus

  28 A Regretful Competition

  Part 3 The Demon That Came For His Soul

  1 Missing

  2 Haunted

  3 Lilly??

  4 Druries Belt

  A Note From Author Chantal Boudreau

  Author Information

  Publisher Information

  List of Illustrations

  Map of Kana

  Map of Tyrol

  Map of Kana and Onaris-Bazz

  Stenstrom, Lord of Belmont South-Tyrol (Eve Ventrue)

  Private Taara de la Anderson (Eve Ventrue)

  Lt. Josephus, Lord of A-Ram (Eve Ventrue)

  Lt. Gwendolyn, Lady of Prentiss (Eve Ventrue)

  Jubilee, Lady of Belmont-South Tyrol (Eve Ventrue)

  Lady Vendra of Cone (Eve Ventrue)

  The Woman in Gray (Carol Phillips)

  The Mad Lord of Walther (Carol Phillips)

  The Demon Fish (Carol Phillips)

  Grand Dame Miranda, Lady of Rosel (Carol Phillips)

  The Fiend of Calvert Murder Tour Pamphlet (Carol Phillips)

  Crewman Kaly (Carol Phillips)

  The HRN (Carol Phillips)

  Lady Jubilee’s Grave (Carol Phillips)

  Lady Lillian of Gamboa??? (Eve Ventrue)

  Prologue

  I-The Seeker

  The Admiralty of the 3rd Fleet had a rare situation on their hands—what to do with the Seeker.

  Officially designated Main Fleet Vessel 4562, she was a forty year old Straylight-class warbird hailing from the old glory days of the League/Xaphan conflict, when fighting the Xaphans was honorable and romantic. The Seeker’s current captain, Lord Gona of St. Paris, was suddenly retiring to the rolling hills of Remnath—his hastily penned resignation mentioned something about taking up wine-making at his sprawling estate—and her captain’s chair, therefore, was open.

  Captain Gona wasn’t the only prominent officer leaving the Seeker in a hurry. The engineer informed the 3rd Fleet Admiralty that he too was stepping down at once. He gave them no particular reason. He quickly Appointed to another ship and was gone.

  The same with the boatswain. Even the cook, a Chef Parsley, stepped aside, put his boots on the ground and opened a restaurant in Saga.

  Finally, the Seeker’s crew began filtering away, hooking onto other vessels as fast as they could get them, like rats scurrying away from a burning building.

  Such a mass exodus from a once-great ship never looked good out in the public. Officers, cooks, and crew normally didn’t flee from a prominent warbird like the Seeker, a veteran of Mirendra, a veteran of Two-Pitch Nebula—there must be some scandalous reason as to why, and the Admiralty, knowing how the gossip-mill could easily begin to turn, kept the matter quiet.

  Very quickly, the Seeker was an abandoned hulk, running lonely in the low polar orbit assigned to her.

  Lord Milos of Probert, the Fleet’s chief engineer, was flown aboard the ship to give her a good sounding; perhaps the reason why everybody wanted to leave would make itself plainly known in short order. Perhaps there was some insidious gas present aboard the ship addling the crew’s wits, or some undetected radiation causing the problem. Certainly Probert would get to the bottom of it.

  He assessed the status and condition of the Seeker with his usual terse and blunt authority.

  Significant wear metal fatigue in J’s 27 through 45—the “neck” of the ship. Most, if not all, of the structural components, including custom-crafted parts and linkages, shall need replacing in dry dock. Cause: age of the ship.

  Stellar mach coils 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7 are tach’ed out and require replacing, as standard Fleet maintenance procedures demand. As before, additional time in dry dock shall be required to perform the engine refit.

  Battle Shot batteries 2 through 14, starboard-side and 10 through 17, port side, badly overdue for replacement, both through wear of use and a lack of suitable ordinance to arm them. As the Seeker does not have the capacity for a thermoplant powerful enough to make use of modern Sar-Beam weaponry, the batteries will need to be replaced and refitted by hand with a team of master armorers custom assembling each unit. Assessment: Possible, but ruinously expensive.

  Probert discovered no odd gases or radiations aboard the Seeker, just an old, lonely ship whose grocery list of urgent needs was long and costly.

  A final note on Lord Probert’s report was interesting, though rather out-of-character for the renowned Fleet engineer who normally stuck to cold, stark facts and calculated data. He said the Seeker had a strange “feel” to it as he prowled the decks, and it wasn’t due to gas or radiation.

  Ship’s haunted, he said in so many words. In interviewing Captain Gona, the engineer, the boatswain and the cook, the Admiralty got a similar story—the ship was beset by moaning demons and bad dreams. And all of them agreed they would never set foot aboard again.

  So, there the Admirals were with a decrepit forty year old warbird that needed a large amount of expensive refitting to keep space-worthy, and, apparently, required an exorcism as well—just think of the scandal that would make.

  Scuttle her, melt the Seeker down, and recast her as something useful; that seemed the clear course of action. However, this created a problem for the Admiralty because the Seeker was a fairly well-known and well-thought-of ship. Though having fallen into obscurity as of late, she had fought a great deal of battles with the Xaphans over the years and come through unvanquished, with the famed Captain Davage
in command and his fighting countess, Sygillis of Blanchefort, sitting at his side. Also, the Sisterhood of Light, a highly influential sect the Fleet was always attempting to please, was very fond of the Seeker due to their past association with it.

  “How is the Seeker,” the Sisterhood often asked when they visited the Fleet. It was, quite probably, the only ship in the active Fleet they knew by name, and it was those casual but frequent inquires that help put a shield over the old ship that no other vessel could enjoy.

  The Admiralty couldn’t simply scuttle the Seeker and end her life—they would never hear the end of it: from the Fleet Captaincy, from the Sisters and from others as well. If things got too unpleasant, the Admiralty could simply retire the Seeker, and berth her in a lavish park somewhere—the only issue being that such a distinction was normally reserved for ships scuttled as a result of war. In this case, there wasn’t anything wrong with the Seeker that a little time and love—and vast sums of money—wouldn’t fix. The “haunted” aspect was clearly rubbish.

  So, what to do with the Seeker?

  In a virtual no-win situation, the Admiralty decided to raise the captain’s chair of the Seeker to an open debate one last time, Free Boot style as sometimes was done; in doing so, they could have time to grease up the Sisterhood and any others who had a fondness for the Seeker—let them know, at a measured pace, that the famed ship was getting too old and dangerous to keep in service.

  That way, she could slowly fade away, and those who loved her could accept it as what must be. The great days of the Seeker were clearly well behind her.

  So, using the vague and contentious Free Boot system, the Seeker’s chair was put up on the blocks. Anybody wanting the chair could simply present themselves and prove their merits. That person had to have a good sponsor, connections, a grand House behind them and, best of all, the willing coin to repair her. The pickings, however, might prove to be slim. Most of the young hopefuls coming up through the ranks of the Fleet and League Society wanted the captain’s chair of newer ships, either right off the blocks awaiting a christening, or fairly new, just needing a coat of paint.

  The Admiralty knew that few would want a once great warbird with only a few years of service left that needed an expensive dry docking and was rumored to be haunted.

  So, who was it to be? Who would come and save the Seeker, with all the aches and pains and ghosts that come with her?

  II-The Appointment

  The day of days had arrived. Paymaster Stenstrom, Lord of Belmont-South Tyrol, was to face Appointment as captain of the old Main Fleet Vessel, Seeker.

  He sat in a small holding room at the Main Fleet complex in Armenelos. The room smelled of fine food; a lavish breakfast had been brought in earlier by the Fleet orderlies.

  A big breakfast served to an appointment candidate was tradition, for once he or she stepped out onto the red velvet and pooled light of the Admiralty floor, one could expect to be there all day and not have the opportunity to eat again until late evening. A hearty breakfast was meant to sustain the candidate for that prolonged period of time. Stenstrom, so far, had only picked at the plate of eggs and bacon, hashed potatoes, airy pancakes and ham set before him. He’d spread a bit of marmalade on a slice of toasted bread and ate it, but that was all so far.

  Stenstrom wasn’t alone in the holding room; he had esteemed company. Captain Davage, the Lord of Blanchefort, was his sponsor for this Appointment and was to offer the opening remarks on the floor. Davage was the Seeker’s original and most famous captain, a fighting captain from the north and the scourge of the Xaphan hoards. He sat at the table regal in his Fleet uniform, blue-haired with his longish locks tied back in a tail, Vith-style. His glinting CARG sat saddled at his waist.

  Stenstrom paced the room like a beast.

  “One thing you need to know, Bel, is that the Admiralty floor is rung out. I’m certain you share telepathy with select people—I do. I share a deep telepathy with my countess, sometimes with my first officer, but that’s all, for I’ve always believed that one’s mind should be private. I don’t even share telepathy with my children; however, the Admiralty floor is designed to pierce your mind. You shall hear many voices in your head. Sometimes it can be difficult to know when one is speaking, or simply thinking, so be ready for that. It can be overwhelming. Keep your stray thoughts in a bag, as they say, for the Admirals shall hear them.”

  Davage took a drink of his coffee. “You need to sit down and eat your breakfast. You’ve a long day ahead of you.” Davage’s easy manner and soothing voice helped calm Stenstrom. He was a good friend.

  “I know, Dav,” Stenstrom replied. “I’m simply ready to get out there and begin. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.”

  Davage smiled. “Do the thing with your hands, again. Come on, let’s see it.”

  Stenstrom laughed and raised his hands, showing them, palms forward, to Davage. “Are you ready?”

  Davage nodded.

  In a quick movement, Stenstrom waved his hands. Where a moment earlier they were empty, now there were several brightly colored balls held between his fingers. He waved his hands again, and the balls vanished, replaced by a small golden locket. Davage clapped. “By Creation, how do you do that, Bel?”

  Stenstrom chuckled. “Just one of the many skills my mother taught me. I’m certain you could Sight me and find out for yourself how I do it.”

  “I could, I could,” Davage said. “But that would kill the fun, I think, ruin the mystery. I suppose I really don’t want to know.”

  Stenstrom opened the locket he’d produced out of thin air and gazed at the picture within. He set it down on the table next to his plate and began eating.

  Davage took another sip of coffee. “What do you have there, Bel? he asked.

  Stenstrom blushed. “Oh, it’s a picture of Lilly, a Lady of Gamboa.”

  Davage leaned forward. “May I?”

  Stenstrom slid the locket to him and Davage took a look. “My, what a very beautiful young lady—most striking. Is she your betrothed?”

  “Yes and no. She’s a good friend, I suppose. She painted this portrait herself—she’s a fine artist. I think painted pictures have more life for me than a holo or vid. She painted this picture just for me—there’s a bit of her soul in it, I think.”

  Davage smiled. “A sentiment I share, though I have no hand-painted lockets of my countess—Syg can’t paint. So, she’s just a good friend then, this Lilly of Gamboa?”

  Stenstrom began eating his eggs. “We fell in love several years ago; it was my mother’s doing. She arranged for us to meet, and, oddly enough, it worked out, though I usually resisted my mother’s attempts to pair me up with somebody. I asked for her hand, but, she, being a heady lady, didn’t offer hers in return. Instead, she offered a compromise. She noted how young we both are, how we have seen little of the League around us. She offered five years—five years for both of us to explore and see what’s out there, free of strings or entanglements. If, at the end of five years, we still love each other, then we will present ourselves to the League and be wed.”

  “I see,” Davage said. “What a wise lady she is. And what are your thoughts?”

  “We’ve a year to go. I’ve been around, obviously. I went to school in Bern and became a Paymaster, sailing the heavens, mostly with you, but I’ve not yet met her equal, and I doubt I will. I’m ready for Lilly. I wish she were here with me, this very day.”

  “And how does she feel?”

  Stenstrom thought a moment. “I really don’t know, I’ve not heard from her in some time; my letters go unanswered, my coms and vids unopened. Perhaps she’s moved on, though I continue to have hope.” He noted his attire. “Lilly helped me pick out my ‘fighting’ uniform here: my shirt, boots, pants, and this coat that I love so much.”

  Davage finished his coffee. “Yes, that coat…” he said, eyeing it hanging over the chair. “If I may offer a bit of sound advice, I would use the time given to you as best you can.
You have five years—use it, let your heart soar. The last thing you will want is to look back some day and say ‘I had five years, and I wasted it.’ That will simply lead to regret.”

  An old fashioned clock hanging near the door chimed.

  Davage stood and approached the seated Stenstrom. “Ah, it’s almost time. You finish your breakfast and listen carefully to what I have to say. Despite what you might soon be hearing upon the floor, this Appointment is decided. It’s done. You, Bel, shall be the next bonded captain of the Seeker. This debate is simply a reason for the Admirals to put on their uniforms and their hose and throw their weight around. An Appointment, especially an Appointment to the Captain’s seat of a Main Fleet Vessel, is something they live for. An Appointment to a boatswain’s chair or an engineer’s chair is one thing—those are skilled, highly technical positions requiring a great deal of documentable craft and experience, and involves material that the Admirals have little or no knowledge of. Those are fairly cut and dry. A Free Boot Captain’s chair, well now, that’s an entirely different beast. Anybody can debate to a Captain’s chair in such a situation, and, therefore, the Admirals are given leave to pick apart a candidate and discard them as they wish. However, despite their bluster, there are certain guidelines which they follow to a point, and, if you meet those guidelines, they are going to Appoint you, no matter how ugly the proceedings get. I know their guidelines, and you meet them all.”

  Stenstrom swallowed his eggs. “What are they?”

  “Oh, the usual Society nonsense mostly. See, in theory, any man or woman may present themselves as a candidate to a Free Boot Captain’s chair. In reality, only a select few may be successfully Appointed. First, a candidate needs a suitable sponsor. I am your sponsor, and proudly so, so that’s that. Next, they look at your pedigree—who are you, where you come from—that’s important to them. If you come from some seedy Calvert line, or worse, then that’s a big black mark. Fear not; your pedigree is firm. You are the next Lord of Belmont-South Tyrol, a fine-standing Zenon House, and the Admiralty simply loves Zenons—loves them. Secondly, your mother, Lady Jubilee, is of the House of Tyrol, a wondrous Esther line.”