Blood Legacy

"UNDERSTAND THIS, ALL OF YOU."

Wolf turned slowly to look at the heads of the Houses Kurita and Davion and their heirs. "The Clans are not going to roll over and play dead just because you command them to do so. I had hoped to use you, the scions of the I

"If I was wrong, I apologize to you, MacKenzie, and to you, Christian, for assigning you the task of bringing this rabble together into a unit." He looked at the heirs. "And make no mistake of it, you will become the unit I need you to be, or you will be discarded. This is no longer a fight of House against House. It is us against the Clans...."

BATTLETECH

08616

THE BLOOD OF KERENSKY—VOL. 2

BLOOD LEGACY

Michael A. Stackpole

ROC

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The author would like to thank Liz Danforth for tolerating after-the-battle reports, Do

Prologue

DropShip Charles Martel

Terra Approach Vector 23917

31 January 3051

The instant he touched the cold stone, Anastasius Focht knew he was seated on the Archon's throne. In the darkness of his dream, the massive doors at the far end of the throne room remained deep in shadow. Yet Focht knew that two mute, enormous Griffin BattleMechs stood guard behind him, warding the Lyran Commonwealth rulers and their throne as they had for more than five centuries.

At first, he thought the great, silent room empty but for him, then saw the shadows begin to stir as a form slowly emerged. The silhouette limped toward him, and Focht gradually made out a face he had not seen for twenty years. "This is madness," he said, as though the words could awaken him from this dream fast becoming a nightmare.

The shadowman stopped a dozen meters from the throne and smiled with the smugness of a well-schooled courtier. "Of course, it is, my friend. But when did that ever matter?"

Focht's right fist smashed down on the arm of the throne. "This will end, and end now!" He thrust a finger at the man standing before him. "I know you, Aldo Lestrade, but you have been dead for the past twenty years."

The phantom shrugged as though to say it mattered little. "Physically, yes. I died years ago, poisoned by a whelp I never knew I had sired." He cackled horribly. "But I have lived on within your mind and thrived there. Yes, yes, I know all about the training those Buddhist monks and ComStar Adepts put you through to free your spirit of worldly attachments and concerns. But now you see, Precentor Martial, that I have been there all along, the receptacle for all the ambition you tried to leave behind."

The shade raised its hands to take in the entire room. "And now you have done it. Finally. There you sit on the throne of the Lyran Commonwealth, fulfilling the desire you have long held most dear."

Focht lifted his snow-maned head proudly and stared hard at the shade with his single good eye. "You are wrong, Lestrade. The man I once was desired the throne, but that man is no more." He plucked at the left breast of his long white robe, indicating the golden star insignia embroidered there.

"I now serve ComStar and the Word of Blake. This throne is the rightful place of Archon Melissa Steiner Davion of the Federated Commonwealth, and I recognize her joint ruler-ship with her husband, Prince Hanse Davion of the Federated Commonwealth."

Lestrade laughed softly, but the sound was sinister. "Deny it if you will, old friend, but I am here to prove you wrong. I know the truth of your heart, and it is your desire for power. By giving you this vision of yourself on the throne, I permit you to glimpse the possible future. Use the means in your power and take the throne!"

Banishing his unease, Focht gave a laugh of his own. "It is pure foolishness to believe I either desire the throne or that I would move to take it. It is true that as Precentor Martial of ComStar's forces, I command fifty crack regiments. And yes, that is a force sufficient to depose Melissa if I so desired, but I ca

"Bah!" snarled Lestrade as the healthy glow of his complexion began to fade to a grayish pallor. "You always had to be pushed to see what must be done ..."

"Stop!" Focht shot to his feet, towering over the ghost. "You've never been a MechWarrior! You've never understood the code of duty and honor that rules those who pilot these engines of destruction. Placing such an awesome weapon in the hands of an individual implies a similar gesture of trust." Focht's single gray eye flashed with anger. "You betrayed my trust when you were alive. Why would I trust you now?"

Focht turned and waved a hand at the twin Griffinsstanding behind the throne. "For more than six hundred years, the BattleMech has occupied a central place in the mythology we spin around ourselves like a cocoon then call reality. Since the fall of the Star League, it is BattleMechs that have decided the outcome of our endless wars. It is those very wars that have destroyed most of the means to produce these magnificent war machines. Worse, we have lost so much technology in this long Dark Age that our 'Mechs haven't half the capabilities of those their great-great grandfathers took into battle. In these centuries of Succession Wars, the leaders of the Great Houses lost the vision of a unified humanity. They only saw their greed for another's land or power, and that was how they put the BattleMech to use."