When he had first heard about this thing the Dragoons were calling a Remembrance, he hadn't wanted to go. They hadn't bothered to let him in on such things when he'd worn their uniform, why should he care now? But Jenette had brought him around.
Dechan had known MacKenzie Wolf as Darnell Winningham during the years Wolf's son had spent learning the business. When MacKenzie's identity had been revealed, the official line was that the false identity was intended to prevent MacKenzie from receiving preferential treatment. From what Dechan had learned of the Dragoons recently, it seemed more likely that it was some sort of Clan thing, that MacKenzie had to earn the name or something. Or it might just have been more of Jaime Wolf's penchant for secrecy and duplicity.
Whatever, MacKenzie was dead now, and the Remembrance was being held in his honor. Jenette was right in insisting that MacKenzie was the issue, not the Dragoons' treatment of Dechan. Dechan had known Darnell as a good company commander. And Darnell was one of the few who had not died during the time Dechan spent in the Periphery and in the Combine. A memorial service might be just the thing, a way to bury the dead past.
Jenette came out of the bathroom vigorously toweling the last drops of water from her short hair. "You're looking nice, but I wish you'd wear your uniform."
"We've been through that."
She frowned, then shrugged it away. She tugged on her tight uniform pants and slipped into her shirt and jacket with her usual brisk efficiency. Her belt hangers stayed empty; even dress weapons were inappropriate for a Remembrance. He helped get the dress cloak centered and snapped the wolf's-head clasp shut. She quickly brushed her hair into moderate order before setting her beret at a jaunty angle. Jenette looked dashing in her uniform, but then that was an effect carefully calculated by the uniform's designers.
She was uncharacteristically quiet during the trip to the city center, and Dechan felt disinclined to start any conversations. What was there to say? They emerged from the tube near the main entrance of Wolf Hall. The Remembrance was to be held in the great assembly chamber of the headquarters complex. Dragoons dressed in billowing dress cloaks and intent on the same destination accompanied them on the way to the Hall. Others approached singly or in small groups from all directions. The gathering crowd was unusually quiet, distant city traffic the only sound.
The great hall was raked down to a stage. Normally there were seats fitted to the stepped tiers of the chamber, but they had been removed. The audience would stand tonight. In reverence for the honored dead, Jenette had said. He followed her to a row a third of the way down and she led him to a place in the center. He looked down at the stage. Save for a simple podium sheathed in black plastic, it was bare. It bore the black wolf's head on a red disk attached to its front. The podium was miked so that a speaker's voice could be easily heard in the upper gallery. Dechan couldn't see the pickups on the stand itself, but they were evident in the enlarged image projected on the wall behind the stage. The screen, like the front of the stage and the walls of the hall, was draped in black bunting.
The hall filled quickly and with what Dechan thought might be called military precision. Once inside, the Dragoons seemed to feel the solemnity lifted somewhat. The soft buzz of hundreds of conversations filled the air. The snatches he heard seemed to be concerned with events and people of which he had no knowledge. He gave up listening and stared glumly at the stage.
Two figures stepped out from the wings. One was Jaime Wolf, his gray-maned head held high. In place of the standard cloak, he wore a sleeveless red gown over his dress uniform. The wide lapels of the garment were studded with badges and ribbons. The other person was swathed from head to toe in loose-fitting black robes that concealed his or her sex as easily as the head-covering hood concealed the face. That person too wore a wide-lapeled gown and the decorations matched those Wolf wore.
Wolf stepped to the podium and waited while the room gradually fell silent.
"I am the Oathmaster." He scanned the room as if taking attendance. "You came at my call. Listen as honor commands. Speak as honor compels."
He executed a brisk about-face and retired to the back of the stage, where he stood at attention. The black-robed person took his place at the podium. The voice was deep, a man's.
"I am the Loremaster, keeper of the Remembrance."
He must have touched a control on the podium, for the speakers began to ring with the sound of a tolling bell. When the sound died away, the black-robed man spoke again.
"Death is the warrior's lot, and we are all warriors. Seeking the flame that holds back the dark of oblivion, we walk the honor road and in honor, we find the light that we seek. Honor is the light in our hearts.
"The warrior who thinks to shine above others flares and ends a cinder. The warrior who holds the good of the trothkin above his own burns with an eternal flame. Let him be remembered in the halls."
The bell tolled.
A procession marched down the central aisle from the back of the hall. At its head was Alpin Wolf. Behind him were his mother Katherine and Marisha Dandridge. MacKenzie's daughter Shauna came next, and Rachel and Joshua Wolf followed her. All save Alpin carried lighted candles. Alpin held a folded uniform. They halted at the edge of the stage and Alpin laid the uniform down.
"Who has fallen?" the Loremaster asked.
"MacKenzie Wolf," Alpin answered.
"By what right do you address this assemblage?"
"He was my blood father," Alpin and Shauna said together. Shauna puffed on the candle she held and the light flickered out.
"He was my husband," Katherine said and blew out her candle.
"He was my son by law," Marisha said and did the same.
"He was my sib by law," Rachel and Joshua said in ragged chorus. Rachel had to help Joshua extinguish his candle.
In unison they all said, "We ask that he be remembered."
The Loremaster nodded solemnly. "You are the family of MacKenzie Wolf. You have the right."
The silence of the hall was marred by rumbling murmurs. Dechan noted that the loudest noise was from sections where the Clan adoptees stood. "What's their problem?" he whispered to Jenette. "Clan brainwashing," she whispered back.
"Who will speak of this warrior? Who was witness to his end?"
The raised voice of the Loremaster brought renewed quiet. For a moment nothing happened, then a large man, an Elemental by his uniform, stepped out into the central aisle. "I am Edelstein, Captain. I was there when MacKenzie Wolf died. He died as a warrior should, his face toward those who sought his death. That is worthy."
As Edelstein returned to his place, the crowd replied with the ritual response, "Seyla!"
Dechan remembered when he had heard that word for the first time. It had been the beginning of the end for the Dragoons in the Draconis Combine. It had been the word uttered by the assembled Dragoons to signify their assent to the plan of escape from the Combine. Here, too, it meant assent. But though the circumstances were less dire, still he felt a chill.
"A death alone is not enough," the Loremaster said. "Who will speak of the life of MacKenzie Wolf?"
A Dragoon standing in the front row stepped out into the aisle and walked around to the stairs that led to the stage. He was met at the top by a woman carrying a white robe. The Dragoon slung off his cloak and put on the robe. The Loremaster surrendered the podium to him. The white-robed Dragoon stood before the microphones in silence for a moment.
"Hear the words we carry with us. This is the Remembrance,our past and our honor. Hear the part MacKenzie Wolf played in our clan."