Sigil of the Wolf - 15. Chapter 15

Karin City - Karin

Prince Edward's Imperial shuttle angled about its engines, stabilizing it for a landing as it kicked up clouds of snow. It finally came to a bumpy rest amidst the great parade ground that formed the maw, the great boulevard that led to the high gates of the Karin Fortress.

Iver's 'honour guard' were everywhere, in full battle armour, flanking the route from the shuttle to the steps where Walker von Karin waited along with senior members of the Senate. Their podium had been decorated with House von Karin colours, but the White Rose on its field of black fluttered high above them all, a proud declaration of their place and the way of things to come.

The snow drifted down from the dark sky. A storm front was moving in as Karin slipped ever closer to its bitterly cold winter, and Walker huddled into the warm greatcoat, thankful at least that the old Empire had the foresight to make the formal garb warm.

He looked at the other Senators around him, shivering themselves in the cold. They had been turned unceremoniously out of their beds by Iver's shock troops to greet the arrival of their Prince and future Emperor, some of them confused as to why, until the shock troops had made their indications clear with their pulse rifles.

Madeline Jarvis, the Imperial Senator responsible for trade and development, stood close by Walker's side, her eyes never leaving the bright-faced troops that stood patiently holding back the crowd of Karin onlookers eager to get their first glimpse of the long-lost Prince.

"He can't seriously expect us to hand the Empire over..." She murmured quietly as the hatch of the shuttle slid aside and the Prince's personal guard assembled, securing the area and ensuring it was safe.

"Iver will no longer accept no as an answer," Walker replied, keeping his voice even and low so as not to be overheard by the General standing with a group of aides at the far side of the podium.

"And you're just going to go along with this?" she bit out, arching an eyebrow.

Walker didn't reply. Instead, he watched the young, thin man stepping out of the shuttle. They'd dressed him in a black on black greatcoat, finely tailored but looking almost too big on the young man walking down the ramp. The wind stirred the coat tails and caused them to flap beside him as he walked. Too delicate by far, his black hair pushed beneath a fur cap, as he walked purposefully forward. There were no adornments on what he was wearing; there needn't be, Princes of the Empire were their own symbol.

Walker drew himself up and placed his hand over his heart as the troops drew to attention. His men, his army, pledging themselves to a boy who would be king. A memory given flesh and blood and set forth as a symbol; he could see the pride in the guard's eyes, the faith in who they were protecting. It was mirrored in the crowds cheering for the young Prince. They wanted so badly to believe in something the Senate and their Archduke had been unable to give them.

"He's only a boy," Madeline pressed.

"He's your Prince," Walker said firmly, looking straight at her, and then up at one of the two great Imperial Mechs that overshadowed the Maw. Strategically positioned so that the ITE's primary chain guns were trained on the podium, at an order from Iver the whole Senate could be disposed of, sealing his dictatorship.

She followed his gaze, and looked down at the young man that climbed to the podium. Walker stepping forward as ritual prescribed to greet his liege, dropping to a knee. There was a rustle as a crowd of a hundred thousand Karin citizens and troops fell to their knees in the snow, greeting their new Prince.

* * *

The reception was small, using the warmer audience chambers of the Fortress rather than the great state ballrooms. Much of Walker's ancestral home was used for its intended purpose, a garrison that oversaw and protected the city, built into the bedrock of the mountain plateau that sheltered Karin City, but he still maintained formal function rooms. They came in handy for entertaining potential allies.

Now they suited his purposes another way. They minimized the number of troops Iver could keep observing them at any one time, allowing the members of the Senate at least a small chance to converse with one another about the events that were unfolding.

There was only one person Walker wanted to talk to, and he made a beeline to intercept the Prince once the bulk of the formalities were over. He had anticipated Iver's attempt to cut him off as he neatly sidestepped the General.

"My liege," he stated in a loud voice, "A moment of your time."

Prince Edward turned from his conversation with a couple of the older Karin elite, sizing the young Prince up for young grand-daughters or nieces probably, the opportunistic never seemed to take a break on Karin. Strangely they didn't seem to recognize him, but Karin socialites were like that, refusing to acknowledge or notice anyone unless they were important.

Iver stepped around the table, making it clear that he wanted to be privy to whatever conversation was about to transpire. Walker had been playing court far longer than the old war dog, and he smiled calmly, turning to the General. "Alone."

Iver opened his mouth, his eyes flashing dangerously as he considered where he was: a room full of the senior most Karin officials. As prominent as the General was, he wasn't in control there. He inclined his head and stepped back out of earshot, his eyes narrowing murderously as he glared at the Archduke.

"One of the privileges of nobility," Walker murmured, turning his back on the General and looking at the young man, Taine's construct, now heir to the Empire.

Edward nodded. "Perhaps, but I fear the General won't be satiated with protocol for long."

"Indeed, I'm afraid my old hound's turned rabid..." Walker sighed as he sipped his mulled wine, looking at the small reception hall, the band playing in the corner, everything as it should be for greeting royalty.

"Perhaps you should put him down?" Edward said, lowering his voice.

"How much can I trust you?" Walker mused, reaching out to pick at a cold cut platter, "What I mean is, how much of you is still you?"

"I don't follow," Edward murmured in a low tone, waving off a waiter that wanted to refill his glass.

"No, I don't suppose you would," Walker said, pausing to look into the young man's blue eyes, "Iver's too meticulous to leave much..." he turned his head to where the General was watching, Evans an ever constant shadow at his side. "Who was your grandmother?" he asked quickly.

"Katherynn Duchess VonGrippen," Edward replied without hesitation, "only sister of the Immortal Emperor."

Walker eyed Iver again, and back to Edward, "Your sixth birthday, you were attending a diplomatic function of the Gorean...."

"It was an Orion function," Edward corrected, "I remember because I fell into the ceremonial carp pond. My grandfather fished me out, much to his amusement and the shock of the assembled Imperial dignitaries."

Walker set his glass down. "That wasn't in any of the official records," he shook his head, "And unless General Iver gained access to my family archives..."

"I am the Prince." Edward said firmly.

"Did Darien know this?" Walker demanded, trying to stare deeper into those timid young eyes, trying to glean an answer from them.

"D-Highlord Taine?" Edward faltered in confusion, "Why would he?"

Walker frowned a moment, looking back over his shoulder at Iver who was pacing now, looking like he was about to burst a blood vessel. "We'll talk again," he reassured, "Just," he glanced hurriedly again and dropped his voice, "Darien is a person who loves you unconditional..." He turned as the General swept up and nodded. "I am satisfied General," he said in a calm even tone, "This is Prince Edward."

"That was never in doubt," Iver hissed angrily. His jaw flexed tightly as he ground his teeth, keeping a check on his tone.

"On the contrary," Walker said with a warm smile, "I had to be certain. Now then," he reached for his glass and a spoon, "I propose a toast to our gallant military and all that it has done to safeguard our freedom and democracy in the face of such hardship." He smiled knowingly at the seething General as debutantes and military officers raised their glasses to join the toast.

* * *

The market was narrow and crowded, low tarpaulin ceilings dipped and threatened to spill water down if they were brushed too much, and walking behind the towering Taïrian, Garam, Darien's robe was being soaked by brackish water.

They were running short on time. The Tradeliner would depart in a few short hours and the quickest, but by no means safest, way to recover Nazzien and Kyr lay in a rescue. That meant Darien needed to be armed, and that meant the Zemûn markets.

He kept his hood pulled up, ignoring the endless stalls of clothes and brightly coloured silks with their Zemûn merchants calling out and clutching at his robes: "Please sir, you buy?"

He followed Nazzien's advice this time, keeping his head down as he wound through the stalls, climbing down broken brick steps and walking through muddied water that had collected in ruts and cracks in the worn earthen floor. He'd long since given up trying to figure out which way they were going; it was a maze of people and wares, everything from the latest in electronics through to wicker baskets woven by hand. Meat hung on hooks, covered in flies, reeking like it had been there for a week, old Zemûn haggling over the price as they prepared to take it home and serve it to their families.

There were places like it all over the Amsus Hegemony, places where the underclass of society existed, eking out a living on the scraps left behind by the rich. Darien soldiered on, keeping up with Garam as he showed him into a quieter section of the market.

Here the booths had space, and racks of weapons were displayed and on view for anyone to see. Darien paused, noting that the weapon of choice was the Amsus AR-9, mass produced on Earth and shipped wherever the ruggedly dependable weapons were needed. The Amsus didn't much care what happened to them as long as law and order was maintained inside the Hegemony's borders.

He kept on, ignoring the heavy repeating maser that had seen better days, over-priced for a weapon that would never fire again. He caught up with Garam as the burly Taïrian stopped at a counter and tapped on the glass.

Darien blinked at the human head that came up from what he had presumed was a pile of rags, a worn-looking man with skin like boot leather, his eye sparkling as he darted a look about.

"What do you want, Garam?" He murmured tiredly.

Darien drew his hood back a little to show his face. "I need a gun," he said calmly.

Garam scratched his head, peering through the gloom.

"Well I'll be buggered!" The man's voice cracked, "Well from what I hear I shouldn't say that around you," he choked out a laugh, "Inspector Darien Taine in the flesh..."

Darien folded his arms. "Russell," he greeted, "Or is it Pointer?"

"Most call me Pointer," the old man said, smiling a toothless grin, "You're not here to arrest me again, are you Inspector? It's hard enough being a human on this world and dodging the law without TER-SEC coming around."

He sounded sarcastic, though Darien knew from experience that the old man was hiding a heavily armed weapon somewhere under the folds of his rags, ready to do him a serious injury if he tried anything.

"Why bother?" Darien replied with a shrug, "Jail obviously did nothing to rehabilitate you the last time." He spared a glance down the aisles. They were largely being ignored, and Darien got the feeling that that was common in the weapons market.

"I learned a new trade," Pointer said with a grin, sitting back on his stool and shifting his rags about him. "What brings the newly minted leader of the Fifth Column to a woe begotten hole like Ararat?" He reached under his counter and pulled out a crumpled wanted poster written in several languages.

Darien's picture was a little old, taken back in his days with TER-SEC, but there was no mistaking that it was him. He'd been elevated to sharing the wanted poster with General Riley, the almost legendary figure that led the fifth column before the Amsus had discovered a more prominent face for the leadership of their imaginary rebellion. It was like sharing a wanted poster with Robin Hood, almost laughable.

Darien glanced up. "As I said, I need a gun."

Garam stood apart a little, his ears perking up as he listened to the noises off in the market.

"I don't have much to suit human tastes these days," Pointer replied, reaching down to pull a couple of weapons from under the counter: mostly junk, a rusted Amsus automatic, a Taïrian weapon that was two sizes too large and a particularly vicious Orion weapon known as a MAG-6 that magnetically projected a cloud of metal shards at a target at almost relativistic velocities much like a miniaturized rail gun. Darien laughed, remembering comic books as a child with the infamous Dread Pirate Fayd wielding one of the oversized 'boom sticks' as he battled the evil AI menace in the graphic novels Fayd in the Balance of Judgement.

Garam snapped his jaws at Pointer and nodded to the back of the stall.

Pointer rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, I can't give him the good stuff, he's a cop for Christ's sake..."

"Was," Darien replied calmly, "Now I'm a terrorist. What do you have that goes boom?"

Pointer gave Darien an appraising look, bemusement lighting his turtle-like face as he walked back and fished out a large flat box marked with glowing Polian script. He set it proudly on the counter and opened it.

Darien peered at what looked to him like a stunted fishing rod. He reached in to pick up the extremely light weapon and turned it gently over in his hands, noting the foam grip and the oddly-shaped emitter. A shard of crystal not unlike that which formed the main component of the Excalibur's zero-point bore glowed, clasped between the grips.

The Highlord held it up. "It's a fishing rod," he observed.

"It was a fishing rod," Pointer said exasperatedly, "The original frame was damaged and I had to come up with something to hold it together. All I had at the time was my rod and reel. It works just fine, it's part of a Polian staff, you know the big things they carry around with them when they get all pissed at the universe?"

"I've seen their weapons at work," Darien replied, remembering his encounter with Polian ships running from Arcanis. He turned the light weapon over in his hand, sighting along the shaft and spinning it in hand like a baton to check its balance. "Power source?"

"Zero-point," Pointer said, "The crystal draws it direct, never had a problem with it. Thing's a nasty weapon though, tends to make problems go away rather spectacularly," he grinned and nodded, "including Polian battle armour."

"Do I want to know how you tested that theory?" Darien said, looking again at his burly companion who was reaching to pick up the MAG-6 and staring at the far end of the weapons market.

"They have these damn kinetic shields, you hit it with a bullet or one of those fancy TER-SEC PKDs and bam..." Pointer clapped his hands together, "Solid as a rock, but this cuts right through them..."

The commotion at the end of the market caused Darien to turn his head, Pointer glanced as well, rolling his eyes as he quickly began to gather up his wares, "I can let you have that for..."

Darien shook his head. "How about you let me have this as a loaner?" he asked, moving to get some cover at one of the other stalls, its Zemûn occupant staring at the priest who was ducking down beside his stall, and glancing up at the group of Zemûn and Amsus troopers entering the far end of the market.

Pointer looked again and retreated into the back of his stall. "How about you borrow that and test it out; if you live, call it a gift; if you die, I'll just take it back from you." He settled down again, pulling cloth up and over him, near-perfect camouflage in the market.

"We must leave, Taine," the heavyset Taïrian announced, backing up slowly. The troopers had spotted him and were advancing cautiously down the row of tables. They held the advantage of range; the MAG-6 was a close-range weapon, but they advanced with the intention of taking them alive.

Darien smiled and stood up, the Polian shard in his hands as he depressed the activator. The muted thud sent a bolt of zero-point energy tumbling end over end down the rows of weapons, impacting with the lead Amsus trooper and exploding with a very messy spray, as he was literally turned inside out by the weapon. It seemed a hell of a lot like overkill to Darien, but the tactician in him knew that there was no such thing in war.

He dodged back down for cover as the guards and troopers began to return fire, sprinting for cover as the MAG-6 roared, sending a cloud of death hurtling into the first Zemûn that charged their position. The big Taïrian reached up to grab a heavy riot shield down from a hanging rack on another stall, using that for cover as the bullets began to fly.

They were outnumbered, and more guards had to be on their way. The Amsus were employing suppression tactics, using the Zemûn as cannon fodder to charge the companion's position, Darien popping up every so often to end the charge in a particularly gory fashion.

He had to give the Polians credit; they built efficient weapons of war.

The bullets shredded wicker baskets around him as the Amsus returned fire, Darien taking a deep breath as he ducked across to a sturdy stall selling armour plating for starships, feeling light headed and dizzy as he slid down the rough metal surface, resting his fingers against his temple as he tried to shake off the sudden wave of unsteadiness that caused him to sink to his knees.

"Not now..." He bit out.

* * *

"Games of state," Colonel Mayfair murmured, sitting on the couch in the Highlord's stateroom, watching the news unfold and shaking his head as his liege lord took a knee before Elias.

Lauren looked up from her charts where she was labouring to chart the best possible course. Darien's orders had been specific, and if she was to evade detection by the Amsus patrols and outposts she had to carefully guide the Excalibur through some of the more hazardous systems. "Walker's a survivor," she said, remembering her encounter with the Archduke, a fascinatingly intoxicating man with a magnetic personality.

"All von Karins are." Mayfair got up, he was still in his civvies, but his one concession to uniform was his Lt. Colonel's insignia pinned to his shirt collar. He walked around the room, climbing the short steps to the broad desk and reaching out to touch Lauren's shoulders with his hands.

She stiffened. "Don't..." she murmured, feeling her body begin to shake and she forced herself to get a grip.

Mayfair didn't move. He kept his hands resting on her shoulders. "You're pushing yourself too hard," he said calmly, "When was the last time you slept?"

She rubbed her tired brow with the back of her hand, feeling the feverish warmth there and she shook her head. "I need..."

"What you need is to stop being so silly," Mayfair smiled, turning her to face him, "You need to rest, we'll be okay for a few hours." He glanced at the charts she was plotting. "You'll figure this out quicker after a good night's sleep."

Lauren closed her eyes, fighting against the ball of emotion, relenting against Mayfair's broad chest, sinking her head against his neck, the tears beginning as he cradled her.

They stood like that for a while, Mayfair just holding onto her, rocking gently back and forth, comforting her with his presence. The girl had been through so much, the loss of Kendrick, the war, her own death and rebirth only to be tortured by Polians. He felt for her, every bone inside him wanted her to know how much he cared, had always cared.

"You shouldn't have stayed here for me," Lauren said, pulling back from the embrace, trying vainly to dry her eyes.

Mayfair looked about the ship he had come to consider home, and back down to look at her. "Why not?" He asked her.

"B-because I'm not... you don't... I can't..." She stammered through her words trying again to gain control over her mess of emotions.

He drew her close again. "I'm not Kendrick..." he said firmly. He still felt bitterness towards the insane Wing Commander who had betrayed the Excalibur, betrayed their family, and shattered the woman he loved.

"I know..." Lauren said softly, "But, I'm not... me any more... I'm just an echo... I feel like I'm just going to fade away..."

"No," Mayfair touched her face with a coarse hand, wiping her tears, "You're the future Mrs. Mayfair..."

Lauren looked up at him and shook her head. "You... you're proposing?" she blinked back her tears, stunned incredulousness setting in.

"I was more being overly confident," he admitted with his rakish smile as he wrapped tender arms around her. "I love you... I stayed on this ship for you; I've gone against my House, and everything I believed in, for you... I know I don't deserve a woman like you, but you'd make my mother very happy if I brought you home."

She sank her head against his chest again. "Of all the lamest proposals..." she cried, despite the fact that she wanted to laugh at his fumbling attempt.

"Well, that a yes then?" he asked, kissing the top of her head.

* * *

This was getting them nowhere fast. Darien came up to cover Garam as the pair moved now through the market, the renegade Highlord firing random shots into barrels of goods to send them exploding into the air. While the weapon was effective against a direct target, it made an impressive grenade when fired into crates, sending shards of wood and other assorted objects towards the onrushing troopers unlucky enough not to keep their heads down.

Garam paused long enough to grab a fistful of washers from a stall basket that he loaded into the rear hopper of the MAG-6; it seemed that as long as it was metal, the Orion weapon was capable of ripping it into molecules and projecting it at the enemy. It had almost been humorous as they had passed a souvenir table and a replica of a Zemûn fertility god went into the weapon.

Darien ducked behind a heavy support beam that held the ragged tarpaulin roof aloft, automatic fire ripping into the area where he had just been as he glanced to see how Garam was faring. The Taïrian had finished his loading and was taking pot shots at a couple of Zemûn attempting to flank them.

Darien shook his head fighting another wave, feeling his legs giving out as he sank again, his head resting as he tried to keep his breath. Tingling beginning in his extremities, he was going to pass out soon. They were in serious trouble. He glanced at the support beam he was leaning against; it barely did its task, already mostly rotten through...

He leaned back and kicked it, running for all he was worth as the roof came crashing down. Tarp, corrugated steel, and other makeshift building materials rained destruction on the heart of the market and their pursuers.

Darien spared a quick glance to the Taïrian who, the moment Darien had began to run, had come after him. The two nodded as they sprinted towards the exit. Darien's robes billowed out behind him as he fought to pull the hood up over his head, trying to keep his feet despite the fact that his world span... he crashed to his knees.

Garam caught his arm as the approached the exit, pulling the stumbling Highlord to his feet. "You must go," he instructed, catching his breath, the nostrils on his muzzle flaring.

"No," Darien swallowed, feeling the cold sweat on his skin, panting for air as he tried to clear his head, he needed to sit for a moment, close his eyes. "We go together..."

The hulking Taïrian shook his head, holding Darien's head between his paws, one of his pads pulling open Darien's eyes as he stared into it. "You cannot run," he said, shaking his big muzzle, looking back behind him, "No, Taine, you go, they will be looking for me, you can slip away in the crowd. I will make my own way from here, draw them away from you..."

"No, wait a moment," Darien said, trying to fight for lucidity, casting a glance to the sliver of light that was the way out, before looking back into the market and the din of pursuit.

"For Taïr," the Taïrian intoned, patting Taine's shoulder, "go." He turned and charged back the way they came, bellowing a guttural Taïrian war cry as he ran, discharging the MAG-6 noisily.

Darien swallowed, closing his eyes as he pulled the robe up and about him, walking on unsteady legs towards the exit, aware of the din outside of Zemûn craning around each other to see what was going on in the market.

The Amsus and Zemûn guards were overwhelmed trying to keep the crowd in check, and they barely paid attention to the lone priest walking out of the darkened market, quickly swallowed up by the crowd as the din of gunfire from within abruptly stopped.

He managed to make his way to the first alley, before falling face first into the broken rubble and mud.