Bred for war Page 10

  The Loremaster looked at Marialle, then smiled. "This conclave has been called to examine charges of treason brought against ilKhan Ulric Kerensky as a result of a Loremaster's Inquiry. Marialle Radick, who has standing here in the Clan Council, has agreed to act for the council in bringing these charges. The counts are ..."

  Ulric strode forward imperiously and waved the man to silence. "End your charade now, Loremaster. Embarrass yourself no further."

  "What?"

  "These changes are groundless. I, in my capacity as ilKhan, order you to dismiss them."

  Marialle lunged forward. "You cannot do this. This is improper." Her voice sounded hoarse, but Phelan heard no nervousness in her words. "I object to your actions."

  Ulric shook his head slowly. "I am certain you do, child, but we have no time for these games. Because we exist under a truce with ComStar, and have not truly ended the hostilities, we all still live under the rule of martial law. Martial law permits the ilKhan to expedite problems by challenging any charges he believes are spurious, and to order their dismissal if, after consideration, he finds them to be false. I have considered these changes, find both to be false, and here exercise my option to order their dismissal."

  "You cannot."

  Ulric's head came up. "Are you challenging me to a Trial of Refusal over this matter, Star Captain Radick?"

  Radick's eyes widened for a moment, then she looked down. "I meant no disrespect, ilKhan."

  Phelan smiled as Dalk looked taken aback. "I believe the ilKhan is correct in this procedural matter. I ... I will adjourn the conclave for fifteen minutes to review the regulations."

  "If you do that, Dalk Cams, I will demand a Trial of Refusal of you." Ulric smiled cruelly. "I have spoken. I am not in error concerning our laws. I am waiting."

  The Loremaster nodded stiffly. "For the record, you must state your reasons for dismissing the charges."

  "For the record, Loremaster, I am under no such compunction, but I shall do so, nonetheless. I will do this because these charges have slandered valuable and honored members of our Clan." The ilKhan kept his voice barely above a growl, clearly playing to the members of the Clan Council. "I will first address the charge of treason based on Phelan Ward's election as Khan. I am aware that among my peers are those who believe that no freebirth should have been allowed to become a Khan. They believe it is inconceivable that such could happen.

  "These people are fools."

  Ulric turned and pointed toward Phelan. "Phelan Ward is a freebirth. This has never been a secret. It has always been acknowledged. He was taken in combat by our forces. He was made a bondsman, as some of you were. Because of service to Clan Wolf, he was eventually adopted into our warrior caste. This is in keeping with our tradition, and many of you pledged on your honor to accept him as one of us.

  "Once he became a warrior, genetic typing determined that Phelan had claim against House Ward for a Bloodname.

  Cyrilla Ward nominated him as her heir. But that only permitted him a place in the Trial. He earned the Bloodname the same way he earned his rank in our military: by fighting and besting his foes. He is as qualified to stand in this Council as any of you.

  "After Tukayyid, Phelan was nominated by Conal Ward to replace our dead Khan. He was elected by acclamation. That election was ratified by the Grand Council and Phelan was granted a seat in that august body."

  Ulric clasped his hands at his back. "It has been charged that Khan Phelan is an agent of the Inner Sphere. That rumor has no merit. He was cast out of the Nagelring—their premier military academy—and sent out to hunt bandits. If he were a valued member of their society, they would never have assigned him so menial a task."

  Phelan suppressed a smile. Among the Clans, bandit-hunting and other such activities were considered the lowest form of mission for a warrior. To be assigned to a solahma unit was a disgrace from which few recovered. In the Inner Sphere, bandit-hunting had a different reputation. Mercenaries like the Kell Hounds saw it as relatively easy duty, but felt no stigma attached to it. It might not have the glory of a major battle, but it was much safer and even a bit romantic because the chase might lead to all sorts of exotic worlds far from the core of the Inner Sphere.

  Ulric continued pounding point after point into his audience. "Phelan followed accepted practices in attaining his rank. To question his right to that rank is to question the foundation of the Clans themselves. Nicholas Kerensky and the others from whom all Bloodnames derive were all originally natives of the Inner Sphere. All had been members of the Inner Sphere military, ergo they were Inner Sphere agents. They were all freebirths. They created the traditions that allowed for freebirths to be adopted as warriors, to claim Bloodnames, and to win election to the post of Khan. Since they allowed these things—intended such things to happen—following their wishes cannot be treason." - Eyes narrowing, Ulric paced the stage like a predator trapped by the bars of a cage. "As for the charge that I committed treason when I bid against ComStar's Precentor Martial before the battle of Tukayyid, I point out that such a charge was also leveled against me in the Grand Council shortly after that battle. I was exonerated in the Council. That charge is equally without merit."

  The ilKhan spun and stared at the Loremaster. "I believe, Dalk Cams, that this conclave can be brought to an end."

  Watching Marialle and Vlad, Phelan thought they looked like two people twelve days into a fortnight's artillery barrage. In presenting their case to the council, they'd obviously hoped to use the conclave as a bully pulpit to win converts to their Wolf supremist position. Ulric had ambushed them, and they didn't like it. Neither did Dalk, but Phelan thought that was less because he supported Vlad than because he didn't like losing control of the conclave.

  As Dalk's head came up, Phelan realized he was wrong. Where he'd expected to see anger and embarrassment, he saw sinister confidence. Somehow, somewhere, while Ulric was ripping the supremists' case apart, Cams had found something to use against him.

  "I am afraid, ilKhan, that I cannot call a close until we address the third charge in the indictment."

  Natasha's eyes blazed. "Third charge?"

  "You heard me, Khan Natasha. If you will, ilKhan, please explain how you could order that charge dismissed out of hand."

  Ulric hesitated for a second and Dalk began to smile. Ulric took control by surprising Dalk, and now Dalk has turned the tables on him. Ulric exploded the other charges, so he will be expected to do that with this one as well. He cannot avoid dealing with it.

  The ilKhan slowly shook his head. "There was no third charge in the indictment I was given."

  "No?" Dalk's oily smile broadened. "Clerical error, then. I suppose a Trial of Refusal is in order with my clerk."

  "And this charge is, Loremaster?"

  "That you willfully entered into a conspiracy to destroy a Clan's genetic heritage."

  Natasha gasped out loud and even Marialle and Vlad looked aghast. Phelan, having been raised outside the Clans, did not react so viscerally, but he knew why the others had. The Clans engaged in a complex program of selective breeding to create their future generations of warriors. Ova and sperm from warriors were stored by the scientist caste and held until the contributors either proved themselves or took themselves out of the breeding program because of lackluster performance.

  Of the original twenty Clans created three centuries before, two had been absorbed by other Clans that had defeated them in a protracted war. The third missing Clan— Wolverine by name, though no one spoke of it willingly—had been hunted down and slain to the last in a genocidal war without compromise. The Wolverines had committed the greatest crime the Clans could imagine: they had used a nuclear device to destroy another Clan's genetic repositories.

  When the Grand Council had tried them, everyone knew the charge, but the indictment had remained sealed because the people of the Clans found the crime so abominable. To even hint at repeating such an act was enough to end a career, and rumors of a Clan planning to do so w
ould be enough to trigger war with other Clans. Dalk, in speaking those words, was accusing Ulric of being as treacherous as Judas, as evil as Hitler, and as mad as Stefan Amaris.

  Ulric looked speechless, so Phelan marched over to the podium and seized Dalk's shoulder. "Explain that charge now, Loremaster, or I will challenge you to a Trial of Refusal immediately, and I guarantee the ilKhan's honor will be cleansed with your blood."

  Dalk slapped his hand away and Phelan felt a trap closing around him. "It is simple, my Khan, diabolically so: Because of the truce, we will have three generations of warriors who know nothing of warfare beyond exercises and the occasional raid. When the truce ends, our command structure will be full of untested, untried, and inexperienced warriors. They will lead our young into combat and, as Ulric intends, they will die, and the way of the Clans perish with them."

  12

  Better a known enemy than a forced ally.

  —Napoleon Bonaparte, Political Aphorisms

  Daosha, Zurich

  Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth

  4 July 3057

  Noble Thayer pushed his empty plate away from the edge of the table and smiled at Cathy Hanney. "I'm glad you talked me into taking you to the Mandrinn's Dragon. I've never been much on Chinese cuisine, but this was good."

  Cathy reached out and gave Noble's hand a squeeze. "Thank you for taking me. I like this place, but I can only really afford it a couple of times a year. I save it for special occasions."

  "I hope this one lived up to the billing."

  Her blue eyes flicked up to meet his gaze. "It did. You're a very special man, Noble Thayer."

  Noble shook his head. "Not really. It's just easy to treat you very specially."

  "That's sweet of you." Cathy sipped her tea and when she placed the empty cup on the table, he refilled it. "You're a listener—a trait that tends to be rare among folks with that pesky XY chromosome pair."

  "You're easy to listen to."

  "Oh, I'm sure you found hearing all the superstition about the locals and our medicine absolutely scintillating."

  He smiled expansively. "Actually, I did. And as for being a listener, I'm trying to cultivate that. I think it's what a writer has to be."

  Cathy stirred some sugar into her tea. "I knew a writer when I lived on Wroclaw. The only thing he ever listened to was the sound of his own voice. He used to write historical novels set in the Fourth Succession War and then the Clan wars. I only read one—it was awful."

  "What was so bad?"

  "Characters with the depth of tissue paper and the most purple prose when it came to the battle scenes. The combat was pretty boring—boom, boom, BOOM—I'd rather have a box score at the end. I didn't really read those sections, just skipped past them."

  "I don't think anyone reads the combat parts of those novels, really."

  "You're probably right." She cupped her tea in her two hands. "Now I think he's writing some sort of political thriller dealing with Archon Melissa's death."

  Noble's eyes widened. "Really? That's what I'm doing."

  "I'm sure your book will be a lot better than his."

  He frowned. "I guess I should have figured plenty of other people would decide to write about it. Maybe I should think about shifting things around."

  The waiter appeared and looked down at the half-filled dishes on the table. "Shall I wrap this up?"

  Cathy nodded emphatically. "Yes." She turned to Noble. "The kung-pao beef is excellent right out of the refrigerator for breakfast."

  "If you say so."

  Her pale brows drew together as she looked at him. "I'm sorry if mentioning that other writer and his book was discouraging."

  He smiled. "No, it wasn't, really."

  "I'm glad you told me about your book. It's one of the few things I know about you."

  "I haven't told you that much about the book, but you know a lot about me."

  She shrugged her shoulders and waggled her head a bit. "Not really. I know you were a teacher at a military academy on Hyde, and that you're here to write a novel, thanks to an inheritance, and I know you don't usually like Chinese food."

  "You know much more than that, Cathy."

  "But nothing of real significance."

  "Like?"

  "Religion, politics, favorite holovid show." She smiled at him. "With most other men I'd know too much at the end of the third date, which is why there wouldn't be a fourth."

  "Ah, so my strategy is working."

  She slapped him gently on the arm. "My mother warned me about strangers, and I might not go out with you again if I still think you're a stranger."

  "All right, you win." He held his hands up and leaned closer to her in the red leather booth. "Religion: I'm agnostic. The chaplain in the hospital where I went after breaking my leg was a real hawk. I had a hard time with a Christian preacher advocating going to war. I figure God's a lot smarter than his employees, especially since he doesn't do the hiring interviews himself."

  "I can live with that. Favorite holovid series?"

  Noble squirmed a bit. "I'll watch pretty much anything, but what I like is varied. I've enjoyed a number of the docudrama series dealing with the Clan wars." He shrugged. "I watch the fights from Solaris on Wednesday nights, but I'm not addicted to them. They give me a view of warfare so I can put it into my book."

  Cathy's expression became very serious, and Noble couldn't tell whether or not she was joking as she asked her question. "Ah, the most important thing—who do you think killed Melissa Steiner-Davion?"

  He began slowly, trying to read her reaction to his words. "Well, the government says a mentally disturbed person killed her." The frown on Cathy's face told him she didn't believe that. "Of course, only an idiot would accept that solution to the mystery."

  Remembering that she had mentioned having lived on Wroclaw, a world at the edge of the District of Donegal, he assumed she had less love for Prince Victor than most people in the Sarna March. "The obvious person who might want the Archon dead is her son, Victor."

  "My thoughts exactly."

  Noble nodded. "That's who I had pegged until I started to research my novel. Because I'm inventing some things, I'm playing a bit fast and loose with what few facts are known in this case, but I see another solution to the identity of the person who was behind the killing. And I mean whoever hired the assassin because I don't think anyone will ever know the actual killer's identity."

  Cathy watched him warily, but he saw curiosity flash in her eyes. "Victor, I think, is a little too sharp to kill his mother. He might have wanted power, but Ryan Steiner and the unrest in Skye presented him a problem that his mother was more than capable of handling. With the Archon still alive, he had someone to insulate him from the anger of the Lyran people. You lived on Wroclaw—how bad could Victor be if his mother still loved him?"

  "Some son, when you don't show up at her funeral."

  Noble smiled. "Exactly. I think something else went on there."

  "Such as."

  "Okay, follow me. If Victor didn't kill Melissa, someone else did. I think that person was Ryan Steiner. But Ryan couldn't have been working alone because he needed allies to help loosen Victor's grip in the Isle of Skye. These allies needed to be powerful enough to force a rift between Victor and Katrina."

  "The only people who could do that are ComStar."

  Noble smiled triumphantly. "Or Word of Blake."

  "But they're in the Free Worlds League."

  "Who better to drag into the Isle of Skye? If Skye joined the League, Victor couldn't attack without triggering a major war. Better yet, Thomas marries his daughter Isis off to Ryan and cuts Sun-Tzu out of the picture."

  "But Ryan was married to Morasha Kelswa."

  "If Ryan could shoot Melissa, he could become a widower equally fast. Word of Blake could have intercepted the message Victor sent to Katrina concerning the funeral arrangements, making Victor look bad and, boom, you have Ryan free and clear and charted for a beautiful future." />
  Cathy blinked her blue eyes, then smiled. "Well, that's a better plot for a novel than any I've read recently. Do you think that's what happened?"

  "I don't know, but I can't fully discount it. The point is, though, that anyone with half a brain can concoct something and have it make sense."

  "So in your book, who kills Ryan?"

  Noble smiled. "Well, I have the same assassin killing both of them, but the second time he's acting to prevent Ryan from taking the Isle of Skye out of the Federated Commonwealth. In my book, he was duped into killing Melissa, and Ryan tries to kill him after the attempt, so the assassin gets his revenge." He shrugged. "It's probably not good enough to sell, but I have my Victor character doing things that parallel the assassin's activities, so I guess it's kind of like literature."

  "Sounds fascinating. I'd love to read it."

  The waiter arrived with the foamplas carton and the check. Noble gave him a hundred kroner bill and waved away change.

  "All I've got is a first draft—not even a complete book— but I'd love for you to read it. I can give you a disk."

  Cathy sat back in the booth. "You'd let me read the first draft? You trust me that much?"

  "Sure. Maybe we haven't been friends long, but I believe you're someone I can trust." He glanced down at the table. "I hope you trust me as well."

  "I do, Noble, I do." She tapped the carton. "In fact, I trust you enough to suggest we head back to your place and put this away. And in the morning, I can introduce you to the pleasures of cold kung-pao for breakfast."

  Marik Palace, Atreus

  Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League

  Standing on the balcony overlooking the palace gardens, Thomas Marik heard the door in the room behind him open. He waited a few moments before turning to face his visitor. Though the robe Thomas had chosen was made of velvet and silk, its simple lines matched those of the Word of Blake Precentor entering the room. From the balcony, Thomas regally beckoned the man to join him, then turned away again to stare out at the dark garden and drink in the perfume of its night-blooming flowers.