The agent nodded furiously and stepped aside. "Yes, sir—Mister?"

"Colonel."

"Yes, Colonel Kell, a surprise." He raised his right hand and waved at the men stationed across the street by the front gate. "These two go in—on my clearance!"

"Thank you, again," Morgan said. He headed off toward the gate and waved Dan forward. Both Kell Hounds bowed their heads to the guards at the gate, then proceeded down the brilliantly lit promenade toward the Commonwealth Palace.

"Now I see why you didn't think it necessary for me to hit up the Federated Suns Embassy for invitations to this soiree," Dan said. "But what's in that note?" He glanced back over his shoulder at the LIC operatives in the street. "We got past them easier than would a battalion of assault 'Mechs."

Morgan passed the note to Dan. The younger MechWarrior unfolded the missive and felt his mouth go dry. Blake's Blood!The note, signed with an unforgeable holographic seal, was short and succinct. "Deny this man, Morgan Kell, nothing. Katrina Steiner, Archon, 22 July 3007." Beneath it was a holographic touch strip that held the image of a thumbprint. The golden tracery of Morgan's thumbprint, verifying a match with the one in the holograph, was already fading.

"No wonder that agent almost died in the street back there," Dan said, handing the sheet back to Morgan. "July 3007, that's when she took power. This must have been one of her first acts as Archon."

Morgan accepted the note, refolded it, and slipped it back inside his cloak. "Her second. Her first act was to write out one of these for her future husband, my cousin, Arthur Luvon."

In silence, the two mercenaries completed the rest of their walk to the massive, broad granite steps leading into the Archon's Palace. Just inside the doors, which had been thrown open to welcome revelers, two servants met them to take both Morgan's cloak and Dan's overcoat. Beyond, other servants stood ready in several discreet locations to help the guests straighten their attire.

Dan crossed to one of the mirrored alcoves and surveyed his uniform. A servant knelt and buffed some street dust from Dan's boots and quickly wiped down the rowelless spurs with a damp rag. Dan looked down and smiled. Yes, I am from the Federated Suns. You Lyrans might consider it vanity, but we MechWarriors proudly wear the spurs that recall our cavalry beginnings.

Looking in the mirror, he adjusted the sleeves of his red dress jacket so that they touched the tops of the white gloves he'd pulled on, then tugged at the hem of the waist-length coat. The servant, rising up behind him, plucked a bit of lint from Dan's right shoulder, then studied the warrior's reflection with a smile.

The jacket's double-breast was fashioned from black cloth and cut in the form of the Kell Hound wolf’s-head crest. The furious red of the wolf's eyes matched the coat perfectly. The wolf's ears rose up at the jacket's shoulders, and the muzzle just barely reached Dan's waist. The left ear, after Kell Hound custom, was decorated with a ribbon indicating the unit's latest commendation.

Dan fingered the green, black, and white strip of cloth. It's odd. The Dragonslayers' Ribbon is a unit citation for those who have distinguished themselves against Draconian foes. I feel pride at wearing it, but it also summons up all those feeling of loss and anger because of the battle in which the Kell Hounds won it.Though he continued to regard his image in the glass, he was, for the moment, somewhere else, far away. Others can have the glory. I'd just like to have my comrades back.

Dan adjusted the inverted triangle insignia at the throat of his collar. Consisting of a silver V with a black triangle above, the insignia showed his rank within the Kell Hounds. Oh well. Here goes another evening of being called Hauptmann in Lyran fashion. Captain is so much easier. . .

Dan turned toward Morgan and smiled. "Eleven years in that monastery hasn't hurt you a bit. The uniform still fits."

Morgan stroked his neatly trimmed beard. "It's a bit tight in the shoulders, but I'll live." With a wave of his hand, he gestured Dan on ahead of him. "Go on in. As I recall, we will each be announced as we enter . . ."

Dan smiled back over his shoulder. "You don't fool me, Morgan. My unexpected presence here will probably cause some stir, but your showing up . . ."

Morgan winked at him. ". . . ought to be worth eleven years in exile."

The two men reached the stretch of corridor just outside the Grand Ballroom, where guests waited amid a superior collection of artwork created and hung especially for the New Year's ball. After the festivities, the paintings and sculptures would be moved to the National Gallery for a month, then auctioned off for charity.

Morgan stared at one canvas that boiled with a riot of luminescent color. He shot a mischievous look at Dan. "I don't think K'tir has changed her style since I've been away."

Dan shook his head. "You really were out of circulation, weren't you? She's switched styles every six months, but this piece is supposed to be a return to the roots, or some other such rubbish."

"Oh, of course," Morgan chuckled. "I suppose that's how you know it's art. . ."

Two minor Ministry of Protocol officials advanced up the waiting line of guests and took notes on their names and titles. The official interviewing them, a smallish man with pinched features, smiled obsequiously. "How would we wish to be addressed this evening?"

Morgan smiled cruelly. "All honors and titles."

The little man drew back like a cat about to hiss. "In the interests of brevity, sir, we're requesting a simplified procedure this evening."

Morgan produced the note that had produced such great effect earlier, and Dan watched the official's expression as he read.

The man smiled weakly. "As you say, sir, all ranks and honors."

The line moved forward quickly, and Dan found himself standing atop the steps leading into the palace's Grand Ballroom. Brilliantly lit by a dozen cut-crystal chandeliers, the room glowed with light reflected from ivory-colored walls and goldleaf trim around the doors and molding. Except where a chamber quartet supplied hauntingly beautiful music or where the receiving line stood, the walls were lined with tables laden with food and drink from all over the Lyran Commonwealth.

The receiving line began at the base of the steps, extended along the wall, and curled toward the string quartet. Dan smiled as he recognized a few of the people in line, but his eyes went quickly to the Archon and her daughter, Melissa Arthur Steiner.

The Minister of Protocol took from Dan's hands the note scribbled by his subordinate, and cleared his throat. "I present Lord Daniel Allard, Hauptmann of the Kell Hounds."

Dan saw Melissa's head come up, but he lost sight of her as the next person moved through the line to greet her. Dan also caught an inquisitive look from the Archon herself. He nodded in silent salute, then descended the stairs halfway to where he could watch Morgan's big entrance.

He looks impressive tonight,Dan thought, as light flashed off the silver medal Morgan wore between his collar and the wolf's-head. Two ribbons—one blue with a Davion sword spitting the Kurita dragon and the other red with a Davion sword over a Star of David—rode on the wolf's left ear, as did the Dragonslayers' ribbon on Dan's jacket. Just the way he stands there . . . Those ribbons and medals mean nothing. He's got more power in his stance than most men could find in a 'Mech regiment.