Read Online Aethosphere Chronicles: Storm of Chains by Jeremiah D. Schmidt - Free Book Online Page A

could anyone imagine, not when UKA warships commanded the
skies of the Sargasso and the Borealis, and to some extent the
Turquoise? When economic trade flowed freely across the Platinum
Thread stretching between King’s Straight and the Breach? When the
noble house Larken drew respect and admiration from the other house
nobles. Back then, these broken husks of toppled smokestacks,
scattered gears, and gutted buildings seemed as timeless as the
Gods’ Bind, glowing blue with exposed atmium as it connected King’s
Isle to the High Crown.
    But now, with it all smashed and heaped in
piles around the truck, slowly winding a course deeper into their
ruin, it painted a depressing picture of a hijacked glory, and one
that Drish could only too-well sympathize with.
    Why have the pirates fled to this dead
zone, wondered the weary noble, hugging his arms close to his
chest for warmth. It had long ago been cleared of any livable
structures, and now stood open to the raw elements of winter
blowing through the city. Sure, no imperial commander could
possible expect anyone to survive out here, and might ignore it,
but any airship patrol would easily spot the activity and know
something was amiss.
    Whatever their reasons for coming to this
place, no one said, but instead disembarked from the truck after
pulling up to the empty shell of a foundry warehouse.
    The cold, compact ground crunched under foot
as Drish followed through the rubble.
    The savagery of the wind coming off the lake
cleaved right through the flesh, to settle into the captive noble’s
very bones, leaving them pained and brittle. Death by hypothermia
seemed a certainty, until they slipped into a sheltered compartment
within the high walls of the factory floor.
    Though still miserably cold, at least the
wind was gone from the air, and that in itself was enough of a
relief for Drish to feel grateful. Inside the edifice, which turned
out to be an empty coal furnace, they found perhaps two dozen armed
men and women huddled about barrels of burning refuse, while
standing in their center like some sort of pauper king, was Drish’s
father, Arvis.
    The fugitive accountant’s temper flared upon
seeing the root cause of all his trouble, and even though the elder
Larken looked beyond exhausted—even when taking in account his
paralyzed left side—Drish felt little sympathy.
    As soon as Arvis noticed the new arrivals,
he came hobbling stiffly over to greet them. A disfigured smile
tugging at his face, but Drish steeled his resolve against the
hated man.
    To send pirates to kidnap me…the gall of
that man is mindboggling!
    Throughout the chamber the rest of the
gathered insurgents rose to their feet and turned to watch as Drish
was escorted into their ranks, led by Bar Bazzon and his pirate
brigade. These insurgents were beleaguered souls to be certain,
haunted and dirty, with either too much malice, or too much
weariness in their faces to ever find happiness again. Between the
lot of them, there wasn’t an unsoiled shirt or a proper outfit to
be seen; just a hasty assemblage every bit as ruinous as the
structure they’d taken shelter in.
    At the fulcrum of all this suffering, Drish
opened his mouth, meaning to berate his father and his
ill-conceived attempt at rescue, but Abigail rushed ahead first.
She scampered right up to the elder Larken and threw her arms
around him. “You made it, Arvis!” she cried happily into his
leathery neck, while jealousy painted Drish’s vision green watching
the spectacle.
    “That I did,” he replied readily, patting
the girl’s back with his strong right hand, even as the left hung
limply at his side. “But truthfully, just barely,” he pulled away.
“But what of your assignment?”
    “Afraid it didn’t go as smoothly as we’d
have liked, Arvis,” Bar confessed for her, as he locked hands with
the insurgent leader in greeting. Both looked genuinely pleased to
see the other… and why not? Drish mulled. The two were
side by side for