Three rich tones sounded through the ship, warning everyone of the impending jump to Radstadt. Without thinking, Phelan moved to the couch with its back to the bridge and sat down. "I don't think so, Precentor. It would be a violation of my word to do so."

Focht nodded and sat beside him. "As I said before, your sense of honor is admirable."

"But?"

"But is misplaced here." Focht pulled the restraining straps from the crack between the back and the seat of the couch. "It is vital for us to know the true intentions of people as powerful as these Clansmen," he said, strapping himself in. "You have the means to help me gather this information."

The Precentor paused, smiling and sure of himself. "If you help me in this, Phelan, I will let your family know you're alive."

Focht's offer hit Phelan unexpectedly. Images of his father and mother and sister floated up from where he had carefully tucked them away, overwhelming him with a wave of sadness. He sighed heavily. "Khan Ulric is not the only one who plays the game well."

Remorse seamed the older man's face. "Forgive me, Phelan. I would not have played that trump card except that the Primus herself directed me. Obtaining the information I want is of the utmost importance, and only by making that shameful offer could I convince you of the fact."

The Primus told him to use that tactic on me? This is very important, isn't it?The mercenary fixed the Precentor with an angry stare. "That message would never have reached my family, would it?"

Focht shook his head.

"Do you always do what others tell you to do?"

Focht faced forward and his one eye focused distantly. "There was a time I would have been arrogant enough to say that no one gave me orders, but I have become wiser with age. I realize the importance of my mission among the Clans and I mean to accomplish it." A wry grin twisted up the corners of his mouth as he turned to the mercenary.

"In case it has slipped your attention, the Clans are rapidly conquering the Inner Sphere. Knowing what they want means we can find a way to appease them or defeat them."

Phelan raked the fingers of one hand through his hair, then covered his face with both hands. Focht is right. I have to decide if I owe more loyalty to my family and my nation or to the man who claims to own me. Stated like that, it's an easy choice, so why am I having trouble making my decision? Why does part of me "think the Inner Sphere deserves all this? Does DJ's death and my getting punted from the Nagelring still anger me so, or is it that this warrior society is so seductive because of the way it forces its people to be their best? Can I allow myself to be infatuated with a society that has, as its main focus, destruction?

The idea of betraying Ulric conjured up more unease and more questions. Could it be that the Khan has thrown us together so we can discover secrets about the Clans that could aid our own people? He's given me almost as much information as Justin Allard carried away from the Capellan Confederation in the Fourth War, and he certainly has to acknowledge ComStar as a possible conduit for information going to the enemy. The Wolves are trying to have as little effect as possible on the worlds they conquer. Could Ulric be secretly working against a war he does not believe is right? And if so, are the two of us his tools for getting that information to the Successor States?

Phelan's hands fell away from his face as he reluctandy made a decision. "All right. I'll help you."

The Precentor held out his hand, but Phelan shook his head. "No, not right now and not this device. Give me some time to figure out what sort of stuff we'll need so we don't get caught. Hell, security will be very tight during this Grand Council, and if we wait, we might get more information than before."

Focht nodded, then helped Phelan strap himself into his seat as a series of five warning tones sounded. The mercenary glanced over at the large round porthole in the hull of the ship and watched the stars burning there. At the moment of jump, the stars flattened out as though smashed with a hammer. Their light stretched into disks that overlapped and whitewashed the blackness of the void. At the same time, Phelan felt as though he and the ship were reduced from three dimensions to two and then one and then none. For a time too short to be noticed but too long to be ignored, he knew everything because he had become one with reality.

Then the universe unfolded again and gave him back his life and identity. Barely a second had passed since the jump began, but the Dire Wolfhad traveled over eight parsecs. It materialized at the nadir jump point, and the star about which Radstadt orbited shone down on them.

Through the porthole, Phelan saw another JumpShip materialize and then another. The other Khans arrive promptly,he found himself thinking, as more and more JumpShips appeared. Wait! Those aren't Clan ships. God in heaven, what's happening?

Warning klaxons blared loudly. Blast shields irised down to cut off the mercenary's view of the space surrounding the Dire Wolfso Phelan slapped the release on his safety belt's buckle and turned to watch the bridge. Below, crew members scrambled and sprinted toward battle stations. Vlad took up a position at a scanner station on the bridge's starboard side. The holotank surrounded Ulric with countless images of ships large and small, and the wall-mounted viewscreens used during battle-bidding flashed to life with a tally of the forces available to the Dire Wolf.Below that, in a small box in the corner of the screen, a list of the forces being brought to bear against the Dire Wolfscrolled off the bottom, yet continued to flash as the sensors located more threats.

Phelan looked at the old man beside him. "We've been ambushed!"

"By the other Clans, or someone else?"

The mercenary shrugged. "I don't know that," Phelan growled, "but there's one thing I do know. This is where we find out if the Wolves are really as good as they seem."

40

Nadir Jump Point, Radstadt

Radstadt Province , Free Rasalhague Republic

31 October 3050

The horn mounted in the wall just above her berth on the Ravenblasted out a call to battle stations just after the last wave of nausea from the jump passed over Tyra Miraborg. What in hell could it be? We've been leapfrogging our way between uninhabited stars for two months now. There's no way they could have tracked us or anticipated our arrival at Radstadt! If some idiot decided we're due a drill, I'll have his head!

She jerked to her feet, then leaned heavily against the cabin bulkhead as her head swam. She swallowed hard and fought to clear her head. The second the vertigo began to fade, she pulled open the door to her clothes locker and stepped into her scarlet flightsuit. While zipping up the front of the garment and fastening the velcro tighteners on her wrist, she slipped into flight boots that snapped shut around her calves. She grabbed her gloves with one hand, and stepping into the corridor, pulled the door to her cabin shut behind her.

All the other pilots in the Drakøns raced toward the aft launch bays on the VengeanceClass DropShip. Tyra, seeing a bottleneck near the lift to the upper two launch decks, headed up a service ladder. One level up, she swung off it and tumbled to the deck as the Ravendetached itself from the JumpShip that had brought it to this battlefield. The DropShip's engines sent a tremor through the hull and filled the ship with a low growl.