Текст книги "Lost Destiny"

Автор книги: Michael A. Stackpole

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22

Diosd

Wolf Clan Occupation Zone

2 April 3052

 

Phelan smiled to see the ilKhan had chosen to preside over the Trial of Bloodright being held in the Grand Hall of what had once been the Third Rasalhague Freeman's base. Various members of the Wolf Clan stood at the far end of the hall, but Phelan recognized none of them. He knew most of the Thirteenth Wolf Guards were resting up from the previous two days of fighting, and Phelan would have liked to be doing the same.

The ilKhan waited until an Elemental brought in one of the gravity-well devices, then he started the ceremony. "I jam the Oathmaster and accept responsibility for representing House Ward here. Do you concur in this?"

"Seyla," said both Phelan and his opponent.

"Then what transpires here will bind us all until we all shall fall." Ulric, who looked a bit weary himself, nodded approval. "As this is your third battle, you know well the honor for which you fight. You, Phelan Wolf, have seen twenty years. Why are you worthy?"

"I was chosen by Cyrilla Ward to be heir to this Blood-name. I was adopted into the Warrior Caste after proving my worthiness through service as a bondsman. I trained and tested out as a Warrior. Singlehandedly I conquered Gunzburg, and on Satalice I captured Prince Ragnar of Rasalhague. On Hyperion I led the defense of the Simmons Dam and hunted renegades in the badlands. On Diosd I participated in the coursing and killing of the Third Freeman's Command Lance. Prior to the battle today, I defeated an Elemental, Dean, and a flyer, Glynis, for the right to participate here."

"And you, Lajos, have seen twenty-eight years. Why are you worthy?"

Phelan's opponent in the Bloodright contest began to recite his accomplishments. A MechWarrior, like Phelan, he moved stiffly on the left side of his body. White gauze totally covered his left arm and hand, making it look as if he were wearing a mitten. The flesh around his left eye was badly burned and glistened with clear unguents.

He should be in a hospital, not getting ready to fight,Phelan thought as Lajos finished his recitation.

The ilKhan clasped his hands together solemnly. "The heroism and courage displayed by both of you have been established and verified. Your claims are not without substance. No matter what fate you meet in this battle, the brightness of your light will not be diminished." Ulric waved both men forward. "Present the tokens of your legitimate right to participate here."

Phelan held his coin up to the ilKhan. Ulric took it, then crouched to pluck Lajos' coin from his left hand. He placed both coins in their respective slots. "The horrible chaos of war is reflected in this Trial of Bloodright. When one coin has successfully stalked the other and they complete their transit through this cone, the hunting coin will be superior. That Warrior is given the choice of style for the fight. The owner of the inferior coin then decides the venue for the fight. In this way, each will fight on a battlefield not wholly of his choosing. Do you understand this?"

"Seyla."

As the ilKhan sent the coins on their spiral courses down through the gravity well, Phelan looked at Lajos. If I were him, I would choose to fight augmented. Burned that badly, fighting from a 'Mech is the only way he can defeat me. Hell, he can barely stand up now. I would slaughter him in a fistfight.He looked up and watched the coins sink below the lip of the funnel. No matter how battered Lajos looked, Phelan knew the man was here because of his prowess as a Warrior and deserved respect for that.

The two coins clattered down into the decision post. The ilKhan slid the clear pipe from the center of the post and held it up. He freed the top coin from its transparent prison, then read the name on it. "Phelan, you are the hunter."

Phelan saw Lajos wince as the decision was announced. He knows he does not stand a chance. It's over before it begins.

"Phelan, how do you choose to fight?" The MechWarrior gave the ilKhan a grim smile. "Augmented, my Khan."

Phelan worked his right arm around in a circle and heard the joint pop as it loosened up. "You would think they would let us rest before sending us out for this Bloodname fight, quiaff?"

The other MechWarrior in the elevator nodded. "You came out of the fighting a bit better than I did, I think. You Wolf Guards are an odd lot, but you fight well."

Phelan leaned back and hooked his thumbs through his gunbelt. "You are with the Eighth Dragoons, quiaff?You were fighting over at the oil refinery in the Oljen Valley. Are you the Lajos who took his Adderinto the refinery to torch it and drive the militia out?"

The dark-haired man carefully raised his gauze-swathed left arm and pointed to the left side of his face. "Might have reconsidered if I had known the breach in my cockpit canopy and neurohelmet would leave me open to a toasting."

Phelan noted Lajos wore long pants, and could easily imagine gauze covering his leg from top to bottom. "You do look a bit raw there. I hate burns."

"No one likes burns, Phelan." Lajos smiled sheepishly. "When your coin came out on top, I assumed you would opt to fight unaugmented. That you chose a 'Mech allows me to acquit myself admirably. My thanks."

Phelan nodded as the elevator came to a halt on the 'Mech-bay level of the captured Rasalhague facility. Before the door opened, the ilKhan's voice crackled over the speaker built into the ceiling. "Lajos and Phelan, this is your third Bloodright contest. You both have progressed to a point that other Warriors only dream about. Take pride in this. When these doors open, the battle will be joined. To the victor goes great glory, and to the subdued great honor."

"Seyla," the two Warriors breathed as one.

The doors slowly opened, giving both men a breathtaking view of the 'Mech bay. Rank upon rank of battle-scarred war machines stood like some terrifying legion waiting to be magically activated. Though Phelan had been witness to such scenes on a dozen different worlds, the silent assemblage of so many devastating machines never failed to impress him.

On the right stood Lajos' Adder.New armor plating stood out in patchy relief against the fire-blackened hull of the short, squat BattleMech. From the configuration Lajos had chosen, Phelan knew the 'Mech was armed exclusively with a dozen extended-range medium lasers. The weapons were mounted on the 'Mech's arms, but given Lajos' injuries, only half of them would be useful. Likewise, his leg injury would make using the Adder'sjump jets nearly suicidal.

Opposite the Adderstood Phelan's Wolfhound.The tall, sleek BattleMech looked less like a war machine than the avatar of some war god. Black by design, except where the red of the unit designators marked its shoulders, the Mech's lupine cockpit assembly gave it an animation the Adderlacked. The Wolfhound'sweaponry amounted to only a third of the lasers on Lajos' 'Mech, but the Wolfhound'sspeed and agility and its built-in electronic counter-measures equipment made it an even opponent for the larger 'Mech.

"Skill, Phelan."

Phelan stepped from the elevator. "And you, Lajos."

Lajos never saw Phelan's left hand as he exited the elevator. The roundhouse left caught Lajos by surprise when it crashed into the unburned part of his face. The punch snapped his head around and dropped him to the hangar's ferrocrete floor.

Phelan stood over him and sucked at his bruised knuckles. "Sorry, Lajos, but the ilKhan did say the battle was joined when we left the elevators. I would fight you straight up, but not with the way you are hurting. Bloodright contest or not, I do not have to baptize it with blood every step of the way."

* * *

Phelan shuddered as he studied the datascreen again. Pale lines of green scrolled up over his face as his eyes darted from line to line in a vain search for anything that would prove him wrong. This cannot be. It is impossible.

Phelan had set out carefully to pierce the mystery of the Precentor Martial's identity. He wrote out all he knew for certain about the man, then ranked the information according to its veritableness and the strength of the sources. Anything he knew from the Precentor Martial himself, Phelan rated highly, though he reserved final judgment until he knew whether the man might have been lying for his own purposes.

He resolved to apply Occam's Razor: the simplest solution to the problem would most likely be correct. Phelan discovered quickly, however, that the problem had no simple solution or, at least, no simple solution he could accept and turn over to the ilKhan. The easiest answer was, of course, that Focht had been raised and educated by ComStar for his position, and that anything he had said about his past was a cover story to hide the fact that ComStar had been training warriors for a long time.

The door to Phelan's chamber opened and Ulric entered, appearing ghostlike in the circle of light cast by Phelan's desk lamp. "I have just come from the infirmary," the ilKhan said. "Lajos is chagrined at his defeat, but I think he is pleased to still be alive. I also spoke with the doctors about Glynis, who they say may have turned the corner. She is still in a coma, but her body is healing."

Phelan smiled. "I am pleased they will live. My thanks for the news."

The ilKhan smiled politely. "I am glad if it eases your mind. Of course, Conal Ward accuses you of treachery in winning the last fight the way you did. He wanted me to bring it to the adjudication of the Clan Council, but I overruled him. I pointed out that you had the choice of style in the decision, and that you acted within the letter of the law surrounding Bloodright contests."

The younger MechWarrior sighed. "So Conal has branded me a cheat as well as a freebirth? I suppose he wanted me killed and Lajos placed in the contest in my stead? Is he so worried that Vlad may not be able to beat me?"

The ilKhan suppressed a grin. "Conal has been most vocal about your perfidy, but Lajos is in no condition to fight. I told Conal that someone from House Ward would certainly nominate Lajos in the next Bloodright for a Ward Bloodname, so he has not been damaged."

"As for Conal being worried about Vlad, I would not place too much stock in that idea." Ulric stoked his goatee. "The two people fighting for the chance to oppose Vlad in the next round have managed to kill each other, so he has a bye. As of now, Vlad is in the final battle, barring death or injury on the battlefield."

"That will never happen." Phelan shook his head. "My luck is not that good."

"No, indeed." The ilKhan pointed at the computer on Phelan's desk. "Now, what is this about a possible solution to the mystery of Anastasius Focht? Tell me everything so I can follow your reasoning."

The young MechWarrior glanced down at his notes, taking a moment to mentally compose what he was going to say. "The way I began was with the base Gus Michaels created before you sent him off to Alyina. From that, Focht would be, at most, one hundred years old. He seems obviously male, but the possibility of a sex-change was not discounted. The lost eye is a possible battle injury. Though it would have ended his career as a fighting soldier, he could still continue in a command capacity. We also know that he first surfaced in ComStar a dozen years ago, speaks German like a native of the Lyran Commonwealth, and that he may have spent some time at the Nagelring. Focht also told me he met my father once."

"Not much to go on," Ulric said quietly.

"True, but it was enough to get started. Knowing Focht is an alias, or at least operating from that assumption, I ran the records for every cadet and graduate of the Nagelring from the last eighty years. Screening them for height and other Bertillon measurements, that brought me down to just over a thousand candidates."

The ilKhan leaned forward with interest, clasping his hands around one knee. "You cross-referenced thos& individuals with their careers to see who had lived or died in combat, quiaff?"

"Aff, my Khan. We included those listed as missing in action, even if they were lost in skirmishes well before the Fourth Succession War. The Fourth War cost us all but a few candidates, and follow-up on those individuals led to a dead end. Nothing."

Phelan tapped the computer screen with a knuckle. "That made me wonder about the search parameters we'd put into the program-sifting data. I ran up another set of search parameters to check for a known quantity: me. I had the computer search for me in the same way it looked for whoever Focht might be."

"And?"

"It came up blank!" Phelan's smile broadened. "I enlarged the search parameters by deleting the Bertillon stuff and adding the Kell surname. It came up with my father, but ignored me and my uncle Patrick. That was because, according to the ComStar and Lyrcom data sets we're using, Patrick and I are dead."

"But you are alive. So, it would appear, is the Precentor Martial." Ulric tugged reflectively on his goatee. "You changed the search parameters, quiaff?"

"Aff. I stayed with our core of a thousand candidates and started filtering for wild cards. Focht once mentioned staying at the Lestrade estate on Summer, so I sorted for individuals who had served in units stationed on Summer or folks connected in some way with Aldo Lestrade. That cut our pool by half."

Phelan counted down on his fingers. "A comment Focht once made led me to believe he'd lost his eye in the Fourth Succession War. As I'd already checked all the people who had survived the war, I concentrated on the dead and missing from that war. I also tried to cross-correlate into the equation any contacts with my father or joint service with him. By mistake, I also included social contacts in that latter line of code—I'd copied it from the Lestrade parameters and just changed the name—and got a most interesting narrowing of candidates.

"Significantly, all were listed as either dead or missing in action."

The ilKhan leaned forward as Phelan's story unfolded. "You worked to verify the deaths of those on the list, quiaff?"

The MechWarrior nodded. "Death certificates, autopsy reports, gravestones, whatever. The genealogical data base we picked up from Domain helped enormously. While looking through it, I found a nice little memorial marker for myself on Arc-Royal."

Though Phelan tried to make the comment come off irreverently, the words caught in his throat. It wasn't being thought dead that bothered him so much as the thought of the grief it must be causing his family. The Wolf Clan had very much become his new family, but he still loved his blood relations and regretted any pain they suffered on his account.

"I cannot imagine that was a pleasant experience, Phelan."

"It was not, ilKhan, but fortunately, it sparked a memory." Phelan punched a request for data into the computer and the image of a great marble and granite mausoleum appeared on the screen. Carved into the black marble and outlined with gold leaf was the word "Steiner."

"After Archon Katrina Steiner died, I was present at her funeral. She was interred in the family crypt along with other Steiners of note. I recall hearing, at the time, that one of the memorial plaques in the tomb marked an empty casket. If not for that bit of family gossip, I think I would have dismissed my best candidate."

Phelan punched up another data request and a picture appeared on the screen. "This is the man I believe to be the Precentor Martial. He studied for three years at the Nagelring, but transferred to and graduated from Sanglamore on Skye. It was during his time in Skye that he first came to the attention of the Lestrade family and they cultivated his friendship. He commanded both the Seventh Lyran Guards and the Tenth Lyran Guards, which rumor says may be Victor Davion's current unit. The next Archon often emerges from the Tenth Guards, and our man was a likely candidate at that time.

"His claim to the title had to be put on hold, however, when Katrina Steiner successfully rebelled against Alessandro Steiner, putting her on the throne. It was at that point in Focht's life that Aldo Lestrade became a major influence. Aldo was adept at political intrigues, including the planning and execution of several assassination attempts against Archon Katrina. The last of these came in the middle of the Fourth Succession War."

The ilKhan nodded. "What of his military career? What sort of commander was he?"

Phelan punched another key. "He was a fine leader. His men called him 'the Hammer' because of his predilection for concentrating firepower on specific targets. He was particularly effective against the Kuritans, whose old strategy used to involve numerous single, small-unit actions. In his one or two engagements against the Free Worlds League, he showed an understanding of the tactics of highly mobile forces, but he still strove to get his foes into a position where he could pound them into submission."

"It is a rare commander who will alter his tactics to suit his foes," said Ulric. "His ability to do so—and what he observed of our tactics—make him very dangerous."

"I concur, ilKhan." Phelan chewed on his lower lip. "The one anomaly here is that this man was considered incapable of subtlety, but that does not seem to be true of Focht. He seems to have learned some new tricks in this new incarnation."

"Do you believe him capable of treachery?"

Phelan frowned. Well, he did ask me to spy on the Clans for him, but accepted my refusal after I became a member of the Warrior Caste."I think he is a warrior first and foremost, ilKhan. Because of Lestrade's political meddling, he and his unit were assigned to a suicide mission during the Fourth Succession War. He acquitted himself well, in the end surrendering to Theodore Kurita to save the lives of his men. His assault broke the Combine's planned counterstrike into the Isle of Skye. It is believed that Theodore executed him."

The ilKhan stood, his face a study in thought. "Age and coloration are correct. Training is correct and his military background is suitable for the position he now occupies. What I have seen of his ability at tactical and strategic analysis certainly matches his background. Have you anything that casts doubt on your conclusion?"

Phelan shrugged. "Well, he couldbe mouldering in a grave on Dromini VI for all I know, but he is the best candidate we have. Except for the fact that he is supposed to be dead, he fits perfectly with Anastasius Focht."

Ulric nodded. "Very well. We will operate on the assumption you are correct. Prepare me a full briefing file on him and the other four top candidates. I need it tonight. You will brief the other analysts tomorrow."

Phelan raised an eyebrow. "I have more checks to run. Why so quickly?"

"Because, Phelan," the ilKhan said with a smile, "I want everyone briefed before the Precentor Martial joins up with us in three days to bargain away the future of ComStar."

23

JumpShip Dire Wolf , Transit Orbit, Diosd

Wolf Clan Occupation Zone

5 April 3052

 

The Precentor Martial held his head high as the bridge doors slid back into the walls. The two armored Elementals standing beside the hatchway came to attention, as did the lines of Clan officers running all the way from where the ilKhan waited. Hanging down from the top of the bridge, Focht saw a Wolf Clan banner side by side with a ComStar pennant. From the speakers on the bridge came the strains of a martial tune popular back in the days of the Star League.

Focht adjusted his eye patch, then marched in time with the music across the deck to where Ulric waited for him beside the holotank. Making his passage through the gauntlet of Clan warriors, he gave them the same respectful nods due his own men when he reviewed them. These are warriors whom I cannot but respect.His jaw clamped down hard. Anything less could be suicidal.

He stopped in front of the ilKhan and gave Ulric a solemn salute. The Clan leader returned it, then offered the Precentor Martial his hand. "The Peace of Blake be with you, ilKhan Ulric."

The ilKhan nodded his head. "And with you, Precentor Martial. I welcome your company again, even if it is only for a short time."

"As I welcome yours, ilKhan." He shook Ulric's hand, then took his place beside the younger man. The Precentor

Martial searched the faces of the gathered soldiers, thinking he might have missed someone who passed on his blind side. Not seeing Phelan, he looked up at the viewing area above the bridge, but the familiar silhouette was not there, either. Does Phelan's absence from here have some significance?

Ulric waited for his troops to salute, then returned it and dismissed them. "If you will, Precentor Martial, I think we will find the holotank best suited to our discussions."

Focht thought he heard something more than business in Ulric's statement, but could not puzzle it out on such skimpy evidence. He bowed his head and followed the ilKhan into the holotank.

Entering the machine was to step into a world where one could truly feel godlike. Within the lozenge of black panels, Focht discovered he walked through a projected map of the Inner Sphere. At head-height, he saw the Periphery border– where the Clans had entered the Inner Sphere—and down near the floor his beloved Terra. Focht did not think it a coincidence that ComStar's home appeared low enough for Ulric to crush it with a casual misstep.

The Precentor Martial did not even attempt to suppress a smile as he entered the virtual reality produced by the holotank. Like a child marveling at his first planetarium show, he admired the view of the myriad stars, each appropriately labeled. Focht's own computer-generated realities required datasuits and ICR helmets, which made his equipment a mere toy compared to this device.

Focht looked around the bridge one final time, then gave the ilKhan a polite smile. "I had hoped to see Phelan again. It was a surprise when Elementals met me in the shuttle bay."

Ulric shrugged slightly. He reached up and touched a label hanging in mid-air beside a star. A glowing green window opened below the world and data—mirror-written from Focht's point of view—scrolled down through the air. "Phelan would have liked to have seen you as well, but his unit is on Diosd in case another of their militia units comes out of hiding. We believe all are accounted for, but zealots destroyed the central computers on the planet, throwing all intelligence-gathering and record-combing into chaos."

As Ulric pushed up on the lower border of the window, the scroll retracted into the small label again. "Your concern for Phelan does bring up a point I wish to discuss before we start our bargaining. It is in the nature of a personal favor, for which I will be grateful."

A personal favor?"Yes, ilKhan?"

The Wolf Clan leader clasped his hands behind his back and did not meet Focht's eyes directly. "I have recorded a holodisk that I wish transmitted to Colonel Morgan Kell of the Kell Hounds unit. I wish to tell him his son lives and is one of my most valued warriors." Ulric's blue eyes flicked up to make contact with Focht. "Does that surprise you, Precentor Martial?"

Focht allowed his surprise to show. "It does, ilKhan, and it pleases me as well. It will bring great joy to the Kells."

"Yes, I imagine it would. You know families far better than I, the petty rivalries and deep feelings that run between members." The ilKhan crossed his arms over his chest. "Our culture, as you know, stresses strong Clan and House ties at the expense of family units. If this is a weakness on our part, it matters little at this point. I do not wish to cause suffering to the Kells because of our need for Phelan. Is it not what they say in the Inner Sphere: blood is thicker than water, quiaff?"

"Yes, ilKhan, but we generally add the caveat, 'but not as thick as duty.' " Focht studied his foe carefully. This is not the Ulric I have known. Is he sincere, or is this a ploy to unsettle me?"As for my understanding of family, I fear it is not as strong as you might imagine. My family thrived on misunderstandings, but you have a correct impression of the Kell household, I think."

"Good. I have not informed Phelan that this message is to be sent, but I will allow him to receive any reply. If you wish to include a message of your own to Colonel Kell expressing this, or including your own impression of Phelan's life here among us, please do so." Ulric held up a hand. "And, of course, I know that the Primus may prevent the transmission of this message, given the state of our relations at this point."

"I will tell Colonel Kell how his son has thrived here." Focht allowed himself a traitorous grin. "I think I may even be able to circumvent the Primus in this matter."

"Good, then I will not be alone in treason, for I think the Grand Council would not approve my communicating with the enemy." The ilKhan's blue eyes narrowed. "These are dangerous times, Anastasius. What we do here will be wondrous and terrible, and the greatest tragedy is that politicians may render it all for naught."

"I share your fear, Ulric. Between us, there can be trust I will not betray you."

"Nor I you."

Focht smiled. "What our diplomats cannot divide, we must battle over. For the record, I would not have chosen to go to war with you, ilKhan. I have watched you enough to know better than to relish battling a foe of your abilities."

The ilKhan laughed lightly. "I am not immune to flattery, Anastasius. In our bargaining that may earn you a Cluster."

"Just so long as it is in the Thirteenth Wolf Guards."

"Interesting choice, my friend, but do you wish to be the one to tell Natasha Kerensky or Phelan Wolf they cannot fight against you?"

"Touché, my Khan. There are some missions not meant for mere warriors." Focht glanced back at one of the Clan computer consoles where an aide was working with a Clanner. "I have brought with me data that will help us bargain out this battle properly."

The starfield in the holotank flickered for a second, then re-drew itself. "I believe your data has been incorporated into my database here. Shall we proceed?"

"Yes." Focht pulled himself up to his full height. "I am Anastasius Focht, Precentor Martial of ComStar and Supreme Commander of all Com Guard troops. Myndo Waterly, Primus of ComStar and Keeper of Blake's Sacred Word has assigned me the duty of negotiating this battle. What I offer, I warrant is true and free of deception."

Ulric nodded, then also straightened to attention. "I am Ulric Kerensky, ilKhan of the Clans and Khan of the Wolf Clan. It is by my own authority, in action for the Grand Council of Khans, that I enter negotiations with you. What I offer I warrant is true and free of deception."

He waved a hand through a thousand stars. "As you are the defender, I ask if you have chosen a venue for our confrontation."

"I have, ilKhan." Focht reached out and touched the label attached to the planet Tukayyid. "In the fourth planet, I believe I have found us a battlefield."

The window opened and the ilKhan's left hand strayed to his goatee as the blue and gold world rotated through space.

As they watched, the holotank brought their viewpoint down through the atmosphere and sent it skimming across vast fields of ripening wheat. They flew like eagles over the flat plains, then climbed into the dark Pozoristu Mountains. From those cloud-shrouded heights, they swooped down river valleys, through swamps and deltas, then across the dark Crucible Sea.

"Hardly an exhaustive survey, but the geography appears well-suited to any number of battles." The ilKhan frowned. "The population is small and centered in very specific areas?"

"Most of those people will be evacuated from the world," Focht said. "As we bring our troops onto the world, the DropShips will take people away. The only civilian personnel left on the planet will be those essential to running factories that cannot be shut down. We will take all potentially hazardous industries offline, and we are prepared to designate some religious communities as non-combat zones, if you agree. In addition, ComStar accepts half the costs of damage repair if the Clans will agree to cover the other half."

"ComStar bears the cost of evacuation and repatriation?"

Focht nodded. "If you take the world, we will repatriate the population back onto Tukayyid, or onto any other world you or they choose. We will consider the people your subjects for this purpose, so you have first choice on where they end up."

"Acceptable," Ulric said, but his smile made Focht's hackles rise. "No reason to clutter the chessboard with impotent pieces, quiaff,Anastasius?"

In an instant Focht's mind flashed to the image of a chessboard. He saw the Primus as his queen and Natasha Kerensky taking up her position beside Ulric. It was not a comforting thought. Strangely, what worried him was not what Natasha would do to oppose him, but what the Primus would do to aid him.

"I would liken it to clearing a sports field of fans before a match. You know as well as I that characterizing our battle as a chess game devalues the lives of the men and women who will die on Tukayyid."

Ulric held up his hands. "Far be it from me to do that, Anastasius. But you must admit that our preparations resemble those that precede a chess match. I have conceded to you the choice of battlefield, allowing you the choice of color, as it were. Now we both must decide who should spot whom pieces, what are their value, and how we can exploit that advantage over our enemy."

Ulric's expression deadened. "I, after all, value a force more than some politico who might throw away a crack unit like a rook sacrificed in a gambit."

Focht felt suddenly as if someone were walking on his grave. Oh, you play this game well, Ulric. Have you pierced the secret of my identity? Was it Phelan who did it for you and is that why he is not here?

"I would expect that of you, ilKhan, because you are a military man of great insight. Still, that does not mean you would not expend a force in a suicidal maneuver if you deemed the gain worth the risk."