Two figures stepped out from the wings. One was Jaime Wolf, his gray-maned head held high. In place of the standard cloak, he wore a sleeveless red gown over his dress uniform. The wide lapels of the garment were studded with badges and ribbons. The other person was swathed from head to toe in loose-fitting black robes that concealed his or her sex as easily as the head-covering hood concealed the face. That person too wore a wide-lapeled gown and the decorations matched those Wolf wore.

Wolf stepped to the podium and waited while the room gradually fell silent.

"I am the Oathmaster." He scanned the room as if taking attendance. "You came at my call. Listen as honor commands. Speak as honor compels."

He executed a brisk about-face and retired to the back of the stage, where he stood at attention. The black-robed person took his place at the podium. The voice was deep, a man's.

"I am the Loremaster, keeper of the Remembrance."

He must have touched a control on the podium, for the speakers began to ring with the sound of a tolling bell. When the sound died away, the black-robed man spoke again.

"Death is the warrior's lot, and we are all warriors. Seeking the flame that holds back the dark of oblivion, we walk the honor road and in honor, we find the light that we seek. Honor is the light in our hearts.

"The warrior who thinks to shine above others flares and ends a cinder. The warrior who holds the good of the trothkin above his own burns with an eternal flame. Let him be remembered in the halls."

The bell tolled.

A procession marched down the central aisle from the back of the hall. At its head was Alpin Wolf. Behind him were his mother Katherine and Marisha Dandridge. MacKenzie's daughter Shauna came next, and Rachel and Joshua Wolf followed her. All save Alpin carried lighted candles. Alpin held a folded uniform. They halted at the edge of the stage and Alpin laid the uniform down.

"Who has fallen?" the Loremaster asked.

"MacKenzie Wolf," Alpin answered.

"By what right do you address this assemblage?"

"He was my blood father," Alpin and Shauna said together. Shauna puffed on the candle she held and the light flickered out.

"He was my husband," Katherine said and blew out her candle.

"He was my son by law," Marisha said and did the same.

"He was my sib by law," Rachel and Joshua said in ragged chorus. Rachel had to help Joshua extinguish his candle.

In unison they all said, "We ask that he be remembered."

The Loremaster nodded solemnly. "You are the family of MacKenzie Wolf. You have the right."

The silence of the hall was marred by rumbling murmurs. Dechan noted that the loudest noise was from sections where the Clan adoptees stood. "What's their problem?" he whispered to Jenette. "Clan brainwashing," she whispered back.

"Who will speak of this warrior? Who was witness to his end?"

The raised voice of the Loremaster brought renewed quiet. For a moment nothing happened, then a large man, an Elemental by his uniform, stepped out into the central aisle. "I am Edelstein, Captain. I was there when MacKenzie Wolf died. He died as a warrior should, his face toward those who sought his death. That is worthy."

As Edelstein returned to his place, the crowd replied with the ritual response, "Seyla!"

Dechan remembered when he had heard that word for the first time. It had been the beginning of the end for the Dragoons in the Draconis Combine. It had been the word uttered by the assembled Dragoons to signify their assent to the plan of escape from the Combine. Here, too, it meant assent. But though the circumstances were less dire, still he felt a chill.

"A death alone is not enough," the Loremaster said. "Who will speak of the life of MacKenzie Wolf?"

A Dragoon standing in the front row stepped out into the aisle and walked around to the stairs that led to the stage. He was met at the top by a woman carrying a white robe. The Dragoon slung off his cloak and put on the robe. The Loremaster surrendered the podium to him. The white-robed Dragoon stood before the microphones in silence for a moment.

"Hear the words we carry with us. This is the Remembrance,our past and our honor. Hear the part MacKenzie Wolf played in our clan."

The man began a chant. The phrases were archaic and the rhythm complex. Dechan was tempted to turn around and see if there was a prompter. When he noticed that the Dragoon's eyes were closed, the temptation vanished. The tale spun by the verses seemed to be telling of the origin and history of Wolf's Dragoons. The highlights were there, but it was disjointed, as if the speaker were leaving things out. Dechan supposed the chant to be an edited version of something longer; if every detail were told with the intricacy of some of the verses, they would be here for days.

The speaker's recounting contained more and more of the detailed verses as he covered significant events in the life and service record of MacKenzie Wolf. The slant of the phrases and the choice of words made it all sound very heroic. Dechan had nearly tuned it out by the time the speaker reached the battle of Misery; then he paid attention and soon regretted it. Dechan's contributions went unmentioned. Instead his old friend Thorn Dominguez was extolled as the one who had brought the Iron Man down.

"They had to keep it quiet, remember?" Jenette whispered in his ear. She had caught his arm and he realized that he was trembling.

"I thought the lie was over."

The speaker went on, telling of MacKenzie's heroics and the struggle to rebuild the Dragoons. There were verses about his service with the Black Widow Battalion and his ultimate leadership of it. Finally, the telling slowed to an end. The speaker stepped back and bowed to the Loremaster. The figure in black returned to the podium.

"MacKenzie Wolf has fallen. Shall his name be remembered in the halls?'

A silence descended on the chamber.

Hamilton Atwyl stepped into the aisle and shouted.

"Aff! Let his name—"

Cries of "Neg! Neg!" cut him off.

Contradictory shouts erupted as the solemn dignity of the proceedings dissolved in turmoil. Dechan watched Jaime Wolf and was surprised at the stiffness of the man. Even when the Loremaster turned to him and said something that the microphones didn't pick up, the Colonel stood still and said nothing. The Lore-master tolled the bell and kept it tolling until the tumult floundered and quiet returned.

"The rule is clear. He died a warrior, he shall be remembered as a warrior, one among many. This is the rede of the Loremaster."

There was a pause, then a wave of grumbling and a few exclamations of satisfaction. But there were no objections.

"Seyla," the Loremaster intoned.

"Seyla," the sloppy chorus of the assembly echoed.

The dispersing crowd was much noisier than it had been when arriving. Dragoon jostled Dragoon in the exodus, and Dechan was cut off from Jenette by a squat tanker who seemed in no hurry. Jenette didn't seem to notice and pushed on ahead. He was sure she would be waiting for him outside, so he resigned himself to the slower pace. Soon enough he'd be out and they could go elsewhere.

Outside the hall, a fistfight broke out and stalled the crowd. Dechan leaned against the doorway, at once amused and irritated. Dragoon unity on display. Waiting on Dragoons seemed to be his life's work.

"You seem to have been forgotten, Dechan Fraser."

Dechan turned to look at the speaker, a sandy-haired giant of a man. Neither the face nor the deep voice were familiar to him, but the dress uniform bore a nameplate that gave him the giant's name.