Blood Legacy

It's the mark of a good MechWarrior—being able to sort duty from orders and knowing when to act on each."

Phelan zipped up the front of the jumpsuit. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." He closed the locker with a bang, then pointed his right fist against it. "Dammit, Ra

"Try to resist the temptation, boy. It builds character."

"Then why don't you?"

Natasha stood up with a sigh. "When you've built as much character as I have, you can let such things slide." She hooked her left hand over Phelan's right shoulder as she led him from the gymnasium and into the Life Services corridor. "Besides, slavish adherence to formal ritual is a sign that one has nothing better to think about."

Phelan nodded. "So, am I allowed to ask questions, or do I have to walk in silence?"

Natasha shrugged as they reached the elevator shaft ru

Phelan slapped the elevator call button. "What about you and Ra

Natasha raised an eyebrow, but offered no other reply.

Phelan took that as an invitation to test the waters. "She called you 'grandmother' earlier, and I gathered the use of the term was more than ceremonial. I've not memorized a history of Wolf's Dragoons, but I have never heard of your being pregnant, much less giving birth. Isshe your granddaughter?"

"Oh, what the scandalvids back in the States would have paid for this story." Natasha waved Phelan into the elevator, then stepped in and punched a button, sending the cage to one of the upper decks. "You are aware, I believe, that both you and your sister were fertilized in vitro. Dragoon doctors pulled ova from your mother, fertilized them with sperm from your father, then reimplanted them in your mother about a year apart."

Phelan nodded. "A wound she took back in 3021 caused some problems."

"Correct." Natasha's face closed slightly. "Suffice it to say, for now, that ova were taken from me before I left the Clans with Wolf's Dragoons."

Before Phelan could ask another question, the elevator came to a halt and the doors opened onto a narrow corridor. Wordlessly, Natasha led him down the hall until they came to a door emblazoned with a wolf's-head device on a shield. Phelan recognized it as the crest of the Wolf Clan and knew it was standard on all the living quarter doors aboard the Dire Wolf.What surprised him were the five red daggerstars below the crest. He could see they had been placed there very recently.

Five stars! That's the number of stars that mark Khan Ulric's door. That means whoever this Cyrilla Ward is, she is a very important person within the Clans! And she must be very important within the House of Ward as well.

Before Natasha could knock, the door slid up into the ceiling with a soft whoosh of air. Revealed was a white-haired woman who flung her arms open wide to take Natasha into a hearty embrace. "My God, Tasha, you haven't changed in all these years."

Natasha returned the embrace, lifting Cyrilla Ward off the deck. "Neither have you, Ril."

Cyrilla shook her head, letting her long white hair spread out over her shoulders as she broke the embrace. "It is a good thing you fight better than you lie, or you would have died long ago."

"If only you knew the truth. If not for doctors and reconstructive surgery, I'd long since have ceased fighting and lying all together."

Cyrilla invited both Natasha and Phelan into her temporary suite with a wave of the hand, but Phelan had the feeling she barely noticed him. Wary because of the way Khan Ulric always seemed to be testing him, the young warrior followed Natasha from the antechamber to the main room. Phelan tried to prepare himself for whatever might be waiting, but he grew more anxious with every step. When he saw the trap, he was glad that his caution had allowed him to kill the surprise he might otherwise have revealed.

As they entered the room, another Wolf Clansman rose from his seat and fixed Phelan with an incendiary stare. The man's black hair, combed back to accentuate his widow's peak, gleamed with the oil he used to slick it down. A scar ran from above his left eye to his jawline and was still fresh enough to show the red of wounding.

Vlad managed to keep his voice even. "How good to see you again, Natasha." Contempt curled the corners of his mouth as he addressed Phelan. "I trust your leg wound has healed well?"

You mean the place where you slashed me during the adoption ceremony?"Yes, it has." Phelan returned Vlad's stare with his own glower. "I am told there will not even be much of a scar."

Cyrilla placed a bony hand on Vlad's shoulder. "You may go now, Vladimir. I have found our conversation most enlightening." She steered the Clansman toward the door, but he did not break immediately to the pressure of her urging. Making a subtle show of hooking his thumbs in his belt, he framed the buckle with his hands and continued to return Phelan's unrelenting green gaze.

Phelan could not keep his eyes from the buckle. Cast of silver and set with onyx, it showed the hound's-head crest of the Kell Hounds, the well-known mercenary unit of which Phelan was a member before his capture. Tyra Miraborg, the woman who had given it to him, had substituted the green of malachite for the red eyes used in the actual Kell Hound crest, matching them to Phelan's. When he was captured by Vlad and the Clans, Vlad had taken the belt buckle and continued to flaunt it as a reminder of Phelan's inferiority.

Natasha appropriated the low-backed chair Vlad had vacated, but Phelan remained standing. Cyrilla returned to the small sitting room and drew her chair beside the one Natasha had taken. Patting Natasha's left hand, Cyrilla smiled broadly. "After all these years without word, I feared you had been killed."

Natasha turned her hand up to give Cyrilla's a squeeze. "How could I let that happen?" she laughed. "I never forgot our childhood pact that we would finish out our days fighting against the Smoke Jaguars together. Did you think I would renege?"

"No, no, I did not. We will speak more of his later," Cyrilla said gently. She looked up at Phelan, her brown eyes seeming to take measure in ways even more than physical.

"So this is Phelan Wolf. Are you worthy of the commotion you have caused?"

"I do not know how to answer that question." Phelan lifted his head and clasped his hands at the small of his back. "I do not know how to judge my worth to the Clan."

Cyrilla watched him like a wolf eyeing a tasty rabbit. "You saved Khan Ulric's life on the bridge of the Dire Wolf, Quiaff?"

Phelan looked down at the floor. "I did what was necessary to help those trapped on the bridge after the ship was rammed. My actions were not heroic. It was simply what had to be done."

"He is modest, Quiaff,Tasha?"

Natasha smiled proudly at Phelan. "I think he'd probably say he is just being honest. He comes from good stock, Ril. He was even entrusted to the Wolves for some of his upbringing. Still, this one can be a bit rash and argumentative at times."

"No doubt because you did some of the raising, Tasha." Cyrilla turned back to Phelan. "Many people want to know more about the bondsman who saved the Khan and claims Ward blood. You are a curiosity that has brought honor to our House, and I thank you."