And Alaric and three Stars of Clan machines had pulled out of the fight and were running.
But not west and south toward the Triad. Instead they were heading south and east.
Callandre swallowed.
Toward the city.
The Streets of Tharkad City
Alaric stalked his Savage Wolf down Seth Marsden Avenue, sowing panic as he followed the six-lane ferrocrete road through the elegant business district. He stepped into the intersection of Seth Marsden and Fourth, using the long barrels of his lasers to rip down the suspended street lights. He crushed an abandoned green minivan parked along the right side of the street, smashing it with one downward thrust of his massive foot. He came across an overturned tanker truck, its tank glinting silver in the early morning light as gasoline spilled out into the street.
He tied his lasers into his primary triggers and dropped his reticle over the prone truck. The pip flashed gold and Alaric pulled into his triggers.
For an instant the world was filled with the shriek of his lasers and then they were drowned out by the roar of a brutal explosion. Windows shattered all along the street, raining jagged shards. A column of orange fire shot fifteen meters into the sky. The detonation was powerful enough to toss the truck up and flip it over so that it landed on its overside.
Even though his sound-deadened cockpit, he heard the song of war: the tinkle of breaking glass, the groan of overloaded structural beams, the ragged cry of rended metal.
The screams of desperate people.
Alaric tied in his external speaker and his amplified voice boomed across the burning street. "I warn you, citizens of Tharkad City, do not flee."
Of course that just made them run all the harder.
Alaric's loud and destructive march through the city had produced plenty of damage.
But not many casualties.
Which was his goal. Alaric had no desire to kill civilians. But he did want to move them out of the way. So ruthlessly, relentlessly, he herded them south.
Toward the Triad.
* * *
Julian Davion lumbered down First Street in his Templar and stopped at the place where the east-west street intersected Seth Marsden. First was deserted. Except for a pick-up truck that had careened into a fire hydrant, sending a fountain of water into the air, there wasn't a single vehicle on the street.
Marsden, on the other hand, was a parking lot.
Civilian vehicles trying to flee the city jammed the north- south road. The street was a six-lane road and the three northbound lanes had quickly been appropriated by people moving south. Motorcycles and bicycles streamed down the sidewalks, joined by the occasional impatient car.
Despite all their effort, people were moving no faster than a couple car-lengths an hour. Accidents caused by speed and panic clogged the city's southbound roads. As frustrated people abandoned their vehicles, things just got worse.
Tharkad City's millions were locked in the middle of a battle and there was no way for them to get out.
Julian leaned into the intersection, looking north and emerald fire washed over his canopy.
He flashed on the brown shape of a Wolf Mad Cat, and then it disappeared behind the bank on the corner of Second and Marsden, screening out Julian's shot.
Julian cursed savagely in English, French, and German.
Alaric Wolf.
When it was clear the Wolves were heading for the city, Callandre had detached Julian and the Guards to pursue. The whole carefully crafted plan had devolved into a disorganized melee, with units scattered throughout the city.
Somehow Julian had managed to stumble across Alaric and he couldn't get a shot.
The Clanner was a block north of him, but Julian couldn't move north without crushing trapped civilians. Both ends of First were closed off by a street full of human shields.
Frustrated, he toggled a private channel. "Callandre, Julian." "Hey, Jules. Was that you swearing all over my common frequency a minute ago? I don't think you would have tolerated that when you were in command."
"I have Alaric cornered at Second and Marsden."
"Nice form, though, I have to give you that. Three languages is impressive. Learn to swear in Mandarin and you'll be a force to be reckoned with."
"Callandre. Listen. If you can work your Destroyer around—"
"I heard you the first time, Jules!" Callandre snapped. "No, I can't work my Destroyer around. I'm bottled up just like you. All my troops are."
Julian heard the frustration in her voice. Not only was the defense of Tharkad City her responsibility, but Callandre Kell was used to a more free-wheeling version of warfare. She liked to use her SM1's speed to dash in and pound BattleMechs with her Ultra-20 Autocannon and then dash out before her victims could return the favor. Now she couldn't move at all.
"Don't worry, Callandre," said Julian gently. "We can't move north, but they can't move south either. That means they can't punch through the city and reach the Triad. The Royal Palace is safe as long as—"
Something flickered in Julian's field of vision, something falling out of a gray sky.
DropShips. Landing Craft. 'Mechs with jump packs.
Julian's mouth suddenly tasted dry. Alaric Wolf had trapped Bremen's defenders in Tharkad City and now Khan Ward and the Wolves' Alpha Galaxy were falling out of a cloud-be- decked sky.
There would be no one to stop them as they marched on the Royal Palace.
Just off the Coast of the Tatyana Islands
Malvina Hazen's Shrike put a clawed-foot down on the sea bottom, sending a cloud of white sand rising up to obscure the crystalline blue water. She took another step forward. She heard the deep rumble of her 'Mech's own footfalls like the promise of distant thunder, at once more diffuse and more powerful than what she would have heard conveyed to her by air.
A shimmering school of metallic-red and green fish darted out of her way. Even the beasts and fowl of this world were smart enough to avoid Malvina Hazen's wrath.
The Lyrans, however, were not quite so wise.
Well, they would learntheir lesson soon enough. She glanced right and saw Star Commander Branch's Turkina, colored blue by the sea. Just beyond the Turkina was the shadowy silhouette of an Eyrie. The rest of her Command Trinary was hidden from her by the camouflage of the sea.
Somewhere overhead, Beckett Malthus was leading an attack against the Star League-era base the Lyrans called Sommerposten. She had not left him quite enough power to take the facility, but she expected him to make a good showing nevertheless. The Lyran forces were divided and the bulk had remained on Bremen to fend off the Wolves. What remained was drawn from a dozen different worlds, many units little better than militia, and none of them properly integrated into a single fighting force.
Against these defenders she sent a slightly smaller force of Clan warriors, Jade Falcons tested by battle and hardship, hardened veterans commanded by one of the most devious minds to ever come out of an iron womb.
Aff, she expected Beckett to hold his own.
There was now a slope to the sandy bottom. Her beloved Black Rose was no longer strolling along the bottom. She was climbing. Malvina glanced up. The sea was no longer an unbroken expanse of deep blue. Overhead it glowed with quicksilver brightness, the sun calling to her.
She needed Beckett to do no better than engage the Lyran defenders in a brutal assault. She did not need him to win,
did not want him to win. For when her Command Trinary appeared suddenly in the Lyran rear, the defender's line would shatter like hammer-struck glass.
And Malvina Hazen lived for such moments.
Her Shrike's head broke the ocean's surface at last and Malvina was born into victory.
The Royal Palace, Tharkad City
Leutnant-General Maurer's high boots echoed loudly in the empty throne room as he strode across the marble floor. The general officer wasn't quite running, but he was moving rapidly and his face was pinched with concern.
Trillian guessed i
t wasn't good news.
He reached the foot of Melissa's throne and executed a sharp bow. "Highness, I regret to inform you that a large Wolf force has broken through our lines and is approaching the Royal Palace. We must evacuate at once."
"How is this possible?" Melissa asked coldly.
"With respect, Highness, I believe—"
"You have not answered my question," Melissa snapped. "You have come and told me that the LCAF is about to surrender my capital. Is it too much to ask how this came to happen?"
"Archon," Trillian said softly.
Melissa did not even turn to look at her.
Maurer licked his lips. "Alaric Wolf's Beta Galaxy struck deep in the city. When our frontline forces responded, they were trapped by a flood of refugees, leaving no one to oppose Alpha Galaxy other than our reserves. Now, Highness. We must go."
A soft smile touched the Archon's lips. "No," she said softly.
Trillian gasped. "What?" She took a step toward Melissa.
"No?"
"There are only minutes, Highness," said Maurer urgently. "The Wolf Striker Trinary approaches, carrying toads. Even if we get you into a Destroyer now, they will pursue."
Melissa looked over at Trillian. "Evacuate my cousin. I invest her with my proxy. She shall act in the name of the Archon until I decree otherwise."
"No," whispered Trillian, unable to keep the horror out of her voice. "No. Come with us, Melissa. Nothing is to be gained from this."
Melissa met her gaze. "Weren't you listening, Trillian? General Maurer just told us what is to be gained. If the Wolves capture me here, they will have little reason to pursue a fleeing Destroyer. They can have one of us or both of us. You tell me, which better serves the Commonwealth?"
Trillian stared at her cousin, open-mouthed. Then she understood. She threw her shoulders back, straightened her back. "Leave me behind, then. I look enough like you to fool the Wolves for ten, twenty minutes. Maybe more." She looked to Maurer for help. Her gaze took in the four Diplomatic Guard agents.
"It might work," said Maurer.
"Nein!" Melissa roared.
Trillian turned to the lead agent. "You. You have sworn to protect the life of the Archon!" she shouted.
The agent looked straight ahead, not looking at Trillian. He held his rifle at port arms, his knuckles white on the weapon's barrel. "I have my orders, Lady Steiner," he said stiffly.
"You see," said Melissa. "This is the way it will be. I am still Archon. I still have the power to arrange things to my liking."
Trillian shook her head. "But why? Why?"
Melissa reached out and gently touched Trillian's face. "As Duke Vedet is so fond of saying, these are my Wolves. Now it is time for a reckoning between they and I."
"No.” Trillian whispered. "This is madness. You must come with us."
Melissa dropped her hand. "There have been failures during my rule," she said. "But perhaps when our people think of House Steiner, they will remember my courage at the end."
"I'll stay by your side," said Trillian.
"Nein, Trillian."
"But-"
"No." Melissa shook her head. "You really were loyal to me all along, weren't you?" "Always," said Trillian fiercely.
"How things might have been different if I had realized that sooner," Melissa whispered. "You must go, for you shall be the political arm of House Steiner in exile. I need your genius."
Melissa nodded and the Diplomatic Guard grabbed her by the arms.
Trillian's eyes blurred, her throat constricting painfully. "My Archon." She reached out to her cousin.
But Melissa had already turned away.
* * *
Melissa sat on her throne, back straight, hands resting on the chair's armrests, staring straight ahead. A laser pistol rested in her lap. The throne room was absolutely empty. She would place no more of her subjects in danger.
She waited.
Tharkad was about to fall and there was nothing she could do about it. She might have made a stand against the Wolves or the Jade Falcons. Or perhaps she could have beaten both clans—if Vedet and her generals hadn't turned against her.
But in the end there was no point in blaming others. She was Archon. Responsibility rested with her.
And Tharkad was about to fall.
World of her birth, of her ancestors. Capital of the Commonwealth since 2407. And now it was finally going to fall.
She did not want to live to see the end of this day.
Melissa heard sounds coming from the outer corridors, the metal clank of troops in power armor. She swallowed, but otherwise she gave no outer sign of distress. She was surprised how calm she was.
An Elemental burst in the throne room. He was huge, pushing three meters, and clad in armor. He cradled a rifle in his arms, the barrel exactly centered on Melissa's chest. He moved forward, never taking his eye off the target.
"Archon Melissa Steiner," shouted the man. "Do not move. You are a prisoner of the Wolf Empire."
Melissa reached for the laser pistol in her lap.
The Elemental cleared the forest of columns. There were three more at the door.
Melissa stood.
"DO NOT MOVE!’' the Elemental roared. "Put your hands above your head. If you move, I WILL fire."
Melissa raised her pistol and squeezed the trigger.
Ruby fire washed over the Elemental's faceplate.
The giant screamed and dove right.
Melissa heard the staccato roar of automatic gunfire.
Then she heard nothing at all.
The Royal Palace, Tharkad City Tharkad
Wolf Empire and Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
18 July 3143
Their footsteps echoed through the empty halls of the Lyran throne room. Alaric had ordered the room's lights secured, save for the small lamps that illuminated the murals, the throne, and the absent BattleMechs. The Royal Palace had been closed; the Lyrans sent home.
He and Seth Ward walked alone through the great throne room.
"Is it not satisfying to know that we Wolves brought down House Steiner, quiaff?"
".Aftsaid Khan Ward, stopping before the dais. The word was a rumble from deep within his chest. "But this does not excuse your actions ... Your arrogance."
"I performed my surkai as you instructed, my Khan."
"You never embraced your surkai," growled Khan Ward. "You attacked Tharkad, though that target was to be mine."
"You had the central invasion corridor," said Alaric, "and yet I reached Tharkad first. Should the wolf fail to bring down the prey because his packmates lag behind?"
"You gave Tharkad to the Jade Falcons!" the Khan roared.
"To prevent a war that would have brought ruin to both Clans."
"I have indulged you, Galaxy Commander Alaric."
"Have you?" said Alaric softly, "because I do not believe—"
A figure leapt out of the lower gallery and lunged toward Seth Ward. Alaric flashed on a big man with ebony skin, a rictus of hate twisted across his face, his powerful body clothed in black, a knife clutched in his right hand.
Alaric threw himself at the assassin, delivering a brutal punch to the killer's throat, followed by a knee to the gut. The
man doubled over and Alaric twisted his neck, snapping it in an instant.
The assassin's blade clattered to the ground.
The Khan had his sidearm out, his laser trained on the assassin. Alaric allowed the man's body fall to the floor and Khan Ward slowly lowered his weapon.
Alaric knelt and picked up the knife. Its tip was stained maroon. "Poison," snarled Alaric. "If he had even scratched you—" He shook his head. "This stinks of Loki, Melissa's secret police."
A shape, no more than a silhouette, appeared at the distant door to the throne room. "My Khan, I heard a disturbance."
Ward turned his attention to the door.
Alaric felt the weight of the blade in his hand.
In a flash, he raised the poisoned knife
and threw it. It caught Khan Ward in the throat, slicing right into his windpipe.
The Khan turned to him, his eyes wide with shock, hands going to his throat. He made a terrible, gurgling sound.
"Hurry," called Alaric, "the Khan needs help."
The poison was already working. The Khan had sunk to his knees, his face purple.
The Khan's guard charged into the room and found Alaric standing over the dead Loki agent's body, Seth Ward collapsed on the floor.
At that moment, Alaric realized that he was Vlad and Katherine and Victor. He was all three at once. And he could present any of those faces to the world without losing the use of the other two.
All three of those mighty leaders had their strengths and weaknesses, but not Alaric. He would harvest only their strengths—leaving their weaknesses to rot. Guided by no value other than expedience, he would wear whichever mask was demanded by the occasion. And so he would be the most flexible warrior in the galaxy.
And the most dangerous.
"What happened?" asked the panicked guard.
Seth Ward lay on his back, bleeding from his mouth, his tongue swollen, staring up at Alaric with dying eyes.
"He was murdered," said Alaric, "by an assassin."
Asgard, Mount Wotan
Tharkad Donegal Military Province
Lyran Commonwealth
20 July 3143
Snow curled through the leaden sky as Trillian looked up, watching the Warrior VTOL fight the treacherous mountain wind. She stood on the edge of a square landing pad ringed with flashing lights and marked with a white "X." Behind her was the massive Asgard facility, the headquarters of the vast Lyran military.
This day it was just one more citadel waiting to fall.
The throp-throp-throp of the helicopter's rotors battled the wind's howl for supremacy. The Warrior was painted dark brown with molten orange highlights and it carried within it a emissary from the new masters of Tharkad.
Clan Wolf.
Trillian's mouth tasted dry. She felt hollow inside. Melissa was dead and Tharkad was about to fall. The Jade Falcons controlled the Tatyana Islands and the Wolf Khan sat on the Steiner throne.
A Bonfire of Worlds Page 29
