He took a step backward, then tossed her a brief salute. "By the way, I'm appropriating Bifrost Hall at the Nagelring while I'm here. It will provide me with the facilities I need."
Katherine's eyes half-lidded. "And it is convenient to the ComStar compound."
"And the Luvon Foundation, which is where Morgan Kell and Phelan will be staying."
Katherine's eyes widened slightly. "I did not invite them."
"I know. I corrected your oversight." Victor walked to his hoverlimo, but turned back toward her before getting in. "You're right that being a warrior doesn't necessarily confer the skills needed to be a good leader and ruler. It also doesn't bar one from picking them up."
Katherine snorted derisively. "What you should be asking yourself, Victor, is whether you can pick them up fast enough."
"Perhaps, Katherine. Or maybe it's you who should be wondering if you can prevent me from doing so." He gave her a cold smile. "If you can't, you'd best make sure I'm pointed at an enemy because you don't want me coming after you."
2
Kerensky Sports Centre
Strana Mechty
Kerensky Cluster, Clan Space
30 September 3058
Khan Vladimir Ward of the Wolves strode up the grassy slope from the DropShip Lobo Negro, seeing the Clan capital world with new eyes. He looked out over the vast expanse of green fields beneath a purple sky streaked with thin, lavender clouds and watched warriors racing back and forth playing lacrosse. He recalled the game well; the sweat, the competition, the hitting, and the degrees of finesse that separated the adequate from the truly talented.
The last time he had played on these fields had been more than seven years before. A faint smile came to his lips as he remembered the person he had been. He had thought himself nearly complete, the product of a superior breeding program that had created him to be the greatest warrior ever known to humanity. He still had no doubts about the success of the breeding program, but with seven years of perspective he realized that superior steel, unforged, unshaped, and untempered does not a keen blade make.
In those days my ordeal had only just begun. He wondered what the person he had been would think of him now. The rank of Khan would come as no surprise, of course, though the events that had led to his election would have been beyond imagining seven years ago. My path to power has been twisted, to say the least.
He recalled his last game on these fields. He had always been an excellent athlete and that match had been no exception. At the half, Phelan, the Inner Sphere foundling, had joined the game, but only now could Vlad admit that Phelan had showed talent, defeating opponents even though it was his first time playing by Clan rules. Back then I saw him as an obstacle to be battered down and blasted aside. Yet Phelan had prevailed against his opponents. He had even pointed out to Vlad that they could accomplish great things when they worked together instead of opposing each other.
That was a clue I should have grasped, but I did not see it. That Phelan was an enemy and a threat to the very nature of the Clans could not be denied then or now, but he was not an obstacle. If anything, Phelan was a challenge, a whetstone to ever make Vlad sharper. We can never work together, Phelan, but only strike against each other so I may become all that I am destined to be.
And strike against each other we will. Their previous clashes had been merely the prelude to an even grander drama that would continue to play itself out in the future. Each of them was now a Khan of the Wolf Clan, though Vlad's Wolves had rejected those misguided fools who had followed Phelan into exile in the Inner Sphere. There, Phelan had set himself up to oppose Clan aggression, further laying the groundwork for the conflict of the future.
Of course, Vlad allowed, this outcome surprised no one, but his fellow Clansmen did not see the significance of other events. Unbeknownst to any of the other Khans on Strana Mechty, Vlad had met and formed an alliance with Katrina Steiner, the Archon of the Lyran Alliance. Some months back she had ventured into Clan space hoping to reach the Smoke Jaguars and ally herself with them. By sheer fortune, her ship had fallen into Vlad's hands, and they had met for the first time. In their time together he had managed to convince her that he was a far better choice of confederate. Their mutual hatred of her cousin Phelan had strengthened the bond between them.
Vlad's face flushed as Katrina came to mind. The very same genetic engineering program that gave the trueborn Clan warrior his martial superiority had also severed the connection between sexual intimacy, progeny, and the strong emotional ties that bound freebirth families together. Because all young trueborns were raised in sibkos with as many as a hundred others, their emotional ties were to their sibmates. At puberty they were allowed to begin exploring their sexual desires and drives, and it was done with others in their sibko. Coupling became a gift between comrades, a joining of equals, not part of some mating ritual.
But Vlad had reacted to Katrina Steiner as to no other woman before her. She kindled in him primitive, even primal feelings that could not be dismissed as simple lust. He could not deny how intense was the attraction and even dared name what he felt love. It did not matter that the idea of love was scorned by members of the Clan warrior caste. He himself had scorned it once. But no more.
Others are only warriors. I am Vlad of the Wolves.
"My face would burn with shame, too, Vlad, were I you and bold enough to come to Strana Mechty." The voice lashed at him, breaking his reverie. It was a woman's voice, and one he recognized. "Games are for children, not warriors."
He forced a smile as he turned to face Marthe Pryde, Khan of the Jade Falcons. Tall and slender, with her black hair worn short, her skin showed a touch of the grayish hue that came with extended space voyages. Her blue eyes, despite the red tingeing them, were as full of fire as he remembered. "Oh, was that your DropShip following mine down to the planet?"
She folded her arms over her chest, drawing the green jumpsuit tight at the shoulders. "That little race, I had assumed, was at the instigation of our ship captains. But that is not the game I had in mind."
Vlad ran a hand over his dark hair, smoothing it back from the widow' s-peak. "Which game, then, were you chastening me for?"
Marthe's features sharpened. "On Coventry you sent me a message threatening to take over six worlds in my occupation zone. You did that to torture me because you knew the forces the Inner Sphere had massed against me on Coventry were evenly matched against mine. If I withdrew to deal with the threat you posed, I would be dezgra in the eyes of the Clans. If I did not withdraw, both sides in that battle would have been shattered."
Vlad forced a smile that tugged at the scar running from his left eye down to his jawline. "I do not see that as a game—merely an effort to distract you from your normal ruthless efficiency."
"I recognize that, Vlad, and even applaud it." Marthe graced him with a slight nod. "The game to which I refer is your treating with the enemy. You could only have learned of my mission on Coventry and the opposition I faced through contacts with the Inner Sphere. And do not try to tell me that Phelan Kell provided you the information. Even if he did not hate you, passing such information would have jeopardized his friends and he would never do that."
Vlad pursed his lips, then nodded slowly. "So you accuse me of using intelligence I gathered from the Inner Sphere against you. You have proof of my source, quineg?"
Marthe frowned heavily. "No."
"Good, because you would be wrong." Vlad met her stare and kept his voice even as he manufactured a simple lie. "The Inner Sphere believes in the free reportage of what they call news. Some initial reports leaked out of Coventry before the Inner Sphere shut them down. I merely had people on my occupied worlds who intercepted the transmissions and I drew the logical conclusions from them."
He could see she did not believe his explanation, so he pressed on. "It is just as well that Khans do not allow themselves to spread unsubstantiated rumors. Were this not the case, I might be given to wondering aloud exactly where you
got all of the warriors that cycled through the fighting on Coventry. I know I have been forced to recruit from some of my lower castes so I can move garrison troops to front-line units. Though I have heard of no such effort by you, I have to assume that is what you have been doing."
Marthe lifted her chin defiantly. "You may assume that until you have proof to the contrary."
"I have no such proof, nor do I intend to seek it." Vlad's eyes narrowed. "Nor do I intend to let others seek it."
Marthe's brows arrowed together for a moment. "Why not?"
Yes, an investigation could be your undoing, Marthe, but this is not the time for that. Vlad turned and pointed to the largest building in the center of Strana Mechty's capital city. "In the Hall of Khans we have more immediate problems than what we could do to damage each other. Neither of us has recovered from our recent war to avoid Absorption by another Clan."
"We would eviscerate any Clan who sought to take us over."
"Agreed, but that would make the Clans even weaker, quiaff?" Vlad held his right hand out toward her, palm up. "You and I, the Jade Falcons and the Wolves, do not agree on much other than the Crusader philosophy. It is our destiny, our right and duty, to retake the Inner Sphere and reestablish order. Absorption will not aid this cause. Allowing two of the more dedicated Crusader Clans to die will not further it."
Marthe blinked her eyes as if disbelieving what she was hearing. "Are you suggesting an alliance between us, quineg?"
"Aff, an alliance. Your distaste for politics is well known. I agree that politics is beneath a true warrior, but it allows us to fight battles here, in the Grand Council, that then don't need to be fought by our warriors. We can preserve them for the true battles of the future."
"Despite your vulgar speech, I find truth in your words."
"I beg your forgiveness of my use of contractions, but they seem to underline the urgency of what we will be facing in there." Vlad closed his hand into a fist. "We cannot allow our Clans to be destroyed."
"Because, if we do, you cannot be elected ilKhan."
Vlad allowed himself a little laugh. "I do not want to be ilKhan." At this time.
Marthe arched an eyebrow. "No?"
"No. The next ilKhan will not complete the crusade. He will not take Terra."
She tapped her lower lip with an index finger for a moment. "Why do you think this is so?"
"The next ilKhan will be working hard to prove he is not Ulric. He will do none of the things Ulric did or would have done."
Marthe Pryde smiled. "And he will forget that despite being opposed to the Crusade, ilKhan Ulric Kerensky did the most of any Clan Khan to succeed at taking the prize. Interesting. There may be something to this theory of yours."
"There is. Think of it, Marthe: the crusade was undertaken by Khans who had never fought against the Inner Sphere. They had never fought the sort of massive campaign required to succeed at taking Terra. Among them, Ulric was a visionary, which accounts for his success. Mark my words— the Crusade will be completed by Khans who have passed through the fire and survived the crucible of the invasion."
Her eyes half-closed. "Which means you believe the task will fall to you?"
Of course. "Or you, or another who will rise up from the ranks." Vlad again stabbed a finger toward the Hall of Khans. "If we stand united, we will have a chance to see the Crusade reach its conclusion."
Marthe studied him for a moment, then nodded. "I agree. Do not think this means I trust you or that I will not strike at you if I believe doing so will benefit my Clan."
"Your words mirror my thoughts exactly, Marthe Pryde." Vlad returned her nod. "This is an alliance of convenience only—our convenience. That it will cause many others discomfort, well, that is collateral damage at which we can rejoice."
3
Bifrost Hall, The Triad
Tharkad City, Tharkad
District of Donegal, Lyran Alliance
1 October 3058
Victor Steiner-Davion found himself holding his breath as he waited for Hohiro Kurita to make his move. The heir to the throne of the Draconis Combine knelt barechested at one end of the gymnasium's shuffleboard court. Hohiro wore a katana thrust through the broad gold sash circling his middle. His shoulders rose and fell with a final breath, then he was off.
Rising in one smooth motion, he freed the sword from its scabbard. The flashing steel blade swept out and around to the right, exploding a red, helium-filled balloon hovering at head-height. Hohiro continued the spin and let the blade drop half a meter. He came around and bisected another balloon with a pop. Another step forward and he slashed straight down with an overhand blow that shattered a small wooden block Morgan Hasek-Davion had lofted through the air toward him.
Half the wooden block skittered across the floor and bumped up against Victor's right foot. The Prince looked down at it, noticing how cleanly the katana had sheared through the pine cube. "Nice. Very nice."
Hohiro smiled proudly all the way up into his brown eyes. "Arigato, Victor-sama. Now it's your turn."
Victor winced. "You're a tough act to follow."
"Come on, Victor, you can do it." Kai Allard-Liao finished tying a green balloon to a short string so it would hang at about chest-height. His gray eyes sparked playfully. "You can't tell me you'll let the heir to the Dragon show you up."
Victor frowned. "He's had a lot more practice at this than I have. I'm playing his game, so I expect to lose."
The other man working on a red balloon cleared his throat. "I hesitate to point out, Highness, that when Hohiro indulges in boxing, he beats you at your game."
"Very funny, Jerry." Victor shook his head and walked toward the shuffleboard court. "Why don't you just hold that balloon instead of making smart remarks? I might miss, but your beard is looking a bit scraggly ..."
Jerrard Cranston finished knotting the line onto the balloon, then stepped back. "Considering that this beard is the only flimsy disguise I have to keep your sister from recognizing me, I think I'll stay clear of that katana, thanks. Not that I don't trust your ability to trim my beard with it, Highness."
Victor knelt. "I think I liked you better before my sister let you die." He looked over at where Cranston stood between Hohiro and Kai. "But that's a discussion for another time." Even though Bifrost Hall was constantly being swept for listening devices and had, so far, proven clean, there was no need to be free with secrets.
If Katherine knew Jerry Cranston was really Galen Cox, she could easily conclude I had evidence linking her to my mother's murder. She will certainly come to that realization some day, but she mustn't learn what I know until the time is right. Her access to that information, and her ability to respond to it, will have to be contained and channeled so she cannot cause too much trouble.
Victor looked up at the balloons and at the older white and red-haired man who was ready to toss a block out for him to cut. The Prince nodded at Morgan Hasek-Davion, indicating his readiness to begin. He flexed his hands, listened to ligaments pop, then drew in a deep breath.
Victor knew the exercise inside and out, but he hadn't taken to it like Hohiro. The problem was that he kept breaking it down into parts and building it back up again instead of just flowing through it. It has parts, but they're like notes in a song—each one is part of the continuum. With that realization his ability to encompass the problem seemed to expand. He slowly exhaled and the world around him faded as he focused on his task.
Now! He came up on his right foot first and pulled the katana free of the scabbard as he started his turn toward the first balloon. The katana's slightly curved blade ripped through the red balloon, opening a jagged gash in its curved surface. Victor continued his spin, the sound of the balloon bursting almost unnoticed next to the pounding of his heart.
He corrected his aim as he came around to attack the green balloon Kai had hung in place. Victor saw that his blade was coming in too low, so he brought it up slightly. The katana's razored edge sliced cleanly through the balloon
's neck. The knotted string fell toward the floor as the rapidly deflating green blob jetted into the air.
Victor tried to ignore its whirling flight-path and the flatulent staccato that accompanied it as he turned to slash at the block, but he could not. The flaccid green streak arced down toward Morgan just as the wooden block leapt up from his fingers. The Prince tried to track one, but saw the other. His overhead cut nicked the block, but missed the balloon entirely.
Furious with himself, Victor sank to his knees, allowing his momentum to slide him forward, and rehomed the blade without looking or giving the task much thought. The echoes of the balloon's dying raspberry faded with the snickers he heard from the trio on his right and the mild chuckle from Morgan on his left. Mortification flushed his face, and the faint plop of the green balloon hitting the floor underscored his humiliation.
Then the sharp sound of a pair of hands clapping killed it. Victor thought at first that one of his companions offered the applause in gently mockery, but it did not trail off the way such a false accolade usually did. The clapping remained strong and steady and cut off the laughter from Victor's friends. Who? What?
Victor turned as he rose to his feet and saw a man with Asian features standing in the gymnasium's doorway. Even though Victor had not seen him for seven years—years that had leeched color from his hair and also scored the flesh at the corners of his mouth and brown eyes—there was no mistaking the man or how much his son, Hohiro, resembled him.
The Coordinator of the Draconis Combine continued his applause and even let the hint of a smile play across his lips.
Grave Covenant Page 2
