Riposte

The third man took Dan's hand in a viselike grip. "I am Ryan Steiner, Captain Allard."

Dan pumped the younger man's hand twice, then broke free. "I'm pleased to meet you."

Morgan smiled as if he'd noticed none of what had passed between Dan and Ryan. "Ryan, more properly the Duke of Porrima, is Duke Frederick's nephew. I was telling them that I knew Ryan's mother, Donna Steiner, when she taught at Nagelring." Facing Ryan, Morgan half-shut his eyes. "Your mother got married at the Academy, and I was proud to be chosen as one of the Honor Guard for the ceremony ..."

Morgan's words trailed off into an arctic silence as another man joined the group. Frederick Steiner and Aldo Lestrade both flinched visibly as the haggard, gray-haired man slipped between them. Ryan smiled with his eyes, and the old man acknowledged him with the faintest of nods, then turned his full attention on Morgan Kell.

"So it is true," he said in a gravelly voice. "The dead walk among us again."

Morgan stared hard at the newcomer, and when he finally answered, his tone was glacial. "Do you speak of yourself, Alessandro Steiner, or do you refer to me?" Morgan let a cruel smile tighten the corners of his eyes. "Ah, I forget my manners. What is the proper form of address for a deposedArchon?"

Alessandro's lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl as Morgan's riposte drilled home. His gray eyes flashed with anger, but he hid it with a respectful nod toward the mercenary leader. "You always were quick, Morgan Kell." The former Archon shot hooded glances at Frederick and Lestrade. "Thank God, neither of these two have your wit and intelligence. Had they but half of it, any one of their plots might have secured them the throne."

Shock and outrage played across the faces of the two Dukes before they could cover up with looks of feigned innocence. Morgan stared into Alessandro's eyes. "I find your thesis flawed, Alessandro, for with wit and intelligence goes a fierce loyalty to the sense of justice that is the Commonwealth's strongest foundation."

Alessandro Steiner stiffened. "I don't recall, Colonel Kell, ever giving you leave to speak to me with such familiarity."

With his face contorted in outrage, Morgan snapped, "I earned that right, Alessandro, in a year of hell." He drew himself up to his full height. Glancing from Alessandro to Frederick to Lestrade, Morgan dropped his voice to a kind of bass growl. "In that year, I earned the right to help topple you from your throne, and I earned the right to preserve the throne for Katrina Steiner and her line."

Morgan's face hardened and his eyes narrowed. "Do not mistake me, gentlemen, for I want this plainly understood. That is a right I hold very dear, and a right I'll exercise at any cost."

Aldo Lestrade's brown eyes smoldered. "I do not have to tolerate such presumptuousness from a washed-up mercenary!" As he thrust a finger at Morgan's chest, light reflecting from the silver Tamar Tiger badge temporarily blinded the angry noble. "You've spent too many years on that desert world, Colonel. It must have desiccated your brain. You accuse me of disloyalty, but I merely protest the cavalier and negligent attitude of the Archon as it pertains to the welfare of my people."

Morgan grinned wolfishly. "You forget, Duke Lestrade, that Zaniah is in your holding of the Isle of Skye. I've heard your speeches about how the Archon leaves your people naked to the ravages of Marik or Kurita forces. However, Your Grace, I find it curious that not a single 'Mech raid disturbed all my time on Zaniah."

Lestrade snorted defiantly. "While in your meditative cocoon, Colonel, you've not seen many things. Your own company fell prey to a Kurita assault on my world of Chara. As I recall," he said, as though musing idly, "the Kell Hounds abandoned the world to the raiders. Poor troops, incompetent mercenaries, and unfulfilled promises is what I get from the Archon." Lestrade narrowed his brown eyes. "I will protest such treatment whenever I am able."

Frederick Steiner smiled until he saw the implacable look on Morgan's face. Dan swallowed hard. I've only seen that look once before—on Mallory's World when we learned that our battalion would be hosting the Second Sword of Light Regiment, and that no support could reach us.

Morgan's gaze flicked to Alessandro. "I am certain, Alessan-dro, that your time in exile on Furillo has given you a perspective similar to that granted me during my stay on Zaniah." Morgan turned his head enough to spear Lestrade with a hellish look. "Given enough time, Duke Lestrade, one learns to see all the subtle interconnections in this life. Each action creates echoes, much like ripples on a pond. Everything comes back to haunt or to reward a person, and often the consequence of an action is magnified many times when it returns."

Frederick Steiner's brows were knit with frustration. "I'm no politician and I detest these word games. Speak plainly, Kell, but be careful. I will take exception to any threats you offer my friend."

A smile blossomed on Morgan's face. "Amazing," he said, nodding to Aldo Lestrade. "I didn't even see your lips move."

Frederick's face flushed red-purple, but Morgan cut off any protest with a sharp wave of the hand. "Speaking plainly enough for even you to understand, Duke Frederick, is a taxing job, but I will accommodate you. Twenty years ago, when Alessandro left office, forces rallied around your uncle Hermann as a candidate to oppose Katrina. He left public life to avoid being so used and thus did the spotlight fall upon you. You are a leader. Hence you are a good choice ..."

Dan watched as Frederick's face returned to its normal color. The man's been so conditioned to respond to courtiers that he puffs up as Morgan speaks. Incredible!

Morgan's eyes hardened, though his deep voice trembled with the effort to control some powerful emotions. "A leader you are, Duke Frederick, but a military leader only. The Tenth Lyran Guards have an excellent reputation, and under you, have become a feared and respected military force. But you admitted it yourself moments ago: you are no politician."

Morgan nodded at Lestrade. "Men like Lestrade are more than willing to make you believe that you deserve to be Archon. You must be realistic to know that is not true. If you took the time to be honest with yourself, you would realize deep down that to sit on the throne would tear you apart. Once it had destroyed you, petty nobles of questionable background and motives would plunge the Commonwealth into a brutal civil war."

Frederick chewed on his lower lip but made no reply. He distractedly fingered the scar by his right eye, opened his mouth to say something, but then seemed to think the better of it. He glanced at Aldo Lestrade.

Jowls quivering with fury, Aldo Lestrade stared at Morgan Kell. "What do you mean by questioning my background and motives? I come from a family far more noble and notable than yours, Morgan Kell. I resent your impugning my reputation."

Surprise lit Morgan's face. "You do?" His voice rose an octave and he pressed his right hand to his chest like an offended maiden. "Don't tell me, Duke Lestrade, that you've taken to believing those very same revisionist histories of your family that you've paid to have produced?" Morgan stared at him with utter disbelief. "My God, man, those fables redefine the word 'nonsense.' The idea that you alone survived the veritable plague of accidents and raids that killed everyone ahead of you in line for the throne of Summer is improbable. The further suggestion, as presented in the last work, that your good fortune was a sign of favor from God not only makes for bad fiction, it is blasphemous!"

Morgan moistened his lips. "Remember, Lestrade, that what you have done will come back to haunt you. Your father, my brother . . . the blood on your hands will drown you."