BattleTech: Trial of Birthright: BattleTech, #120

By Michael J. Ciaravella

THE DREAM REALIZED…

After a grueling campaign,  Clan Wolf has finally achieved the dream of Aleksandr Kerensky, the Great Father of the Clans, and returned to the birthworld of humanity. After defeating both the Republic of the Sphere and Clan Jade Falcon in a devastating campaign, the banner the ilClan, Clan of all Clans, flies proudly over Terra, ruled by the first permanent Khan of all Khans: ilKhan Alaric Ward.

But as Alaric soon discovers, it is one thing to conquer, but quite another thing to rule. Beset by problems both internal and external, the Wolves, still weakened from the brutal fighting to conquer Terra, finds itself on the defensive from a rising insurgency, a Capellan Confederacy poised to invade, and rivalries between his own people as they all enter uncharted territory of founding a new Star League to rule the Inner Sphere.

With threats multiplying at a relentless pace, can those who believe in the ideals of the Star League succeed in rebuilding what has been lost, or will the ilKhan strike out with his newfound power, and risk engulfing the Inner Sphere in all-out war? 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catalyst Game Labs
• Release date: Dec 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224458592

Book preview

PROLOGUE

ROUGE RIVER

GREAT LAKES ADMINISTRATIVE DISTRICT

TERRA

REPUBLIC OF THE SPHERE

12 APRIL 3151

Every person is the sum total of who they were, who they are, and what they may someday become…

Lieutenant Darren Wolf watched the swarm of oncoming OmniMechs fill the forward view of his cockpit, blocked only by an errant strand of black hair that had come loose during the day’s exertions, and repeated the phrase in his head, remembering when it had been told to him by his sibko trainer, Bogie, years before. It had seemed to be an oddly philosophical statement from the normally taciturn warrior, but at the time he had just attributed it to the fact that the solahma believed he had spoken softly enough that the microphone would not pick it up. Then, like now, Darren was standing before an overwhelming force rushing to meet him, and the last words of his mentor pushed to the forefront of his mind.

No matter how this battle turns out, I am glad it was here, I am glad it was now, and I am glad it was me.

For the hundredth time in the last day, Darren desperately wished he could spare the precious seconds to remove his neurohelmet just long enough to wipe his face, his normally tight-shaven hair and goatee having grown unkempt in the whirlwind of the last several weeks, but one glance outward reminded him it could not be done. The overwhelming tide of brown and black war machines seemed to grow larger with every deadly flicker of laser light, every missile explosion or autocannon salvo that impacted armor. For a long moment, he watched the tide coming toward him, and he thought back to those halcyon days of his youth, when everything had seemed so much simpler, and battle was only a prelude to the glory that his trainers had promised would come their way, if they were worthy of it.

Darren had seen a great deal of battle since his time in the sibko, yet very little glory.

Still…no matter how this battle turns out, I am glad it was here, I am glad it was now, and I am glad it was me.

With a grim smile, Darren felt instinct take over, and he charged his Vindicator forward into action.

Cutting away from an oncoming Fire Moth, his mind flashed on a training video from his youth. No, not a training video—it was after his time in the sibko, once he had formally been introduced to the Republic… An educational interview, or so they had been told, presented by Victor Steiner-Davion himself, former Archon-Prince of the Federated Commonwealth, Precentor-Martial of ComStar, and Paladin of the Republic of the Sphere. Age had been little kinder to the man than history had, but he had lost none of his notorious intensity. This particular video had focused on the Children of Kerensky, the invading Clans that had returned to claim their birthright, and Darren remembered how Victor had recounted the first terrifying vids of the invasion, recalling how alien the Clan OmniMechs had seemed, how unstoppable, surviving damage that would have sent Inner Sphere BattleMechs crashing to the ground while firing back at ranges no Inner Sphere war machine could hope to match.

Although time had dispelled much of the inequality between Inner Sphere and Clan technology, Darren could certainly relate to the history the former Archon-Prince had referred to…and the unstoppable force that would be known as the Clans of Kerensky.

Lieutenant, we’ve been ordered to pull back! Sergeant Escobar Briggs’ voice came through the headset of his neurohelmet in a burst of static, which Darren attributed to the lances of PPC energy that flickered like lightning across the field.

Into the compound? Darren asked, glancing at the view strip that compressed all 360 degrees around his Vindicator into a 270-degree field of vision. The walls had already taken a vicious beating, and would not last long against the Wolves’ heavy weaponry. It will only buy us minutes at most. Let Command know their best chance of staging a breakout is to let us push this front against the Wolves, bottle them up in the North Valley, and have them make a run for the rendezvous. We can⁠—

Lieutenant… Sergeant Briggs’ voice sounded hesitant; despite the forcefulness he’d used to interrupt Darren’s diatribe. We were not ordered to break off to return to the compound. The captain has ordered us to break contact completely.

But—

There will be no breakout, sir, Briggs finished, as though barely able to force out the words. To his credit, Darren was unsure he’d have been able to do the same. The compound is being sealed from the inside. Any wounded or damaged forces that can get inside are ordered to pull back immediately, and all mobile forces are to break off in accordance with Plan Omega.

For a moment, Darren struggled with the words, knowing they meant something far deeper than just general orders. This had been their chance to evacuate the Exarch and his Paladins, to prepare for the next wave of the conflict, a brief respite before they returned to take back what was theirs…

But no. It seemed the universe had other plans. There would be no grand escape, no flying charge that brought them to the promised land.

There was only sacrifice now…and duty.

Darren took a deep breath as he pushed his Vindicator forward, moving toward the heaviest concentration of ’Mechs. Briggs, lead the rearward action. All units, break for the forest and disengage. Pilots whose ’Mechs are too damaged to function should immediately shut down their reactors and eject. If they can get to ground, great, but if not, they must prepare to surrender. The Wolves are apparently taking bondsmen, and they will need to replenish their forces after we finish giving them the drubbing of their lives.

And you, sir? Briggs said hesitantly, as if he did not want to hear the answer.

Darren’s answering grin was feral. The Clan forces believe they are Wolves among sheep… It is time to remind them that there is more than one species of Wolf…yet every one is a predator.

He resisted the urge to howl as he sighted in on a Clan Nova that had leaped into his battlespace. Dropping his targeting reticule over the left arm, he fired another quick PPC shot and followed up with long-range missiles. The PPC stripped armor off the vambrace housing the Nova’s medium lasers while the missiles peppered down from shoulder to wrist. A series of sparks let him know he had damaged at least one laser, and he was aiming a second volley when his entire cockpit heaved.

Darren had been so focused on the Nova he didn’t see the Timber Wolf that had just crested the hill, and now rained down a barrage of long-range missiles and extended-range laser beams on him.

He felt more than saw one of the lasers slice through his Vindicator’s elbow, shearing off the ER PPC, and a second cut into his left leg. Willing the LRMs to reload faster, he pushed his ’Mech’s speed to a run, hoping to close the distance before the other OmniMech could fire again.

Unfortunately, that gave the Nova just enough time to launch its own counterattack, raking him with the full force of the six medium lasers on its undamaged arm. The beams carved into his already-damaged left leg, and he could feel the limb start to give way beneath him.

Not yet! Darren slammed down on the foot pedals that controlled his jump jets and took to the sky on an arc of plasma fire. Another score of missiles landed where he had just been standing, but he was completely focused on the delicate task of landing safely with critical damage to his left leg. While the limb was still attached, the damage schematic was flashing a desperate red, and if he came down too hard, the whole leg might collapse.

I am going to make it! Darren thought, feathering the jets as he tried to land on the Nova’s wounded side. I am going to⁠—

He was partially right. The jump had kept his ’Mech’s leg intact long enough for him to land. Unfortunately, it also gave the Timber Wolf pilot enough time to target his other leg, sending a well-placed pair of laser shots into the knee.

The joint gave way with a wrenching scream, and the unbalanced Vindicator landed on its left side. Something snapped in his other leg as well, and the last thing Darren saw before he slammed his head against the dashboard was his left leg going black on the armor schematic.

At least my display is no longer flashing red⁠—

It was his final thought before blackness engulfed him.

35 KILOMETERS OUTSIDE OF DETROIT

TERRA

REPUBLIC OF THE SPHERE

13 APRIL 3151

Just a little longer… We just need to hold the door open a little longer…

Ghost Knight Mason Dunne’s brown eyes, matching his recently re-dyed chestnut hair, were laser-focused on the valley entrance, his hands balled into tight fists to keep them from reaching for his controls. It was his job to keep the escape route for the Exarch and his closest associates open until the last moments, facilitating their escape off-world. Their associates in the Metis Commission would take things from there, although security concerns kept him from knowing the specifics. What I don’t know, I can’t reveal…

There she is!

His heart leapt as he saw the familiar outline of the Republic Tundra Wolf enter the valley, cutting sharply to the right and firing a blast from its ER PPC at an unseen attacker. Reaching for his console, he moved to transfer to the private channel he and Janella had…

As quickly as it came, however, his heart sank as he was better able to focus on the newcomer. The Tundra Wolf, while the same type of BattleMech as Andrea, the ’Mech piloted by Paladin Janella Lakewood, was not painted in the same colors, nor did Andrea have the emblem of the Northwind Highlanders adorning one wrist vambrace, making it Galway Girl, the personal ride of Lady Maeve Stirling.

"Galway Girl, do you need reinforcement? We are prepared to assist."

"Negative, Ghost. Inform the DropShips to prepare for liftoff."

Mason’s felt his breath catch in his chest, and did not respond for a long moment. "Galway Girl, please repeat and confirm status of additional forces."

Mason heard the tension in Lady Maeve Stirling’s voice even through the comm: "Activate Portcullis, Ghost. If anyone was behind me, they missed the boat. The only thing on my heels are Wolves."

In the cockpit of his Mad Cat III, he fought the seductive urge to close his eyes for a moment, but focused on the task at hand instead. Support units, Portcullis is in effect. Confirm, Portcullis.

There was a momentary silence, and then he heard the gravelly voice of one of his tank commanders over the channel. Portcullis confirmed. Closing the door.

Although they did not respond, the Archers’ stopped firing, their LRMs no longer needed. Two Mars assault tanks rolled forward, their weapons already pre-sighted to specific positions, and then their own LRMs took to the sky. These launchers, however, were loaded with specialty ammunition that scattered wave after wave of command-detonated mines, quickly saturating the area to render it nearly impassable.

One of the Wolf ’Mechs, an old Adder, was quicker than its fellow OmniMechs, and took to the sky on jump jets. It leaped over the fray, took a couple small strikes from the bomblets it had jumped through, but otherwise remained relatively unharmed. Mason could tell the pilot intended to use their speed and maneuverability to run rings around the two slower tanks, picking them apart to allow their Wolf brethren additional time to clear the way for reinforcements. It was a brilliant idea, worthy of a line in The Remembrance if successful, and the MechWarrior was clearly composing the stanza in their head as their ’Mech landed.

That was all Mason could think as he pressed the control on his dashboard that activated the second set of mines, the ones that had been pre-positioned in that area for just such an occasion.

The first mine explosion ripped off the Adder’s leg.

The second, triggered by the sympathetic detonation nearby, did no notable damage.

The third, triggered by the falling Adder striking the mine’s casing, blew directly through the cockpit, nearly blasting the OmniMech back upright, albeit with no head to speak of.

There was a momentary lull in the arrival of enemy OmniMechs, but Mason knew it would not last for long. He sent another prepared message back to the remaining artillery assets, instructing them to continue firing until they received further orders, having them continue to fill the valley with smoke and hellfire.

Taking advantage of the moment, he switched to his private channel with Maeve, watching her Tundra Wolf stumble back behind their defensive line. Maeve, what the hell happened? Where is Republic actual?

She responded quickly—perhaps too quickly. I don’t know! We were prepared to support the breakout, then we got the emergency signal that told us to head to the rendezvous. There was a momentary pause as if she was considering whether to continue. I confirmed with RIS personally.

Whatever else Mason was going to say evaporated into the ether, bringing the situation into crystal clarity. Arguing with Exarch Devlin Stone was always a risky maneuver, and only done when the alternative was dire. Arguing with Paladin Janella Lakewood, the head of the Republic Intelligence Secretariat, when she’d already made a decision, was just foolish, something he of all people knew best.

They may have been cut off, he said. I can get a task force together and⁠—

It’s too late, Maeve replied. One of my rearguard units thinks they’ve taken the bunker. Even if we could move fast and break through the forces they put in our way, there’s no way they’ll still be there when we arrive. No, she knew exactly what she was doing…and we have to respect that.

Mason hung his head, knowing exactly who the she they referred to was…and knew Maeve was right. Okay. Pull your forces back to the DropShips. I’ll stay with the tanks until you are clear.

And then you’ll pull back, she replied, the statement not a question.

And then I’ll take the next steps, Mason replied neutrally.

Mason—

I’m not going, Maeve, he interrupted. The plan was for us to get off-planet together. If she’s not going, neither am I. Seychelles will need every fighter he can get here on the ground, and I’m best equipped to help him with his mission. We both know that.

Maeve did not bother arguing, but her voice was filled with sorrow when it came back over the comm. You don’t have to stay here alone. I can⁠—

No, he replied, his voice certain. We both know you can do the Republic the most good by heading back to Northwind and gathering the Highlander forces left behind. If the Countess is… He could not bring himself to say dead. "—if she is down, we’ll need someone the Highlander Clans will listen to. That’s your destiny. This is mine."

Fair winds and following seas, Mason Dunne, Maeve finally said, her voice resigned. Until we meet again.

In Fiddler’s Green, Lady Stirling.

Not trusting himself to say anything else to the younger Knight, Mason turned back to the valley exit and watched the movement of units through the smoke. He knew the Wolves would attempt a breakout soon, to test the lines of defensive fortifications, and they would soon realize there was little more than automation and minefields to slow them down.

The Archers and Riflemans, making their slow, careful retrograde toward the DropShips, often hesitated upon seeing the single Mad Cat III holding its lonely post inside the valley. The Mars tank crews, having expended their ammunition, had set scuttling charges before abandoning their tanks, and jumped on a Maxim APC that tore away in a flurry of dust, burning recklessly back toward the DropShips.

Almost cruelly, Mason watched the tanks blow up, one after another, until he was the sole inhabitant of the valley. With one final glance at the tanks’ flaming remains, their Republic markings slowly consumed in the fire, he turned toward the hidden breakout that had been prepared for just this situation, and pushed his BattleMech into a slow trot.

He had just reached the entrance when the first DropShip lifted, the roaring fires driving it to the heavens.

Once again, his eyes were drawn to the Republic insignia painted thirty meters high on its spherical hull, and he watched it recede up into the distance on fiery thruster plumes.

As he headed toward the next chapter of his life, Mason wondered whether he had seen that DropShip for the last time.

CHAPTER

ONE

TOMB OF THE GREAT FATHER

COURT OF THE STAR LEAGUE

UNITY CITY

TERRA

THE KHAGANATE

25 MAY 3151, 1940 HOURS

Seyla.

Alaric Ward, Khan of Clan Wolf and Khan of Khans, lowered his gaze, his eyes transfixed on the coffin before him.

Below him, Aleksandr Kerensky, former commanding general of the First Star League, Defender of the Realm, Regent and Protector of the Star League, Great Father of the Clans, lay peacefully, perpetually entombed with full honors in the clear, armorplast coffin that had been his final resting place for over three centuries.

Despite the hundreds of light-years he had traveled both in life and death, the Great Father once again rested on the planet he had given everything to liberate. He had been transported here from his previous place of honor aboard the SLS McKenna’s Pride, the McKenna-class battleship that had been his flagship during the original Liberation of Terra, more than 300 years ago. The Pride had also been his flagship when he led the majority of the Star League Defense Force, the largest military force humanity had even known, out of the Inner Sphere, in the most ambitious plan in human history. And out there, beyond the borders of explored space, the SLDF was reborn as the Clans, the Children of Kerensky.

Alaric, like most other Clan warriors, had always wondered what went through the Great Father’s mind when he had decided to take the single greatest military the Inner Sphere had even known on a desperate flight to find a new home, away from the squabbling leaders of the Great Houses who sought to use the SLDF for their own ends, to a place of safety where he could establish a new society to guide humankind back to the golden age of the Star League.

I still have so many questions, he said quietly, striving to find the peace the former commanding general had found. "You had the opportunity to claim the role of First Lord, the position I will formally assume tonight, yet you chose not to. You allowed this cup to pass from you, to be held for one who would be deemed worthy, the one to seize control of Terra and hold it against all others.

To me.

Even as he spoke, Alaric remembered the last time he had stood before the body of the Great Father, aboard the McKenna’s Pride, voicing many of the same questions. At that time, Alaric had believed his assumption of the mantle of ilKhan, Khan of Khans, would reveal all the answers, but now he found it only provided a greater selection of even more difficult questions.

Did you ever think you would be back? he asked the coffin, knowing he would never get a response. Could you ever believe it would take this long, or cost so much?

He did what he needed to do. For his realm. For his people.

Alaric straightened suddenly, momentarily thinking the voice had come from the coffin itself, but his eyes assured him the Great Father remained at rest. The phantom voice sounded the right age, but he could not imagine the stoic, venerable general to ever mock one of his warriors so.

No, having heard that arch tone so recently, he recognized it instantly.

Devlin Stone. The first—and final—Exarch of the Republic of the Sphere.

The man Alaric had destroyed to find himself standing here.

Not for the first time, he thought of how Stone was similar to the Great Father. Both were warriors forced to take up arms against brutal oppressors, both had liberated Terra at a terrible cost, and both had created whole new societies to protect the warriors who followed them into the fire.

Indeed, during the Republic era, many had believed Devlin Stone was the spiritual reincarnation of the Great Father, the leader they needed to see the dream of Clan warriors on Terra. Yet it had taken a true Clan warrior to show them the true way…to give all Clan warriors the chance to enjoy their birthright, earned in battle, blood, distance, and time, having been forced from their home after having already sacrificed so much.

What it must have been like for the Great Father, knowing the decision he had made so long ago would decide the fate of trillions over the centuries…and would result in the creation of one of the greatest civilizations humanity had ever known?

Did you have any idea…? Alaric asked, trying to get some sense of wisdom from Great Father’s face. Could you even imagine what would come from your decisions? He knew it was just one of the many questions he would never find the answers for, one of the many voices he would question in the darkness of the night.

With still more voices coming forth with each liter of blood…

Alaric stiffened, willing the voice of Devlin Stone from his mind. Tonight was the night he would take the next step toward fulfilling the dream the Kerenskys had brought with them on their long trek across the stars. Tonight, a First Lord would once again sit on the throne of the Star League.

You may think you’ve founded your new Star League— but now you have to keep it. The words, spoken mere hours before by Devlin Stone, echoed in his head, and he placed a hand down on the glass to ground himself.

In the hours since he had watched Chance Vickers suffocate Devlin Stone, he had returned to his new quarters in the Court of the Star League, delving into same reports he had been focusing on for months, torn by the words of the former Exarch. Stone had claimed that he had allowed Alaric to take Terra, setting him up as the lesser of two evils, knowing the destruction that would be wrought if Malvina Hazen became ilKhan. He had refused to believe it at the time, but something in his voice, the certainty… hinted there was still something more.

"Enjoy it, Alaric, but remember that it was all because of me."

Alaric pulled his hand away as if scalded as he heard approaching footsteps on the marble tile, and glanced up to see his aide, Star Colonel Daur, standing in the middle of the hall, watching the ilKhan with a basilisk stare.

Daur was a hulking MechWarrior nearly three meters tall, and Alaric would not have been surprised if he had some Elemental genes spliced into his genome by an overambitious member of the scientist caste. Like the ilKhan himself, he wore the new white-and-scarlet uniform Alaric had chosen for the ilClan, although he lacked the wolf-fur cape and the embellishments Alaric had earned as the ilKhan.

Daur’s face was half-hidden in shadow, the ceramplast prosthesis that replaced his left eye socket and upper jaw barely visible in the dim light. He had been seriously wounded in his Blooding, the Trial of Position every warrior aspirant endured to graduate from their sibko training, when a laser slashed through his cockpit, nearly killing him. Before his injury, however, he had downed three of his opponents, earning him the rank of Star Captain.

His injuries had been too extensive for him to hold a command, however, so after he had recovered, Daur had sought other ways to serve. Too young and healthy to join the solahma, and left with communications difficulties that prevented him from leading in the field, he had been bereft, without the sense of purpose a warrior craved.

When Alaric Ward had announced his intention to assault Terra, the silent warrior had meticulously written a request to serve as one of his bodyguards, and presented it in person at the Khan’s tent. As the Khan already had a full cadre of warriors willing to protect him, Daur had considered it his duty to create an opening for himself in the ranks. The brief journey to the staging area where the future ilKhan had made his command post resulted in Daur brutally beating of eight of the Khan’s personal guard, and Alaric believed more would have fallen had he not stopped the hulking man and read the handwritten missive he bore. The short yet eloquent note had explained that Daur knew his purpose was to personally serve the warrior destined to be Khan of Khans, and to prove it he would undergo any trial the future ilKhan deemed necessary.

Impressed by both the warrior’s dedication to the ways of Clan Wolf and his proven effectiveness, Alaric had taken Daur as one of his bodyguards.

During the months of preparation that had culminated in the campaign to take Terra, the scarred warrior had proved himself even more worthy of the position than Alaric could ever have expected. Daur was loyal, devoted, and constantly at his side every waking moment. While Alaric had always resisted depending upon anyone other than himself, he found himself relying on Daur more and more, and the silent warrior’s presence became a great help, and later a necessity as the impending triple roles of Khan, ilKhan, and First Lord had burdened Alaric with more decisions than he could ever hope to address alone.

Following Daur’s gaze over his own shoulder, Alaric turned to see the immense Grand Hall behind him awash with light, the prearranged signal that the ceremonies were set to begin.

Taking a final moment of contemplation, he turned back to the Great Father. Are you proud of what we have accomplished? he asked. Are you ready to see what I will build?

Knowing he would never get the answers he sought, Alaric gazed down on the face of the man whose actions centuries ago had led both of them to this place here, now. Then, with a respectful bow to the Great Father, ilKhan Alaric Ward turned away from the tomb and marched steadily down from the viewing platform and toward his future.

GREAT HALL OF THE STAR LEAGUE

COURT OF THE STAR LEAGUE

UNITY CITY

TERRA

THE KHAGANATE

From his position by the large, illuminated stained-glass window, whose massive, golden Cameron Star emblem proclaimed this the Great Hall of the Star League for all to see, Loremaster Noritomo Helmer watched the ilKhan depart the mausoleum and walk down the two rows of his devoted Clan Wolf warriors that waited outside the main entrance, then he headed toward the Great Hall. The warriors quickly snapped to attention at Alaric’s approach, and when he had passed them all, they fell into formation and marched in his wake. As always, Daur preceded the ilKhan, his eyes wary for any threats, and Noritomo again wondered what secrets the Star Colonel was privy to.

He nodded to his aide, Jurshin, and the young warrior silently ensured all was ready. Jurshin was a former member of Clan Sea Fox who had just finished his warrior training, but Noritomo had personally selected him to be one of the first Clan warriors to serve the Star League rather than his former Clan.

Stepping up beside the Throne of the Star League, a centuries-old seat carved from a single piece of pristine white Suzano ivory, Noritomo took a quick moment to acknowledge his good fortune. A former Jade Falcon, he had survived his fall in battle, been captured by Clan Wolf and adopted as an abtakha, witnessed the near destruction of Clan Jade Falcon, and had recently risen to his new station, the newly minted Loremaster of the Star League, the first to ever hold this title.

Noritomo straightened the hem of his crisp white uniform and the sash that went across his chest as he considered his new role. There are still so many things we need to rebuild, he thought. While it would be years, potentially decades, before the new Star League resembled the model it had been based on, he was eager for the challenge.

His gaze continued to move throughout the room, and he saw Aberdeen Mehta, Loremaster of Clan Wolf, standing in the entourage of saKhan Chance Vickers. Noritomo nodded respectfully to Mehta, and the other warrior nodded back. He had asked Mehta to join him on the dais for this ceremony, but she had maintained that this event was meant to highlight the Star League and the ilKhan’s role as the First Lord of the new Star League, not as ilKhan of the Clans or as Khan of Clan Wolf.

A task long overdue, Noritomo thought. Alaric Ward had surprised them all by announcing he intended to hold all three titles, and the ceremony to officially announce his accession to the role of First Lord had been postponed for as long as they had dared.

His shifted his gaze to Chance Vickers, remembering her angry, frustrated scowl when Alaric had made the announcement. While Chance was one of his most ardent supporters, she had clearly expected to succeed him as the undisputed leader of Clan Wolf when he assumed his role as the Khan of Khans.

Noritomo’s biggest regret about this ceremony was there had been insufficient time to convince the other Khans to attend, as 80 percent of the network of hyperpulse generators that had once facilitated interstellar communications across the Inner Sphere still remained offline. Many Great Houses had not even received word of the Republic’s fall or Clan Wolf’s conquest of Terra, but Noritomo had worried that few leaders would accept such an invitation, even if it had reached them in time.

His eyes flicked from the assembled guests to the immense Cameron Star inlaid in gold at the center of the tiled hall floor, a conscious gesture to keep from shaking his head. The first Star League had only arisen through the intensive diplomatic efforts of House Cameron, and it had taken nearly fifteen years for Ian Cameron, a gifted diplomat of legendary skill, to bring all of the Great Houses into the fold. This had required a canny knowledge of the desires and needs of the various nations, and Cameron had used his manufacturing, financial, and research and development infrastructure to cajole even the most reluctant leader into joining.

The ilKhan, however, believed most of the Great Houses would immediately see the benefits of being the first nation to ally with him, that they would fight over who would benefit most from joining with the immense power base of the combined ilClan and Star League.

Noritomo’s thoughts were interrupted by the Great Hall’s main doors opening, allowing the guests to see the approach of the ilKhan and his entourage of warriors. Daur stopped at the door, the two lines of guards following in step. Alaric, however, outpaced his guards and strode purposefully into the room. Daur waited until the ilKhan was several paces ahead of him, then followed him toward the dais, while the rest of the entourage waited outside.

Normally, Noritomo would have questioned such a decision, but the ilKhan had quickly established from the beginning of his reign that he had no interest in bodyguards: He would never allow anyone to think him weak. There was little chance of threat, however, especially here, as additional Wolf guards lined the walkway, providing a barrier between the guests and the ilKhan while also bolstering the numbers in the room.

Noritomo watched Alaric approach, as befitted the historic nature of the moment, but his real attention was on the various Clan notables, as he knew he could review Alaric’s arrival later from any of the two-dozen holocamera stations recording the entire proceedings.

Working with some of the local news agencies, the Loremaster had ensured that they had placed their cameras to be inconspicuous and to make the room look fuller than it actually was. Noritomo had assured the reporters that they would be given access to future events at the Court of the Star League, letting them know his good graces would be maintained in proportion to the job they did here, today. So far, it seemed that had sufficiently motivated them to be on their best behavior.

With the press well in hand, he was free to focus on the members of the other Clans, former rivals that would soon acknowledge the primacy of Alaric Ward and Clan Wolf. The Khans, saKhans, and Loremasters from Clans Jade Falcon, Ghost Bear, Sea Fox, Snow Raven, and Smoke Jaguar. The Smoke Jaguars, despite being deemed only a ‘provisional’ Clan, had taken the space that had been reserved for Clan Hell’s Horses, whose late arrival on Terra had been exacerbated by a series of traffic delays that had slowed their vehicles from reaching the Court of the Star League so far.

Delays that, by Noritomo’s chronometer, would last for at least another twenty-eight minutes.

He smothered a smile, knowing it would be completely inappropriate for this momentous occasion. The convenient traffic issues would ensure that the Hell’s Horses dignitaries would miss the First Lord’s investiture ceremony, but it would still allow them enough time to arrive for the ilClan ceremony that would be held in the Star League High Council Chamber afterward.

Alaric reached the foot of the dais, causing Noritomo to bring his full attention back to the Wolf Khan as he paused for dramatic effect before ascending the stairs. At the top, he mounted the final step to the throne, turned, and slowly seated himself on it as he looked down at the crowd below.

The coronation ceremony for the First Lord of the Star League had been created for Alaric from whole cloth after considerable discussion and revision. The coronations of prior First Lords had been filled with Inner Sphere symbology, which the ilKhan had appreciated, but they had also focused on the First Lord as first among equals, which he did not. This brand-new ceremony was meant to highlight the simplicity and austerity of the Clan mindset, and to demonstrate that the dreams of the Great Father had come to fruition. The First Lord may have been first among equals, but the ilKhan had no equals, and that duality was made clear for all who watched.

Moving to a pedestal where a golden Cameron Star pin the size of his hand, inlaid with crimson highlights—the newly designed emblem of the first ilKhan First Lord—waited on a purple pillow of crushed velvet.

There had been talk of forging a platinum circlet for this ceremony, but the ilKhan had scoffed at the idea, denouncing it as an empty gesture toward the nobilities of the various Great Houses. The pin, much like the rank pins all Clan warriors wore, was a tangible, practical item that could be respected. It was also telling that when presented with the pin, as one would present a surrendered sword to a victor, Alaric would take it for himself, needing no assistance to secure it in place.

The message would be clear: Alaric Ward had claimed the mantle of First Lord without requiring anyone’s assistance.

Picking up the pillow gently, Noritomo turned and presented it to the First Lord, bowing his head respectfully. Alaric looked down at the emblem, and for the briefest moment…he paused.

Noritomo held his position, but glanced upward. Alaric’s expression was appropriately grave for the momentous nature of the occasion, but there was something there, a momentary hesitation, that seemed out of character for the Wolf Khan.

Is he…hesitating?

As if the ilKhan could hear his thoughts, Alaric’s eyes narrowed, locked with Noritomo’s, and he reached down, plucking the new emblem of the First Lord from the pillow and pinning it to the breast of his dress uniform.

With the emblem in place, Noritomo bowed his head once again and turned to set the pillow back on the pedestal before turning to the crowd.

Citizens of the Star League, he began, his voice ringing out through the hall’s amplification system. "Today, we correct an error that has been allowed to endure for too long. Since the death of First Lord Richard Cameron by treachery, humanity has been without the true leader that had been promised.

"However, with the blessing of the Great Father, Aleksandr Kerensky, we once again restore the realm on his behalf, and we follow his rede. Having reclaimed Terra, the birthworld of humanity, from those who would defile it, the ilKhan, Khan of Khans, has accepted the mantle that is his right by dint of conquest. Henceforth, Alaric Ward, Khan of Clan Wolf and the ilKhan of the Children of Kerensky, is hereby acknowledged as First Lord of the Star League reborn!"

He took a deep breath, his gaze once again taking in the whole assembly as he turned to Alaric, who watched him carefully. Long live the First Lord, and long live the Star League!

CHAPTER

TWO

GREAT HALL OF THE STAR LEAGUE

COURT OF THE STAR LEAGUE

UNITY CITY

TERRA

THE KHAGANATE

25 MAY 3151, 2020 HOURS

With the Star League investiture ceremony completed, the next events moved quickly. Security firmly and efficiently shuffled many of the local Terran dignitaries out while escorting the various Clan dignitaries into the recently restored Star League High Council Chamber. Whereas the first ceremony had been for the Inner Sphere as a whole, this more intimate ceremony was primarily for the Children of Kerensky, and would serve as an introduction to the glory of the Founder’s dream to those whose ancestors had not traveled the Exodus Road.

Once again, all the major Terran news outlets were present, and they took in the sight of the various Clan warriors in their ceremonial uniforms as each pair of Khans were introduced as they climbed the dais to take their seats behind Alaric and the speaker’s podium. This list included the provisional Smoke Jaguars and the latecomer Hell’s Horses, clearly seething at the delay. Khan Gottfried Amirault seemed nearly apoplectic with rage, and only the presence of his saKhan and Loremaster seemed to keep him from speaking up right then and there.

Unlike the more solemn return of the Star League, this ceremony was meant to highlight the glory of the ilKhan, and was a spectacle that the previous ceremony was not. BattleROM footage played on the massive backdrop behind the ilKhan and assembled Khans, treating those assembled to visuals of the bloody battles waged against the Republic, ably narrated by Loremaster Mehta and Marv Roshak, her Clan Jade Falcon counterpart. Then footage turned to