PROLOGUE

  Black Lion-class WarShip Jade Aerie

  Wotan

  Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

  October 2, 3071

  Light reflecting from the blank flatscreen display played across the small woman’s features, but her gaze was light years away. If one looked carefully, one could still see the traces of the angry determination that many had believed would keep her from high command: anger lines around her eyes and above her nose; lips compressed in a near-perpetual frown, almost a scowl. In her eyes a discerning person would see years of discontent, and the burning desire to never feel that discontent again.

  She sat alone in a darkened compartment, her hands steepled in front of her, thinking. On her collar was a gold flash marked with a single bar and a single star: the rank of khan of Clan Jade Falcon. Her fingers snapped apart and she tapped her display, bringing up the active report. A twitch of her finger scrolled the playback thirty seconds back.

  “—I am dispatching the isorla convoy forward as quickly as possible, Khan Clees,” the image of Star Admiral Carlos Binetti said. “My technicians tell me there is materiel enough to refit two frontline Galaxies, though most of it is obviously weighted toward the pods and weapons a weak Clan like the Ice Hellions favor. Still—” the woman did not look up to see the flash of predatory delight on the naval officer’s features, “—it will be a heavy blow to them.” Binetti’s mouth opened to say more, but the woman stopped the playback.

  She tapped her finger on the desktop. A moment later she tapped the screen off and stared at the reflection of her own eyes for a long moment. “Do not act before you think, Samantha Clees,” she told herself.

  She was well aware of her past. One did not rise to become the saKhan of Clan Jade Falcon without some semblance of self-awareness. Her proclivity to act, to shoot first and think about questions later, had kept her a Star Colonel for far too long. She knew no master in the Clan now, save Khan Marthe Pryde, and that authority drew responsibility with it.

  “Think before…” she told herself again, leaning back in her chair. Putting her fingers in her short hair, she squeezed her skull, recalling a map of the Jade Falcon occupation zone. The Ice Hellions, upstart whelps from the Clan Homeworlds, had struck hard at the underbelly of the Jade Falcon Occupation Zone. Two task forces, one near the Periphery and one deeper within the Jade Falcons’ Inner Sphere heartworlds, were claiming world after undefended world.

  Samantha clamped down on the instinctive fury that admission raised. Temper, temper… worlds taken and lost could be retaken. Such was the Way of the Clans. But to lose those worlds, hard-won decades earlier in Operation REVIVAL and hard-held since from predation by the Wolves and the Inner Sphere Lyrans, to undisciplined children like the Ice Hellions…

  Her fingers clenched her hair and pulled. Temper!

  The Watch, the Clan intelligence service, had told the khans that the Ice Hellions were coming. There had been signs. But the khans had guessed wrong, thinking the Ice Hellions would strike in force at the Periphery border and drive inward. The Jade Falcons’ powerful Galaxies had been positioned to strike back hard at those blows, or to lull the Hellions forward. Khan Raina Montose’s deep strike at the Falcon interior had disrupted those plans.

  What had worked against the Steel Vipers a decade ago will not work again.

  The Falcons were scrambling. Clees knew it better than most. The carefully planned counterattacks, the beautiful wave of Hellion defeats that would build to a self-reinforcing surge of despair, had instead spent themselves haphazardly against the many Hellion incursions. Instead of a steady wave of losses, the Falcons had forced the Hellions to trade world for world without bringing a decisive battle.

  Still, there was no chance the Falcons would lose. Not only were the Falcons innately more superior, but the Hellions had begun the war with a smaller touman. They were far from their supply lines, and their khans had failed to hit the most important Falcon industrial worlds. Sudeten remained safe, as did Pandora and Twycross. Without the heavy industry and merchant caste assets to draw on, and without the supplies so recently captured at Falcon’s Beacon…

  Clees fought to keep her lips from creasing into a smile, but it was a losing battle.

  The Hellions were doomed.

  Soon the time for thinking would be over.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Batavia Plateau

  Lackhove

  Clan Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

  5 October 3071

  On a different day, Khan Connor Rood might have smiled.

  Not this day.

  He gripped the controls of his Linebacker, letting his booted feet tap lightly on the sixty-five-ton OmniMech’s foot pedals while he waited for the chrono to drop to zero. The ’Mech vibrated subliminally as its fusion reactor fed power to the myomers that gave it legs and the PPCs that gave it teeth.

  On a different day, he might have smiled when he realized that for all of his badgering, his bondsman—former bondsman—Idris’ first impression had been correct. Though it was more than twice as massive, his Linebacker was just as fast as his last ’Mech, a thirty-ton Kit Fox. Ice Hellions relished their speed and their lighter ’Mechs. But the Linebacker was just as fast.

  Rood tensed his shoulder, feeling the skin pull against the inside of his combat suit. The skin there felt newer, softer, because it was. It had been regrown after an Elemental’s flamer had found a crack in his cockpit armor and spit a gout of flame through it. The Linebacker had thicker armor, too.

  The chrono on the corner of his heads-up display counted down to thirty seconds and kept going. Rood flexed his fingers, his eyes flicking between the various displays on his HUD and the red carets highlighted on it. Ten Jade Falcon ’Mechs stood a kilometer away, on the opposite ridge of the plateau the Jade Falcon solahma commander had chosen as his Circle of Equals. It was a good place: largely flat, isolated, with nothing to get in the way of the pure combat of Clan warriors.

  Fifteen seconds.

  Four green icons stood near Rood’s Linebacker on his tactical display. He knew if he looked at the edges of his HUD, where the vision system compressed a full 360-degree view of the area around his ’Mech to 160 degrees in front of him, he’d see the other blue-white painted OmniMechs of his Trial Star, but he didn’t look.

  The senior Jade Falcon warrior on Lackhove, Star Captain Pennyroyal, had bargained for a stand-up Trial of Possession for the world. Rood had made his batchall from orbit, from the bridge holotank of his command DropShip Rapacious, and when Pennyroyal had made his offer Rood had forced his face to look as if he was aggrieved. Yes, he would deign to face the unworthy solahma warrior. Yes, he would offer a fair Trial, a Star of five frontline Ice Hellions against Pennyroyal’s ancient Binary of ten warriors. Yes, he would do the Star Captain the honor of facing him on the Batavia Plateau. He signed off, still pretending he felt slighted.

  Pretending, because inside his relief was almost overwhelming.

  Time was short.

  Bodies—MechWarriors, BattleMech and bullets—were short.

  Everything was short.

  It was the end of the Ice Hellion Clan.

  Rood shook his head. Ten seconds.

  It was not the end. That was why he was here, on this Trial field himself, instead of letting any of the hundred Ice Hellions who traveled with his Beta Galaxy fight in his stead. Because it would not be the end of the Ice Hellions, not while Connor Rood drew breath. The loss of the resupply convoy in the Periphery was damning; without that equipment, the Hellions were forced to make due with the supplies, the ammunition, the BattleMechs and warriors they could capture from the Falcons.

  Five seconds.

  Rood looked again at the ten Falcon BattleMechs waiting across the plateau. A month ago, a week ago—a lifetime ago—he would have only seen warriors to be defeated. He would have only seen ’Mechs to be smashed until they gave up and acknowledged he Hellions’ superiority.

  Today, he saw opportunity. There were ten ’Mechs and pilots over there, his for the taking. And if they were old, men and machines both, then they were old. They might free a younger, faster Ice Hellion warrior from one of the Flurry Clusters.

  If he could take them.

  One of those green carets was the captured Jade Falcon Marauder IIC piloted by a warrior who’d, before the Ice Hellions arrived, had been a Jade Falcon Star Colonel. Rood’s former bondsman, Idris, had been made an Ice Hellion warrior only two days ago. Few of the dispossessed Ice Hellion warriors, who’d had grown and trained in fast, light ’Mechs, wanted the doddering assault ’Mech. It was heavy, it was big, and it was slow. It was a non-reconfigurable machine, not one of the adaptable OmniMechs trueborn Clan warriors preferred.

  Idris had only smiled when Rood suggested he take the Marauder IIC.

  A tone sounded.

  It was time.

  Rood slammed his throttle forward to the gate, lurching the wide-legged Linebacker into a run. Sixty-five tons of ’Mech trembled and rocked as it charged forward. He had to defeat these Jade Falcons, not kill them. And if he could do it without destroying their ’Mechs, so much the better.

  He would take Lackhove from them. Of that he was certain.

  What he wasn’t certain of was whether those ten Jade Falcons might not be more important to him, by the end, than the entire rest of the planet.

  Nine of the Falcons lived. None of them were pleased by that state of affairs.

  Connor Rood watched the older warriors—the youngest, MechWarrior Darien, barely five years older than he was—as their new commander addressed them. They were Jade Falcons—former Jade Falcons, he reminded himself—born and bred, and it’d be nearly impossible for them to learn, at their advanced age, to become true Ice Hellion warriors. Rood rubbed the nine slit bondcords between his fingers and palm while he thought, ignoring the sensation.

  He’d earned nine of the ten Jade Falcon warriors in the Trial of Possession for Lackhove. Only nine. The dead man was Star Captain Pennyroyal, who’d led his Binary with skill but made the mistake of challenging Idris to a duel. Idris, in his Marauder IIC, fought in a way that few, if any, Ice Hellions fought. He fought force with force, ignoring speed, ignoring cover. The Marauder IIC, for all its locked-configuration stigma, was still a hellish BattleMech. Pennyroyal’s Glass Spider hadn’t stood a chance.

  But he’d fought and died like a trueborn Clansman. Although his death denied the Ice Hellions another captured MechWarrior to turn to their cause, Rood respected the solahma warrior’s death. There were moments, in the dark of his cabin on Rapacious, when he wished he could allow himself that release. A warrior’s release.

  But he could not.

  He was a khan.

  He had responsibilities.

  Rood snapped his head to the side with a derisive snort. He didn’t have time for recriminations. If the Ice Hellions were to be saved, there was only one course open to them: victory. They—he—had to capture enough worlds to force the Jade Falcons to leave them alone long enough to rebuild. Hawkins’ idiotic attack on Steelton would bring the Hell’s Horses into the fray soon enough. The Hellions had to find breathing room; enough time to incorporate all of their conquered worlds into the other Hellion castes. The loss of the supply convoy at Falcon’s Beacon was a damning blow. There was materiel enough to be had in the occupation zone, waiting to be taken. But first he had to find it.

  And then he had to find the warriors to take it.

  The bondcords writhed in his palm as his fist clenched into a fist.

  Nine warriors.

  For an entire world.

  Nine warriors.

  Founder’s black bones, what I would not give for ninety or nine hundred more, solahma even. He blinked and looked back at the nine warriors. Their new commander had finished with them, and was walking toward him. The warriors were jogging back across the ’Mech bay, toward the repair bays. Several of them had new ’Mechs to acclimatize themselves to; the others, repairs to oversee.

  The officer strode to stand in front of Rood. His grin was familiar, as was the mischief in his eyes. “My Khan,” Idris—Star Captain Idris—said.

  “Star Captain,” Rood said. He pointed with his chin at the departing warriors. “I trust you are not too offended?”

  Idris looked over his shoulder, then shrugged. “They seem familiar to me.”

  “You are used to spending your time with solahma, quiaff?”

  Idris chuckled. “Aff, my Khan.” He looked back at the Ice Hellion sakhan. “There were many in the Eleventh Provisional Garrison Cluster.”

  Rood grinned back. “I suspected as much.” His grin twisted into a frown. “I know they are perhaps not the command you might have chosen, but they are all I have to offer you right now.” He looked down at the bondcords in his palm. “And they are still, despite these—” he brandished the cords, “—Jade Falcons. They did not have your time as a bondsman to learn our ways.”

  Idris shrugged. “They will learn.”

  Rood chewed his lower lip until he realized what he was doing. “They will have to. Or…”

  “Or, my Khan?”

  Rood grinned. “Or perhaps not. It occurs to me that the Falcon ways they are familiar with may be better in the defense than trying to make them Ice Hellions. We Hellions have always chosen to be the water that smothers the rock, but there is a place for the rocks, as well.” He barked a short laugh. “We are not in a position to be choosy.”

  Idris shrugged. “Lackhove is ours. The HPG confirmation of Star Captain Lira’s capture of Last Chance came in while we were in combat. A few more worlds, and we will have cut off the Falcons’ access to the Periphery. That may be enough to force Marthe Pryde to sue for peace.”

  Rood nodded, but he didn’t believe it. Nor did he really believe Idris meant the words—he had been a Falcon, after all. He would know the tenor of the Falcon khans. The hopeful tone was meant to combat Rood’s own somber mood. That he recognized the tactic didn’t degrade its performance, of course. He’d known Idris was a good choice to be adopted since their first battle.

  “We have a chance,” Rood said. There was always a chance. “If we can force the Falcons to halt their recapture of our worlds, and if Khan Montose can be recalled from the Evciler salient, we can hold a line long enough for new resupply to reach us. And if we can hold the industrial lines on Toland and Golandrinas, we can shorten that time.”

  He mouthed the words, and he put enough meat into his voice to make it sound convincing, but he didn’t believe it. The words weren’t untrue—if he could make those things happen, the Ice Hellions had a chance to build a defensible occupation zone.

  He just had little faith those things could be accomplished.

  Keeping the Jade Falcons from reconquering their worlds was possible only through feat of arms—and the loss of the convoy in the Periphery ensured that they couldn’t do it. The Falcon touman was larger, more experienced, and, with a few exceptions, largely untouched. Heavy frontline Clusters had still not appeared.

  Recalling Montose was a fool’s errand. She had already slaughtered the cream of Alpha Galaxy dueling the Falcons, and her stubborn refusal to consolidate her forces with his meant there was little he could do to support her. He had been receiving personal messages with updates from his Bloodname sister, Star Colonel Patricia Rood. Those had stopped arriving weeks ago.

  She was almost certainly dead.

  Holding the industrial lines on Golandrinas—assuming Zeta Galaxy succeeded in taking it—and Toland were possible, but both would require significant retooling to be useful to the Ice Hellions. The Jupiter production line, for example, turned out one of the newest and most powerful Clan assault OmniMechs—but it was entirely unsuited to Ice Hellion use.

  So there was a chance, yes. But it was vanishingly unlikely Rood could make that course of events unfold.

  Idris rubbed the tip of his nose with a finger while he thought. “If we change our axis of advance,” he began, “to threaten toward the heartworlds—Sudeten, Pandora—perhaps we can convince the Falcons we intend to strike there.” His eyes unfocused as he thought. When he gestured with the finger that had been tapping his nose, it was at nothing. “Even if we do not, making them think we could might entice the khans to consider a ceasefire.”

  Rood weighed the plan and, at first glance, couldn’t find fault with it. “Perhaps,” he said. Then he sniffed. “Perhaps—but for now, we need to consolidate. Send me the local merchant and technician factors. I need to see what isorla there is to be had on Lackhove.” He pointed at Idris. “You will speak with the Star Colonels. I want the Lithe Kill brought to the surface, but send the other Clusters to the jump points with orders for Toland. If we can jump-off from there, we should be able to get at least one more round of Trials in before the hammer falls.”

  “The hammer?”

  Rood sucked air through his teeth. “The Hell’s Horses. Hawkins’ stupidity in attacking Steelton will have abrogated the truce I brokered with James Cobb. They will be coming, knowing we are weak.”

  Idris chewed his lip for a moment. “They may not; Horses have no love for Falcons.”

  Rood grinned ruefully. “No. They will come for us. Leaving aside the matter of honor raised by Hawkins’ attack, we are the weaker target. Why break your lance against the strong armor of the Jade Falcons when you can hit the soft bellies of the Ice Hellions?”

  Idris stared at him. “You are all good news, my Khan.”

  “I try.”

  Idris smiled and departed, leaving Rood staring at an empty ’Mech bay. He looked at the empty repair gantries, the quiet tools. There was space enough to maintain a Galaxy of OmniMechs in front of him. He had only a Binary in the next bay—ten ’Mechs, where more than a hundred would fit.

 

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