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    Aethosphere Chronicles: Storm of Chains
    Aethosphere Chronicles: Storm of Chains
    Aethosphere Chronicles: Storm of Chains
    Ebook147 pages2 hours

    Aethosphere Chronicles: Storm of Chains

    By Jeremiah D. Schmidt

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    About this ebook

    Drish Larken used to be a noble, used to live a life of ease in the royal court of the Unified Kingdoms of Ascella, but all that changed the day the Hierarchs and their Iron Empire descended over the capital of Throne, laying siege with airborne juggernauts and land-based assault machines. With the Great Skies War lost and the Iron occupation solidified, dramatic changes have come to the former Ascellan capital, and now Drish’s life is defined by what he’s not, and a hero is definitely at the top of that list.

    However, while working late one night, Drish’s paradigm of willful collaboration and blind acceptance is put to the test when he intercepts an imperial arrest order, with not only the name of his estranged father on it, but him as well. Panicked and seeking absolution, Drish goes on the run, plunging into the seedy underbelly of the Ascellan Resistance to find the answers he needs to restore his name.

    Will teaming up with a sprightly young woman and a notorious pirate be the solution he seeks? Or, in an effort to protect his future, will he betray those that fight for freedom in order to climb back into the comfortable folds of the Iron Empire?

    Storm of Chains is a novella length book and part of the Aethosphere Chronicles, which outlines the past exploits of some of the main characters from Aethosphere. In this installment we follow the events that precede Drish Larken coming aboard the Chimera.

    Don't worry if you haven't had any prior exposure to Aethosphere, or any of the Chronicles, as this tale has been written to stand alone.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJeremiah D. Schmidt
    Release dateApr 9, 2016
    ISBN9781311200631
    Aethosphere Chronicles: Storm of Chains
    Author

    Jeremiah D. Schmidt

    Jeremiah D. Schmidt was born in Minnesota in the early 80's, raised in Maine during the 90's, and has frequented Florida when New England winters have proven tiresome. He attended the University of Maine at Orono during a time when the Black Bears hockey team was winning, and received his bachelor's degree in Anthropology back when a liberal arts degree seemed like a good idea. In the years since, he's worked as a furniture maker, a cinema projectionist, a grounds keeper, a GIS map technician, and an autobiography writer (writing autobiographies in the third person). He's always had a passion for storytelling, not verbally though (he was much to shy for that), and so handcrafted many a book in his childhood. Later, he would start to flush these stories out, after realizing they wouldn't write themselves, and that carrying drywall is a miserable job. Jeremiah's first real book, Aethosphere: Coalescence of Shadows and Light, is available for e-book purchase and has been read by perhaps a dozen adventurous spirits. His hope is to reach a dozen more.

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      Book preview

      Aethosphere Chronicles - Jeremiah D. Schmidt

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

      Aethosphere Chronicles: Storm of Chains

      By Jeremiah D Schmidt

      Copyright © 2016 Jeremiah D Schmidt

      Smashwords Edition

      All Rights Reserved

      Cover Illustration Copyright © 2016 by Jeremiah D Schmidt

      Cover Design by Jeremiah D Schmidt

      Map of King’s Isle Design by Jeremiah D Schmidt

      Map of Throne Design by Jeremiah D Schmidt

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

      ISBN: 9781311200631

      V3

      Foreword

      Greetings, potential reader. I’d like to take this opportunity to briefly explain to you what you’re about to read.

      As the title implies, this story is part of the Aethosphere Chronicles, which is a loose assemblage of interrelated stories written not only to entertain, but to enrich the storyline of the Aethosphere series of books. However, this shouldn’t dissuade anyone unfamiliar with the main series from giving this story a read, as it requires no prior knowledge of events or characters from Aethosphere (or of the other Chronicles for that matter). It has been crafted to stand on its own.

      So please, think of this as an opportunity to vet the series if you’ve never been exposed; or as a chance to enrich the experience if you have.

      Enjoy!

      Table of Contents

      Map of King’s Isle

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Epilogue

      Thank You

      Discover

      Connect

      Map of Throne

      Map of King’s Isle

      Chapter 1

      Atmium mining quotes are up seventeen percent across King’s Isle.

      Drish Larken finally finished the atmium audit, and the feeling of timelessness that so often washed over him as he worked vanished, only to be replaced by a profound weariness. The gray pool of light thrown down by his desk-top lamp seemed a cold and harsh companion. The stack of sorted papers, each decorated in rows of itemized numbers, glared up accusingly as if asking him why he was still there. He removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose, and then tried to rub that bothersome weariness out from his eyes. When the low-level bureaucrat glanced around the room, he found an aged darkness had settled in around him.

      Drish yawned, the sound of it echoing true through the vast chamber. It was late, and he was tired, and something about the dark and empty office made him all the more uncomfortable. Perhaps it was something about the sheer size of the cavernous room that made it so poignant. It was simply too large to have only one solitary man working that late into the evening. It was a far cry from the days when the building had been filled with Candarans toiling away at all hours for the glory of the Unified Kingdoms of Ascella. Now, the few that remained toiled for the Hierarchs and their Iron Empire.

      Drish glanced out the tall windows that lined the chamber. Not a trace of the sun could be found, not even a pale sliver or vague impression, just a jagged black graveyard of ruined buildings. Even the streetlamps stood dead. All of them still blown out after yesterday’s bombing. Only the constant, nebulous blue haze of the Gods’ Bind, linking the summit of the nearby Sovereignhelm Mountains to the floating islet of the High Crown, interrupted night’s absolute hold. Where has the time gone?

      Fat snowflakes called for the man’s attention, flaring up in the Bind’s atmium glow, resembling dying stars, and Drish frowned with the realization that it was snowing, and probably had been doing so through most of the night. The probing headlight of a lone, military tread-rover came sloshing up the wet road, ejecting slush from its armored sides in torrents, and Drish knew the walk home was going to be sloppy and abysmal. He sighed and turned his irritated gaze to the spread of workstations around him for anyone who might still own a steamer-cart, but the orderly progression of desks, held not a single soul, just a dark stretch of emptiness.

      How could I have lost track of the time so easily, the accounting clerk wondered, setting his glasses back on the perch of his narrow nose. It even smelled late in the office. The daytime scents of perfume and soaps were replaced by the nighttime musk of brick and antiseptic cleansers—a chill seeping across the floor added a stale bite.

      Quarter past ten, muttered the accountant, after seeking out the confirmation of a clock hanging at the far end of the room. Quarter past ten was late, even for him. It won’t end well if I’m found out and about after curfew.

      Drish was used to working long hours to escape his father, but this was the first time he’d worked later than even the Accounting Bureau’s imperial overseer. There was a policy concerning Candaran subjects, and that was for Hierarch imperials never to take their eyes off them—not even for a moment. The military governor had boldly stated such last week, after a flare-up in insurgent violence.

      Larken meticulously arranged his belongings into a leather carrier and then slung it over his shoulder, taking care not to ruffle his paisley necktie or wrinkle his trim blue-velvet tailcoat in the process. Satisfied, he looked around and gave his workstation an approving nod, then pulled the drawstring on the desk lamp and consigned the room to a ghostly existence. Pooling in from the outside world, the azure glow of the megalithic Bind guided Drish’s course as he slipped out into the shadowy hallway.

      Larken, someone whispered over the clacking of his loafers.

      Startled, Drish wheeled around, dropping his bag to the stone floor. As far as he’d known the east wing was supposed to be empty, and the deep shadows of the recessed office doors along the corridor’s left-hand side maintained that illusion. A cold sweat erupted over the accountant’s brow as he tried to pass it off as a product of a tired mind.

      Larkin, the husky voice repeated more loudly. That is you, isn’t it, lad. The tone became hopeful, and Drish turned to discover an old man taking shape in the pale light of the Bind.

      Err, yes, replied Drish, apprehensive, as the cautious gentleman lingered at the edge of an open doorway. How may I be of service? But he didn’t receive an answer. Instead the newcomer just receded back into the darkness he’d wandered out of, and without another word otherwise. For a moment the young accountant stood dumbfounded, wondering if the old man had made a mistake in calling out to him, or if he was meant to follow after him. Though, as a matter of course, Drish had no intention of following. Fortunately the issue put itself to rest when the hunched Candaran reappeared. With arthritic hands he was attempting, with great difficulty, to tuck a folded slip of paper into his coat pocket. Eventually he managed, and then gave the coat a reassuring pat.

      The old man then approached, coming uncomfortably close.

      Never give, even by the smallest margin, Drish remembered his grandmother’s stern lesson. A noble cannot afford to show weakness, so remember your station.

      The consummate aristocrat stood his ground, though arching away to escape the sour reek of the intruder’s stringent breath. As the aged Candaran scrutinized him closely with dull, clouded eyes, Drish suddenly registered the sagging face as belonging to a man he knew.

      Yes, this is the Ethnic Liaison clerk? He realized, of that I’m sure. Drish had seen him enough times, limping his way through the halls, to recognize the man, but that had always been in the light of day. In the dark, the withered husk looked more ghoulish than alive, as though having risen as a vapor wraith upon the setting of the sun to haunt the world of the living. But beyond that, it struck Drish that he recognized him from a situation even further back. He tried to recollect when that occasion might have been, or where, but found the memory shrouded in the vapidity of their present circumstances.

      And then it suddenly became clear, rising up like a dream. The court of King Brahnan Vereen… before the war. This was one of my father’s friends, and a relatively influential noble. Drish tried to relax, picking up the contents of his spilled bag as the old man began to talk at a rapid clip, You’re looking well, Lord Larken.

      It’s just mister now, Drish reminded the old man curtly, the admission filling him with bitterness.

      "Yes… your father’s reluctance… Still, it’s good to see one of the old guard again. I dare say it’s been a while since last we spoke—back in the Palace I should think—just before the end of the Great Skies War. Hard to believe that was only three years ago. Seems like a lifetime’s gone flashing by since then."

      For Drish, he couldn’t seem to remember the man’s name for the life of him. Is it Dumount, he tried to reason. I should know it… I would know it had the UKA not fallen. But now what does it matter? He might as well be a common born… I might as well be a common born for what my father’s left me. Yes, yes, after King Brahnan ordered everyone to evacuate the Palace, reminisced Drish, feigning a remembrance of the man within an account of the war. After the imperial ground forces got their Siege Hulks in position across the lake… before they leveled the industrial district and set that firestorm… I should think that was the last time we spoke.

      No, by then I’d signed my Oath to the Empire and fled to the Estates, the old man’s voice faded to a whisper. I watched the Riverside Slums burn from the comfort of my own mansion… and now that mansion’s been long-since burned by the Resistance.

      Drish offered him a hasty condolence, but Dumount raised a wrinkled hand in interruption. It’s just as well, I suppose, and in a way they saved my life by doing so. Many a noble’s been murdered in those hillsides since. He turned to the hallway windows while the Gods’ Bind painted his drooping eyes a chilling blue. And now here I am, a prisoner in Throne.

      Well, sir, take comfort in the words of my grandmother, when she said, ‘there is very little reason to ever leave Throne’.

      A sad smile crept over the sagging flesh of the elderly noble’s face as he nodded in rumination.

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