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A Season of Honor

By L D. Alford

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One

Shawn!” Count Ian Acier exclaimed.
Shawn grimaced, then tendered Ian with a crooked
smile. “Yes, the adjunct of the Emperor.” Ian watched the
younger man’s eyes. They were cold, gray, hard as steel, and he smiled.
They embraced.
Count Ian Acier was dressed in his usual military garb. He was
attired in desert tan, the casual uniform of his troops. His long, large
body fit the uniform well. His hard-bitten features were set off in their
most handsome frame by the color and cut of the clothing.
“My friend, my brother—” Ian seized Shawn in a tight embrace—
“I feared for your life. The Emperor himself would not be safe had he
harmed you.” As they parted, Ian clasped Shawn’s shoulders.
Shawn let out a hard laugh. “Yes, thank God, you and many others
feel the same way. Still, by the Imperial Concession, I am made—” he
searched for a word—“ineffectual.”
“There, you are wrong. Even after your ten years of exile, the
Imperial Huscarls are still loyal to you, and do not forget that during
the Imperial Concessions at Neuterra, you represented fully a third of
the Landsritters. Those Houses will not long forget the treachery of the
Emperor or your actions.”
“My actions resulted in my exile and our current problems.”
“Would you act any differently today?”
“No! But I was a fool. Before he could act, I should have seen the
evidence of the Emperor’s desires. I would have snuffed out his
ambitions as I would kill a snake, but enough—for ten years, I have
thought too much on that.” Anger filled his features briefly before his
expression calmed, eased. Shawn sat down and, with a sigh, let his
whole face fall into a smile. “Now I am finally free to do what I want. I
am free of the Emperor’s exile, long free of the duties of Crown
Prince—as you know, my cousin Devon Rathenberg owned that title
well before the Concessions. The Imperial Huscarls may still honor me,
but I have not been their leader for ten years. By my accounting, I have
no responsibilities.”
“I thought so. You’re an officer, a warrior. For hire?” Ian walked
behind his large desk.
“Yes.” Shawn laughed almost easily. “I am opening a professional
trade.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Only if it’s imported. The best I’ve tasted on this ball of sand is
reconstituted simumeals.”
A guarded look came over Ian’s face. As he sat down behind the
desk, he pressed the call button. “Coffee for two, Sergeant.” Then
blandly he asked, “How long have you been on Acier?”
“Before I got your message, I was thinking of joining your forces.”
“I don’t use mercenaries.”
“Yes, so I was told. Almost—almost, I would be tempted to swear
fealty to you.”
“No!” The Count’s eyes blazed. He nearly leapt out of his chair.
“When the time comes, it is I who shall again swear fealty to you, my
lord.”
The silence hung between them.
Shawn’s eyes glazed slightly and he lowered his head. His words
were quiet and distinct. “My dearest friend, I would gladly have you
fight at my side again. And if I again had a House and a title, my
proudest moment would be your acceptance of its burden of
responsibility. If I had anything to offer, I would offer you that today. I
am not even allowed a Sigil.” He closed his eyes and looked away from
Ian. He clenched his fists. “But, since I have nothing to offer—” Shawn
looked directly at the Count—“please, you must simply treat me in the
state the Emperor left me.” At this he smiled.
The Count smiled too. “Shawn, the late Prince John-Mark, you are
to me General, brother, child of my soul. I shall treat you as Baron
Shawn du Locke, but never shall I or any of those men who were on
Neuterra forget our place under your leadership—and your honor.” A
single rap on the door completed this last declaration. Ian didn’t turn
his gaze from Shawn. “Enter.”
A wizened and wrinkled old Sergeant dressed in military livery
opened the door and carried in a platinum tray. The rich smell of
expressed coffee filled the room.
“That is imported,” stated Shawn irrefutably. “Where did you get
it?”
“Neuterra.” Ian grinned, and they both laughed out loud.
The ancient Sergeant placed the tray on a small table and served
the coffee.
“I thought you might like a snack—to get the taste of simumeals
out of your mouth.” The tray was generously filled with meat rolls and
pastries.
“Good.” Shawn selected a few choice morsels. “I was afraid your
dry world had little else to offer.”
“The sale of heavy metals makes this world and my House rich,”
Ian added. Then, aside: “That’s all, Sergeant.”
“Yes, Sire.”
Ian watched in silence as the old Sergeant backed out of the room
and tightly shut the door.
“It is too bad,” continued Ian, after the door closed, “that the House
Acier is in decline.”
Without uttering a sound, Shawn opened his mouth, shut it, then
leaned forward as if to speak.
The Count cut him off. “Say nothing, my friend. You know I have
no heir. You know that is my chief problem with both the Emperor and
the Landsritters. I am not young and my beautiful Elizabeth—my
beautiful Elizabeth—we cannot have any more children. Not naturally,
not artificially; you know the Code.”
“I know the Code well.”
Ian continued angrily, “I didn’t want to speak of business with you,
yet. I wanted this to be simply a time for old friends to be together. Like
old times again.” He put down his coffee cup so suddenly the saucer
broke with a crack.
“Sometimes the importance of old friends being together is
business.” Shawn sipped his coffee.
“Perhaps,” mused the Count. “What is your true opinion of my
forces on my planet of Acier?”
“Well trained, dedicated, as always, a spectacular army.”
“But with an almost nonexistent intragalactic naval arm. I have
one of the most powerful ground armies in the Human Empire, but I
am not a Duke. I don’t have a Duke’s five battleships to protect this
system.”
“Yes, but your special orbital defenses, the arrangements with the
Intragalactic Combine, as well as Neuterran fealty keeps your skies
clear.”
“Only until I die, or as long as the Intragalactic Combine remains
loyal to a more-than-five-centuries-old charter.”
“Your family held the charter even before that.”
“That was much before the weakening of the Landsritters and the
Emperor’s reorganization of the kingdoms. The Emperor has left me
with little defense but the Combine. And they constantly want more
for their protection, as well as for their transport charges. At this rate,
I’ll need protection from the Combine.”
“The Combine has more than once warned the Emperor away from
Acier. They twice threatened to boycott the Imperial Capital, Arienth.
The Emperor could never tolerate that. The planet would starve
without imports.”
“The Emperor has been flouting both Imperial law and agreements
since he took the Iron Throne. Though we forced the Imperial
Concessions on him, he has not learned his lesson. You also know, with
the change of lands of the Rathenbergs, the Houses, which for centuries
have been aligned with House Acier, are now too far away to defend
it.” Count Ian looked out the window. “My Duke Neuterra is too weak.
The death of Lyral…”
Shawn flinched.
Count Ian continued speaking, “…and the War for the Imperial
Concession destroyed his spirit. Neuterra is an undependable ruler, and
though I can afford them, the Noble Accords prevent me from
purchasing the forces I need. I have another solution. House Nior lies
very close to this sector; their estates almost neighbor this system. The
noble—I believe you know well, Duke Pieter Nior—has agreed to the
alliance of our Houses through the union of his eldest son, Christopher,
and my daughter, Elina.”
“He was neutral in the confrontation with the Emperor.”
“Yes, his family and House has always held fealty directly to the
Emperor, but you know that Duke Pieter would never place the worth
of Acier into the hands of the Emperor. He is too shrewd a man, and he
is a Duke; with his battleships, he can hold the planet from space.”
“The Emperor could never officially disagree to the match; he
doesn’t have the backing or power to go against Duke Pieter Nior. Ian,
your plan has potential. I believe it will work.”
“It means the end of House Acier and the beginning of House
Acier-Nior. The title is agreed on.” Count Ian looked at Shawn. “You
have never met my daughter. Have you?”
“No, but if she is anything like Elizabeth, she must be a stunning
beauty.”
“You will see her tonight.” The Count’s words were clipped. “I
want you at dinner. You will reacquaint yourself with my whole
family. My Elizabeth has missed you like a son. You must also meet my
fosterling, Kran Nior. He was the beginning of the agreements that will
promote my House, and he is a good boy; I raised him as if he were my
own son.”
“From what you have said, it sounds as though the arrangements
are complete. Why do you need me, Ian?”
Ian pursed his lips. “The Emperor cannot stop the agreement
through his legitimate power; he will attempt to stop it by killing Elina.
Without her, there cannot be an agreement, and my House is doomed.
The Emperor will stop at nothing. The planet Acier subordinate to a
Duke will have power that will rival him, and that, under the
circumstances, may be the beginning of a new dynasty. I would like to
live to see that.”
Shawn laughed. “So I am to be the young girl’s chaperone. That is a
duty I have never been entrusted with before.”
“Yes, chaperone, so to speak. You will convey the responsibility of
my House. Like you defended the honor of so many Houses before, you
will carry it with you in the person of my daughter. You must take her,
as the Noble Accords command, to the Imperial Planet, Arienth. With
her will go the agreement and the dowry of this planet, after my death.
Carry her and the agreements to Arienth, see my daughter wed, and
protect the rights of my House, and you, Shawn, will fulfill fealty. I
would go myself, but I fear for the safety of Acier. If the Emperor
struck here, he could win all in a single coup.”
“You ask me to stand in your place for this House. That is in direct
violation of the Emperor’s ban. You tempt him.”
“You will be a courier only—a courier with the power to sign the
House agreements. The Emperor will say nothing. He fears you and
your backing. Will you do it?”
Shawn smiled slyly. “As an independent courier, surely I will not
violate the Emperor’s rulings. Of course I’ll do it. If it meant my death, I
would still be honored to serve you and the House Acier.”
“You swear?”
“By my honor. What little is left me.”
“Good—you will go as a party of simple travelers. I have arranged
with Pieter Nior to convey you secretly to Jouray. A Combine liner will
take you from there to Arienth. Elina and her party will dress in the
colors of Jouray; the family Jouray is large, and Jean Jouray is only a
Baron. The Emperor will not expect this kind of transfer. We will
adhere to all formalities, and in the colors of Acier, you will alight in
safety on the Imperial Planet.”
“Who goes in the lady’s party?”
“A lieutenant from my forces, Lieutenant James Nieder. The
Matron Pembray and Elina’s maid, Karra, will accompany the Lady
Elina. That is your army: a young man, an old woman, and two girls.”
“Pembray?” Shawn shook his head in quiet recognition.
“Shall we drink to it?” Ian opened a cabinet among the books and
brought out a very old bottle. “This is the finest of my cellars.” He
poured two glasses and handed one to Shawn. “Noblesse!”
“Noblesse!” returned Shawn as he tossed back the stinging liquor.

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