Текст книги " Lethal Heritage "

He reached Ranna's side, fully expecting her to vanish when the light above her died, but it did not. Instead, another spotlight pinned a figure to the black floor. Tall and strong, Ulric stood shrouded in a floor-length cloak of black and gray wolf-fur. The light from above burned brightly from his white hair, but hid his eyes in impenetrable pockets of shadow.

His deep voice filled the void. "Trothkin, seen and unseen, near and far, living and dead, rejoice as the Wolf has brought us a foundling." He let the words echo through the darkness, until silence reigned once more. "It was fortyseven years ago that the Womb of Steel whelped a pup such as this. That birthing is but a thing of legend, but none will deny the rede of it."

From the surrounding dark, Phelan heard a thousand voices whisper as one. "Seyla."

Ulric's voice dropped into a wolfish growl. "I am the Oathmaster! All will be bound by this Conclave, until they are dust and memories, and then beyond that time until the end of all that is."

"Seyla."

The sibilant murmuring raised goosebumps on Phelan's flesh. Tension built in him as his mind struggled frantically to pierce the mysteries of this terrible ceremony. They try to kill me, then make me the centerpiece of some bizarre ritual. I don't understand half the words or what Ulric is trying to say. I hope like hell I configure out what's going on, or as sure as this bondcord encircles my wrist, I'm going to be one dead little bondsman.

Ulric looked around as though his eyes could see those gathered beyond the circle of light. "The Wolf's wisdom is not in doubt, but there are those who believe the Wolf's generosity is too great. Who would deny this pup his life?"

The mercenary saw Ulric's head come up at a rustling sound behind him. Stepping forward into a white circle painted on the deck was a small, slender man of the largeheaded body type Phelan had come to associate with Clan aerojocks. His spectacular costume had been cut from green leather and patterned after an aeropilot's flightsuit. Instead of a short cloak of fur, he wore a brilliant gold and malachite pectoral with two stylized wings rising up on either side of his head. His hawk-head mask, also made of gold and malachite, was a masterwork of artistry.

As the man removed his mask, Ulric's voice boomed from behind Phelan. "I recognize thee, Cavell Malthus of the Jade Falcons."

"Oathmaster, I ken death from the skies for this pup." Cavell watched the bondsman with huge, hungry brown eyes. "Aye, it is death I see."

Ulric's voice rang out strongly. "Who among the Wolves would deny this vision?"

Moving to eclipse Phelan's view of Cavell, an aerofighter pilot stepped in. His costume paralleled Cavell's in shape, but was made from dark gray leather. Like Ranna's costume, his included a cloak of gray fur settled over his shoulder. As Cavell removed his helmet, the mercenary saw a flash of golden hair.

"I recognize thee, Carew of the Wolves."

"Oathmaster, it is my ken that this pup need fear nothing from the air." As Carew's voice trailed off, both he and Cavell again donned their masks. Neither moved from their places. Beside them, two more spotlights brought illumination to two more circles on the deck.

A titan stepped forward from the darkness. His costume of light gray leather had not been tailored to represent any Clan military garb that Phelan could recognize, but that mattered little. Instead, he marveled at how the material stretched taut to mold itself to the massive, powerfully built man. Though the garment covered him from throat to boot tops, a loincloth of Smoke Jaguar fur had been added to mark his Clan affiliation, as though his savage jaguar-mask could be mistaken for anything else. The Elemental solemnly removed his mask.

"I recognize thee, Lincoln Osis of the Smoke Jaguars."

The black man's voice sounded deeper than Ulric's and was an almost perfect impersonation of a jaguar's hoarse growl. "Oathmaster, I ken death by hand for this pup. Aye, it is death I see."

Again Ulric voiced a request to the assembly hidden in the shadows. "Who among the Wolves would deny this vision?"

Another Wolf moved to stand between Phelan and his challenger. Even if he had not seen the long red braid lying against her spine, he would have known Evantha from the way she stalked out to take her place.

"I recognize thee, Evantha Fetladral of the Wolves."

Phelan sensed the barest hint of challenge and scorn in Evantha's reply. "Oathmaster, it is my ken that this pup need fear nothing from the hand."

As Evantha and Lincoln again donned their masks, the final two circles on the deck blazed to life with reflected light. Almost immediately, a man moved into the challenger's circle. Phelan realized that his costume, like Ranna's, was a version of the abbreviated attire MechWarriors wore in their steamy cockpits. A thick cloak of white fur covered the man, fastened at his throat by knotting together the fur around a bear's forward paws. The intermediate paws were similarly tied together at his waist. The bear mask the man wore seemed to be inlaid with opal, which mirrored the shimmering pelt he wore.

"I recognize thee, Garald Winson of the Ghost Bears."

"Oathmaster, I ken death from his equals." His voice dropped to a rime-laden whisper. "Aye, it is death I see."

Phelan heard a change in Ulric's voice as he asked for a Wolf to refute Winson's vision of the future. The mercenary half-expected Ranna to leave his side, but she remained in place as another stepped forward. Obviously a woman, this one's costume matched Ranna's in all but color, yet flattered her figure equally. Where Ranna wore white, this MechWarrior wore black, including the abbreviated cloak of wolf-fur. Red hair cascaded onto her shoulders and Phelan saw a scarlet hourglass symbol on the abdomen of her leather clothing.

Phelan's jaw dropped as she removed her mask, and Ulric spoke. "I recognize thee, Natasha Kerensky of the Wolves."

The mercenary stared at her in disbelief, but she shot him a grin before facing her opposition. Natasha Kerensky! But she's Jaime Wolf's second in command. What is she doing here, and why is she recognized by the Clans?As quickly as that question formed itself in his head, the answer hit him with frightful clarity. Oh my God They're notWolf's Dragoons, they're theWolf Dragoons. They've been part of the Clans all along!

Phelan suddenly realized he was not alone in his shock. Garald Winson had paled visibly. From the darkness enclosing them, the mercenary heard hushed whispers. Still grinning, Natasha seemed to revel in the disturbance she caused.

"Oathmaster," Natasha said contemptuously, "I have known this pup for years. He has nothing to fear from his equals, or those who would style themselves his betters."

"Face me, pup." Ulric's voice brought Phelan around. The Khan regarded him with hollow eyes. "Thrice he has been challenged and three defenders have risen for him. Sponsored by the Wolf, warded by the Clan, all is in order."

From beneath his cloak, Ulric produced a silver dagger with a wolf's-head pommel. He moved forward. "Give me your right hand."

Phelan held up his hand, and Ulric slid the knife down between the mercenary's flesh and the bondcord. "This marked you as a bondsman, but yours is the heart, the mind, and the soul of a warrior. The Wolf has seen it and I, the Oathmaster, proclaim it."

Tugging the knife back toward himself, Ulric sliced the bondcord in half. With an expert flip, he reversed the knife, then pressed its pommel into Phelan's wrist and folded his fingers down over it. Triumphantly, he thrust the Kell Hound's hand into the air. "Let us rejoice and let pride sing out—the Wolves have a new warrior among their number."

A mild burst of respectful applause resounded from the shadows, then quickly died away as Ulric backed away from Phelan to his original position. Phelan lowered his hand, then heard something behind him. He turned slowly and saw another MechWarrior, this one clad in the Wolf clan costume, making his way from the shadows. He stopped in front of Phelan and removed his mask.

The mercenary narrowed his eyes. What now?He glanced at the sword in the Wolf's right hand and saw a dark stain on its tip. Yes. It had to be you, quiaff?

Vlad removed his mask and nestled it between his right elbow and ribs. Still livid, the scar left from his injury on the bridge ran down from his left eye to his jaw. Phelan shuddered at the sight. Why do all the MechWarriors who loathe me have Radstadt scars?

Vlad executed a crisp, formal bow. Coming up again, he locked eyes with Phelan in a stare that left no doubt that Vlad's hatred ran more than, as Griff had said, bone-deep. That hatred runs soul-deep, Phelan warned himself. There may well come a day when you regret having rescued him from theDire Wolf 's bridge.

Vlad swallowed hard before speaking. "Welcome, bloodkin, to the House of Ward." He extended his left hand to Phelan in greeting, but his right hand scraped the bell guard of the sword against the wolf's-head buckle Vlad wore.

Phelan did not miss the gesture. I'll remember you, Vlad, each and every time I see Tyra's belt buckle on you—just as you'll remember me whenever you look in a mirror. There will come a day when we settle our differences once and for all.Constrained by the formality of the gathering, Phelan merely met Vlad's grip with one matched in strength.

They broke their handshake and Vlad drifted back into the shadows. Phelan turned to face the Khan once more.

Ulric peered into the room's shadowy depths. "I, Ulric Kerensky, Khan of the Wolves and Oathmaster of this Conclave, do welcome you, Phelan Patrick Kell, to the Clan of the Wolves. According to custom handed down since Aleksandr Kerensky led our forefathers from this place and his son Nicholas saved us from ourselves, you will be known to the Children of Kerensky as Phelan Wolf. All are to abide by the rede given here. Thus shall it stand until we all shall fall."

"Thus shall it stand until we all shall fall," echoed the crowd. The lights illuminating Phelan's challengers and defenders died, leaving visible only Ulric, Ranna, and Phelan.

No one spoke, and Phelan interpreted the only sounds he heard as the passage of the assembled Clanspeople from the room.

When complete silence again reigned in the chamber, Ulric stepped forward and offered Phelan his left hand. "You are one of us now, Phelan Wolf. You are a bondsman no more. Through this Conclave, you have become a warrior. You are henceforth accorded all the rights and privileges of your station, as well as all the responsibilities and duty of a Wolf warrior."

Phelan took Ulric's hand and shook it warmly. It was as though, for the first time, he belonged to something outside his family. "I thank you, my Khan, for this honor. But there is so much I don't know or understand. What did the challenges mean? What did Vlad mean in welcoming me to the House of Ward?"

Ulric shook his head. "You are young yet, by our standards. All your questions will be answered in your training. Now, however, is a time for celebration. It has been nearly five decades since the Wolf Warriors adopted someone not born to the caste. You will also be honored and rewarded for your actions on the bridge, though I fear the most suitable reward must wait until our journey's end."

"Journey?" He suddenly remembered the Precentor Martial's fleeting reference to the Clan's "absence."

"What is this journey?"

The Khan's eyes narrowed and the light from above made his face into a death's-head. "We will travel to where the Clans—all the Clans—must meet to discuss what we have done. We will elect a new ilKhan and review our successes and our failures. Then, under the leadership of the new ilKhan, we will return to the Inner Sphere and complete the liberation of the Star League from the forces that destroyed it three centuries ago!"