“I think I do. I’ve labored with this for nearly two years, keeping a lid on the Cult of Liao even at times they thought to go public. Even when it might have helped the Ijori Dè Guāng, or the Conservatory. If it is to happen, it has to happen under our control.”
“I don’t know.” But he did know. He did.
“What will you do then? Turn your back on this, on us, again?” He did not sound angry this time, but accepting. “I will not stop you from walking out of here, Mai Uhn Wa. You have my pledge, and I will keep it no matter what you decide. But decide now.”
Mai bristled at the calm ultimatum, delivered by the same man who only moments ago acknowledged him as Master. Then the elder warrior relented, realizing the large pressures Evan had been living with, alone, for too long.
“I am not walking out of here without you, Evan. You are first among warriors, and I would have it no other way.” He offered his hand, and Evan clasped it with both of his own and bowed. “We will keep this secret, together, you and I.”
But Mai Uhn Wa knew he planned to immediately betray that promise, and this time Evan might not ever be able to forgive. Which would be unfortunate. Mai truly did not want to kill his first son of House Ijori.
27
Truths Be Told
An anonymous report, forwarded to our offices, promises to shake Liao to its very core. To find that we have welcomed home the Black Paladin, the Betrayer whose treachery caused so many needless deaths on the Night of Screams, seemed too great a lie. But it is not. Our investigation has confirmed it. Daniel Peterson, Ezekiel Crow: they are alive and well. And they are Legate Ruskoff’s new aide, Major Ritter Michaelson.
LianChang Military Reserve
Qinghai Province, Liao
1 August 3134
Pulling off the highway in his motorpool sedan, Daniel Peterson tightened his grip on the wheel. A large sign next to the access road reminded him of his destination. LianChang Military Reserve. A tight flutter twisted in his stomach. Major Ritter Michaelson had been brought here the first time against his wishes, but had handled it with stiff military bearing. Daniel returned voluntarily, tired of running. After two days of no sleep and very little to eat, he hoped to face the truth half as well.
The guards at the base entrance worked with their usual efficiency, checking identification, waving through jeeps, cars and trucks. A fresh-faced corporal glanced first at the sedan’s window decal, giving the driver priority access, and had already raised the gate before Daniel coasted to a stop to hand over Ritter Michaelson’s fake ID.
“Lieutenant Daniel Peterson to see Legate Ruskoff,” he said calmly.
Corporal Paullat didn’t bother to open the wallet. His eyes widened with recognition. In the last two days, the media had made Daniel’s face instantly recognizable to the entire world.
“Lieutenant…” There was no respect in the title, only stunned repetition. “S–sir. You’re… under arrest.”
Daniel nodded. “Have the MPs meet me in front of the base command building, please.” He drove under the raised gate without looking back. The corporal never had time to remember his pistol, holstered at his side.
He picked up his first military patrol car only a block into the base, and two more before he ever got close to Ruskoff’s command center. A rifle platoon waited outside, backed up by armored infantry on the roof. Four military police approached his sedan, hands on their pistols, and ordered him out. Daniel complied, slowly, very much aware of how many weapons pointed his direction, keeping his hands in view at all times. The military police cuffed him, checked him for weapons, then shackled his wrists to the front of a leather belt which they cinched around his waist. With an MP at both sides, a hand locked around each upper arm, Daniel Peterson was finally escorted inside.
They led him down a familiar stretch of hallway, through a door and an adjoining office, and held him at stiff attention in front of Legate Viktor Ruskoff. The Legate sat in his chair, hands clamped onto the armrests. His ash blond hair, normally shorn into a tight flattop, wilted as the length grew out. Bags began to darken under his eyes. He said nothing for a long moment, and Daniel held up under the basilisk stare.
“So,” Ruskoff finally said. “This is what treason looks like.”
No sleep and a starvation diet had done its work on Daniel’s face. It had taken a great deal of energy just to shave this morning before leaving the hostel where he’d hidden for two days, thinking. “You have no idea who I am,” Daniel said. “Arrest me or shoot me, Legate.” He glanced away. “I don’t care what you think.”
“If that’s true, why did you come back? You’ve disappeared before. Twice before, in fact.”
Daniel chewed on the inside of his cheeks, holding his answer until he’d thought about it a moment. His eyes felt scratchy, dry, and he blinked some moisture over them. “Not this time. Whatever happens to me now, I’ll see it through without having to look back over my shoulder.”
“Very noble of you.” Ruskoff certainly wasn’t warming to the idea. “Do you know what you’ve cost this world? Just as the riots begin to settle down, suddenly people are up in arms again. I have fifteen new cases of officers absent without leave. You don’t want to know what this did to the enlisted ranks. And I can’t tell how many are defections, desertions or are simply dead. The public backlash has been incredible on both sides of the Capellan issue. Did you set me up, Michaelson? Crow… what the hell am I supposed to call you!”
“Daniel. My name is Daniel.”
He seemed to accept that. “Did you?” he asked again.
“Set you up? No. I was set up. Played. Masterfully.”
“So now you’re innocent?” Ruskoff’s sarcasm was plain.
“Ah, I’m guilty as hell, Viktor.” One of the MPs shook him, and Daniel twisted around to shake away their hands. They pulled batons, but hesitated when Ruskoff waved them back.
Daniel ignored the MPs and returned to some semblance of attention. “I’m guilty,” he said again, “but not of what you think. I was just trying to do what I thought was best.” That wasn’t quite right. That was Crow talking. “No, I’ve tried to do what I thought was best for everyone else. I did. But I never meant—”
What? Anyone to get hurt? Too late.
Ruskoff nodded a dismissal to the MPs, who left the office reluctantly. Daniel doubted they went much farther than the adjoining office, ready to take him back into custody the moment the Legate was through with him.
“So if it wasn’t you, then who was it? Tsung? Did the Governor’s man play me into the enemy’s hands? The Dynasty Guard? Who?”
What the hell. “Bannson. Jacob Bannson. Or, at least, it was some of his people.”
“What’s Jacob Bannson got to do with this?” Ruskoff obviously didn’t believe him. “Why would he care about Liao? Answer me, Daniel!”
“Business!” Daniel shouted back with all the strength left to him. “It’s all business with him. What he can get as a return on an investment. That’s what I was.” Daniel fought to recover his poise. “An investment.”
“Why you? What did Bannson, or his people, have on you that was so damning?” Of course, the moment he asked, the answer came to him. “The Massacre.”
Daniel breathed heavily as his chest tightened. He nodded. “Here on Liao, and on Northwind, I was Bannson’s tool. Some mistakes you never stop paying for. Not even when you die.”