Текст книги " Blood Legacy"

Автор книги: Michael A. Stackpole

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"Well said, Galen. Though she's pretty, I'll do my best to stay away from her." Saying that, Victor stole another glance at the young woman in the Kurita contingent. As a thousand questions about her continued to fill his mind, he shook himself. This is a council of war, Victor, not some court picnic.

Thomas leaned forward, resting his hands on the table assigned to the Free Worlds League. "I share the Gunji-no-Kanrei's view that worrying about a trap is immaterial at this point. The Dragoons have brought us here to discuss the Clan invasion and what we should do since they have called a halt to their advance. I think such a discussion would be a most valuable pursuit.

"For my own part, I am not one hundred percent inclined to trust any military force that admits it was once allied with an enemy. Forgive me, Colonel, but the people of the Free Worlds League well remember the Dragoons for their role in the war between my father and his brother Anton."

"Your caution is understandable, Captain-General," Wolf said. "By the way, we have set up your medical team in our infirmary and have provided them all the equipment you asked be made ready for their use."

Thomas acknowledged Wolf's kindness with a nod. Joshua, meanwhile, sat unaware that he might be the subject of discussion as he dangled his feet idly back and forth above the floor. Victor smiled at the display of innocence, another note as odd as the presence of the beautiful young woman. He knew Jaime Wolf's brother Joshua had been slain in the Free Worlds League Civil War. He wondered if Thomas had chose the same name for his son by mere coincidence, or if it were a kind of peace offering to Wolf's Dragoons.

Victor looked around the massive room the Dragoons called their Grand Council Chamber. An amphitheater carved out of Outreach's bedrock, it had been paneled with slender strips of oak. Two dozen stepped terraces provided seating for spectators, and a golden oak railing separated the main floor from the spectator galleries. Down on the floor, a semicircle of wooden tables faced the speaker's podium. Victor suspected the Dragoons had removed the connecting pieces that normally bound the tables together so that the Great House leaders would be on equal footing.

Up in the galleries, Victor saw a number of Dragoon uniforms scattered among the small crowd of military advisors and state ministers. The courtiers who had accompanied the various royal parties were hardly necessary for planning a campaign to destroy the Clans, but they were vital to keeping the states of the Inner Sphere functioning. Never before had all these rulers of all the Successor States been gathered in one place at one time, and the stress of maintaining business as usual told on the faces of the civil servants gathered to watch the debate.

Victor noticed Jaime's son MacKenzie Wolf standing toward the back. Tall and slender and with a dark moustache, he cut almost a rakish figure in his black and scarlet uniform, but his bearing suggested he did not find the proceedings amusing.

Standing beside MacKenzie were Morgan and Christian Kell of the Kell Hounds mercenary unit. Their scarlet uniforms and waist-cut jackets were distinctive for the way the jacket's double-breast took the form of a black wolf's-head with triangular red eyes. The muzzle fastened at the waist and the two ears fastened at the shoulders. Breaking up the black, campaign ribbons slashed across the left ear of Morgan's jacket, proclaiming the elder mercenary's long career.

The trio's grim expressions reminded Victor of the gravity of the situation. A cold chill ran down his spine as he thought of Morgan's son Phelan—his own cousin—who had been one of the first fatalities in the Clan invasion.

Jaime Wolf sighed heavily. "We are wasting precious time. The Inner Sphere faces the greatest military threat the Successor States have ever encountered, either individually or collectively."

Wolf hit a button on his podium. The room lights dimmed as a holographic map of the Inner Sphere burned to life in the center of the semi-circle. It slowly rotated so everyone could get a good look, then it split into smaller representations of itself, with one hovering before each delegation's table. As Victor leaned forward to study the map, fear writhed like a snake through his belly.

Normally the Successor States and the worlds they claimed formed a rough circle of star systems approximately 370 light years in diameter, with the circle centered on Terra. On this map, however, a huge chunk had been bitten out of the circle, making it a fat crescent with both horns pointing up and away from the chamber floor. Though the ravaged Free Rasalhague Republic lay at the center of the conquered area, bites had also been taken out of both the Lyran sector of the Federated Commonwealth and from the Draconis Combine.

Victor leaned forward toward his father. "I didn't realize the Combine had been hit so hard. They've lost as many worlds as have we."

Hanse pressed his lips together into a thin line. "I daresay, from the expression on Theodore's face, he was not aware that we'd been hard-hit either. Wolf's intelligence network is very good. Things are much worse than any of us dared imagine."

Wolf waved a hand to include all the maps. "As you can see, the situation is most grave. The Free Rasalhague Republic has lost its capital and over half its worlds. The invaders have also made substantial gains in the Lyran Commonwealth and the Draconis Combine. In less than a year, they have managed to take more worlds than changed hands in the Fourth Succession War, and the efforts to stop them have been less than effective.

"My purpose in calling all of you here is to propose that we unite to oppose these invaders. Only a concerted and joint effort can turn back the Clans. Otherwise, we face domination by an implacable foe. Just like the old saying, if the Successor States do not hang together, they will all hang separately."

Romano Liao glanced at her sister as though measuring her neck for a rope, then stood. "I am not certain I share the sense of urgency you seem to advocate, Colonel Wolf. Acting independently, my Lord Kurita and even Hanse Davion have fought off these invaders. And I have no evidence that these Clans are different from any other murdering, butchering, bloody-handed conquerors."

"As you will, Lady Romano," Wolf replied mechanically, but Victor heard the undertone of cold rage in Wolf's voice. "I assure you, however, that the Clans are vastly different than any army that has marched before or will ever march again. Yes, it is true that the Clans stopped advancing after Federated Commonwealth and Combine troops dealt them defeats on two different worlds, but it was not because the Inner Sphere forces had proved themselves superior. The Clans halted their invasion because their war leader was slain at Radstadt, and now they must choose a new one before they can continue to fight. Until then, their line troops will remain in place while the Clan leadership decides on who will spearhead the invasion. When the leaders return again, rest assured that they will come with yet more Clan armies, and if we do not work together, their victory is certain."

Thomas Marik rose and leaned forward with his hands on the table. "I am most impressed by what you have accomplished here on Outreach, Colonel Wolf, and your ability to gather data on the current status of the various states represented here."

The Captain-General pointed to the map glowing in front of him. "This map, for example, is far more complete than the one my intelligence people have been able to assemble, and more complete than any we have stolen from either the Federated Commonwealth or the Draconis Combine." He hesitated briefly as both Hanse Davion and Theodore Kurita nodded a salute to him. "In light of that, and reflecting upon the Dragoons' remarkable career, there is a question I must ask. Do you, Colonel Wolf, believe that it is even possibleto stop the invaders?"

Victor read no shock on Wolf's face. Rather, the mercenary reacted as though he'd been waiting all along for someone finally to pose the question. "I can only answer on the basis of my experiences within the Clans, and those days were long ago. My men and I were trained in the Clan school of war and it made us very successful when fighting the forces of the Inner Sphere, but we could never claim to be invincible. The Clans fight according to their concept of warfare, but I believe that the tactics of the Ryuken or Federated Commonwealth Regimental Combat Teams could counteract and defeat those tactics."

Wolf looked again at Marik. "To answer your question more specifically, Captain-General, I do believe we can defeat the Clans. The Combine and the Federated Commonwealth paid a high price for their respective victories, but the fact of victory remains. With training and by devoting our full resources to opposing the Clans, I say we can slow and even stop them."

Haakon Magnusson shook his head. "The Clans make our weapons look like toys compared to what they bring to battle."

Wolf's eyes narrowed. "If you surrender to despair now, Prince Magnusson, what chance have you to win back your realm? I have the blueprints and technical diagrams for the new BattleMech technology. Right here on Outreach, the Dragoons have produced, in very limited numbers, Battle-Mechs based on that technology. It may be dated by Clan standards, but it is still eons ahead of what the Inner Sphere currently has available."

A sudden weariness seemed to settle over Wolf like a lead cloak. "I had hoped for more time to prepare for this invasion, but so be it. My Dragoons have restored Outreach to the training facility it was in the days of the Star League. We have not yet begun mass production of OmniMechs—which is what the Clans call their line 'Mechs—but with the help of Colonel Kell, Dr. Banzai, and Clovis Holstein, we do have working prototypes of many of the new weapons the Clans use. I also have five full regiments of Dragoons ready to take the field against the Clans."

Wolf pushed up the sleeves of his jacket to mid-forearm. "There it is. My cards are on the table. I'll be fighting the Clans, no matter who does or does not join with me. But I say again that if we pull together, we can field an army that will stop the Clans."

Wolf's words sent a shiver down Victor's spine. He's right. If we don't band together, the Clans will take us apart.

Romano barked a sharp laugh. "Why should we believe you, Wolf? You've admitted having deceived us before. Why should it be any different now?" She shrugged eloquently, brushing her auburn hair away from the shoulders of her black gown. "I am not worried. The Clans will be stopped."

Wolf watched her carefully, shaking his head as though not believing what he'd heard. "I think you mistake the gravity of the situation, Lady Romano. If we don't stop the Clans, who will?"

Romano smiled broadly, then let her gaze sweep the assembly as though to share her enlightenment with all. "You forget, Colonel Wolf, that when the Star League collapsed, General Aleksandr Kerensky led away nearly the whole Star League army beyond the Periphery. They're out there. They have been waiting all this time, waiting for the day mankind would again need their help. They will come and they will save us from the Clans."

Wolf's shoulders sagged. "Lady Romano, have you heard nothing I've said?" He stared around the room in disbelief, once more shaking his head. Though his voice dropped almost to a whisper, no one missed a word in the utter silence that had fallen over the gathering.

"Don't you see?" He leaned forward, grasping the podium so hard his knuckles went white. "Kerensky's people havereturned. They are the Clans."

2

DropShip Dire Wolf

Beyond the Periphery

 2 February 3051

 

Sweat-soaked black hair stinging his eyes, Phelan Kell Wolf flew through the air. He twisted into a shoulder roll, bleeding off the energy of the throw that had propelled him across the small room. His left hand slapped the floor mat hard, further breaking his fall and helping to bring his body under control. He knew he could have used the remaining momentum to roll to his feet. Instead, he feigned exhaustion and let himself sprawl out flat on his back.

His opponent, red braid whipping back and forth like a snake, shot after him across the room. Though she stood a third of a meter taller, and outweighed him by seventy kilos, Evantha Fetladral moved quickly and sensuously. A grim smile locked her face into a battle-mask, but wariness burned in her brown eyes. She slowed slightly as she closed, preparing for whatever trap Phelan had laid.

Phelan scythed his left leg through the space occupied by hers. As she leaped above the sweep, Phelan let the momentum of his kick twist him over onto his stomach, then started a second sweep with his right leg. The kick caught Evantha at the ankles and smashed them together as she came down. She landed heavily on the mat, but before Phelan could turn and lunge forward to pin her, she was on her feet again.

She dropped into a crouch and waved him forward. Her sleeveless gray bodysuit ended at the knees and matched the one Phelan wore. The bands of red at shoulders and thighs were linked by a red flank stripe. Sweat glistened from her nearly bald pate and rippling muscles. "Come on, Phelan. You are good, but you are no Elemental."

The Inner Sphere expatriate wiped his left forearm across his brow. "I didn't think I was supposed to be one. I'm a MechWarrior."

Evantha frowned. "Perhaps that is what you will become, Phelan Wolf, but only if you train well and learn to speak properly."

Phelan winced. Dammit, I keep forgetting.Bowing his head slightly, he apologized. "Forgive me. When I get excited, I contract my ..."

Evantha's lunge forward made him break off. He spun to the left, just eluding her outstretched right hand, then darted forward. He hooked his right leg behind her right knee, then grabbed her shoulder and threw her down. Fingers stiffened into a spearpoint, he slashed his right hand across her throat.

Evantha slapped the mat three times with her left hand, signaling an end to the fight. "Well done," she said.

Dripping sweat made his eyes burn as Phelan dropped unceremoniously to the mat. " 'Bout time. You have been tossing me around the room for the past two hours. Returning the favor was the least I could do."

The giant woman curled up into a sitting position. She used her huge hands to wipe the sweat from her almost completely shaved head, then she dried them on the legs of her bodysuit. "Indeed, it was the least you could do." When Phelan sighed, she smiled. "I am pleased, however, that you let me take no advantage while you were offering your apology. There was once a time when you might have believed that such a formality meant a time-out in training."

"Yeah, time once was .. ." Phelan crawled toward the edge of the mat and grabbed a white towel from a pile. He tossed it to Evantha, then appropriated another for himself. "Since then, you've been kind enough to beat that misconception out of me."

Evantha played idly with the tail of her long braid. "So much the better. You must remember that you will constantly be watched and tested. Even when an exercise is over, you must be prepared for another challenge. That has always been the way of the Clans, for it is only constant testing and preparedness that has ensured our survival. It has made us what we are. Now that you are one of us, you would do well to understand that."

Phelan nodded acknowledgement, but his thoughts were far away. I've known that ever since the Clans captured me. Even when I was a bondsman, they were constantly testing me. Khan Ulric pushed me, wanting to see how far I would go in compromising my homeland, and Vlad tried his best to break my spirit. Now that I have been accepted into the Warrior caste, I am being tested as an equal, not an inferior. If anything, the testing has become more difficult.

Evantha hung her towel around her neck. "Do you want to get a shower?" When Phelan hesitated, Evantha laughed.

"Sorry, Evantha, I still have not gotten used to the familiarity between members of a sibko. Back where I come from, men and women might share duties in the field, but seldom do they share shower facilities."

"You do not seem to mind sharing showers with me."

Phelan turned toward the door and smiled as Ranna slipped into the room. A tall and slender woman who wore her white hair cut very short, she knelt down to give him a kiss. "In fact," she added with a devilish glint in her blue eyes, "I would say you have had vast experience showering with women."

Phelan blushed as both Ranna and Evantha laughed aloud. He reached out to cup Ranna's chin in his left hand, kissed her lightly, then composed his face into a look of innocence. "Actually, my love, I am merely a quick learner under the tutelage of a masterful teacher."

He felt a slight tremor run through Ranna at his use of the word "love," but he was used to that. He knew that the Clans-people so disassociated love, sex, and reproduction that they no longer saw these things in what Phelan might consider their "normal" relationship. The way he equated love and sexual fidelity was incomprehensible to the Clansfolk, just as their deep fear of interpersonal love was to him.

Evantha heaved herself to her feet. "I remand you to the custody of your most able teacher, Phelan. I expect to see you back here in twenty-two hours for another workout."

Phelan flopped wearily onto his back. "Ja,Star Commander. I will be here, right after Carew paces me through antiaircraft tactics."

Evantha threw Ranna a wink. "Be good to him. He did well today."

As Evantha vanished through the door, Phelan reached up to give Ranna's shoulder a squeeze. Touching the gray cotton of her jumpsuit, he felt the large, eight-pointed red star that matched the earring in her left ear. The southernmost point of the star extended down more than twice the length of the other points and turned the insignia into what Phelan had dubbed a "daggerstar." It marked her as a Clan Mech-Warrior and Phelan envied her that designation.

"So, what shall we do for the rest of the day?"

"We have a problem." Ranna frowned and her fists knotted with frustration. "The whole duty schedule has been shifted around because of the JumpShip that entered the system six hours ago. They sent over a number of DropShips that the Dire Wolfhas taken aboard, and those ships are carrying many important people. As a result, there has been a mass revision of the duty roster so people can meet with their House leaders."

Phelan pulled himself up into a sitting position and rested both hands on hers until her fists loosened. "How much time until you have to go on duty?"

"About an hour and a half." A sound almost like a low growl rumbled from her throat. "I'd managed to get clearance for us to take one of the 'Mechs out onto the ship's hull so you could get a good look at this triple star system, and then I'd planned for us to have some time together, alone ..."

Phelan tipped her head up with his left hand. "Hey, an hour and a half is plenty of time for a shower, Quiaff?You would not want to go to your duty station dirty, would you?"

She gave him a wry grin. "No, I suppose that would be disorderly of me, Quiaff?"

"Aff." Phelan stood and pulled Ranna to her feet. "Most disorderly. I think we should do something about that situation."

The figure of an older woman appearing in the doorway stopped them from embracing. Slightly shorter than Ranna and more full-figured, the woman possessed a sensual grace that belied her age. She wore her hair long enough that the red curls hid the shoulders of her jumpsuit. Her blue eyes flashed with amusement as she folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the door jamb.

"Excuse me, children, I do not meant to interrupt."

Phelan turned to face her, slipping one arm around Ranna's waist. "Afternoon, Major ... er Colonel Kerensky." When she frowned at that, Phelan quickly corrected his blunder. "I mean Natasha. Forgive me. I still have the habit of addressing you as I did in my time on Outreach."

Natasha Kerensky shrugged eloquently. "No blood, no report. I have two things to tell you. First, after some haggling, Khan Ulric has managed to convince some of the knotheads in the Clan Council that I should be allowed to instruct you in BattleMech tactics." Her eyes became slits. "I don't know if I like him citing my 'advanced age' as the reason I'm suitable for tutor work, but I ain't going to argue with what works."

As Natasha spoke and freely used contractions, he felt Ranna stiffen slightly. Natasha apparently noticed her reaction, too. "Sorry, Ranna, but I spent the better part of five decades in the Inner Sphere. Forgive me if my use of the language offends you."

Ranna smiled coyly. "As you will, grandmother."

Phelan saw Natasha's instant of shock despite her quick recovery. She bowed her head briefly. "Touché",Ranna. You are certainly a Kerensky."

"Blood of thy blood. Could I be any less than my forebears?"

Phelan suddenly felt in over his head in a conversation that was traveling well beyond his ken of Clan matters. "Excuse me, but I am catching very little of what you are saying."

Natasha blinked twice, as though waking from a trance. "Right. This is not the place for this talk, nor do we have time for it right now." She turned her attention from Ranna to Phelan. "I am afraid you have to come with me."

Phelan let his disappointment ride openly on his face.

"Right now? I have been training for four hours straight, with the last two spent being tossed around by Evantha."

"Builds character." Natasha looked at Ranna. "Cyrilla Ward came over on the Timber Wolf.She wants to see Phelan."

Ranna gave Phelan a smile and a nod. "Go. This is important. I will see if I can trade off another duty with someone so I can be free when you are finished."

"I don't understand."

Ranna kissed Phelan quickly. "Just go, and be on your best behavior." She shot a sharp glance at Natasha. "And try to avoid letting her influence cause you to backslide."

Natasha shook her head but did nothing to wipe the proud smile from her face. "Ungrateful child," she muttered as Ranna passed out the door. "Go on, Phelan. Get cleaned up and changed. It's time for you to learn what belonging to the Wolf Clan and the House of Ward truly means."

* * *

When he emerged from the shower, Phelan found Natasha sitting on the bench next to his locker. He started at the sight of her, but Natasha just chuckled. "Don't mind me. It's nothing I've not seen before. Don't forget that I was there at your birthing."

Phelan, keeping the towel wrapped around him in kilt fashion, smiled sheepishly. "I've grown up a bit since then."

"True enough, but we're not exactly a sibko and you're not exactly my type." She gave him a more appraising glance. "Well-muscled but lean and ruggedly handsome. You're the type they put on the recruiting posters for the army back in the Lyran Commonwealth." As she spoke, Natasha swung her body around on the bench to face partially away from him.

Phelan dropped the towel and pulled on clothes from his locker. "I'm afraid the LCAF wouldn't consider me recruiter material. Remember, I'm the one who got punted from the Nagelring."

Natasha laughed heartily. "And no one was prouder than me when I heard the news." She turned to face him again as he stepped into the legs of his gray jumpsuit. "I was ready to clear you a spot as a lance commander in the Black Widow Cluster, but Jaime pulled the plug on that little idea.

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, Ranna was right. I spend five minutes talking with you, and I start to slip back into my old patterns of speech."

"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 running the length of the Dire Wolf."Questions about the House of Ward should wait for Cyrilla."

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

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.