Sword of Sedition
Page 33
Tomorrow.
And when he was left alone in his office, with a few minutes until his next appointment in a long string of meetings and planning sessions that would burn away most of the night, Jonah Levin crossed back to his desk and took a moment in the alcove. Pulling back the curtains. Watching twilight gather over Magnum Park, Geneva, and The Republic. His Republic now.
He only needed to hold things together a short while longer. To stop the nation from bleeding out through a thousand, tiny cuts.
“No. We aren’t finished yet.”
But it was looking more and more like a race to the end.
Epilog
It has been my privilege to lead men into the field on behalf of my prince. A privilege and a responsibility I would gladly forswear should the time come where we could indeed beat our swords into plowshares. Now if you will excuse me, my prince awaits.
—Julian Davion, Lord Markeson, Outside the Hall of Government, Terra, 1 June 3135
Terra
Republic of the Sphere
2 June 3135
Midnight had come and gone.
Still, Caleb Hasek-Sandoval-Davion stormed the wide, third-floor balcony at the chateau at Thonon-les-Baines, pacing back and forth, restless and wrestling with his suspicions. His anger. Still awake, waiting for the hero’s return. Killing time. He cradled a glass in one hand, filled half-full and sloshing with smoke-colored bourbon. In his other, he pinched a cigarette.
“Julian left Geneva hours ago. Where the hell is he?”
The doors to his personal suite stood open, with golden light bleeding out onto the open-air patio. The only illumination he’d wanted. The two other rooms opening onto the balcony, given over to his personal staff (all two of them!) and his security agents, remained dark and closed off.
Only one agent on duty this time of night anyway, and he stood post in the hall outside of Caleb’s living area.
“Where is he?” he asked again.
He finished his cigarette in a long, greedy drag, searching for something—anything—to help calm him. Nicotine wasn’t it, and he flicked the butt over the balcony’s stone railing. The cherry-red ember arced out into the night, falling in a slow tumble past the second-floor balcony and into the trees below.
Summer had dried out the grounds and raised the snow line farther up the mountainside. There was a danger of fire, he supposed, but that was for others to worry about.
“Denied!” His father had actually denied him the opportunity to join his cousin in the field. “He forbid it.”
Caleb had realized his mistake the day Julian fought Yori Kurita to a standstill in the simulator battle. Until then, he had played his own part perfectly. His father’s son. The heir to the throne, and the future of House Davion. He had seen and been seen. Rubbed elbows with all of the major political figures except the damnable Kuritas.
He had even managed since to avoid another run-in with Danai Liao. No matter his personal fascination. For the good of the Federated Suns. His image.
But none of that mattered because it was Julian everyone looked to. Courted. Questioned.
“They forgot,” he said. He took a stiff drink, letting the bourbon taste roll around in the back of his mouth a moment before swallowing. “Forgot that I engineered that conflict. Alaric Wolf and Magnusson, they jumped in after it was already set off.”
And then he had made the mistake of pushing all the glory onto Julian, as prince’s champion, when he could have—should have!—suited up to command the armored corps. Not Calamity Kell, who nearly ran the entire battle into the ground with her showboating. Almost as bad as Jasek Kelswa-Steiner, who had fed Alaric Wolf an impressive victory of his own.
With him in the fight, certainly the Federated Suns would have prevailed with a strong showing. Then everyone would have remembered his part.
Another lost opportunity. Like being too late to arrive on Terra at his father’s side.
Who had taken his place there? Julian!
Who found every opportunity to take personal meetings with the Sandovals and the exarch? Julian!
“Who was tapped to champion this budding alliance with The Republic of the Sphere? To show himself off as a hero of the Federated Suns? To usurp my proper place?”
Caleb spun and hurled his glass with all the strength in him, sending it smashing into the chateau wall next to his door. The glass shattered into tiny shards and splinters, littering the threshold. Dark liquid stained the wall, the flagstone patio, and the edge of the carpet just inside the room.
The scent of bourbon rose up in the night air.
“Caleb? Is everything all right?”
Harrison’s voice. His father. From Caleb’s room!
A shadow filled the doorframe, large and solid, as The Bear stopped on the threshold. With the light behind him, the prince’s face was dark and unreadable. He was all beard and hollow pits for eyes. His words sounded guarded.
“Everything all right?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?” Caleb stopped his pacing as his father stepped out onto the balcony. He folded his arms over his chest and stared out over the mountainside drop. The slender tops of tall pine trees reached almost level with the stone railing. “Everything’s fine so long as Julian is around.”
The large man shrugged away Caleb’s concern. Shrugged!
“It was not appropriate to send you with him. This kind of fight is the job of the prince’s champion.” But he did not sound convincing. Not this time.
“And the prince’s heir? What of him, Father? What of me?” Caleb kept his fury in check, but felt it quivering in every muscle. Like a hive of angry hornets. “Is this my punishment? To keep me buried from sight over a small”—he reached for a word, trying to sum up his error in judgment in the least-damaging way—“indiscretion?”
“This has nothing to do with whatever passed between you and Danai Liao.”
Caleb wasn’t listening. “Someone had to know who she was. Someone should have told me.” He remembered the Grand Ball. “Julian knew. He recognized her right off. And he’s always poking his nose in where it doesn’t belong. He should have found out and warned me.”
“Julian is not your keeper, Caleb. He has more important things to do than double-check your security agents, whom we have obviously let grow far too lax.”
More important . . . ?
“I heard you, in the church. The Cathedral’s chapel. Mason and I, we talked about it afterward. And Mason agreed, what you said, it could give Julian ideas, Father.”
“Who?” Harrison asked.
Was his father now trying to distract Caleb from his point? Certainly he looked concerned. Even a touch fearful. And the prince never looked fearful!
Had Mason been right?
“Did you mean to do that?” Caleb asked, letting his suspicions surface for the first time. “You couldn’t have.” He stepped back a pace, glanced aside. “He couldn’t have.”
Harrison followed after him. “Caleb. Son.” He seemed at a loss for a moment. Torn between father and prince. Then: “I expect you to be upset,” he said. “But I also expect you to understand what is best for the Federated Suns. You will have to see this my way.”
Son. Caleb had heard his father use that recently as well, and not with him.
“See what your way?” His voice was hard. Cold. “Father?”
“It is not easy to explain. . . .” Then he trailed off, something farther out into the night catching his eye. “Lights on the road. That will be Julian.” A hard exhale. A decision? “Let’s not talk about it now. Everything is falling into place, and we’ll be leaving soon as it’s all tied together. Once we are away from Terra, Caleb, we will—”
“See what your way?” Caleb asked again, far more forceful.
“Julian will be my heir.”
Just like that, the words were out. They lashed at Caleb like a storm of razors, nicking and cutting at him, getting into his nose and mouth. He swallowed dryly, painfully, and felt the sa
me pain down in the pit of his stomach. Julian . . . would be . . .
“No.”
It wouldn’t happen that way. It couldn’t. Not after so many years of believing. Of work. Overcoming the troubles he’d had at the academy to qualify as a field commander in the armored corps. His years of work building relations among the common people. The lesser nobility. Building a groundswell of common support.
Or being kept out of the way.
“No,” he said again. But almost a question, this time.
“I’m sorry, Caleb. I didn’t intend to have this discussion now. This should have been done at home. But events stole that opportunity away from us, and presented us with new choices and new chances. I had to take them when they arrived.”
Harrison’s words echoed hollowly in Caleb’s ears. Like a drowning man, hearing the calls from shore. Keep your head up. Don’t quit. Important words, perhaps, but all equally useless.
Whatever you do, don’t drown!
“You can’t.” Caleb backed away, toward the railing. Pointed a shaking finger in his father’s direction. “He can’t.” He looked to the side. Past his prince and father. “Tell me that can’t be done so easily. There has to be . . . a hearing. A debate among the nobility. I’m the heir. I’m his son!”
Harrison glanced back, and around, and followed Caleb, who continued to back away. “Caleb, who are you talking to?”
“His son,” Caleb whispered, losing volume as his strength all but gave out. “That has to mean something. Tell him it has to mean something. Tell him!”
His father seized him on either shoulder, shaking him around until Caleb relented and looked his father square in the eye. “Caleb. Talk to me. There’s no one else here!” Harrison relaxed his grip, hands only lightly set on Caleb’s shoulders now. He tried a reasonable tone. “Stay with me now, son. We’ll help you understand. We will.” He tried to pull Caleb to him.
We.
Down the mountainside a set of lights swerved through corners, disappearing behind trees, reappearing closer to the gates.
Julian.
“No!”
Wound tight, Caleb uncoiled like a steel spring, knocking away the comforting arms and driving his father back. His hands grabbed the prince’s beard and bunched up thick wads of Harrison’s shirt. He shoved and twisted and pushed. . . .
And Harrison fell.
The balcony’s stone rail had struck Harrison below the small of the back, leaning him too far over a three-story drop and a steep mountainside. Caleb could not have caught his father had he tried, it happened so fast.
So surprising, that Harrison barely had a chance to yell.
His father’s cry cut off short when he struck the side of the second-floor balcony. The prince hit it hard, then pinwheeled off that edge to fall silently the rest of the way. Falling, while Caleb watched. The body slammed into the ground, and rolled down the slope into a stand of trees.
And Mason Lambert put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder.
Just like his father. Unable to recognize anyone who did not benefit the throne. Mason had been there the entire time. Mason was always there for him.
“You did what had to be done” were his friend’s only words. And they comforted.
They did.
About the Author
Loren L. Coleman grew up in the Pacific Northwest. An avid reader, he became infatuated with stories and the art of storytelling at a young age. He wrote creative works as early as twelve years old and began to write actual fiction stories in high school for a creative writing class. But it was during his enlistment in the U.S. Navy that he began working seriously at the craft, spending his deployment in the Persian Gulf writing his first novel. Discharged in 1993, he went to work as a freelance fiction writer and eventually became a full-time novelist.
His first novel, Double-Blind, was published in 1998. He has since explored the universes of BattleTech, Magic: The Gathering, Crimson Skies, MechWarrior: Dark Age, Star Trek, and Conan. Around the time of this printing he has sold twenty novels, a great deal of shorter fiction work, and been involved with several computer games.
His latest works are a new trilogy set in the Conan universe and codevelopment of a new fiction market for the Classic BattleTech and MechWarrior universe: www.BattleCorps.com.
When he isn’t writing, Loren plays X-box games, collects far too many DVDs, and holds a black belt in traditional tae kwon do. He has lived in many parts of the country. Currently he resides in Washington state with his wife, Heather Joy; two sons, Talon LaRon and Conner Rhys Monroe; and a young daughter, Alexia Joy. The family owns three of the obligatory writer’s cats, Chaos, Ranger and Rumor, and one dog, Loki.
His personal Web site can be found at www.rasqal.com.
Contents
Acknowledgments
TRIALS OF DAMOCLES
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
COMRADES IN ARMS
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
A THOUSAND CUTS
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
Epilog
About the Author