A Bonfire of Worlds

by Steven Mohan Jr.

  Lyran Commonwealth

  2 July 3143

  The armored Avanti limousine slowly worked its way through the crowded streets of the capital of the Lyran Commonwealth. Julian Davion sat in the back in a comfortable brown synth- leather seat beside Callandre Kell.

  Silence stretched between the two of them, a silence born of the terrible things that had happened on Smolnik and the terrible things that had happened on Timkovichi. A silence born of the terrible things happening on Tharkad right now.

  And Julian's refusal to help earlier, when his help might have made a difference.

  Julian turned and tapped his window button. The darkened window lowered with a smooth electric hum. It was a pretty spring day on Tharkad, unseasonably warm for the cold world, so Julian expected to smell sunlight and cherry blossoms from the trees lining the road. He expected to see young couples pushing strollers down sidewalks, old women talking on stoops, old men playing chess in the park.

  That was not what he saw.

  Instead he saw the shattered glass of a broken storefront, heard the wail of a distant siren. The streets were crowded with traffic, but the sidewalks were deserted. He smelled smoke and tasted wild-eyed panic on the wind. He looked up and saw a blue sky filled with black specks, DropShips darting away from the world like flies scattered from a disturbed corpse.

  For there were two monsters coming, Malvina Hazen on one side and Alaric Wolf on the other.

  And billions would be left to their tender mercies.

  Julian understood why Caleb had finally sent his First Davion Guards to the Commonwealth, to stain Julian with the terrible defeat that was about to happen here. He understood the political calculations behind his cousin's actions.

  But the people. What of the cost to the people? What kind of prince could act without considering the cost to the people?

  Tharkad's terror was like broken glass in Julian's gut. He reached forward and touched the button, hiding the sorrow and the terror behind the darkened window.

  He looked straight ahead, his body somehow both too hot and too cold at the same time. How could this happen? How? He felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. There had to be a way to stop it— there just had to be a way.

  He had not felt this helpless since Harrison had died.

  Julian glanced at Callandre. What must she be feeling?

  Callandre wore a Kell Hounds uniform, the uniform of a unit that no longer existed. There was no color in her hazelnut hair—as if the color had been washed out of her. She stared straight ahead, her doe-brown eyes locked on the limousine's forward windshield, her skin pale, her eyes ringed with dark circles as if she hadn't been sleeping. Her hands were gathered in her lap.

  There was nothing Julian could do for the people of Tharkad.

  But there was something he could do for his friend.

  He reached over and gently took her hand and held it between his. She did not turn to look at him. But after a few seconds she closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder.

  Which was how they rode the rest of the way to the VTOL that would take them to the palace.

  The Royal Palace, Tharkad City

  There were no courtiers in the throne room, Trillian noted, the galleries were empty. At this time of disaster the nobility was no longer posturing. Or if they were, they were doing it somewhere else.

  Aside from the guards, only a handful of people stood at the foot of the Archon's throne in the shadows of the two BattleMechs (now an Atlas and a Zeus painted in the colors of the First Hesperus Guards.) There was Vedet himself, of course, Maurer, Melissa, and rounding out the little group, Julian Davion of the Federated Suns and the last of the Kell Hounds, Callandre Kell.

  A truly motley group to determine the fate of a Great House.

  "The Wolves have just jumped in-system," said Maurer. "They didn't bother with a pirate point, they came in through the zenith point. It's Alaric Wolf. We've received a communication from him. He plans to present his batchall in person." He looked down and drew a heavy breath. "LIC estimates that Malvina Hazen is a single jump away. Khan Seth Ward, about the same."

  "Well," said Trillian, "good thing you changed archons. Imagine how bad it would have been if you hadn't."

  Maurer met her eyes. "The high command has come to believe we may have made a mistake."

  "Well, that is of great comfort," said Melissa dryly.

  "Iam Archon," Vedet roared.

  Nobody looked at him.

  "We must decide what to do next," said Maurer.

  "This has been the capital of the Lyran Commonwealth for seven hundred years," said Melissa stiffly. "We will not abandon Tharkad in her hour of need."

  Silence filled the throne room. Trillian was not a military expert, but she was an accomplished politician adept at reading faces. On Vedet's face she read terror, on Maurer's, shame and resignation. The young Davion lord was angry.

  And Callandre Kell's face was naked with pain.

  From these expressions Trillian pieced together the answer.

  It was the young Kell Hound who stepped forward to say the words. "The Kell Hounds have been annihilated," said Callandre Kell in a low, flat voice. "The Exiles have spent their power in delaying the Falcon advance as much as they could. Anastasia Kerensky is lost to us, two-thirds of her Wolf Hunters captured or killed. Jasek Kelswa-Steiner and Roderick Steiner fight desperate battles to hold back the other Wolf assaults. I'm sorry, Highness, but—" Her voice broke on the word and she looked down.

  "Mercenaries," said Vedet desperately. "We could contract mercenaries."

  Trillian looked over at Melissa. The Archon looked away.

  Suddenly Trillian understood.

  For months, years, Melissa had been pouring kroner into ComStar, propping up the communications giant in some mad scheme to bolster her power. Trillian would not say it in front of Melissa's enemies, but like all her schemes, this one had backfired. Now when the money could have been used in Tharkad's defense, it was gone.

  "There is no time," said Melissa.

  Trillian thought only she knew the Archon was lying.

  "We've stripped the outlying worlds," said Vedet. "Concentrated our forces here on Tharkad. C-could it be enough?"

  "Nein," said Maurer softly. "Many of those forces are no better than militia. Even with the remnants of the Wolf Hunters and the First Davion Guards." He shook his head. "It would be a desperate fight against one Clan force. Against three His voice trailed off.

  "Could we hold until—" Melissa looked over at Julian Davion. "Until help came from the Federated Suns?

  Julian was tall and strong in a dress-green AFFS uniform, short red-blond hair framing a handsome face. He looked like a young general, Trillian thought. Or a young prince.

  He drew a deep breath, shook his head. "I am sorry, Archon. Caleb sees me as a political rival. He sent me here to—" He stopped.

  "To hang the Commonwealth's defeat around your neck," said Trillian coldly.

  Julian nodded. "There will be no more reinforcements from the Suns. You have the swords of the First Davion Guards, Highness." He bowed his head. "But that is all. I am sorry."

  "You are all fools," snarled Vedet. "If we can't win, then we must salvage what we can and flee."

  A disgusted silence hung in the room. If Trillian had been standing next to the Duke, she would have slapped him.

  "/will not abandon Tharkad," said Melissa coldly.

  Trillian recognized that tone of voice and realized the discussion was over. So she was surprised when Julian Davion spoke.

  "The battle for Tharkad is lost," he said gently. "The battle for civilization is not. Please, Highness. Save your armies for another day."

  The Archon glared at him. "If this were New Avalon, would you abandon it?"

  It was a tough question, but the young Davion did not shrink from the challenge. "If it meant saving the rest of the Federated Suns, then yes."

  Melissa shook her head. "You may be a fine gener
al, Lord Davion, but you don't have what it takes to rule a great house."

  Julian Davion stiffened, but he did not answer the Archon's barb.

  Maurer frowned. "Highness, I really don't think—"

  "What?" Melissa snapped. "What is it you really don't think? Do you not think I should be Archon? Who here do you plan to appoint in my stead? Please feel free to try." Her voice was acid. "You're bound to get it right sooner or later."

  Melissa glanced over at the young woman standing beside Julian Davion. "Callandre Kell, I charge you with the defense of Tharkad." She looked back at Vedet and then to the Lyran general, her eyes blue fire. "You'll forgive me, General Maurer, if I give this task to a soldier I can trust."

  * * *

  Callandre Kell and Julian Davion stood in silence on a third- story stone balcony watching Tharkad's gold sun fall into the arctic horizon, coloring Mount Wotan's snow pack with yellows, reds, and pinks. It was cold, as only Tharkad could be cold, but Callandre didn't wear a jacket over her uniform, didn't hug herself, or rub her hands together. She needed the chill.

  Needed something to wake her up.

  Callandre Kell, I charge you with the defense of Tharkad.

  How had the universe come to that?

  "May I join you?"

  She turned back and saw Lady Trillian Steiner dressed in a dark green tunic and a long, black skirt that looked lovely against her fair skin.

  "Of course, Lady Steiner."

  For a minute they all stood together, watching the sunset.

  Callandre wondered what the other woman was thinking. She and Melissa had only been released from captivity that morning. Rage boiled up within Callandre. "Duke Vedet—" she spat the name out, "—is a coward."

  Lady Steiner nodded without turning to look at her.

  Callandre pounded a fist into her hand. "And Melissa is truly brave."

  "Melissa," said Lady Steiner, "is a fool."

  Callandre's breath caught.

  "She is the true Archon," said Lady Steiner, "and I will follow her to the end of my life. But she is wrong."

  "How can you say that?" Callandre asked.

  Julian shook his head. "Vedet is a coward, Callandre. But now is the time for cowardice. You understand the military match-up as well as I. There is just no possible way to hold Tharkad."

  Callandre turned to look at Julian. He had changed since Caleb had sent him into exile. Jules seemed more dour. No, that wasn't right exactly. He seemed more burdened, as if he were weighed down by a heavy duty.

  One he would not—or could not—explain to her.

  She was willing to give Julian the space he needed to keep his secrets, but she missed being able to talk about anything with her friend.

  "No possible way to hold Tharkad, huh?" she said. "Well, you don't mind if I try anyway, do you?"

  Julian's smile was a flash of white against his tanned skin. "Only if you let me help."

  Callandre put her hand on his arm and turned to look at the Archon's cousin. "Will you answer a political question for me, Lady Steiner?"

  She laughed. "Only if you call me Trillian."

  "Very well, Trillian." Callandre's voice grew grave. "Why did the military return Melissa to power?"

  "Well, it helped that Duke Vedet was a failure and a coward. But I think it was more than that. I think they know that we're facing the last days of Tharkad—" She paused. "Maybe even the last days of the Commonwealth." She shook her head. "I think that here, at the end of things, they wanted to do the right thing."

  Callandre absorbed that in silence. Then she bowed her head. "If you will excuse me, Lady Steiner, I have preparations to attend to."

  Trillian nodded. She watched the young woman turn and disappear inside the palace. Without turning to look at Julian Davion, she asked, "Is she up to the task?"

  The Davion lord's voice was firm. "Here, at the end of all things, there could be no one better."

  Indvader-class JumpShip Lope

  Zenith Jump Point Tharkad,

  Donegal Military Province

  Lyran Commonwealth

  Anastasia Kerensky stood on Lope's small observation deck and looked out on the world of Tharkad. The planet was distant, but the JumpShip had good telescopes, good enough to resolve the dot of light into a disc, a cold swirl of blue and white no bigger than a ten-pfennig coin.

  Such a small thing to carry with it the rage of emotions she felt within her.

  Suddenly, Anastasia realized she was not alone. She tasted the intruder's presence, felt the movement of air, heard the soft intake of breath. His image was not reflected in the fer- roglass of the viewport, but he was there nonetheless.

  She shifted her weight slightly, bending her knees a few millimeters, tensing her legs, readying herself to spin and kick.

  "You prepare to fight me," said Alaric. "That is unworthy of a bondsman."

  Anastasia exhaled. At once the tension fled her body. "If I am unworthy, Alaric, why do not you kill me?"

  "Perhaps I shall," said the Wolf officer easily.

  "Perhaps you shall try."

  "It would be a most interesting contest. But then we have already had that contest, quiaff? Why should you believe it would be any different this time?"

  His words were like a blow to her gut. She reached a hand out to the flat surface of the viewport to steady herself. "I wish you would brutalize me," she whispered. "I wish you would torture me, as I did you. I wish you would kill me."

  He stepped forward so he was standing directly behind her. She felt the heat of his breath on her neck. "I will not" he whispered.

  She closed her eyes.

  After a moment Alaric said: "You know, it is not the world that makes you feel this way. You do not truly care about Tharkad. If you did, you would strike me down now, or you would try, even if you knew it would cost your life. No it is not the world. It is the defeat."

  Anastasia swallowed, remembering her last visit to Tharkad. "Duke Vedet thought I would defeat you and save the Commonwealth," she said softly.

  "Duke Vedet is a stravag fool," said Alaric coldly.

  "It would seem so," Anastasia whispered. She turned to face him. "Will you tell me one thing, Galaxy Commander Alaric?"

  He snorted. "Before we are done, I suspect I will tell you many things. But we may begin with one if you like."

  Anastasia swallowed. "Did you ... Did you really love Verena?"

  Alaric broke her gaze, looked out the viewport. For a long moment he was silent. "It is hard to say," he finally said. "I am Clan. We Clanners do not understand what love truly is, quiaff? All I know is that there were times I acted against my best interest because I feared hurting her."

  His voice dropped so low, Anastasia could barely hear it. "There were times I would have rather been with her than fight."

  Anastasia felt her breath catch. It was a startling admission from a warrior of Alaric's accomplishment.

  "There is something we Clanners lack," he said slowly. "Something that is present in the warriors that have beaten us: Anastasius Focht, Victor Steiner-Davion, Devlin Stone. Surely you understand this, Anastasia Kerensky. Is that not why you challenged the ways of Clan Wolf and formed the Wolf Hunters?"

  Anastasia found herself nodding.

  Alaric caught her gaze, turned the full power of those blue eyes on her. "Did you ever consider, Anastasia, that maybe the thing we are missing is love?"

  She looked up, seeing the fierce pain that tightened the muscles of his handsome face. Her life as a Clanner gave her

  no words to express what she was feeling, so she searched her memory for the words of Spheroids.

  "I am sorry," she finally said. "For Verena's death."

  The Royal Palace, Tharkad City

  Tharkad, Donegal Military Province

  Lyran Commonwealth

  9 July 3143

  Melissa Steiner sat on her throne waiting for Alaric Wolf to come. She sat with her back straight against the padded chair, her head held high, he
r eyes clear.

  The throne room was mostly empty, save for Callandre Kell, Julian Davion, and Trillian who all stood by her throne, a pair of holorecorder crews, and a scattering of agents from the Diplomatic Guard. A grim smile flitted across her face. Not that the bodyguards were likely to do any good if Alaric arrived in his Mad Cat.

  The room was quiet and a little forlorn. The traditional BattleMechs had been removed, sent to serve with the forces defending the city. The murals had not been repaired since the assassination attempt. The damaged columns had been fixed, but they had been painted a color of cream that didn't quite match their neighbors.

  And, of course, the galleries were empty.

  But Melissa had restored the carpet, the beautiful ribbon of Steiner blue that led to the dais. If nothing else, she had that beautiful color blue.

  Her courage was bolstered by the memory of Gunter Duiven's words. Before the meeting with Alaric, the former head of Loki had approached her and whispered, "Highness, if the Wolves betray your trust, you will be avenged. This I swear."

  And Melissa did take comfort from Gunter's words. The Wolves were strong, ja, but no Clanner could hope to be half as duplicitous as a Steiner.

  Alaric arrived at precisely twelve noon, as they had agreed. He wore brown Wolf leathers and a dark brown wolf mask enameled with copper highlights, its eyes gleaming emeralds.

  Trailing two meters behind him and to his right was a woman.

  Melissa was startled to see it was Anastasia Kerensky. The woman stared straight ahead, her face blank. She wore no hourglass and she had traded her black riding leathers for drab, gray coveralls, but there was no mistaking that dark red hair and those features, somehow both beautiful and threatening at once.

  Julian Davion's sharp intake of breath told the Archon that he, too, recognized the former Wolf Hunter.

  Disgust filled Melissa. This was the woman who was supposed to be the Commonwealth's savior.

  Alaric strode into the room as if he owned the place. The very thought gave Melissa a twinge. He stopped five paces from the throne, the camera crews following him all the way in.

  Alaric reached up and removed his mask, so she might see his face. He was a handsome man, his blond hair longer than she last remembered and tied back, his face strong, his blue eyes mesmerizing, the orbital scar accentuating rather than detracting from his beauty.