He reached Ranna's side, fully expecting her to vanish when the light above her died, but it did not. Instead, another spotlight pinned a figure to the black floor. Tall and strong, Ulric stood shrouded in a floor-length cloak of black and gray wolf-fur. The light from above burned brightly from his white hair, but hid his eyes in impenetrable pockets of shadow.
His deep voice filled the void. "Trothkin, seen and unseen, near and far, living and dead, rejoice as the Wolf has brought us a foundling." He let the words echo through the darkness, until silence reigned once more. "It was fortyseven years ago that the Womb of Steel whelped a pup such as this. That birthing is but a thing of legend, but none will deny the rede of it."
From the surrounding dark, Phelan heard a thousand voices whisper as one. "Seyla."
Ulric's voice dropped into a wolfish growl. "I am the Oathmaster! All will be bound by this Conclave, until they are dust and memories, and then beyond that time until the end of all that is."
"Seyla."
The sibilant murmuring raised goosebumps on Phelan's flesh. Tension built in him as his mind struggled frantically to pierce the mysteries of this terrible ceremony. They try to kill me, then make me the centerpiece of some bizarre ritual. I don't understand half the words or what Ulric is trying to say. I hope like hell I configure out what's going on, or as sure as this bondcord encircles my wrist, I'm going to be one dead little bondsman.
Ulric looked around as though his eyes could see those gathered beyond the circle of light. "The Wolf's wisdom is not in doubt, but there are those who believe the Wolf's generosity is too great. Who would deny this pup his life?"
The mercenary saw Ulric's head come up at a rustling sound behind him. Stepping forward into a white circle painted on the deck was a small, slender man of the largeheaded body type Phelan had come to associate with Clan aerojocks. His spectacular costume had been cut from green leather and patterned after an aeropilot's flightsuit. Instead of a short cloak of fur, he wore a brilliant gold and malachite pectoral with two stylized wings rising up on either side of his head. His hawk-head mask, also made of gold and malachite, was a masterwork of artistry.
As the man removed his mask, Ulric's voice boomed from behind Phelan. "I recognize thee, Cavell Malthus of the Jade Falcons."
"Oathmaster, I ken death from the skies for this pup." Cavell watched the bondsman with huge, hungry brown eyes. "Aye, it is death I see."
Ulric's voice rang out strongly. "Who among the Wolves would deny this vision?"
Moving to eclipse Phelan's view of Cavell, an aerofighter pilot stepped in. His costume paralleled Cavell's in shape, but was made from dark gray leather. Like Ranna's costume, his included a cloak of gray fur settled over his shoulder. As Cavell removed his helmet, the mercenary saw a flash of golden hair.
"I recognize thee, Carew of the Wolves."
"Oathmaster, it is my ken that this pup need fear nothing from the air." As Carew's voice trailed off, both he and Cavell again donned their masks. Neither moved from their places. Beside them, two more spotlights brought illumination to two more circles on the deck.
A titan stepped forward from the darkness. His costume of light gray leather had not been tailored to represent any Clan military garb that Phelan could recognize, but that mattered little. Instead, he marveled at how the material stretched taut to mold itself to the massive, powerfully built man. Though the garment covered him from throat to boot tops, a loincloth of Smoke Jaguar fur had been added to mark his Clan affiliation, as though his savage jaguar-mask could be mistaken for anything else. The Elemental solemnly removed his mask.
"I recognize thee, Lincoln Osis of the Smoke Jaguars."
The black man's voice sounded deeper than Ulric's and was an almost perfect impersonation of a jaguar's hoarse growl. "Oathmaster, I ken death by hand for this pup. Aye, it is death I see."
Again Ulric voiced a request to the assembly hidden in the shadows. "Who among the Wolves would deny this vision?"
Another Wolf moved to stand between Phelan and his challenger. Even if he had not seen the long red braid lying against her spine, he would have known Evantha from the way she stalked out to take her place.
"I recognize thee, Evantha Fetladral of the Wolves."
Phelan sensed the barest hint of challenge and scorn in Evantha's reply. "Oathmaster, it is my ken that this pup need fear nothing from the hand."
As Evantha and Lincoln again donned their masks, the final two circles on the deck blazed to life with reflected light. Almost immediately, a man moved into the challenger's circle. Phelan realized that his costume, like Ranna's, was a version of the abbreviated attire MechWarriors wore in their steamy cockpits. A thick cloak of white fur covered the man, fastened at his throat by knotting together the fur around a bear's forward paws. The intermediate paws were similarly tied together at his waist. The bear mask the man wore seemed to be inlaid with opal, which mirrored the shimmering pelt he wore.
"I recognize thee, Garald Winson of the Ghost Bears."
"Oathmaster, I ken death from his equals." His voice dropped to a rime-laden whisper. "Aye, it is death I see."
Phelan heard a change in Ulric's voice as he asked for a Wolf to refute Winson's vision of the future. The mercenary half-expected Ranna to leave his side, but she remained in place as another stepped forward. Obviously a woman, this one's costume matched Ranna's in all but color, yet flattered her figure equally. Where Ranna wore white, this MechWarrior wore black, including the abbreviated cloak of wolf-fur. Red hair cascaded onto her shoulders and Phelan saw a scarlet hourglass symbol on the abdomen of her leather clothing.
Phelan's jaw dropped as she removed her mask, and Ulric spoke. "I recognize thee, Natasha Kerensky of the Wolves."
The mercenary stared at her in disbelief, but she shot him a grin before facing her opposition. Natasha Kerensky! But she's Jaime Wolf's second in command. What is she doing here, and why is she recognized by the Clans?As quickly as that question formed itself in his head, the answer hit him with frightful clarity. Oh my God They're notWolf's Dragoons, they're theWolf Dragoons. They've been part of the Clans all along!
Phelan suddenly realized he was not alone in his shock. Garald Winson had paled visibly. From the darkness enclosing them, the mercenary heard hushed whispers. Still grinning, Natasha seemed to revel in the disturbance she caused.
"Oathmaster," Natasha said contemptuously, "I have known this pup for years. He has nothing to fear from his equals, or those who would style themselves his betters."
"Face me, pup." Ulric's voice brought Phelan around. The Khan regarded him with hollow eyes. "Thrice he has been challenged and three defenders have risen for him. Sponsored by the Wolf, warded by the Clan, all is in order."
From beneath his cloak, Ulric produced a silver dagger with a wolf's-head pommel. He moved forward. "Give me your right hand."
Phelan held up his hand, and Ulric slid the knife down between the mercenary's flesh and the bondcord. "This marked you as a bondsman, but yours is the heart, the mind, and the soul of a warrior. The Wolf has seen it and I, the Oathmaster, proclaim it."
Tugging the knife back toward himself, Ulric sliced the bondcord in half. With an expert flip, he reversed the knife, then pressed its pommel into Phelan's wrist and folded his fingers down over it. Triumphantly, he thrust the Kell Hound's hand into the air. "Let us rejoice and let pride sing out—the Wolves have a new warrior among their number."