The Ambassador nodded solemnly. "She has great heart but does not always fully think through her actions."
Michael smiled. The apple does not fall far from the tree. "Whether or not this attack was merely an impetuous act does me no good with my people. They have been blooded—in a manner of speaking—and they will want revenge."
By Korigyn's quick yet calm reply, Michael saw that the man had anticipated his line of questioning. "Of course, Duke Michael. As an apology, the Chancellor has engineered the delivery of gift to you. I believe you will find your special account has recently swollen with an influx of C-bills."
Michael allowed himself a quiet laugh. "What your master considers swollen, I consider a mild enlargement, but the gesture is appreciated."
Korigyn nodded solicitously. "I might suggest that you could use this attack as yet another reason to reproach the Prince with the laxity of security."
"Don't try to manipulate me, Ambassador! I don't intend to see the Maskirovka capitalize on an error they should never have allowed to happen. I had people calling for blood when the reports first came through. I trusted Liao enough to believe this was all some kind of mistake. I demanded Hanse Davion send his precious Assault Guards from Kittery to pound Taga. Because of the way I worded and sent the message, I knew he would refuse. I realized I could milk that exchange long before you knew the attack had taken place."
Korigyn bowed from the waist. "Forgive me, my Lord. I would not presume to direct you. I merely meant to offer an option that would profit all."
"Yes, of course, Serge. I see that now." Michael allowed himself a smile. "Please let the Chancellor know I take no offense at this attack, and that it will be useful against my Prince." And then I will use the resentment it creates against both the Prince of the Federated Suns and Maximilian Liao to elevate myself to the rank I truly deserve.
13
Tharkad
District of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
31 December 3027
Daniel Allard followed Morgan Kell's cloaked form through the crush of people lining the streets in front of the Triad. When Morgan reached the throng's front row, he hopped over the white rope holding the others back. He waited patiently for Dan, smiling calmly despite the commotion his action sparked in the crowd that had come to watch celebrities attending the Archon's New Year's Eve celebration.
Dan cleared the rope, then stiffened as he saw a Lyran Intelligence Corps security detail close in on them. When Morgan laid one hand on his shoulder, Dan felt himself taking on some of the other man's nonchalance.
"Who the hell are they?" someone cried out from the crowd.
"Doesn't matter," came the reply. "The LIC's got them now."
Two young men in somber suits stepped in to halt Morgan and Dan's advance, and another pair fell in behind them. "Let's not have any trouble, shall we?" said one of the LIC agents, a lanky, fair-haired young man wearing mirrored sunglasses despite the fact that night had fallen.
Morgan's rich voice replied without threat. "No trouble. My companion and I are going to see the Archon."
The LIC agent's eyebrows dipped below his glasses in a frown. "Have you an invitation?"
Morgan shrugged. "I don't need one. I'm Morgan Kell."
Here it comes, Dan thought, cringing inwardly.
The agent puffed out his chest. "I don't care if you're Alexandr Kerensky come back with the Star League army. No invitation, no admittance."
Morgan smiled. "You do not understand, but I forgive you that. I've not made myself clear." He slipped one white-gloved hand from beneath his scarlet woolen cloak. In it, he held a folded piece of paper so old that it had yellowed and curled at the edges. "I have this."
The agent snatched at the document and sneered, "This better be good, old man, or you're greeting the new year from inside a cell." He unfolded the paper, glanced at it quickly, then shuddered. His glasses slipped halfway down his nose and his flesh acquired an unhealthy ashen hue. He looked closely at Morgan, then handed the paper back to him. "Prove it."
Morgan accepted the sheet, and without a word, he pressed his right thumb to a rainbow-hued patch woven into the paper itself. The LIC agent nervously snatched the sheet again, then stared at the patch. His pallor became more corpselike by the minute.
Dan, unable to read the words written above the patch, felt a pang of pity for the agent. God! Look at that paper tremble. What in hell is it?
The agent looked horrified. "I'm sorry, sir. I ah, um, I have to call this in . . ." He reached up to activate the radio hidden behind the lapel of his jacket, but Morgan's hand gently restrained him.
"No," the Kell Hound Colonel said, with an easy smile. "I'm afraid you don't need to call it in."
The LIC agent's lower lip quivered violently as he glanced again at the note. With a voice full of reluctance, he capitulated. "I guess I don't need to call it in, if you say so, sir . . ."
Morgan inclined his head to indicate Dan. "Thank you. My companion and I will be going now." He plucked the paper from the agent's long fingers and smiled conspiratorially at him. "This is a surprise."
The agent nodded furiously and stepped aside. "Yes, sir—Mister?"
"Colonel."
"Yes, Colonel Kell, a surprise." He raised his right hand and waved at the men stationed across the street by the front gate. "These two go in—on my clearance!"
"Thank you, again," Morgan said. He headed off toward the gate and waved Dan forward. Both Kell Hounds bowed their heads to the guards at the gate, then proceeded down the brilliantly lit promenade toward the Commonwealth Palace.
"Now I see why you didn't think it necessary for me to hit up the Federated Suns Embassy for invitations to this soiree," Dan said. "But what's in that note?" He glanced back over his shoulder at the LIC operatives in the street. "We got past them easier than would a battalion of assault 'Mechs."
Morgan passed the note to Dan. The younger MechWarrior unfolded the missive and felt his mouth go dry. Blake's Blood! The note, signed with an unforgeable holographic seal, was short and succinct. "Deny this man, Morgan Kell, nothing. Katrina Steiner, Archon, 22 July 3007." Beneath it was a holographic touch strip that held the image of a thumbprint. The golden tracery of Morgan's thumbprint, verifying a match with the one in the holograph, was already fading.
"No wonder that agent almost died in the street back there," Dan said, handing the sheet back to Morgan. "July 3007, that's when she took power. This must have been one of her first acts as Archon."
Morgan accepted the note, refolded it, and slipped it back inside his cloak. "Her second. Her first act was to write out one of these for her future husband, my cousin, Arthur Luvon."
In silence, the two mercenaries completed the rest of their walk to the massive, broad granite steps leading into the Archon's Palace. Just inside the doors, which had been thrown open to welcome revelers, two servants met them to take both Morgan's cloak and Dan's overcoat. Beyond, other servants stood ready in several discreet locations to help the guests straighten their attire.
Dan crossed to one of the mirrored alcoves and surveyed his uniform. A servant knelt and buffed some street dust from Dan's boots and quickly wiped down the rowelless spurs with a damp rag. Dan looked down and smiled. Yes, I am from the Federated Suns. You Lyrans might consider it vanity, but we MechWarriors proudly wear the spurs that recall our cavalry beginnings.
Looking in the mirror, he adjusted the sleeves of his red dress jacket so that they touched the tops of the white gloves he'd pulled on, then tugged at the hem of the waist-length coat. The servant, rising up behind him, plucked a bit of lint from Dan's right shoulder, then studied the warrior's reflection with a smile.
The jacket's double-breast was fashioned from black cloth and cut in the form of the Kell Hound wolf’s-head crest. The furious red of the wolf's eyes matched the coat perfectly. The wolf's ears rose up at the jacket's shoulders, and the muzzle just barely reached Dan's waist. The left ear, after Kell Hound custom, was decorated
with a ribbon indicating the unit's latest commendation.
Dan fingered the green, black, and white strip of cloth. It's odd. The Dragonslayers' Ribbon is a unit citation for those who have distinguished themselves against Draconian foes. I feel pride at wearing it, but it also summons up all those feeling of loss and anger because of the battle in which the Kell Hounds won it. Though he continued to regard his image in the glass, he was, for the moment, somewhere else, far away. Others can have the glory. I'd just like to have my comrades back.
Dan adjusted the inverted triangle insignia at the throat of his collar. Consisting of a silver V with a black triangle above, the insignia showed his rank within the Kell Hounds. Oh well. Here goes another evening of being called Hauptmann in Lyran fashion. Captain is so much easier. . .
Dan turned toward Morgan and smiled. "Eleven years in that monastery hasn't hurt you a bit. The uniform still fits."
Morgan stroked his neatly trimmed beard. "It's a bit tight in the shoulders, but I'll live." With a wave of his hand, he gestured Dan on ahead of him. "Go on in. As I recall, we will each be announced as we enter . . ."
Dan smiled back over his shoulder. "You don't fool me, Morgan. My unexpected presence here will probably cause some stir, but your showing up . . ."
Morgan winked at him. ". . . ought to be worth eleven years in exile."
The two men reached the stretch of corridor just outside the Grand Ballroom, where guests waited amid a superior collection of artwork created and hung especially for the New Year's ball. After the festivities, the paintings and sculptures would be moved to the National Gallery for a month, then auctioned off for charity.
Morgan stared at one canvas that boiled with a riot of luminescent color. He shot a mischievous look at Dan. "I don't think K'tir has changed her style since I've been away."
Dan shook his head. "You really were out of circulation, weren't you? She's switched styles every six months, but this piece is supposed to be a return to the roots, or some other such rubbish."
"Oh, of course," Morgan chuckled. "I suppose that's how you know it's art. . ."
Two minor Ministry of Protocol officials advanced up the waiting line of guests and took notes on their names and titles. The official interviewing them, a smallish man with pinched features, smiled obsequiously. "How would we wish to be addressed this evening?"
Morgan smiled cruelly. "All honors and titles."
The little man drew back like a cat about to hiss. "In the interests of brevity, sir, we're requesting a simplified procedure this evening."
Morgan produced the note that had produced such great effect earlier, and Dan watched the official's expression as he read.
The man smiled weakly. "As you say, sir, all ranks and honors."
The line moved forward quickly, and Dan found himself standing atop the steps leading into the palace's Grand Ballroom. Brilliantly lit by a dozen cut-crystal chandeliers, the room glowed with light reflected from ivory-colored walls and goldleaf trim around the doors and molding. Except where a chamber quartet supplied hauntingly beautiful music or where the receiving line stood, the walls were lined with tables laden with food and drink from all over the Lyran Commonwealth.
The receiving line began at the base of the steps, extended along the wall, and curled toward the string quartet. Dan smiled as he recognized a few of the people in line, but his eyes went quickly to the Archon and her daughter, Melissa Arthur Steiner.
The Minister of Protocol took from Dan's hands the note scribbled by his subordinate, and cleared his throat. "I present Lord Daniel Allard, Hauptmann of the Kell Hounds."
Dan saw Melissa's head come up, but he lost sight of her as the next person moved through the line to greet her. Dan also caught an inquisitive look from the Archon herself. He nodded in silent salute, then descended the stairs halfway to where he could watch Morgan's big entrance.
He looks impressive tonight, Dan thought, as light flashed off the silver medal Morgan wore between his collar and the wolf's-head. Two ribbons—one blue with a Davion sword spitting the Kurita dragon and the other red with a Davion sword over a Star of David—rode on the wolf's left ear, as did the Dragonslayers' ribbon on Dan's jacket. Just the way he stands there . . . Those ribbons and medals mean nothing. He's got more power in his stance than most men could find in a 'Mech regiment.
The Minister of Protocol faltered for half a second and stared at Morgan's profile. All around him, Dan could feel others turning to see who waited to be admitted. The Minister glanced back down at the card he held in trembling fingers, then spoke in a clear, firm voice. "I present Baron von Arc-Royal, Member Order of the Tamar Tigers, Knight Defender of the Draconis March, Regimental Holder of the Order of St. George, Colonel Morgan Kell of the Kell Hounds."
The musicians, startled by the death of conversation, faltered and stopped. Dancers spun to a halt, glanced at the string quartet, then let their gaze drift up toward Morgan. Most of the Mech-Warriors in the crowd were also staring at him as though he were an apparition, while several Commonwealth nobles looked as though they might have preferred a Kurita invasion to the presence of Morgan Kell. Definitely a grand entrance, Morgan. Dan smiled up at his Colonel, then turned to descend the steps. Morgan fell into step beside him, then both men froze in place as a hurried and shocked buzz of conversation flared up to fill the void.
Across the room, Archon Katrina Steiner had left her place in the receiving line. Though she kept her handsome face expressionless and her black gown restricted her hurried gait, pure joy shone in those famous silver-gray eyes. Her blond hair, still worn long, seemed to frame her face perfectly, bringing out her mature beauty.
Morgan descended and met her at the foot of the stairs. The Archon extended her hand. "Seeing you again, Colonel Kell, gives me more pleasure than you could ever know."
Morgan enfolded her hand in both of his. "I think you're wrong, Archon, because seeing you gives me equal pleasure." He smiled broadly and opened his arms. Sweeping her up in a hug that she gladly returned, Morgan held her tightly. "Damn it, Katrina. It's been far too long."
The Archon rubbed Morgan's broad back, then pulled away. Her voice dropped and the joy in her face clouded over. "I was so sorry to hear about Patrick. I share your loss."
Morgan stiffened, then nodded. "Thank you. But I know he made the sacrifice gladly." Looking past Katrina, Dan caught sight of the other royal Steiner, and he could not help but grin from ear to ear. "And this is Melissa . . ."
As tall as her mother and as beautiful, Melissa Arthur Steiner carried herself with grace and dignity. Mother and daughter had the same fair hair, but Melissa's was just a shade darker. It was set off by her silver gown, which clung to her lissome form like a second skin and whose abbreviated cape fell to mid-back. When she smiled back at Morgan, her beautiful gray eyes were as full of joy as the Archon's.
Morgan lunged forward and swept Melissa off her feet in a hug. Though a few among the guests gave sour, disapproving looks at such a breach of protocol, their frowns turned to smiles when Melissa shrieked delightedly.
Morgan set her down and nodded approvingly. "Last I saw you, Mel, you were all braids and black and blue."
Melissa nodded. "We went riding, you and me and Patrick..." She swallowed hard and dropped her gaze. "I ... Morgan ... I'm so sorry."
Morgan reached out and drew her to him. He whispered something in her ear, which Dan could not hear. He saw Melissa nod a couple of times, then sniff once, before Morgan released her. The Kell Hound commander turned and indicated Dan with his open right hand.
"Where have my manners gone? Katrina, Melissa, this is Captain Daniel Allard."
The Archon smiled warmly and extended her hand. Dan took it. A firm grip ... a Mech Warrior's grip. "It is the greatest of honors, Archon," he said.
Katrina Steiner nodded. "I am honored as well, Captain, for I've heard much of you. I appreciate your contribution toward rescuing the Silver Eagle. I trust your shoulder has recovered?"
D
an nodded. "Fully, thank you." Dan released the Archon's hand and turned to face Melissa. Careful, Dan. Remember Melissa's presence aboard the Silver Eagle is still classified. "It is a very great pleasure to meet you, Archon-Designate." Dan flicked a glance at Morgan. "You are not at all the little girl Morgan described."
Melissa took Dan's extended hand lightly, as befitting a lady of good breeding, but gave his fingers a little squeeze. "Had I known the Kell Hound's officers were so handsome and men of such wit, I would have asked my mother to post them here on Tharkad."
The Archon shook her head. "For the sake of those on the Silver Eagle, thank God the Kell Hound secret was well-kept."
Melissa thrust out her lower lip in a mock-pout. "Mother, were it up to you, I'd have no fun at all." She smiled at Morgan. "I'm sure Colonel Kell would welcome a posting on Tharkad."
Morgan shook his head slowly. "Sorry Mel, but I'd never allow the Kell Hounds to be posted on Tharkad." He winked at Dan. "I'd never give my men such hazardous duty."
14
Tharkad
District of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth
31 December 3027
Archon Katrina Steiner looked up and saw various individuals beginning to move toward her through the crowd. God, how swiftly the jackals begin to close. She slipped her hand through the crook of Morgan's left arm. "Morgan, this is not the place for private reminiscences. I feel a need for some air. If you would attend me?"
Morgan nodded. "A pleasurable duty, and an honor."
When her Minister of Protocol appeared suddenly, she took pity on him. Poor Franklin. He looks positively stricken. "Surely, Minister Hecht," said the Archon, "there is a precedent for this somewhere." She glanced at her daughter. "And if not, let us create one. This is supposed to be a celebration, and my hands are tired from greeting everyone."
Franklin Hecht had become so flustered that his one long strand of mousy-brown hair no longer crossed his head in a vain attempt to hide his baldness, but dangled down alongside one ear. With agony plainly apparent on the man's face, Hecht delicately replaced the hair and looked at the Archon with sad eyes. "As you wish, my Archon."
Warrior: riposte Page 10
