Lethal Heritage

Kai dropped to one knee and picked up the two halves of the driftwood stick that Wendy had tossed down toward the shoreline. He tried to fit them back together, but the broken ends, swollen from the brief soaking, no longer fit with one another. Angry, he jammed them together, then one cracked and slipped, driving a jagged wooden splinter into his left hand.

"Dammit!" Kai plucked the wood from his palm and sucked at the wound. The blood tasted bitter in his mouth. Idiot! How can you be so stupid?

He sagged down onto the sand and lay back. "Why couldn't you see that what you wanted for me would have destroyed me? You wanted me to become one with the Heavy Guards. You wanted to welcome me into that family and have me take pride in their traditions and to uphold their honor." He shook his head. "Why couldn't you see how that would have made the house of cards called Kai Allard-Liao collapse?"

Kai lay his left hand on the beach where advancing waves could wash over it and the wound in his palm. Speaking to no one but the gulls who mocked him, Kai let his pain infuse his words. "You said you hoped I'd discover what it is I'm afraid of. Well, I know. I've known ever since it dawned on me what the name Allard-Liao actually means. You were afraid I had no family, no anchor for my life. The fact is that I have two anchors, and their combined weight is what drags me under."

The brine pouring over his hand burned like fire, but Kai consciously overrode his body's reflex to pull his hand back from the sea. He savored the pain and the minor victory over himself it represented. "I already have so much to live up to that I don't know if I can stand it. My mother was a successful MechWarrior and military commander before she took on duties within the government of the Capellan Confederation. She managed to survive within the lunatic asylum that was the Chancellor's Palace on Sian, then left when things became unbearable. Her people, the people of St. Ives, chose to follow her when she left the Confederation—billions upon billions of them willing to endure the hardships of a possible civil war out of love for and belief in her."

Kai swallowed hard. "And my father. Already a decorated war hero, he agreed to undertake an incredibly dangerous spy mission that put him body and soul into the Capellan court. Before he could get there, though, he wandered off to Solaris, the Game World, and proved himself the best MechWarrior in the Successor States, despite having been maimed in a previous battle. Once at the court of Maximilian Liao, my father became his trusted advisor and managed to thwart all of Liao's counterstrikes against the Federated Suns while the Suns ate up half the Confederation. Then my father returned to New Avalon and was proclaimed a hero by Prince Hanse Davion."

Kai chewed on his lower lip to stop it from trembling. "That's why I couldn't join you in the Heavy Guards. I already have so much to live up to. My parents, God love them, take pride in everything I do, and I struggle never to fail them. But that's the problem. I know I willfail them." He glanced down at his punctured hand. "In some way, some day, I will fail. I just don't want you to go down with me."

Kai rolled onto his side and looked back, hoping perhaps that Wendy had returned and had overheard him. Instead of her smiling face, understanding and accepting, he only saw the long line of her footsteps angling back along the shore. The waves had already stolen those footprints nearest him and threatened to blot out all evidence of her presence.

Kai nodded grimly. It's for the best, Kai. In the Lyran Commonwealth, you will be alone. You can be yourself and that way, when you stumble and fall, no one will be hurt but you.

4

Stortalar City , Gunzburg

Radstadt Province , Free Rasalhague Republic

20 May 3049

Tyra's mouth soured with fear as the Jarlwards opened the door and pushed Phelan Kell—half-naked and barefoot— into Varldherre Tor Miraborg's waiting room. The mercenary stumbled forward a few steps, his normal, long-legged gait hobbled by the chains. He grunted and tried to straighten up, but the cruelly short length of chain binding the leg irons to his handcuffs snapped taut and kept him hunched over.

Tyra shuddered at the sight of the man who had been her lover. My God, Phelan, what have they done to you?Dozens of purplish bruises mottled the smooth flesh of his muscular chest. Both his eyes had been blackened, with the left one nearly swollen shut. Phelan, still fighting the chains, moved slowly and stiffly, his face a defiant mask to keep his captors from knowing how much he really hurt.

Then he saw her and the mask shattered to reveal the agony and fear in his eyes. He started to tip off-balance, but managed to catch himself quickly enough to slump undecorously onto the red leather bench next to the wall.

One of the Jarlwards raised a hand to cuff him, but Tyra barked an order before he could strike. "No!" The man stopped, hand quivering, and looked at her. "Free him."

The Jarlward straightened up and shot a grin at his partner. "I am not obliged to obey you, Kapten."The man sneered officiously. "I serve the Corrections Ministry, which puts me outside your command."

Tyra stared at him furiously. "Do you reallywant to see how fast I can arrange for a transfer?" She shifted her gaze to the other Jarlward, whose sneer died at birth. "The same goes for you. Now free him." She smiled humorlessly. "And give him your jacket."

The second Jarlward stiffened, but broke beneath her cold gaze and unfastened the clasps on his scarlet-trimmed, gray wool jacket. As one man knelt to free Phelan of the chains, the other settled his jacket over the mercenary's shoulders. Staring into space, the Kell Hound pulled it tight but did not slip his arms through the sleeves.

Tyra dismissed the Jarlwards with a wave of her hand. Both hesitated and looked at the door leading into the Varldherre's office. The anteroom's recessed lighting burned reddish highlights into her long, bronze hair. "There will be no trouble. Leave us."

As the door clicked shut behind them, she crossed to the bench and sat next to Phelan. She started to reach out to him, then hesitated. "I want to hold you but I'm afraid it will hurt."

Phelan's mouth smiled, but any reflection of that smile in his eyes was lost within the bloated, discolored flesh surrounding them. "You can't hurt me, Tyra. Just go easy on the ribs. I could definitely use a hug. Your basic Jarlward is not a well of human kindness."

"Jarlwards are not born," she quipped, pulling him close. "They're grown in vats of dung with mushrooms and other semi-intelligent fungi." Tyra held him as tightly as seemed safe, stroking his hair with her free hand. After several moments, she leaned back and tipped his face up so she could look into his good eye. "How did this happen?"

He shrugged. "I was off the reservation and got jumped by a bunch of folks. They knew about us and that I'd asked you to join the Kell Hounds. They took exception to that. A big guy with a Radstadt Academy scar on his left cheek organized the little party."

Tyra saw something flash through the malachite depths of Phelan's right eye. You call it a Radstadt Academy scar, but you know what most people call it. It's a Miraborg scar, just like the one the Varldherre has. Many of our warriors wear it as a symbol of their willingness to make the same sort of sacrifice as he did in the name of nationalism.Tyra stroked the right side of Phelan's face with her left hand. "Tall and blond, I'll bet. It must have been Hanson Kuusik. He was out last night and seemed very pleased with himself this morning."