Warrior: Riposte (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Two): BattleTech Legends, #58 Read online

  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 gold-leaf 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 Dragonslayer’s 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 of the 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 MechWarriors 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 MechWarrior’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?”

  Dan 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 befitti
ng a lady of good breeding, but gave his fingers a little squeeze. “Had I known the Kell Hounds’ 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.”

  Chapter 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.”

  Melissa smiled openly and hooked her left hand around Daniel Allard’s right arm. “Think of it this way, Minister. Why be a slave to history when you can create it?” Melissa winked at the minister, which raised the color on his cheeks. “Besides which, I want to dance with this handsome warrior, and I want to do it now!”

  The Archon watched her daughter indulgently. I hope Hanse Davion realizes what he’s gotten himself into, she thought, turning to the minister. “Well, tell the musicians the Archon-Designate wishes to dance, and it is my wish that everyone should enjoy themselves in like manner.” As Hecht scurried off through the crowd, the Archon led Morgan off toward a small side door guarded by two formally dressed LIC agents.

  Passing through the door and down a short hallway, the pair reached the Archon’s personal office. As they entered the room, Katrina released Morgan’s arm. Standing in the center of the wood-paneled room, he slowly surveyed it. “It feels very much like you, Katrina,” he said with an approving smile.

  He pointed at her massive oaken desk and laughed aloud. Though made of wood, the desk was neither as old nor as exquisitely worked as the other pieces in the room. Stained a warm chocolate brown, it had a life to it that the other pieces lacked. “You’ve still got it. After all these years…”

  “How could I part with it, Morgan? Arthur made it with his own hands.” Katrina looked at the desk and felt a lump rising in her throat. Ah, Arthur...you’ve been gone these seventeen years. They say time heals all wounds, but this one only grows from year to year.

  Morgan’s voice pulled her back from the sad memories. “Now, Katrina, you know that’s only half right. Arthur had some help with that monster.”

  “Ha!” Katrina laughed aloud. “To hear Arthur tell it, you just supervised.”

  Morgan affected a pose of offended nobility. “Now, now. I have a splinter or two to prove my part.” He pointed toward the right side of the desk. “Take that top drawer. I did that one myself…”

  “The one on the right?”

  Morgan nodded.

  Katrina smiled. “You mean the one that sticks…”

  “I told Arthur he had the casing all wrong,” Morgan teased. “Damn! Those were the days, weren’t they, Katrina? Got anything to drink in this office?”

  Katrina crossed to the corner and touched a hidden stud on one of the wooden panels, which slid up to reveal a secret sideboard. She grinned at Morgan. “Do you still drink Irish whiskey?”

  Morgan shrugged. “I don’t really know. St. Marinus House is dry—except for sacramental wine, that is. Your uncle, Brother Giles, runs a tight ship.”

  Katrina squinted and reached deep into the sideboard. “This will be a treat for you, then.” She withdrew a dusty bottle and showed it to Morgan. “It’s from the Connor Distillery on Arc-Royal. Patrick had them send me a case each year.”

  She poured out two glasses of the amber liquid, then handed one to Morgan. He held the glass aloft. “To those we’ve lost. May we have the strength and wisdom to build upon the foundation they have created.”

  Katrina touched her glass to his and then took a sip from it. The mere scent of this whiskey brings back so many memories. Of the good times and the hard times. The liquor burned her throat, but not unpleasantly. And of the hunted times.

  Setting down the glass, she looked her old friend directly in the eye and asked, “Morgan, why didn’t you ever tell me Arthur was a member of Heimdall?”

  Morgan’s nostrils flared as he slowly breathed in. He chewed his lower lip for a moment, then returned her gaze. “This will sound odd, perhaps, but I didn’t mention it because Arthur didn’t tell you himself.”

  The Archon frowned. “I don’t understand your reasoning. When Arthur died, you should have come and told me. We had so little time together, he and I. I would have cherished anything you could have said.”

  Morgan stepped forward and rested his large hand on Katrina’s shoulder. “Katrina, you know, deep down, how much Arthur loved you and trusted you… You do know that. No doubts, right?”

  Katrina nodded slowly. Yes. I know that. What I don’t understand is why didn’t he trust me with this side of himself?

  “Good, because that is the complete and utter truth.” Morgan hesitated, searching for the right words. “Heimdall is a conspiracy of the loyal opposition. Though it began as a movement to undermine the LIC’s and Loki’s efforts to destroy civil liberties, at various times—good times, as I understand its history—it’s been little more than a fraternal organization. In fact, that’s how Arthur, Patrick, and I got involved. Arthur’s father inducted him into the organization, and when Patrick and I were appointed to the Nagelring, he brought us in. It all seemed quite innocent at first.”

  Morgan took a deep breath, then fortified himself with a sip of whiskey. “I was already at Nagelring and on my way to becoming a MechWarrior when your predecessor, Alessandro, came up with his cockeyed plan of Concentrated Weakness. Then he dealt brutally with the revolts his policy inspired. Suddenly Heimdall became more active and Arthur, with his money and influence, did what he could to help the organization.”

  Morgan swallowed hard. “You see, Katrina, because of Arthur, Heimdall almost moved from being the loyal opposition to becoming part of the establishment. But Arthur didn’t want that, and as much as he loved and trusted you, he did not want to compromise the organization. If you had asked, he would have brought Heimdall into the mainstream, but then it would not have been there when needed—be it tomorrow because of a coup staged by Alessandro, or a hundred years from now because of a Kurita invasion. Does that make any sense?”

  How well you know me, beloved husband… Katrina nodded, then cocked her head in thought. “That does explain why Arthur didn’t tell me about his ties with Heimdall, but it does not explain why you said nothing after his death.”

  Morgan shrugged, and Katrina felt a pang of regret for her question. He seems so helpless.

  “I guess I made a mistake.” Morgan again sipped at his drink. “I knew that Arthur spent much of his last few months setting up identity files and trust funds to care for the Heimdall cells that
got us off Poulsbo back when Loki tried to kill you. I assumed that Arthur had either told you about his affiliation, or did not want you to know. I took your silence on the subject as a reflection of his wish. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to think less of us.”

  Katrina set her glass down on the desk her husband had made and picked up a small cubical holograph display unit. When she punched a four-digit code onto the numberpad at its top, a three-dimensional image focused itself in the dark cube. Katrina smiled. Staring at the projected holograph, she almost forgot where she was.

  It showed her, twenty years younger and with hair dyed a bright red, flanked by two men. On her right was Arthur Luvon. His long, fair hair was tied back with a black headband, and he was smiling broadly. His mustache and goatee gave him the roguish look that matched his spirit, but that was so unlike the staid, sober Arthur most believed her husband to be. On the left, wearing a blue shirt open to mid-chest to reveal a heavy thatch of black hair, was a much younger Morgan Kell, also smiling at the holocamera. His thin mustache curled up at the ends, and his expression mirrored Arthur’s devil-may-care attitude.

  Has it really been that long? Katrina shook her head. “Morgan, after all we went through, how could I think less of him or you?”

  She extended the cube to Morgan. He looked at the image and laughed deeply. “God, the Red Corsair and her two henchmen…”

  Katrina laughed aloud as well. It’s so good to hear your laugh, Morgan. How it conjures up memories of the old days. Trying as those times had been, she could now also see them as exciting adventures. “What we did to escape Poulsbo would be considered too outlandish for a holodrama series.”

  Morgan tossed off the whiskey remaining in his glass. “Well, I must admit that in hindsight, the idea of heading out into the Periphery and coming back through Marik space might not be the best plan, but it sounded good at the time.” He gazed at the cube again. “You know, one of the brothers at St. Marinus was from a band of Periphery raiders and he says they’re still looking for the Red Corsair.” Morgan’s smile ebbed away as the look on his face became distant and remote.