But Ruskoff’s fury passed over him. It slid by Lady Eve Kincaid with hardly a pause and then by Colonel James Lwellen, ranking military officer on Nánlù and another of Lord Governor Hidic’s representatives. It stuck to neither of them. The Legate was neutrally mad. Railing-at-the-world furious. Nothing personal.
Daniel knew that feeling; every muscle quivering and the taste of blood in his mouth. He had felt it after the Massacre, before moving on to penance and rebuilding himself as Ezekiel Crow. More recently, he’d seethed with such fury at Jacob Bannson. It took betrayal to raise this kind of anger.
“Governor Lu Pohl?” Lady Kincaid asked.
“Who else?” Ruskoff continued his assault, stomping forward in pursuit of a known objective. He eased past the visitors’ chairs—easily done, with Daniel’s shoved off a bit farther to one side, away from the line officers—cornered his desk and secured the sideboard bar. He splashed amber into three glasses, colored his own with some dark plum juice, and then poured a fourth glass full of crystal clear and dropped in two cubes from an ice bucket. He carried his own glass to his desk, but rather than take his seat he perched on one corner.
The Legate did not serve, so the officers rose and picked up their own glasses. Lwellen also cut his bourbon with plum. Lady Kincaid preferred hers neat. She also favored her left side, where some shrapnel had ended up after blowing through her cockpit. Daniel did not move, hands clenched tight around the chair’s armrests, staring at the remaining glass.
“It’s sweet water,” Ruskoff said, his voice a touch calmer.
Daniel rocked himself up from his seat. “Of course it is,” he said. It was a thank-you, and Ruskoff knew it. But Daniel was also very conscious of the fact that Lwellen moved too far aside to let him pass and Eve Kincaid avoided his gaze on the way back.
Pariah.
Traitor.
Daniel’s wrists itched where the shackles had recently come off. He did not return to his chair, drifting farther away from the line officers to lean up against the office wall, instead. His water smelled faintly of naranji and tasted of sweet citrus.
“Anna Lu Pohl will not reconcile,” Ruskoff began the meeting. “Lord Governor Hidic and I spent half an hour reasoning with Gerald Tsang, and finally convinced him that we would only take the word of the Governor.” He sipped, grimaced. “She tied into the video conference and offered us two days’ grace before Confederation forces kicked us off Liao.”
Lady Kincaid sat up straighter. “Does she really have that kind of control over the CapCons?”
“I doubt it. But she’s certainly in with them now. The palace district is guarded by what few militia she trusts and one or two Conservatory cadets.” No one asked how the Legate knew this. “The bulk of her ‘guard’ is operating in concert with McCarron’s Armored Cavalry and this recent amalgamation calling itself House Ijori.”
“After the dead Warrior House,” Daniel volunteered softly. “Mai Uhn Wa is a student and disciple of the lost order.”
Lwellen dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Uppity kids and Ijori Dè Guāng terrorists. We’ve dealt with their kind before. The Dynasty Guard and McCarron’s Second are the real threat. The question is, can we meet them here, or do we fall back to Nánlù?”
That was Hidic’s question. Daniel tasted his water, but did not swallow, holding it in his mouth for a moment, warming it, thinking.
“I’d like to meet them here,” Ruskoff said. “Beilù doesn’t have a heavy industrial base to wreck, and Chang-an is here. If we follow Lord Governor Hidic’s suggestion, we’ll destroy exactly what we want to protect.”
Lwellen was not swayed. “And if we lose here, lose big, Nánlù falls to the Confederation by default. We’ll have to burn it behind us.”
Daniel glanced sharply at the colonel’s back. Ruskoff frowned, not liking that idea any more than the disgraced veteran.
Fortunately, it was Eve Kincaid who came to the rescue. “You do that, and the Republic can never come back to Liao. I think MechWarrior Flint proved that quite ably by burning our bridges in Chang-an.”
Along with the Destroyer and its martyred crew. Daniel gave the Sphere Knight high marks for taking responsibility for the Principes Warrior, but even so she could not quite face the ugliness straight on. Of course, he’d had years to practice looking in mirrors and staring out into sleepless nights.
“The key to taking back Beilù is the Dynasty Guard,” Ruskoff said, turning the meeting around to practical considerations. He eased off the corner of his desk, leaving his sweating glass behind on the blotter, and walked over to one wall where he’d tacked up a map. “If we kick out the biggest support propping up the Confederation drive, then Prefect Tao’s strategy to blockade Wei and Palos might have time to work. Without constant refreshment, Terrence McCarron and this Mai Uhn Wa will wither and die.”
“You’re suggesting we leave Chang-an in enemy hands, then, and go after the Guard. But how?” Lwellen pushed his agenda by attacking Ruskoff’s. “The Guard owns Hussan, the Du-jin Mountains and now the entire eastern and northern territories. The Capellan pseudomystic babble circulating says that they’ve received the guidance of Sun-Tzu Liao, which makes sense. Only Confederation inefficiency would have them move their base of operations out of the south and stake out claims on the plains and farmlands.”
“It does make pinning them down harder.” Given that she’d worked in Nánlù with Hidic, Lady Kincaid still sounded reluctant to agree. “They haven’t even moved to defend Chang-an. Why not come again at the local forces protecting the capital?”
Daniel swallowed. “Because we’ll lose.” He saw disgust in Lwellen’s eyes. It talks. “McCarron’s Second and the Conservatory uprising have won over the people here. Which is why Governor Lu Pohl has gone over.”
“You’re the expert on treason,” Lwellen snapped.
A heated flush prickled at the back of Daniel’s neck. “Go on,” Ruskoff told him.
“Any direct assault against Chang-an now will be seen as an attack against Liao, not for Liao. This has been the Confederation strategy from the start, to win back support from an alienated—and very large—portion of the population. It is time to attack that strategy.”
Lwellen tossed off the last of his drink and reached forward to set the glass on the Legate’s desk. “How can you attack an idea?”
“With the truth,” Ruskoff offered. “Sun-Tzu Liao has not extended any magical protection over the Confederation forces. If he had, the Guard would be invincible. We know they are not. We will prove it. Rout them, and people will begin to doubt again.”
“If we can pin them down.” Lady Kincaid returned to practical considerations. “They must have a dozen staging camps established by now.”
“Staging camps, yes.” Ruskoff weighed back in. “But there may be one place in particular where they will stand and defend to the death. We’ve managed to compromise some highly placed members of the Cult of Liao in the last week. The Dynasty Guard has apparently occupied one of their ‘holy sites’—the place where Sun-Tzu Liao ascended, apparently.”
Lwellen scoffed. “And you think the Guard will defend such nonsense?”
Lady Kincaid hesitated. “They obviously thought enough of that nonsense to pull out of Nánlù. If they hadn’t, we would be in worse shape. It may be worth the chance. If they allow it.”
“If we can, we stand and fight,” Ruskoff agreed. “If not, well, we do as we must.” He left the map, paced in front of his desk and finally stopped in front of Lwellen. “That includes returning Lieutenant Daniel Peterson to active military service.”
That brought Lwellen to his feet in a hurry, though he looked slightly foolish having to stumble shove his chair back with Ruskoff crowding over him. “Oh, that helps our cause, when the Black Paladin and the Betrayer of Liao comes out of retirement to fight for us. It’s insulting enough that he is even here!”